Background Six-Nine in B99

aFireFist

Background Six-Nine in B99

Chapter 1 - Season 1, Episode 1: Pilot Part 1

The bullpen of the 99th Precinct buzzed with its usual Monday morning energy, the kind that felt equal parts chaotic and comforting to anyone who had been there long enough. Phones rang off the hook from every direction—desk lines, cell phones, the ancient fax machine in the corner that somehow still worked. Detectives shouted across the room about case updates, lunch orders, and who owed who coffee. The air carried that familiar, lived-in mix: stale coffee from the pot that had been sitting since six a.m., the sharp tang of printer ink, and the lingering grease from last night’s Chinese takeout someone had forgotten to toss in the trash. It smelled like home, or at least like the kind of place where real police work got done between the jokes and the paperwork.Detective Jacob Peralta leaned back in his chair so far that the front legs lifted off the floor, sneakers propped up on his cluttered desk like it was a footrest. Papers, half-eaten candy wrappers, and a few random case files formed a small mountain around him. He casually tossed a balled-up report toward the trash can across the room, treating it like a game-winning three-pointer. The paper ball hit the rim, bounced off, and rolled under another desk. Jake just shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face.“Close enough,” he said to no one in particular, loud enough for half the bullpen to hear. “That’s basically a swish in my book. High percentage shot.”Across the way, Detective Amy Santiago’s desk stood in perfect contrast—like someone had run a military inspection on it. Pens lined up by color, files color-coded with tabs that matched her meticulous notes, not a single scrap of paper out of place. She shot him a sharp look over the top of her monitor, eyebrows raised in that familiar mix of exasperation and judgment.“One of these days that attitude is going to bite you in the ass, Peralta,” Amy said, her voice carrying that precise, by-the-book tone she wore like armor. “Some of us actually care about looking professional. You know, showing up ready to work instead of treating the bullpen like your personal rec room. Captains notice that stuff. Or at least they should.”Jake opened his mouth to fire back with something smartass, probably involving a quip about her color-coded soul or how her desk could double as a filing cabinet, but before he could get the words out, Sergeant Terry Jeffords stepped out of the captain’s office. The big man’s frame seemed to fill half the doorway, his broad shoulders and serious expression commanding attention. He clapped his massive hands together a couple times, the sound cutting through the noise like a starter’s pistol.“Alright, listen up, everybody,” Terry called out, his deep voice booming across the bullpen. “New captain’s here. Captain Raymond Holt. Let’s make a good impression. Phones down, backs straight, try not to embarrass me on day one. This is important.”Captain Holt walked in right behind him—tall, composed, and dressed in a suit that looked sharper than most people’s Sunday best. The fabric was crisp, the fit impeccable, and everything about him screamed precision. His face stayed neutral, almost unreadable, but his eyes swept the room with quiet intensity, taking in every detail from the cluttered desks to the half-hearted attempts at organization. This wasn’t the easygoing captain they’d gotten used to, the one who let things slide as long as the cases got closed. Holt meant business, and everyone felt it immediately.“Good morning,” Holt said, his voice steady and clear, carrying through the bullpen without needing to raise it. “I’m Captain Holt. I’ve reviewed the precinct’s performance records, and while the solve rates are solid, we’re going to raise the standard across the board. Professionalism, precision, results. That starts right now. I expect everyone to adjust accordingly.”Amy sat up straighter in her chair almost instantly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. This was exactly the kind of leadership she’d been waiting for—someone who valued structure and dedication the way she did. She nodded to herself, already mentally preparing to show Holt just how prepared she could be.Jake, on the other hand, let out an audible groan and slumped deeper into his chair, his sneakers still propped up. He ran a hand through his hair, sensing the fun draining out of the place like air from a punctured tire. “Great,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Amy to catch. “Another rule book guy. This is gonna be fun.”Holt continued without missing a beat, turning to Sergeant Jeffords with the same calm authority. “Sergeant, walk me through the team. I want to know who I’m working with here.”Terry nodded, stepping forward and gesturing around the bullpen with one big hand. He kept his voice respectful but warm, the way he always did when bridging the gap between the team and new leadership. “Yes, Captain. Over there is Detective Amy Santiago—top notch, always prepared, handles her cases with real thoroughness and organization. Detective Jacob Peralta—our best closer by far, even if he’s… creative about how he gets there. Detective Rosa Diaz—tough as nails, gets the job done no matter what. Detective Charles Boyle—solid partner, reliable in the field, and a real food enthusiast if you ever need recommendations. And Gina Linetti handles admin—she keeps the place running on the civilian side.”Holt nodded at each one as Terry pointed them out, his expression remaining measured. But his gaze lingered a little longer on Jake when Terry mentioned the “creative” part. Jake, never one to miss an opportunity, offered a lazy salute from his chair, flashing that trademark easy grin.“Hey, Captain. Welcome to the fun factory,” Jake said, his tone light and casual, like he was greeting an old buddy instead of a new boss. “We’ve got coffee that’s mostly drinkable and cases that solve themselves if you know the right moves.”Holt didn’t smile. Not even a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I prefer results over fun, Detective,” he replied evenly, his eyes locking onto Jake’s. “We’ll talk about your tie later. And the general… atmosphere around here.”Jake glanced down at his open collar, the lack of any tie obvious against his rumpled shirt, and chuckled like it was the most minor detail in the world. “Tie? Come on, it’s Brooklyn. Nobody’s gonna confess to a murder because my neckwear is on point. Results are what matter, right?”Amy smirked from her desk, clearly enjoying the exchange way more than she should. She leaned back slightly, arms crossed, watching Holt put Jake on the spot. Rosa Diaz leaned against her own desk with her arms crossed, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp. She watched everything with her usual unreadable expression, giving nothing away—though the faintest hint of amusement might have flickered across her face for half a second before disappearing.Charles Boyle hovered nearby, fidgeting a little as he kept glancing toward Rosa. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly working up some internal courage while trying not to stare too obviously.While the new captain settled in at his office and started reviewing files with Terry—voices low and professional as they went over precinct stats and expectations—Boyle finally worked up the nerve to approach Gina Linetti at her desk. Gina was typing with one hand while scrolling her phone with the other, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the morning so far. Her expression screamed boredom mixed with that signature sarcasm, lips pursed as she swiped through whatever feed was currently entertaining her more than actual work.Boyle hovered for a second, wiping his palms on his pants before clearing his throat. He kept his voice low but excited, leaning in like they were sharing state secrets. “Hey, Gina. Got a second? It’s about Rosa. I’ve been thinking about asking her out. Like, properly this time. Not just the awkward small talk in the break room. Maybe you could give me some pointers? She’s just… incredible. Tough, smart, that whole intimidating vibe that makes my knees weak but in the best possible way. I was thinking maybe something with cheese—artisanal, you know? Like a nice charcuterie board from that place in Williamsburg. Or a poem? Something heartfelt but not too over the top. What do you think?”Gina raised an eyebrow, setting her phone down slowly with deliberate drama. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and letting a sarcastic smile spread across her face. The kind of smile that said she was already mentally writing the group chat update about this conversation. “Boyle, you absolute romantic disaster. Rosa? You’re braver than I thought. Or dumber. I can’t decide which yet. What makes you think she’d go for the guy who once cried over a soup recipe? Actual tears, Charles. Over consommé. I still have the video somewhere.”Boyle’s face flushed but he powered through, gesturing wildly with both hands as he launched into more details. His enthusiasm was pure Boyle—earnest, a little chaotic, and completely oblivious to how hopeless it might sound to anyone else. “I know, I know, but that was different! The soup had layers, Gina. Emotional depth. Just like Rosa. I feel like we have a real connection. Remember that stakeout last month? We talked about molecular gastronomy for like twenty minutes. She didn’t punch me once. Not even a warning glare. She actually nodded when I mentioned spherification. That’s basically flirting in Rosa language, right? I mean, she could’ve just grunted or threatened to break my fingers, but she engaged. That counts for something.”Gina laughed under her breath, shaking her head as she spun slightly in her chair. She picked up a pen just to twirl it between her fingers, clearly entertained despite herself. “Engaged? Boyle, she was probably calculating the quickest way to hide your body if you kept talking. But okay, fine. Let’s workshop this trainwreck. You want pointers? First off, lose the poem idea. Unless it’s a haiku about how you’ll shut up if she says yes. And cheese? Sure, lean into your weird food thing, but don’t make it the whole date. She’s not gonna melt because you brought aged cheddar and prosciutto. Maybe start with something normal. Like, ‘Hey Rosa, nice work on that bust yesterday’ without turning it into an ode to her handcuff technique.”Boyle nodded eagerly, pulling out a crumpled napkin from his pocket and scribbling notes with the pen he borrowed from her desk. “Right, right. Compliment the work first. Keep it professional. Then ease into the personal. But what if she gives me that stare? You know the one—the one that makes you feel like she’s already planned three different ways to kill you? Should I have a backup plan? Maybe flowers? No, too cliché. Or that rare cheese from the market? I could bring a small board, nothing overwhelming. Just a conversation starter. ‘This Comté pairs well with strong, silent types.’ Too much? Tell me honestly.”Gina snorted, leaning forward with her chin resting on her hand. Her sarcasm was in full swing now, but there was a glint of actual amusement in her eyes. She was enjoying this way too much. “Honestly? You’re doomed, but it’s gonna be hilarious to watch. A small board is still a board, Boyle. You’re gonna show up looking like a waiter from a pretentious bistro. If she breaks your heart—and she absolutely will, let’s be real—I’m selling tickets to the aftermath. Front row seats. Maybe even live-tweet it. ‘Day one of Boyle’s doomed crush: the cheese incident.’”Boyle paused his scribbling, looking a mix of hopeful and slightly wounded. “Come on, Gina. Don’t jinx it. I’m serious about this. Rosa’s different. She’s not like other people in the precinct. She’s… intense. In a good way. The way she handles suspects, the way she just owns every room she walks into. I respect that. I want to show her I can keep up. Maybe not in the hand-to-hand combat department, but in the appreciation department. Good food, good conversation. I could even learn some self-defense tips from her on the date. Win-win.”

aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n