[New York City Hall – Grand Ballroom] [Two Weeks Later] [11 AM]
The city's brass filled every row of the ballroom. The stage was adorned with dark blue velvet, and the podium displayed the city seal. A banner stretched across the back wall, reading:
NYPD Honors: Valor in the Face of Darkness
Mayor Reynolds stood at the mic, flanked by Commissioner Ramierez and Captain Holt. Cameras clicked softly. Reporters shifted for a better angle.
"We gather here today not only to acknowledge bravery," the mayor began, "but also precision, resolve, and an unwavering commitment to protect this city."
He paused.
"Over the last month, New York was placed in the crosshairs of one of the largest underground smuggling operations in modern history. Weapons, narcotics, human trafficking, and a staggering gold shipment meant to fund further violence around the globe."
He looked down at the papers in front of him.
"And when faced with the impossible, the members of Brooklyn's Nine-Nine Precinct didn't flinch. They acted with skill, courage, and sacrifice. And because of them, there were zero civilian casualties. Ninety-three hostages returned home. Multiple international criminals were captured. And a criminal pipeline beneath our streets was shut down."
Applause broke out.
Rosa stood beside Raymond offstage, both in dress blues. Her arm was out of the sling, though still stiff. Raymond stood at ease. But his eyes scanned every person in the room. Instinct, not habit.
The mayor raised a hand.
"First, the Medal of Honor. Awarded to individuals who display exceptional heroism and risk their lives in the line of duty."
He turned toward the two officers now stepping onto the stage.
"Detective Rosa Diaz. Officer Raymond White. For infiltrating the Westcourt Mall during an active terrorist occupation. For saving the lives of nearly one hundred civilians. For engaging in direct combat with armed enemies. And for the successful capture of the operation's mastermind."
Rosa stepped forward first. The mayor pinned the medal over her left breast. She gave a short nod, expression unreadable as usual.
Then Raymond stepped forward. The mayor pinned the medal on Raymond's chest. He gave the smallest nod.
The applause came fast and thunderous.
Cameras flashed.
Rosa whispered as they stepped back, "This is so weird. I don't like this, but I am somewhat happy."
Raymond replied, "Well, at least you are happy."
The mayor raised his hand again.
"Next, the Police Combat Cross. For performance of exceptional courage in the face of extreme danger during direct engagement."
Jake stepped onto the stage with the grin of a man who couldn't quite believe this wasn't a dream. He straightened his already-straight shirt and saluted with absolute seriousness.
"For taking down a heavily armed smuggling unit. For recovering millions in illicit cargo at the Brooklyn morgue site."
Jake's eyes flicked to the crowd, then to Amy, then back to the mayor.
The medal was pinned to his chest.
He gave a short, respectful nod.
Then whispered to the mic, "Yippee-ki-yay, responsibly and with procedure."
Laughter swept through the crowd.
Jake stepped back with a wink at Terry, who was near tears.
The mayor continued.
"Finally, the Medal of Valor. For decisive bravery under extraordinary threat."
Amy and Boyle stepped onto the stage together. Amy walked confidently, while Boyle appeared to be holding back tears.
"For penetrating enemy-occupied ground at Brooklyn Medical Center. For the identification and interception of the primary suspect, Ivan Preston. And for risking your lives to halt the spread of a biological and human trafficking operation."
Amy stood still as a stone while her medal was attached.
Boyle shook slightly but stood tall.
They turned together and saluted.
The ballroom burst into applause again.
Jake whistled loudly from the crowd. Rosa smirked.
Amy looked down once at the medal, then up at Holt.
He gave a single, small nod.
The mayor spoke again.
"Let these moments remind us that beneath the badge, beneath the title, is the soul of the city. And in our darkest hours, it is these men and women who keep the lights on."
More applause.
The squad gathered afterward in a quiet side hallway behind the ballroom. The press swarmed the lobby. The mayor was giving handshakes. Civilians snapped photos of their heroes.
Holt approached, flanked by Terry. He looked at each of them.
"You brought honor to this precinct. You executed the plan with discipline, courage, and tactical genius. And you did it without ego."
He turned to Raymond.
"You've earned your place. Fully."
Raymond nodded.
Jake threw an arm around Boyle and Amy. "Well, we just made history."
Amy looked at him. "And we almost died."
Jake grinned. "But we didn't. So now... we celebrate."
Rosa cracked a small smile. "Dive bar?"
"Drinks and food on me," Raymond said with a smile.
...
[Nine-Nine Precinct – Briefing Room | 6:49 PM]
The lights were dim. The door was locked. A half-eaten donut sat in the corner of the table, forgotten in the wake of conspiracy.
Jake leaned over the desk like a detective in a noir film, eyes narrowed, voice low.
"Okay. Let me just say what everyone's thinking but no one wants to say out loud."
Amy sighed. "Jake…"
"No, Amy. Let me finish. It's been haunting me. Haunting us. Two Raymonds. Both mysterious. Both are emotionally reserved. Both give off 'I've buried secrets and maybe a few bodies' energy."
Boyle leaned in, whispering dramatically, "You think… they're related?"
Jake nodded solemnly. "What if… and hear me out… Raymond White is Raymond Holt's secret love child?"
Amy groaned. "This again?"
Jake raised a finger. "You tell me it's not weird that they share a first name."
Amy shot back, "Jake, millions of people share first names. That doesn't mean they're all in some covert family bloodline conspiracy."
Jake wasn't convinced. "But what if there was a time when Captain Holt needed money? Like, real bad. Like, 'I sold my car and still couldn't buy cereal' bad."
Boyle chimed in, eyes wide. "You mean, like... he donated his sperm?"
Jake pointed at him like he'd just solved a murder. "Exactly! Captain Holt, fresh out of the academy, desperate, goes to a clinic, donates the goods..."
Amy cut in. "He's gay."
Jake nodded. "Right! Exactly. He's gay. That's why he wouldn't have accidentally made a baby with a woman. But sperm banks? Totally plausible."
Boyle added, "Plus, babies from sperm banks don't know who their dads are until, like, they take a DNA test or track them down through a dramatic journal entry."
Amy stared at them both. "This is nonsense."
Jake leaned back, arms crossed. "Tell me this, Amy. Have you ever seen Holt and White in the same room… being warm with each other?"
Amy blinked. "They're both robots, Jake. That's not evidence."
Jake continued, "They both love order. They both give the same dead-eye stare when they're judging you. They both have this weird thing where they speak softly and somehow still make you feel like a worm."
Boyle leaned in closer. "Plus… they both like black coffee. No cream. No sugar. No joy."
Amy threw her hands up. "White is not... you know what I mean. Literally. That's not even me being insensitive. It's just facts."
Jake looked up at the ceiling, as if asking the universe for clarification. "Okay, maybe White's mom was white. Maybe he takes after her."
Boyle added, "That would explain the skin tone variance. Like a recessive gene situation. The Holt gene skipped the melanin."
Amy slapped the table. "You two are ridiculous."
Jake leaned forward again. "You think it's a coincidence that Holt barely asked questions about White's past? That he never once mentioned anything from White's file in front of us?"
Boyle whispered, "Like he already knew…"
Jake's eyes lit up. "Exactly! Holt saw the name. Saw the skills. Saw the brutality. And in his soul, he knew... 'that's my boy.'"
Amy stood up, furious and exhausted. "I'm going to file paperwork just so I have something real to hold in my hands."
As she stormed out, Boyle looked at Jake.
"You think there's a secret birth certificate?"
Jake narrowed his eyes. "We're gonna find it."
Boyle gasped. "We're doing a stealth mission into White's files, aren't we?"
Jake smiled like a man about to lose his job.
"Oh, absolutely not. You saw how many dead bodies he left in that Mall and his fight with that Russian guy, right? Then they called him the Ghost. I don't want him to fold me in half. So, we are going after Captain's private diary."
...
[Precinct Vending Machine – 7:03 PM]
The fluorescent light above the vending machine buzzed slightly, casting a blue tint over the hallway like a low-budget crime scene. Inside the vending machine, nestled between bottled waters and diet sodas, sat one lone smoothie.
The last one.
Strawberry banana. Cold and glorious. A beacon in a world of mediocrity.
Rosa and Raymond stood shoulder to shoulder, both stone still, both staring at it like it owed them money.
"That's mine," Rosa said flatly.
Raymond didn't move. "Says who?"
Rosa turned her head half an inch. "I've been drinking that brand for three years. It's on record. Check precinct camera logs. I stood right here last Wednesday and drank one during a robbery debrief."
Raymond kept his eyes on the bottle. "I don't care about camera logs. I saw you miss your last three shots at the range last week."
Rosa didn't flinch. "Wind drift."
"There was no wind. It was an indoor range."
"You were breathing loud."
"I wasn't even near you."
Rosa stepped slightly closer. "Either way, that smoothie is mine. As your senior officer, I outrank you."
He finally turned to look at her.
"We made a deal. Shooting contest. You lost."
Rosa tensed just slightly.
He folded his arms. "You owe me one kiss in a bikini. That was the wager. Until that happens... you're not my superior. You're just a sore loser who can't aim under pressure."
Rosa's eyes narrowed. "You're actually going to fight me over a fruit drink?"
"Absolutely."
"You'd better be joking."
"I never joke about smoothies. Or kisses I've earned."
They stood there in silence.
The vending machine whirred like it was nervous.
Rosa finally exhaled. Not a sigh. More like a slow internal threat escaping.
"You're not gonna move, are you?"
Raymond didn't blink. "Not until justice is served."
Both of them narrowed their eyes as if they were in a duel.
"Give it to me and I'll kiss you tonight after work," She said in a low voice.
"Rock, paper, scissors?" Ray said, raising an eyebrow.
Rosa looked at him for a beat longer, then rolled her neck like she was cracking it before a fight.
"Fine. Best of three," she said.
He nodded. "Right hand only. None of that double-clutching sneaky stuff."
They turned to face each other like samurai in front of a smoothie shrine. Rosa raised her fist. Raymond mirrored.
"One… two… three… shoot."
Rosa: Rock.
Raymond: Scissors.
A sly grin tugged at her lip.
"One-zero," she said.
"Still early," he replied.
"One… two… three… shoot."
Rosa: Scissors.
Raymond: Scissors.
They both held, staring.
"Draw," Raymond said.
"No one blinks. Next."
"One… two… three… shoot."
Rosa: Paper.
Raymond: Scissors.
Raymond gave her a slow, smug look, the kind you want to punch or kiss. Maybe both.
"One-one," he said.
"Final round," Rosa muttered, rolling her shoulder.
They locked eyes. Tension so thick it could crack tile.
"One… two… three… shoot."
Rosa: Rock.
Raymond: Paper.
She looked down at her fist like it had betrayed her.
Raymond didn't smile. He just stepped forward, bent slightly, pressed the vending button, and watched the smoothie fall into the tray with a satisfying thunk.
He bent down, grabbed the bottle, twisted off the cap, then took a slow sip, looking at Rosa's face. Then he put the bottle down from his mouth and licked his lips. He winked at her before walking away.
Rosa made a mental note to beat the crap out of that sandbag in her home.
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[28 advance chs] [No double billing.]
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