GEMMA HATED BEING CALLED A CREATURE OF HABIT, but when it came to her job, she had a very specific pattern she followed each case, mostly due to the fact that it usually worked well in her favor. Sometimes she sought a challenge, but this time, she wasn't going to start freestyling – of course, she wanted to do her job efficiently, but she also needed to impress Charlotte, and for that, she was going to go about the case the way she usually did. She was playing it safe and praying that it would work out for her.

The first step was going to the man's – Peter Montague's – workplace, and that was indeed how Gemma found herself at one of those accounting firms she had sworn she would never end up in. It was all very proper and suit-and-tie, and she hated the idea of that more than anything – even if today she was blending in rather well with the pantsuit Santiago had made fun of. Nonetheless, she carried a swagger that the graying men around her didn't, and her stride down the hall towards Peter Montague's office turned many heads.

Much to her disappointment, the office was empty, and Gemma had to kiss her dream of ending the case right here and right now, a bitter goodbye. Sighing and lifting her hands to her hips, she looked around, just in time to see a tall, blue-suited man making his way over to her.

"Looking for Peter?" the guy queried knowingly, and with a relieved sigh, Gemma nodded. "Yeah, so are we. He hasn't been to work in days", he added, forcing a scoff out of Gemma as she rolled her eyes. Of course, this wasn't going to be as easy as she had hoped for.

"Where does he usually spend his time? Any favorite bars, something like that? Or even better, do you have his home address?" Gemma questioned, narrowing his eyes at the bearded man in front of her. She had done this enough times to know where to start, and surely, one of her usual leads would pay off.

"Yeah, uh, there's a sports bar around the corner. We've had a few drinks after work there. And his address... you got a number I could text you with the info?" he explained, more helpful than people usually were, and surprised by the kindness, Gemma nodded and grabbed her notepad from her pocket before scribbling down her digits.

"Thanks for the help", she flashed half a smile at the man before turning on her heel and heading back out, her next destination being the sports bar he had mentioned. It wouldn't be the first nor the last time she found a perp drinking their troubles away, and a part of her was almost hoping he'd put up a fight – give her a reason to knock him around the way he knocked his wife around. Allegedly, of course.

Sadly, Montague was nowhere to be seen, only other drunk patrons yelling at the TV in a way that had Gemma grimacing, suddenly glad to get out of the bar as quickly as possible. Just like that, her final option was the man's house, the one he shared with his unfortunate wife. The uncertainty of what she would find had Gemma gnawing on the nail of her thumb while her other hand sat on the steering wheel of her old piece of a junk of a Toyota, but she tried to prepare for anything and everything. Sometimes defending herself in a physical sense was just part of the job description – as much was obvious from the bruise on her right eye.

Soon enough, Gemma was pulling up at the house that looked just like any other in a suburban street, all cozy and wholesome, but she doubted that was what she would find inside. She pulled over on the side of the street and then, with her sleeves rolled up and ready for action, approached the front door where she left a loud, obnoxious thud with her fist. She waited, impatiently, but no answer came – not even when she knocked twice more. Eventually, she reached for the door handle and tried it, only for the door to open without struggle, and for a second, she hesitated.

Do I go in or not?

Licking her lips, Gemma figured that she really didn't want to show up empty-handed to Richards, and so, she stepped across the threshold and called out into the quiet house. "Peter Montague, I'm here to bring you to court!" she announced loudly, careful and wary as she stepped on the creaky floorboards and made her way through the dark hallways. From the living room, she could hear heavy breathing, and with a gulp, she stepped into the room only to be immediately nauseated by what she found there.

Peter Montague was sitting on the couch with a knife in his hands, and on the floor rested his poor wife, lifeless and covered in blood that had stained the carpet and Peter's hands, as well. Gagging, Gemma drew in a shallow breath before stepping in front of the man and whipping out the handcuffs she carried with her.

"Peter Montague, you're coming with me", she declared, her voice shakier than she would have liked it to be. Her stomach turned uncomfortably and she struggled to keep her stare away from the dead body on the floor, but she forced her eyes on the man that looked up at Gemma with resignation. He dropped the knife, and without argument, he lifted his hands in the air and got up, turning his back to Gemma to allow her to click the handcuffs around his thick wrists.

"Good job. Don't make this any harder than it needs to be", Gemma spoke calmly and quietly, and swallowing down the bile in her throat, she pushed Peter forward to walk him back to the front door.

Once he was seated in the backseat of her car, she dialed 9-1-1, and then headed for the precinct she was used to visiting. She drove past multiple police officers with their sirens on, and there was something eerie about the silence she and Peter sat in, both of them undoubtedly shaken by the scene they had just left behind.

Just like any other case, she dragged Peter inside the bullpen, on the look for any free officers to get him off of her hands. Today, she was unlucky in the sense that the first available one was none other than Malcolm Graham, her least favorite guy in all the LAPD.

"If it isn't Miss Moretti. What do we have here?" Malcolm drawled, and rolling her eyes, Gemma shoved Peter forward so he stumbled into Malcolm's arms.

"He just killed his wife. Have fun with that", she retorted, and without waiting for him to say anything back, she climbed back upstairs to the elevator. As she waited for the lift to arrive at her floor, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, a heavy exhale escaping her mouth as she tried to process what she had just seen. It wasn't like she had been working as a bounty hunter for a very long time, so needless to say, she certainly hadn't witnessed anything like it before. Sure, the detectives she worked with dealt with death every day, but for her, it was completely new and unfamiliar – the way she would have liked it to stay.

First time for everything, she supposed.

///

AT RICHARDS & WHEELER, there was a quaint little breakroom where most people went to escape their realities and drown their stress into a bottomless cup of coffee, and Gemma was just like everyone else in that sense – she found comfort in sitting on the expensive leather couch, even if she looked so out of place compared to the fancy furniture, especially if someone had brought pastries in that morning, and especially if Santiago was there with her. She was lucky today, as she found herself in the man's company and a strawberry bear claw in her hands.

"So, care to talk about the new case?" Santiago queried after they had discussed the weather for longer than Gemma usually wanted to – surely the man had noticed her avoiding the subject, but there was an innate curiosity in his tone as he eyed her up and down. He usually didn't tiptoe around touchy topics, but rather, preferred to rip off the band-aid – probably why Richards had made him enlist Gemma for the case in the first place.

"Well, I got the guy, didn't I?" Gemma shrugged, trying to seem casual about it, but even with the sweet scent of strawberry lingering in the air, her nose refused to forget about the stench of blood and death. The image wouldn't leave her eyes as much as she squeezed them shut, and she had already begun to wonder if it was time to ring up her old therapist after months of no sessions. She had been doing so well, but this... well, it just might have set her back.

"Yeah, but that's not all, is it? I see through you, Gem", Santiago spoke in a sing-songy voice, and scoffing, Gemma looked around the breakroom, waiting in silence until one of the lawyers rinsing his mug was done and left the room. It was still busy, meaning there was no abundance of people in the room, and that was the only reason why Gemma felt comfortable opening up.

"I got there too late", she admitted eventually. "I was too damn late, Santiago. He killed his wife. And I can't stop thinking about her body just lying on the floor... Jesus, why didn't someone care more? Why didn't anyone help her?" she went on, despair dripping from her words as she stared at her bruised knuckles and then looked up at Santiago, unable to stop angry tears from filling her eyes. She refused to let them fall, though, furiously wiping them away until Santiago placed a gentle hand on top of hers.

"It wasn't your fault", Santiago murmured, but Gemma wasn't happy with the sentiment.

"I could have intervened, though", she theorized, going down the rabbit hole that she usually avoided so well – even in her short time on the job, she had realized that it was best not to bother with what ifs. Then again, she had never seen a dead body before.

"Maybe. Probably not. Maybe now he'll go away for a long time", Santiago pointed out, and nodding sadly, Gemma supposed he had a point.

"Just wish it hadn't taken her dying to make that happen", Gemma whispered, and nodding sympathetically, Santiago squeezed her hand.

The two sat in silence for a moment, but all of a sudden, she felt him tense up next to him. Looking up at him, she found his eyes glued on the glass door of the breakroom that was swinging open and then closed, and when she turned to see who had entered, she stiffened too – none other than Charlotte had joined them, and in an instant, the air felt like a fire hazard, like a single word could implode the entire room.

"Miss Moretti. Mr. Cohen", Charlotte acknowledged them both with nods before reaching for the box of pastries on the round table in the middle of the room, only for her long, painted nails to close the box dismissively – as if the mere idea of having one was out of the question for her. Suddenly glad that she had already finished hers, Gemma shuffled uncomfortably on the couch that creaked awkwardly under her movements, and it didn't take long for Charlotte to notice the uneasiness in her.

"Good work, Miss Moretti. You were... fast", Charlotte spoke sharply, searching for the right word to describe what Gemma had achieved. To her, it wasn't right enough – she hadn't been fast enough, and all she wanted to do was grab Charlotte by the shoulders and shake. How she could defend such a man, was truly beyond her.

She gritted her teeth, and in the corner of her eye, she could see Santiago watching the situation closely, well-aware that Gemma didn't always do so well in holding back her tongue. "Thanks, Richards", Gemma swallowed, "still going to stand by this guy?"

Chuckling dryly, Charlotte folded her arms over her dress. "It's my job", she stated simply enough, like that was all it was for her, like all that mattered was her paycheck.

"Listen here-", Gemma began, sitting up, but Santiago grabbed her forearm to stop her from doing or saying something she would regret, and surprisingly, it worked. Gemma inhaled deeply, and with a curious tilt of her head, Charlotte gave just the smallest of smiles at the woman, almost daring her to go off.

"I do hope you make it to the trial, Miss Moretti", Charlotte eventually spoke again, all proper and appropriate despite the tension in the room. With that, she made a move to leave the room, but not before Gemma had given her answer.

Narrowing her eyes at the woman, Gemma gave her a simple nod. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."