Chapter Text
The strong pitter-patter of rain enveloped the car, droplets drumming against the windshield held Rio in a trance. The way each drop seemed to collide with the glass mesmerized her. Her gaze locked on the rivulets racing down the glass, each drop colliding and sprawling like vines clinging to a wall. The tiny streams seemed alive, twisting and writhing before disappearing into the oblivion of glass. The steady rhythm of the rain, coupled with the muffled silence inside the car, created a cocoon of detachment.
She did this often now, zoning out when she had things to do, like an unintentional escape from the weight of her new life.
This unfortunate reality loomed ahead in the form of a worn, faded building. Once-orange bricks now tinged with grime stood defiantly against the grey sky, their rough surface pockmarked with years of neglect. The building stood alone at the end of the desolate road, surrounded by a sparse line of trees that swayed in the biting wind. This wasn’t even the main Chicago field office, just a low-tier satellite office reserved for minor investigations and petty crimes. The red and orange foliage of the surrounding trees tried to portray the place as a quaint, almost picturesque quality, but to Rio, it only underscored how much she hated it.
The air here felt different, thick with isolation and a sense of defeat. Rio wondered if they had placed it here for safety reasons, but that quickly left her mind when she remembered that this place only held an insignificant cops and detectives that gave up and embraced mediocrity.
She sighed as she held on tight to the steering wheel, her forehead meeting the cold surface, knuckles turning white and nails digging into the sticky leather.
There she was again, starting from zero like she had seven years ago. Now, she was back to square one. Walking into that ugly building would seal the reality she’d been avoiding: her career as a Supervisory Special Agent seemed like a distant dream now, and her new position, a demotion to Special Agent handling petty cases—felt like a slap in the face. Rio even chuckled at the thought that they didn’t even let her keep the car.
“Government property”, they said.
Now, she sat behind the wheel of a battered Ford Crown Victoria. The car now reeked of stale cigarettes and cheap lavender air freshener, a cruel reminder of how far she’d fallen. The fabric seats were worn thin with some questionable stains, and the dashboard dotted with faint burns. At least they hadn’t barred her from law enforcement altogether, she thought. Small mercies.
Rio turned her head towards her passenger seat, and sure enough, there it was. The letter of demotion, neatly folded and crumpled at the edges from her reading it over and over again. Beside it, the notice for her court proceedings lay mockingly, its embossed seal catching the faint light filtering through the rain-soaked windows. Lifting her head and ignoring the small ache at the back of her neck, she reached for the letter and leaned back in her seat.
She unfolded it slowly, as if it were to be her first time reading it. Her fingers traced the edges of the paper, her gaze skimming over the words she already knew by heart.
“Effective immediately… transfer… violation of protocol…”
Her career, reduced to this lifeless memorandum. She chuckled bitterly to herself, all it needed was a tiny little red bow around it, with a note that said, “Fuck you Vidal, enjoy hell!”.
“How did it come to this?” She thought.
Once the rising star of the FBI, she’d been the agent that was praised in meetings and field reports. Her badge had been a source of pride, gleaming on her hip as she led her team through too many investigations. She’d sacrificed everything for the Bureau: birthdays, friendships, and fuck, even relationships—all for the job. And yet, when things went south, they hadn’t hesitated to throw her to the wolves. In the courtroom, her director had watched her fall with an expression as cold and detached as the government lawyers debating her fate. Each word they spoke had felt like a nail in the coffin of her career.
The burn of tears welled in the corners of her eyes brought her back to the present, she quickly shut the letter and tossed it aside. It landed somewhere between the seat and the muddy floor mat.
She sighed, sat up straight, and relaxed her shoulders. Closing her eyes tightly and forcing the tears away, reminding herself to be objective.
If she’d climbed the ladder once, she could do it again. She had to.
Once she was sure the tears were gone, she opened her eyes and took a deep breath. She angled her rearview mirror and met her own gaze. Determined brown eyes staring right back at her.
“Get it together Vidal, it’s just a job.”
Her voice was steadier than she expected, the words more a command than reassurance.
Determined to make a good first impression, she adjusted her hair and the collar of her shirt. Her up do allowing a few brown strands to cascade down her face just right, softening the sharp edges of her expression. Her white button-down was unfastened just enough to suggest she wasn’t a total stiff, and her grey blazer and tailored pants completed the picture of a professional still in control—even if she barely believed it herself.
Rio ran her hands down her jacket and pants as to dust it off, as if the motion could cleanse her of the past. Even if it only had been a few months since her fall from grace, this was a new beginning, and it needed treated as such.
She adjusted the rearview mirror and grabbed the door handle. The bitter chill of rain met her skin as she pushed the door open, droplets soaking through her sleeve almost instantly.
“Fuck,” she hissed, slamming the door shut again.
She’d forgotten her coat. Of course.
Leaning back, she exhaled slowly, letting the tension roll off her shoulders. Her eyes drifted back to the building looming ahead, its dimly lit windows like eyes watching her every move. There was no going back now. This was her life, for better or worse.
“Keep your cool, Vidal,” she whispered, steeling herself for what lay ahead.
Rain still pounded against the windshield, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo her own heartbeat. With one last deep breath, she opened the door again and stepped out into the grey.
She held her breath all the way to the glass double doors, each step quick and purposeful. Rain lashed against her grey blazer, soaking through to her shirt and stung on her skin, but she didn’t stop. Walking hurriedly, she bumped into a few cops on the way there, but she didn’t care to apologize because the rain was far too cold to stop or slow down.
Once in, she was met with chaos. A single phone rang incessantly, its shrill tone competing with the clatter of keyboards and the low murmur of voices raised in frustration. The dim lights cast a sad glow over the worn linoleum floors and mismatched furniture. The air smelled faintly of burnt coffee and damp paper, an unholy blend that immediately made her miss the sterile, polished halls back in Virginia.
A detective brushed past her, his shoulder bumping hers. “Welcome to the jungle, new girl,” he muttered with a smirk, not bothering to slow down.
Rio straightened her shoulders, refusing to let the disarray intimidate her. She offered the man a polite nod. The clamor around her was a far cry from the disciplined order she’d grown accustomed to, but she wouldn’t let it rattle her. Not today.
Her eyes swept over the precinct, taking in the cluttered desks piled high with case files, the bulletin boards crowded with photographs and sticky notes, and the officers walking from one end of the room to the other like they had all eternity. This was her new reality, dead and unpolished. She would adapt.
Rio adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her fingers brushing against the leather for a sense of reassurance. Her nail began scratching at it anxiously as she approached the office of the captain, a door adorned with a frosted glass panel and his name emblazoned in bold letters: Captain James Delaney.
She cleared her throat and straightened her posture. Taking a steadying breath, she raised her hand and knocked on the glass firmly, the sound cutting through the noise of the precinct.
“Come on in,” came the gruff response from inside.
Rio pushed the door open and stepped into the office. It was a cramped, cluttered space dominated by an oversized mahogany desk buried under stacks of paperwork. A coffee mug with a permanent stain on the rim, and comic sans font that read “#1 Dad” sat precariously near the edge, next to a half-eaten sandwich. The room smelled faintly of old books and fresh coffee, and soft music played on an old iPod touch next to his keyboard. A stark contrast to the chaos outside.
Behind the desk sat Captain James Delaney, a heavyset weathered man in his late fifties. His salt-and-pepper hair seemed a tad bit grown out, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto Rio the moment she entered. He leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his belly, the leather creaking under his weight, and gestured for her to sit.
“Vidal, right?” he asked, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence.
“Yes, sir,” Rio replied.
She smiled politely and took the seat opposite him. She kept her posture straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the wooden chair moving slightly under her weight. She prayed she wouldn’t collapse with it.
The captain studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “This isn’t the FBI,” he began, his tone blunt but not unkind. “We don’t have the budget, the manpower, or the luxury to follow every protocol. You’ll figure that out soon enough.”
Rio nodded, her jaw tightening slightly. “I’ll make it work, don’t worry Captain.” she said firmly, trying to sound hopeful.
Delaney’s gaze softened slightly, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Look, Vidal,” he said, his voice lowering. “I know what it’s like to start over. It’s not easy, and it sure as hell isn’t fair. But if you’re still here, it means someone up top thinks you’re still worth it. Don’t waste that.”
Rio blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected note of empathy. She nodded again, this time more sincerely. “Thank you, Captain.”
He leaned back again, the moment of softness gone as quickly as it had come. “Good. You’ll be partnered with Detective Harkness. Don’t expect a warm welcome. Your desk is in view of hers—I’m hoping she’ll keep you in check.”
Rio raised an eyebrow but said nothing, deciding it was best not to ask what exactly needed “keeping in check.” Instead, she rose from her seat and extended a hand. “I appreciate the opportunity, Captain. I promise to do my best.”
Delaney shook her hand, his grip firm. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in a week,” he said with a faint smirk. “Just remember – ”
The sound of the door slamming open cut him off. Both turned to see a woman stride in with an air of confident nonchalance. She was dressed in a worn blue flannel, paired with black pants and scuffed combat boots. Her wavy, curly hair was pulled into a disheveled ponytail, loose strands framing her sharp features. In one hand, she carried a coffee cup, which she tossed toward the trash can halfway across the room. It missed, clattering to the floor without so much as a glance back.
She scanned Rio briefly, her dark eyes assessing and unimpressed, before rolling them dramatically. “This her? Fantastic. Another suit with something to prove,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Rio remained composed, her tone calm but firm. “It’s Detective Vidal.” She extended her hand for the women to shake but was met with an eye roll.
The woman’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Right. That’ll last about a week here.”
“Harkness,” Delaney cut in sharply, his tone carrying a note of warning. “Show Detective Vidal around. Help her settle in.”
Agatha raised an eyebrow, the smirk fading into a look of mild irritation. “Settle in? I’m not exactly running a concierge service here, Cap.”
“You’ll make time,” Delaney replied, his voice steady but firm. “Start with the layout, then give her a rundown of current caseloads. And Harkness?”
Agatha paused, annoyed. “Yeah?”
“Try to be... professional,” he said, a hint of dry humor softening the edge of his words.
Agatha scoffed, turning toward Rio. “Alright, suit. Follow me. Let’s get this over with.”
Rio squared her shoulders and nodded, stepping in line with Agatha as she strode out of the office. The faint creak of Delaney’s chair and the sound of shuffling papers followed them out. Agatha led Rio briskly through the precinct, her boots echoing on the linoleum floor. She didn’t look back to see if Rio was following, her focus instead on the path ahead.
As they walked, Rio’s eyes flicked over Agatha, taking in her appearance and body language.
The woman moved with a sort of careless confidence, her boots clunking heavily against the linoleum floor. Her disheveled ponytail and worn flannel suggested someone who couldn’t care less about appearances, a stark contrast to the sharp professionalism Rio had spent years perfecting. Everything about Agatha screamed rebellion, and Rio couldn’t help but wonder if it was intentional or simply who she was.
What’s her deal? Rio thought, watching the slight sway of Agatha’s shoulders as she led the way.
Is she always like this, or is she trying to make a point?
The dismissive wave at the precinct’s chaos and her curt tone with Delaney hinted at someone who didn’t care for authority or structure. Rio had seen agents like this before—the lone wolves who thrived on bending the rules, quick to scoff at anyone who didn’t share their approach.
As they passed a cluster of desks, Rio noticed how some officers glanced up briefly at Agatha but quickly looked away, their expressions ranging from respect to unease. Agatha didn’t acknowledge them, her focus straight ahead. There was a tension about her, an energy that seemed to fill the space around her. Rio couldn’t decide if it was intimidating or just obnoxious.
She’s testing me, Rio realized, her fingers brushing the strap of her bag. Everything about Agatha’s behavior so far—the sarcasm, the flippant attitude, the smirk—was calculated. She was trying to see how far she could push before Rio snapped. It was a game; one Rio had no intention of losing.
Still, Rio couldn’t ignore the faint unease creeping into her chest. Agatha’s reputation must precede her if even the captain was quick to issue a warning. And that little smirk… what’s she hiding behind it? Rio made a mental note to stay on guard. Agatha seemed like the type who thrived on exploiting weakness, and Rio had already handed her enough ammunition for one day.
Focus, she reminded herself, drawing in a steadying breath. This wasn’t Virginia. This wasn’t the Bureau. She couldn’t expect people like Agatha to fit into the molds she was used to. If she wanted to make this work, she had to adapt.
“Here’s your kingdom,” Agatha said with a dismissive wave toward a small, cluttered desk shoved against the far wall near her own. The black chair looked ready to collapse, one wheel missing entirely. Papers were already scattered across the surface, as if someone had halfheartedly attempted to clear it.
“Don’t expect anyone to roll out the red carpet,” Agatha added, her tone laced with sarcasm.
Rio took a moment to assess the desk, her eyes narrowing slightly as she noticed its sorry state.
Her gaze shifted to Agatha, who stood with an air of smug satisfaction. The sharp lines of her smirk seemed to cut through the air, daring Rio to show any hint of displeasure. Rio straightened her back and forced herself to maintain an even tone. “It’ll do. Thanks for showing me, Detective Harkness.”
Agatha’s smirk deepened; the expression almost predatory. “Sure, princess. Let’s see how long that attitude lasts.”
Before Rio could respond, Agatha dropped a towering stack of disorganized paperwork onto the desk with a thud that seemed intentionally loud. The forms were yellowed at the edges, some smudged with ink and coffee stains. It was a mess of bureaucratic chaos.
“Captain wants us to stay busy,” Agatha said, her tone carrying a sharp edge. “You can handle these. Shouldn’t be too hard for someone with an FBI background, right?”
Rio’s fingers brushed over the top sheet as she glanced at the stack, her composure faltering slightly at the sheer volume. She began flipping through the forms, quickly realizing they were an unorganized mix of outdated incident reports and procedural logs that required no critical thought. Her lips pressed into a thin line of irritation, but she masked it well. “If this is what needs to get done, I’ll take care of it.”
“Good to hear,” Agatha said, walking a few feet away and leaning casually against her own desk. She took a long sip from her coffee cup, her gaze never leaving Rio. “Let’s see if you handle it as perfectly as the Bureau taught you.”
Rio felt the jab hit its mark but refused to rise to the bait. As she settled into the precarious chair, she allowed herself a brief thought: She’s testing me. Every word, every action is calculated. She wants me to break. Rio pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand, but her movements became sharper, more deliberate.
Agatha, meanwhile, settled into her own chair, arms crossed as she watched Rio with a predatory glint in her eyes. To her, this was all part of the game—seeing how far she could push the newcomer. Bureaucrats like Rio always cracked eventually, their rigid exteriors crumbling under the weight of the chaos they thought they could fix.
“You know,” Agatha said suddenly, her voice cutting through the monotony of rustling papers, “these forms? Total waste of time. But hey, maybe you’ll find some hidden FBI-level insight buried in there.” She leaned forward slightly, her tone dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Just don’t get too attached to that desk. We don’t do assigned seating here, princess.”
Rio exhaled slowly, setting down her pen for a moment to meet Agatha’s gaze. “If you have a problem with me, Detective Harkness, maybe we should address it directly.”
Agatha raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Problem? No problem. Just making sure you know where you stand.” She gestured to the messy desk and wobbly chair. “Welcome to the real world, Vidal.”
Rio felt a flicker of irritation as she turned back to the paperwork. Agatha’s smirk wasn’t just mocking—it was a challenge.
She thinks I’m fragile, Rio thought, flipping through another outdated form. If she expects me to fold, she’s going to be disappointed.
Agatha, catching the faint crease forming between Rio’s brows, approached the other woman’s desk, her hands on either side of it, staring directly into brown eyes.
“Listen, Vidal. I work alone. Stay out of my way, and we’ll be fine.”
Rio looked up, her steady gaze locking onto Agatha’s. Despite the simmering irritation beneath her calm exterior, her voice remained measured as she met blue.
“That’s not how partnerships work, Harkness.”
The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment before Agatha let out a short scoff, shaking her head. “We’ll see.”