[Two Days Later] [Nine Nine]
The bullpen was unusually calm. Charles was quietly humming while labeling Tupperware. Hitchcock and Scully were asleep in positions that defied basic human anatomy. Terry was watering his new plants and whispering encouraging phrases like, "Grow strong, little buddies." Amy was reorganizing the whiteboard for the fifth time. And Jake was trying to balance a pencil on his upper lip like he was training for the Olympics of Not Doing His Job.
Then Holt stepped out of his office.
He did not speak at first. He simply stared at everyone with the expression of a man who had accepted that disappointment was his destiny. The bullpen fell silent. Even Hitchcock snorted awake for a second before returning to the void.
Holt clasped his hands behind his back. "Attention, everyone. I have an announcement."
Jake immediately whispered, "Please be free pizza. Please be free pizza. Please be free pizza."
Holt continued as if he had not heard. "Our precinct is in grave danger."
Jake's eyes widened. "It is pizza day, but the pizza is poisoned. I knew it."
Gina sat up slowly, like a cat spotting a laser pointer. "Oh, this should be juicy."
Terry straightened. "Is this about budget cuts? Because Terry will cry, but Terry will water through it."
"No," Holt said. "Far worse. Madeline Wuntch is coming for an assessment."
A collective gasp rippled through the room. Amy dropped her marker. Terry froze mid-watering and accidentally drowned an innocent fern. Charles screamed quietly into his apron. Hitchcock and Scully remained asleep because even the devil herself could not disturb them.
Jake stood up so fast his knee hit the desk. "You cannot be serious, Captain. That woman is like the Dementor of the NYPD. She thrives on misery. She feeds on paperwork failures."
Holt nodded once. "Correct. Madeline Wuntch is an abomination with administrative authority. Her heart contains the same amount of warmth as a dead car battery."
Rosa muttered, "Kill me now."
Boyle gasped and dropped his paprika. "No. Anything but her. She once told me my cooking reminded her of her childhood. Then she clarified that she grew up in a famine-stricken region."
Terry whispered, "The demon queen returns. Terry is not ready for this emotional violence."
Amy clenched her fists. "Why today? My binder tabs are off by one color. She will roast me alive."
Gina grinned. "I love when she comes. It is like watching a horror movie but with better fashion choices."
Holt raised his voice slightly, which in Holt's terms was equal to someone else screaming into a megaphone. "The Nine Nine is doomed. The devil from the deepest pit of hell is crawling her way into our precinct. Her presence alone is a bureaucratic plague. Despair is imminent."
Everyone stared at him.
Terry blinked. "Captain, did you just make a joke?"
"No," Holt said flatly. "I made a prophecy."
Boyle whimpered. "She is going to smell the fear on me."
"She will smell everything on you," Rosa added.
From the far corner, Hitchcock said, "I'm safe. She avoids me." He woke up a few seconds ago and was already chomping on a burrito. Scully was still sleeping.
"She avoids you because she thinks you're a cursed object," Gina corrected.
Amy shot up from her chair like someone launched her. "Captain, what kind of assessment is she doing? Efficiency? Paperwork? Morale? Cleanliness? All of the above? I need to know so I can panic correctly."
Holt looked at her with grave calm. "She did not specify. Which means she intends to attack from all fronts. We must prepare. Wuntch is a cunning serpent. She will inspect the precinct with the precision of a vulture evaluating a corpse."
Jake made a face. "Is that precision? Do vultures even do paperwork?"
"They do not," Holt said, "but Madeline Wuntch does both. She is a multi-talented parasite."
Amy made a strangled noise and sprinted toward the file shelves.
Terry cracked his neck. "Alright. The Nine-Nine trained for emergencies. We are prepared for gunmen, bombs, fires and Jake's surprise birthday plans. We can handle Wuntch."
No one agreed.
Gina sighed dramatically. "Honestly, Terry, your optimism is adorable. And wrong."
Holt closed his eyes for one solemn moment. When he opened them, he looked like a man whose soul was already halfway to the afterlife. "Focus. There's only one way. We remain calm. We act professional. We show her that the Nine Nine operates with dignity."
Jake snorted so loudly that even Rosa flicked him on the arm. "Sorry. Reflex. Go on."
Holt continued. "We will not panic. We will not cower. We will not throw chairs out of windows or punch the vending machine."
Everyone stared at Rosa.
Rosa shrugged. "Fine."
Just then, the elevator dinged.
Everyone froze.
Jake whispered, "Please let that be food delivery. Please let that be food delivery. Please let that be food delivery."
The doors opened.
It was a food delivery guy. Boyle's order. He paid the guy and took the food.
The bullpen exhaled so loudly the windows shook... Or was it a mini earthquake? No one knows.
Boyle stepped forward with tears in his eyes. "Captain. Can we have lunch now as our victory reward?"
"No, Boyle," Holt said flatly. "This is not victory. This is a temporary reprieve. Eat later. Focus now."
Jake clapped his hands. "Alright team. Everybody positions. Stations ready. Bullpen secure. Pretend to be competent."
Gina took a selfie. "If we die, I need something fabulous for the tribute slideshow."
Holt looked at the clock.
"Fifty-six minutes until impact."
The bullpen erupted into chaotic, panicked productivity.
The Nine Nine prepared for war.
...
[Let's go to Ray's side] [A little flashback]
Yesterday, Captain Holt called Ray into his office.
Holt adjusted his glasses. "Officer White. I have made a decision regarding your assignment moving forward."
Ray waited. Holt never wasted words unless he was preparing to deliver something unpleasant.
"You have operated without a partner since your arrival at the Nine Nine. Normally, I would let that arrangement continue, but your workload and your tactical value have increased significantly. It is time you were assigned someone who can work beside you." Holt paused. He folded his hands on his desk with deliberate precision. "I have chosen Officer Elle Greenaway."
'Elle?! An officer at Nine Nine? What the fuck is she doing here?' Ray wondered.
A subtle shift went through Ray's posture. It was not visible to most people. Holt noticed it immediately.
"You two worked together during your time with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. You share field history and an understanding of each other's methods. This will allow you to function as an effective team." Holt's tone carried certainty, but his eyes searched Ray's face. "Is this going to be a problem? You left the BAU on tense terms. The final months were not smooth. If assigning Greenaway creates unnecessary conflict, I expect you to tell me."
Ray kept his expression even. "There is no problem. I will do my duty as usual."
Holt studied him for several seconds. Ray did not blink. At last, Holt nodded. "Very well. I trust your professionalism. She begins tomorrow."
Ray saluted sharply. "Understood."
He walked out of the office and decided to treat Elle like any other partner. They would operate professionally. They would not resurrect the past that he had buried the moment he walked away from the BAU.
Holt did not know the truth. Elle Greenaway had not simply been a colleague. During Ray's years in the BAU, they had been engaged. They had shared a home. They had shared long nights spent between case files and quiet promises of a future that never came to pass. She had known his habits, his silences, his scars, and the guarded pieces of him that very few ever reached. They had planned a wedding that Ray ultimately ended when he left the BAU.
He believed Ray's partnership with Elle was only a logistical pairing. He believed the history was professional. Ray intended to keep it that way.
...
[Present time] [St. John Park]
The patrol cruiser rolled over a pothole, jostling the handcuffed sixty-year-old flasher in the back seat. The man was still muttering about "expressing nature's freedom," which did nothing to improve the tension filling the car.
Ray kept his gaze locked on the road.
Elle kept hers locked on the window.
Neither looked at the other.
The silence wasn't just silence — it had weight. The kind forged from years of unspoken things.
Elle finally broke it with the safest possible topic.
"Suspect will need a psych eval," she said.
"Already flagged it in the report," Ray replied.
"Good."
"Yeah."
They lapsed back into quiet.
The cruiser's radio crackled with distant chatter. Sirens wailed somewhere too far to matter. The arrested pervert kept humming an off-key tune from the '70s.
Elle shifted in her seat.
"I read through the Nine-Nine's SOPs," she said. "Holt runs a tight precinct."
"He does."
"And you've… settled in here."
"For the most part."
Elle nodded once. Ray could feel her glance at him even though he didn't look back.
She cleared her throat. "They seem to… like you here."
Ray shrugged one shoulder. "What's there not to like?"
That was the end of their conversation.
...
[Back at Nine Nine]
Madeline Wuntch stood in front of Holt with the kind of smile that made seasoned officers reconsider their career choices. It was wide, polished, and wrong. Very wrong.
The bullpen had gone silent, every detective frozen mid-task as Holt escorted her to the door.
Wuntch clasped her hands together. "Well, Raymond… my assessment is complete."
Holt braced himself like he was preparing for an airborne table to hit him. "Yes. I assume you are ready to deliver your usual litany of complaints, insults, and thinly veiled personal attacks?"
Wuntch's smile widened. "Actually… no. Everything is perfect."
The room collectively gasped. Charles dropped his sandwich. Terry whispered a prayer. Jake looked like he was about to check under a table for bombs.
Holt blinked. "I am sorry. Could you repeat that? My ears must be malfunctioning. It sounded like you said everything is perfect."
"I did," Wuntch said sweetly. "Immaculate, spectacular and a beacon of procedural excellence. I could not find a single thing to criticize."
Holt's hand twitched. "You. Found. Nothing."
"Nothing at all."
"Amy Santiago reorganized the filing system three times while hyperventilating into a binder. You did not object."
"Correct."
"Boyle accidentally set off the smoke detector with his lunch. You did not comment."
"The paprika was quite fragrant. I enjoyed it."
Holt's jaw tightened. "You walked past Hitchcock. You always insult Hitchcock."
"I am growing as a person." Wuntch smiled again. "Self improvement."
Holt stared at her like she had just declared herself Queen of Mars. "What are you up to, Wuntch?"
"Up to? Dear Raymond, I am simply doing my job."
"You are smiling."
"Yes."
"You never smile unless you are about to ruin my life."
"Raymond," she said, voice syrupy, "must you assume the worst?"
"You have spent years trying to sabotage me," Holt said. "Your default state is sabotage."
Wuntch waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, that was the old me. I am different now."
Holt narrowed his eyes. "You must have lost a wager. Or developed a brain parasite."
"Still so dramatic."
"I am calling the Department of Internal Affairs," Holt said. "Clearly you are compromised."
She chuckled. "Oh Raymond. I must go. Other precincts await my radiant positivity."
"That is a threat," Holt said. "Say it clearly. What are you planning?"
Wuntch walked toward the elevator, as if she had stolen youth from an unsuspecting victim.
"Goodbye, Raymond," she said sweetly before stepping into the elevator. "Enjoy your day. Things are going to get very interesting for the Nine Nine."
The doors closed.
The bullpen erupted.
Jake shouted, "She is planning something. She is absolutely planning something."
Terry held his head. "Why was she so happy? Terry is scared. Terry is very scared."
Rosa muttered, "Was she smiling because she poisoned something?"
Amy paced in circles. "She said everything was perfect. Perfect. No one says that. No one. She is setting us up for a future failure."
Gina lounged back, satisfied. "Honestly, I respect the drama. If she is going to destroy us, at least she will do it with flair."
Holt stepped forward, still staring at the closed elevator doors.
"This," he declared, "is the worst outcome imaginable."
Boyle raised a hand. "Uh, Captain, shouldn't we be relieved?"
Holt turned slowly. "Boyle, a smiling Wuntch is like a calm shark. It means she is not finished. It means she is circling. It means she will strike when we least expect it."
Jake nodded solemnly. "Captain. Permission to panic."
"Granted."
---[Spoilers. Upcoming chs names][1]
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[24 advance chs] [No double-billing.]
[1] Ch: 67 [Meeting Rosa's parents] Ch: 68 [Love me forever] Ch: 69 [Coffee, greatness and Ex] Ch: 70 [Lollipops and Promises] Ch: 71 [A big decision] Ch: 72 [Bikinis & Pool] Ch: 73 [First time with Amy] Ch: 74 [Old Flames and New Conversations] Ch: 75 [Not Part of the Plan] Ch: 76 [Vulture & Dance]