Work Text:
Reasons why Rosa Diaz is angry angrier than usual tonight:
1. Gina has been yelling about Seven-Drink Amy since two o’clock that afternoon. It’s now eight, and Gina’s already poured three shots down Amy’s throat in the twenty minutes the three of them have been at Shaw’s.
2. Amy isn’t even trying to stop Gina.
3. Jake isn’t stopping Gina, either. To be fair, Jake isn’t even there. He said he needed to stay at the precinct. He’d muttered something about Terry and cats. He’d been clearly distracted. Rosa hadn’t asked.
4. Gina and Amy won’t stop singing Spice Girls, which is making this beer particularly difficult to enjoy in silence the way she usually would.
“Will you idiots shut up already?” Rosa growls. Gina shoots her a withering glare, and Amy continues thrashing on her barstool (Rosa thinks she might be trying to do the cabbage patch dance and it’s a miracle that no glasses have shattered in the process).
“Rosa-a,” Gina hiccups mid-whine, accidentally drawing the name out into three syllables. “Don’t take this from me. I’ll get my Loch Ness tonight, I’ll get my Seven-Drink Amy.”
“G, G,” Amy shouts excitedly, “teach me the doogie.” She swats Gina’s arm almost hard enough to bruise.
“Dougie.” Gina corrects, batting Amy’s hand away. “And no, take your fourth shot.” Gina thrusts a tiny glass full of clear liquid into Amy’s hand, and Amy tips it back. The glass hits the bar just as Amy groans and shudders against the burning sensation trickling down her throat. “Yes. One more, barkeep!” Gina pounds her open hand against the bar and the bartender sighs.
“Gina,” Rosa warns. Amy seems to be having a hard time remembering how to blink - her eyelids seem to be sticking closed, and her hands have risen to drift up and down her suddenly bared neck.
“Trust me, Rosa, you don’t want this Amy to stick around. Jake’s the only one who can control Four-Drink Ames anymore, and you know if he ends up showing up he’ll make me stop.”
“I don’t think that would be a bad thing.”
Gina ignores Rosa and presses yet another full shot glass into Amy’s hand, and Amy drinks it without hesitation. “We’re getting so close, babe, just a few more -”
Amy whips around in her barstool, and Rosa would think she’s scanning the bar if her eyes weren’t so glazed. “‘M’gonna go kick ass at darts,” she mumbles as she hops off the stool.
Rosa cranes her head around and spots the group already gathered around the dartboard: beefy, sweaty, leather-clad biker dudes who’ve been glancing up at the bar in their general direction all night. It’s more annoying than anything else, but she really doesn’t want to have to deal with Amy riling them all up. “Santiago,” Rosa says sharply.
Amy pauses and teeters a little as she looks back at Rosa. “I really don’t think that’s a great idea,” Gina says, hopping off her own stool to corral Amy back to the bar. “Let’s do more shots!”
“I wanna go kick some ass darts,” Amy says, shoving Gina’s arm out of the way. She pauses, shakes her head, and says “dart asses,” before continuing her charge forward. Rosa leaps off the stool and seizes Amy by the collar of her shirt, ignoring Amy’s strangled cry of protest.
“You’re done,” Rosa says, both to Gina and Amy. She grabs Amy’s purse from beneath the bar and slings it over her own shoulder and marches Amy outside while Gina trails behind.
“Diaz! I swear to God, I can take them! I can take ‘em out, I can win -”
“I know you can, you moron, just shut up about it.”
Amy seems to find solid ground, for suddenly she lurches to a stop and her collar slips from Rosa’s fingers. Rosa turns slowly to find Amy in a fighting stance - both feet spread, hands raised in fists - and as Gina and Rosa watch, Amy manages a drunken snarl. “D’you wanna fight about it?” She hiccups.
Gina snorts. “Not really,” Rosa says, cocking an eyebrow in amusement.
“‘Cause I could kick your ass, y’know.”
“Sure you could.”
“Gimme my keys.”
This actually gets a laugh out of Rosa. “You really think I’m gonna let you drive yourself home? You can barely keep your eyes open.”
“I’m not going home, I’m going to Jake’s.”
“He’s not there. He stayed at work tonight, remember?”
Amy scoffs. “That’s just what he wanted you to think. We’re dating.” She taps her temple clumsily. “I know things,” she whispers conspiratorially.
“I’m thinkin’ my Loch Ness conquest was a bad idea,” Gina murmurs. “Confident Amy is one thing, but she’s a whole new beast when she’s boning Peralta. I need to rewrite my Santiago Drink Scale.”
Amy’s eyes widen and she points at Gina, nodding furiously while maintaining borderline aggressive eye-contact with Rosa. “Listen to her, Diaz. She knows things, too.”
“Whatever. You’re not driving yourself anywhere right now. Gina -”
“Oh no, she’s not getting in my car, what if she hurls?”
“You did this to her, you deserve to clean it up.”
“I’m not letting that -” Amy’s now pretending to box right there in the middle of the parking lot “- into my car. No way.”
Amy pauses mid-upper-cut and retches, but nothing comes out.
“Fine. I’ll drive her home. But I’ll never let you forget this, Linetti.”
Gina’s already trotting away, waving over her shoulder. “‘Kay, thanks Rosa, bye!”
Rosa glares at Gina’s retreating figure before sighing quietly and turning back to Amy, who’s also watching Gina. “She just can’t hang,” Amy whispers.
“Neither can you. Get in your car.”
“But -”
“Not a discussion, Santiago. Get in the car.”
She huffs and slumps her shoulders but thankfully begins trudging across the parking lot toward her car without any further argument. Rosa digs through Amy’s purse until she feels keys. Amy’s taken residence at the driver’s side door, hand on the handle, staring blankly at the window as if looking long enough will force the door unlocked. Rosa gently shoulders Amy out of the way, gesturing to the passenger’s side, and she waits until Amy’s buckled in before actually sliding into the driver’s seat.
Amy’s quiet until Rosa starts the car, and then she starts giggling. “What?” Rosa deadpans.
“I was just thinkin’ about this one time, um, when we were leaving the bar. I was driving us home and…and Jake was really, uh, happy to see me, if you know what I -”
“Okay.” Rosa interrupts loudly. “That’s enough.”
Five-Drink Amy has officially faded into Four-Drink Amy, and Rosa needs to find water soon or else she’s going to have a very hard time making eye-contact with Peralta tomorrow at work.
Luckily there’s a half-full water bottle in the cupholder on Amy’s side, so Rosa points at it and demands that Amy chug the whole thing before they leave the parking lot.
When the bottle is empty, Amy’s eyes seem a little clearer, and she bobs her head to music that she alone seems to hear. Perfect.
“What’re you gonna do about your bike?” Amy asks halfway to her apartment.
“I’ll get it tomorrow morning. You’re gonna bring me back here.”
Amy groans and turns her gaze out her window, but says nothing more.
Rosa slows and parks by the curb outside of Amy’s apartment building. “C’mon, let’s go.”
“How? I don’t have a key.”
“What? How do you not have a key to your own apartment?”
“I gave it to Jake so he could make a copy. He’s had it for a week.”
“…there’s a key cutter in the building next to his apartment.”
“I know! But it hasn’t mattered because we’ve gone to my place together every night since then -”
“- except tonight! What the hell, Santiago!”
“I forgot!”
Rosa throws her head back and growls at the ceiling. “You’re not coming to my place. No way. Ask your landlord for a spare or something -”
“It’s one in the morning, Diaz, I’m not gonna wake my landlord up because my idiot boyfriend has my house key!”
“Don’t you have a spare?”
“Yeah, in a drawer in my kitchen!”
“You are so stupid when you’re drunk, Santiago, I swear to God -”
“Can I just please crash on your couch? Please? You’ve crashed on my couch before!”
Maybe it’s the fact that Amy’s still hiccuping every now and then, or the fact that her hair has fallen loose from that stupid slicked-back librarian bun she insists on wearing it in so that soft wisps drift around her face beneath the blowing air from her car vents like some kind of damn cartoon princess, but Rosa feels her resolve crumbling. “No one from work has ever been to my apartment.” She says through clenched teeth.
“I know.”
“I don’t like people knowing where I live.”
“I know.”
“If I catch you even on my street in the future, I’ll kick your teeth in one by one.”
Amy’s face lights up. “So I can crash on your couch tonight?”
“I swear to God, if you throw up on any of my furniture I’m gonna make you lick it clean in the morning.”
Amy’s face folds a little in disgust, but otherwise she appears unhampered. “Okay. Got it. No throwing up.”
Rosa yanks the car into drive and pulls away from the curb, doing her best to seem as cold as possible to discourage any further conversation.
Amy’s quiet in an almost reverent way when Rosa pulls up outside of her apartment building. “Not a word.” Rosa warns, and Amy nods slowly. She completely takes charge once Amy’s out of the car, leading the way up to her apartment without a backwards glance. “Remember, each tooth. One at a time.” Rosa growls to her door.
She hears Amy’s sharp intake of breath once she flips the lights on, and has to grind her teeth together to keep from threatening her again. “Rosa,” Amy chokes.
The apartment definitely doesn’t look like the Rosa she presents at the precinct, and it almost makes her smile. Cushy brown leather armchairs and a matching couch form a semicircle around a beautifully ornate fireplace. The fireplace is made of exposed brick, as is the entire wall that bares it, and the whole room is made up of warm shades of brown and red and burgundy. Soft knit creme and gold blankets are draped over the backs of her chairs and a mahogany coffee table weighed down with a beautiful candle arrangement and a small spread of minimalist magazines marks the center of the furniture ring. A giant flat-screen television is mounted to the wall above the fireplace, and a potted plant with a vine stretching lazily all the way down to the floor sits in the window.
Rosa drops Amy’s purse unceremoniously beside the door and turns on her heel to cross her arms over her chest, glaring at Amy pointedly.
Amy looks utterly terrified. “Your apartment is nice.” She squeaks.
Rosa smirks.
“Take your shoes off.” She says, and Amy kicks the chunky boots off and swipes them up with her foot to lay in a heap beside her purse. “You can sleep on the couch.”
Amy pads through the apartment timidly, looking around like she can’t quite believe where she is, and Rosa watches her perch on the edge of the couch. “Where’s your bathroom?” She asks after a beat of silence.
Rosa points toward her bedroom. “First doorway on the right.”
Amy scampers off. Rosa waits a beat and smirks again when she hears Amy gasp at the ornate mahogany sleigh bed and the thick maroon comforter and the literal dozen pillows decorating her darkened bedroom. She knows Amy will probably spend a few minutes scanning the photographs on top of her dresser, so she pulls down two pint glasses from her cabinet and fills them with ice and water.
She’s waiting on the couch when Amy reemerges a predictable ten minutes later, and she hands her the glass. “Drink this,” she instructs as Amy drops to the couch beside her.
She gulps down half the cup and coughs when she comes back up for air. “Thanks, Rosa,” she says softly. “Your apartment is really gorgeous.”
Luckily Amy’s phone starts ringing in her purse across the room before Rosa has to respond. Rosa rolls her eyes at Amy’s back as Amy rushes to dig through her purse.
“It’s Jake,” she mutters to herself when she finally pulls it out. “Hey,” she answers. “Oh, no, I’m fine. I’m at Rosa’s.” Amy shoots Rosa a sudden, apologetic glance. “Uh…I can’t tell you?”
Rosa stands and lumbers across the room and snatches the phone out of Amy’s hand. “Peralta.” She snaps when the phone is to her ear.
“So you invite Amy over but not me?” He sniffs. “I gotta say, Diaz, I’m offended.”
“She’s only over here because she was too drunk to drive herself home and you still haven’t given her house key back to her.”
She can practically hear him slumping down on the other end of the line. “Crap. Sorry. Is she okay?”
Rosa glances down at Amy, who has teetered backwards from sitting on her haunches, and is now sitting cross-legged and is staring up at Rosa through wide, almost child-like eyes. “Yeah, she’s fine. Little annoying, but no more so than usual.”
“I can come get her -”
“Not a chance in hell. Nice try.”
“Damn it! I’ll figure out where you live if it’s the last thing I do, Diaz -”
“Goodbye.” She ends the call and thrusts the phone back to Amy. “You already know what I’m about to say.”
“Look, I don’t totally get why you don’t want anyone to know where you live, but I know you well enough to just trust you on this. So, no, I won’t tell anyone. Not even Jake.”
Rosa stares for a beat before offering Amy a hand up. “I’ve got movies,” she says as she hauls Amy to her feet.
It ends up being…not terrible. They watch cop movies and laugh at the inaccuracies. Around four in the morning, Amy dozes off for a couple of minutes, and somehow her head ends up on Rosa’s shoulder. Rosa doesn’t move again until Amy suddenly jerks awake and apologizes sleepily. By the time the sun has started rising, Rosa’s stretched out across the couch, her feet kicked up into Amy’s lap, and Amy’s feet are in turn propped up on the coffee table. They’re both a little delirious, Amy’s a little giggly, and Rosa can’t get rid of the soft smile currently taking residence on her face.
“Thanks for letting me crash here,” Amy says off-handedly just as Rosa’s old grandfather clock chimes 7 AM.
“Thanks for not hurling on my stuff,” Rosa says with a shrug.
They shuffle out of her apartment without exchanging another word. This time, Amy drives them back to the bar, and she waits until Rosa’s astride her Harley before they both pull out of the parking lot. It’s unspoken, but they both go straight to the precinct - Rosa following behind Amy. Rosa sees Amy touching up her makeup and spritzing herself with perfume at a red light through the back windshield and smirks to herself.
Jake looks about as dead on his feet as Rosa’s sure Amy feels, but he still lights up when he sees them stepping off the elevator together. “I didn’t think you guys were gonna make it on time,” he says through a toothy grin, trotting forward to meet them just inside the bullpen gate.
Rosa pauses, hand on her cocked hip, as Jake pecks Amy’s lips. “I’m always on time, Peralta,” Amy says with a smirk when he leans away.
It’s almost like they forget Rosa’s there; they fall into the easy, flirty rhythm of a couple in love, walking to their desks so closely their shoulders bump. Rosa backs slowly toward her desk, watching them settle in as subtly as she can, and drops into her desk chair.
She sees the question on Jake’s lips and the way Amy’s eyes light up with amusement, so she’s ready when Amy shoots her a glance. They hold each other’s gazes for a brief moment, before Amy grins and turns back to Jake to shake her head.
Jake slams his fists on his desk, and Rosa toggles her computer mouse awake. Her internet browser is still pulled up from the night before, so while Jake barters loudly with Amy for information on where Rosa lives in exchange for “that good lovin’,” she types in a quick Google search on open apartment listings in the nine-nine.
She trusts Amy, of course, but it’s just good sense to never let anyone know where she lives.