Once he’d made his decision clear, she did not waste time. There are steps to take, and things to be done, and walls to rebuild.
So many walls.
She’d taken only the things truly hers: clothing, incidentals, books, her computer, her files, her porn. Her Xbox, her games, her tv, her stereo. The shoebox apartment she shuttled them too has very little room, and came furnished – and is all she can afford on her own on short notice. She doesn’t need much space, however, so it works out. Also, the kitchen has a bar. She needs nothing else.
But there’s the bigger matter at hand – work.
And a partner she cannot trust to have her back.
~~~~~~~
“This is ridiculous, Montoya.”
She doesn’t say anything, just sets the paperwork on his desk, and takes a seat. She has barely slept, and she is running on caffeine and nicotine. She looks like hell, but he doesn’t mention it. It’s likely a good thing.
“What am I supposed to think about this?”
“I don’t care what you think. You need me. Not the other way around. I can get a job in any precinct, anywhere. I came here, because I liked the idea of helping you rebuild your reputation. It hasn’t been so long that this will be a real problem.” She pauses, and her jaw clenches briefly, before she says with honesty. “He’s a good detective. He’ll do fine with Finch, or even Haust. I work alone.”
“I don’t understand why…”
“Chief, it doesn’t matter if you understand. I’ll lead the teams, as usual. I’ll even lead him and his new partner, without a problem. The circumstances of this decision are none of your business. I work without a partner, as head of your Homicide Division, which is what you hired me to do. He was just an addon at the time. Now you can add him on to another detective who needs a partner.”
The Chief taps his fingers against the file in agitation. He’d been warned about her and her attitude, but the fact is – she’s right. He needs her talents, and he needs her to be comfortable enough to work to her full potential. And she did make her demands without dropping a single F-bomb. Progress, perhaps. “All right. Anderson is with Finch, Capri can move over to Haust, and Flay will get Sorento, the transfer who starts tomorrow. But make no mistake, Montoya, this is the last time I give in to your whims. No more leeway. Do your job, or get the hell out of my department.”
She nods, and something relaxes [breaks] inside her, as she stands. “Deal.” And softer. “Thanks, Chief.”
He makes a sound in the back of his throat, gruff. “Get out.”
She does.
~~~~~
Their desks had been together. It took her all of thirty minutes to move to the solitary one near the window – without saying a word. She hasn’t so much as looked at him since she arrived, let alone spoken to him. Instead, she’d gone directly to the chief. She is sitting there at her desk not long after when the next call comes in. She rises fluidly, grabs her blazer and swings it on. It’s only then that she speaks to them.
“Anderson with Finch. Haust and Capri on the board.”
Flay looks up “What about me?”
“Your new partner arrives tomorrow. Start the info dig with Haust and Capri.”
“What about you?”
“What the fuck about me? I give the orders. You follow them. Let’s move.”
Her tone throughout is one that expects zero question, and total compliance. This is her department, her team, her way.
Period.