ONE      /    HOW I MET YOUR AUNT

❛                           i wasn't looking for this,
but now you're in my way                        ❜

                                    The kitchen felt impossibly warm compared to the frost-painted windows, their edges softened by the winter's chill creeping into the house. The amber glow of the overhead light gave the space an inviting, almost nostalgic quality, casting gentle shadows across the countertops cluttered with half-empty spice jars, a drying rack of mismatched dishes, and a single abandoned mug bearing the slogan "World's Best Dad." Charles Boyle, standing by the counter, hummed quietly to himself as he focused intently on the task at hand.

Before him, a plate of pastries was arranged like precious artifacts on display, each one adjusted and readjusted with surgical precision. He muttered softly under his breath, debating whether the apple turnover should take the center position over the chocolate croissant. Finally, satisfied with his arrangement, he stepped back with an air of triumph. This was not just an act of culinary presentation-it was art, a delicate balancing act of aesthetics and snackability.

At the kitchen table, Nikolaj lounged in a way only a preteen could-legs stretched out, slumped so low in his chair it seemed his spine had entirely given up on supporting him. The pencil in his hand was more prop than tool, spinning lazily between his fingers while the workbook in front of him lay untouched. The questions about fractions stared back at him, their bold font practically taunting him.

He let out a sigh, loud and theatrical, a sound engineered for maximum impact. When it failed to draw Boyle's attention, he doubled down, letting his head loll dramatically to one side like a melodramatic actor in a soap opera.

Charles, entirely unbothered, remained fixated on the plate of pastries. With the precision of a surgeon, he picked up a pair of tongs and adjusted a madeleine, his lips pursed in concentration.

Another sigh, this one louder.

Nikolaj's foot began to tap against the linoleum floor, a sharp, rhythmic beat that filled the silence. His gaze darted to Boyle, narrowed slightly, and then returned to the workbook, as though he could will his father to notice his suffering through sheer force of will.

Boyle finally turned around, holding the plate aloft like it was the Holy Grail. "Behold!" he declared, his voice brimming with pride. "Pastries fit for royalty, detectives, and very particular twelve-year-olds."

Nikolaj barely glanced at the plate. "They look fine," he said flatly, his tone soaked in the kind of apathy that only comes from being related to someone far too enthusiastic for his own good.

Boyle gasped, clutching his chest as if struck by a mortal wound. "Fine? Fine? Nikolaj, these aren't just pastries. These are expressions of love, crafted with care, precision, and a little bit of cinnamon!" He held the plate closer, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you know how hard it is to arrange these perfectly while resisting the urge to eat one?"

"You already ate one," Nikolaj pointed out, gesturing toward the crumbs clinging to Boyle's shirt.

"That's called quality assurance," Boyle retorted, brushing at the crumbs with all the subtlety of a man who had clearly eaten three, not one.

"Sure, Dad." Nikolaj twirled the pencil in his fingers, the motion now a little faster, a little tenser. His eyes darted back to the workbook, though it was clear his mind was somewhere else entirely. His foot stopped tapping, and for a moment, he sat completely still.

Boyle's head tilted. He squinted at his son, his detective instincts-honed from years on the force-kicking in. "Alright," he said, setting the plate on the counter and crossing the kitchen in three exaggerated strides. He pulled out the chair opposite Nikolaj, sat down with a dramatic flourish, and clasped his hands together. "What's going on, buddy? And don't say math, because we both know you've been staring at that same problem for twenty minutes."

Nikolaj shrugged, his gaze fixed firmly on the table. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Boyle echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. "Because I know that look. That's the 'I'm thinking about something big and pretending I'm not' look. And it's adorable, by the way."

"I don't have a look," Nikolaj muttered, his cheeks flushing faintly.

"You do," Boyle countered, leaning forward. "It's the same look you had when you were seven and trying to figure out how to convince me that ice cream counts as a vegetable."

"Whatever." Nikolaj slouched even lower in his chair, his fingers now gripping the pencil with enough force to bend it slightly.

"Come on," Boyle pressed, his voice softening. "You can ask me anything. No judgment. Unless it's about pineapple on pizza, in which case, we'll have to sit down for a serious conversation."

Nikolaj hesitated. His gaze flicked up to Boyle's face, searching it for something-reassurance, maybe, or permission. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, tinged with uncertainty. "Okay," he said slowly, setting the pastry down. "But it's kind of a weird question."

Boyle leaned in closer, his face a picture of exaggerated seriousness. "Weird questions are my specialty," he whispered conspiratorially. "Hit me."

Nikolaj shifted in his seat, chewing on his bottom lip. His voice was barely above a murmur. "How did Uncle Jake meet Aunt Robin?"

The question landed like a thunderclap.

His expression froze, mouth slightly open, as though the words hadn't yet registered in his brain. Then, slowly, his face underwent a transformation. His eyes widened. His jaw slackened. His grip on the plate tightened until his knuckles turned white.

"You-" Boyle's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder this time. "What did you just say?"

Nikolaj tilted his head, confused by the reaction. "I asked how Uncle Jake met Aunt Robin," he repeated, carefully enunciating each word.

For a split second, the plate dipped dangerously to one side. But Boyle's reflexes-honed through years of navigating pastry-related emergencies-kicked in. With a deft movement, he stabilized it. Not a single crumb fell.

"Nikolaj," he breathed, his voice trembling with emotion. He placed the plate on the table as though it were a holy relic, then slowly lowered himself into the chair across from his son. The intensity of his gaze made Nikolaj lean back slightly, unsure whether he'd just uncovered a family secret or triggered a dramatic monologue.

"You've just asked," Boyle said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper, "the most important question of all time."

Nikolaj blinked again, his expression somewhere between confused and intrigued. "I have?"

Boyle clasped his hands together, staring at his son with a reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts or Jake's Halloween heist victories. His mouth trembled at the corners, his emotions teetering between theatrical awe and genuine excitement.

Charles nodded, lowering himself into the chair opposite his son. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his hands clasped together as though in prayer. His voice dropped even lower, thick with mystery. "You, my sweet boy, are about to hear the legendary tale of how two souls collided in destiny's most dangerous trap."

Nikolaj frowned, leaning back slightly as if to escape the intensity of his father's gaze. "What trap?"

Charles straightened, his expression grave. "The elevator," he whispered, the word carrying the weight of a thousand untold stories.

Nikolaj tilted his head, skepticism creeping into his tone. "An elevator?"

"Not just an elevator," Charles corrected, his hands spreading wide as though to encompass the full scope of his tale. "The elevator. The one that changed everything." He sighed, his gaze growing distant, as if he were looking back through time itself. "It was a moment of fate, of bravery, of-"

"Dad," Nikolaj interrupted, his brow furrowing. "Are you just making this up?"

Charles's hand flew to his chest as if he'd been struck by a mortal wound. "Making it up? Nikolaj, this is no mere story. This is a tale of destiny, of love at first sight, of Jake Peralta, your heroic Uncle Jake, meeting his match in the most unexpected place."

He paused for effect, letting the gravity of his words settle. Nikolaj stared at him, curiosity finally overtaking doubt.

"Are you ready," Charles asked, his voice barely above a whisper, "to hear how Uncle Jake and Aunt Robin defied fate and found each other?"

Nikolaj nodded slowly, his eyes wide.

Charles leaned back in his chair, a wistful smile spreading across his face. "It all began on a perfectly ordinary day at the Nine-Nine..." His voice floated through the room like he was recounting a grand tale, yet the words, laced with nostalgia and a hint of drama, made his fingers twitch with energy, as if he was preparing for something spectacular to unfold.

But this? This wasn't what he expected. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

The precinct hummed with its usual chaos. The clatter of keyboards, the muffled chatter from distant offices, and the occasional thud of a door slamming all blended together, forming a background of semi-organized noise. It was all so normal. Too normal. Something was off. He couldn't place it, but it was there. A shift, like the universe had subtly decided to play a little game with him.

And then it happened. The thing that would set the rest of his day on a completely ridiculous trajectory.

Jake Peralta was late.

Now, Jake being late wasn't exactly news. Jake was always late. It was basically a given at this point. But today? Today was different. The clock on the wall ticked steadily.

9:02 AM

9:03 AM

9:04 AM.

Charles glanced at his phone. No messages. No Jake. Nothing. Where was he?

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He glanced around the room as if Jake would magically appear from behind a desk or out of the ceiling tiles. But there was nothing. Nothing but a growing sense of unease.

"Where's Jake?" Charles called out to Rosa, who didn't even look up from her phone.

"Probably still sleeping" she muttered, as if his habits were as predictable as the weather.

But Charles wasn't convinced. No, this wasn't normal. Jake wasn't just sleeping. Something else was going on. His mind raced. Maybe he's been kidnapped. By the mafia? He could practically hear the sinister Italian accent in his head, "You have 24 hours to deliver the ransom, Peralta."

Charles's thoughts spiraled. What if the mafia had caught up with Jake? They had been getting closer to some big cases recently, right? Maybe they were after him, the ace detective. Maybe this was the price Jake had to pay for being too good at his job.

He paced the room in a frenzy, biting his lip. The possibilities were endless. Could they have taken him? What if Jake was somewhere, tied up in a dark room, with a dirty towel gagging him as some shadowy figures stood over him, laughing.

"Charles?" Amy's voice broke through his panic, though there was a trace of concern in her eyes. "What's going on with you? You're pacing like a...like a...well, like a very worried person."

"I-I just...I haven't heard from Jake, and he's not answering his phone!" Charles's voice cracked slightly, an edge of desperation sneaking in. He knew it was ridiculous, but the thought of something happening to Jake-his best friend, his partner in crime-was ridiculous, wasn't it?

Then Terry, holding a yogurt, looked over and nonchalantly commented, "He said he was taking the elevator."

Boyle's heart stopped.

"The elevator?!" he nearly shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of the panic rising in his chest. "He's stuck!"

Terry blinked, clearly unfazed, as if his friend had just mentioned a minor inconvenience like a latte being too hot. But for Charles, this was catastrophic.

"He's stuck?" Terry's calm tone was at odds with the storm brewing in Boyle's mind. "What if it's the cable snapping or the power going out? What if the elevator is plummeting right now, and he's hanging there, clinging to the safety rope? Or maybe he's wedged between two floors, fighting to breathe, his legs-no-his arms starting to go numb! Maybe he-"

In an instant, Boyle was on his feet, his chair skidding backward and colliding with the desk behind him. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat pushing him closer to full-blown hysteria. Jake wasn't just his best friend; he was Jake. The thought of him trapped, helpless, maybe even dangling hundreds of feet above certain doom-it was unbearable.

Without hesitation, Boyle broke into a sprint, weaving through the precinct with a single-minded determination that bordered on reckless. He shoved past desks and startled detectives, his urgency a palpable force that seemed to sweep everyone else into stunned silence. The security desk loomed ahead, and Boyle didn't slow down.

When he reached the desk, he didn't hesitate. His hands slapped the counter with such force that the bored security guard jolted upright, nearly spilling his coffee.

"Pull up the elevator cameras!" Boyle demanded, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "Jake could be-" He choked on the thought. "-dangling by a thread! Or trapped with no air! Or worse-" his voice dropped to a horrified whisper, "-with no snacks."

The security guard, a balding man who looked more interested in his crossword puzzle than Boyle's theatrics, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "It's just an elevator, Boyle."

"Just do it!" Boyle snapped, his voice trembling.

The guard sighed heavily, swiveling his chair to face the bank of monitors. With a few lazy keystrokes, the elevator feed appeared on the largest screen. Boyle leaned in so close that his breath fogged the glass, his eyes darting across the grainy footage in search of his best friend.

There Jake was, alive and perfectly unharmed. He stood casually in the elevator, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. The sight of him brought a wave of relief crashing over Boyle, but it was short-lived.

Next to Jake was a woman Boyle didn't recognize. She was leaning against the railing with an air of nonchalance, her arms crossed and a faint smirk playing on her lips.  They didn't seem concerned in the slightest.
Boyle's eyes widened as his mind tried to process this new piece of information. Who is that? Who is she? Is she part of this?

Boyle's imagination, already running at full speed, shifted gears. The woman could be a criminal, her calm demeanor masking a sinister intent. Or perhaps she was a spy, using the elevator's malfunction as a cover for her real mission. Jake, ever the hero, was probably stalling her with charm and wit, playing along until help arrived.

The guard, oblivious to Boyle's spiraling thoughts, sipped his coffee and muttered, "They're just stuck. Happens all the time."

But Boyle wasn't convinced. His eyes remained glued to the screen, analyzing every movement, every subtle shift in body language. Jake scratched the back of his neck. The woman tilted her head slightly, as if she were amused by something he said. Boyle's chest tightened.

"Zoom in," he ordered, pointing at the screen.

The guard gave him a withering look. "It's a live feed, not CSI."

Ignoring the comment, Boyle grabbed the intercom microphone. His hands trembled as he pressed the button, the static crackling to life. For a moment, he hesitated, his voice caught in his throat. Then he spoke, his tone a mix of panic and reassurance.

"Jake! It's Boyle! Don't worry, buddy. I see you. You're not alone."

On the screen, Jake glanced up at the speaker, his expression shifting from mild confusion to mild annoyance. He mouthed something that Boyle couldn't quite make out, but the casual shrug that followed told him everything he needed to know.

Jake was fine.

The tension in Boyle's shoulders eased slightly, though his eyes remained fixed on the screen. The woman said something to Jake, and he chuckled, running a hand through his hair. Boyle's mind, ever dramatic, still whispered possibilities. Maybe she was luring him into a false sense of security. Maybe Jake didn't realize the danger he was in.

"Stay calm, Jake," Boyle continued into the intercom, his tone softening. "I'm here. I'll guide you through this."

Jake, still visible on the feed, gave the camera a thumbs-up.

The security guard cleared his throat. "It's just a stuck elevator. Maintenance is on their way. Maybe take it down a notch?"

Boyle let go of the microphone, his fingers unclenching slowly. His breathing steadied as the realization sank in. Jake wasn't in mortal peril. He wasn't dangling over a void or facing off against a dangerous stranger. He was fine, just mildly inconvenienced.

Boyle straightened up, brushing off his jacket as though trying to regain some semblance of composure. He stepped back from the desk, his earlier panic replaced by a sheepish smile. "Well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "better safe than sorry, right?"

The guard didn't bother responding, already turning back to his crossword. Boyle lingered for a moment, his eyes drifting back to the monitor for a beat too long, just enough to feel that familiar unease settle in. He'd never been great with picking up social cues, especially not when it involved the delicate dance of flirtation. The way Jake's hand had lightly brushed against the woman's arm just a few moments ago made something flutter in Boyle's chest, but he squashed it quickly. His duty-his responsibility-was to get wrapped up in the details of Jake's personal life, as a self-appointed friend and confidante, he could offer a word of caution. Or perhaps just point out that he had just witnessed a moment that could probably be considered a 100% foolproof way of not getting anyone's number.

But he was Jake Peralta-definitely not a fool. Or at least, not always.

It was at that exact moment, with a dramatic pause that seemed to vibrate with the tension between them, that Boyle's voice crackled through the elevator speakers, shrill and eager, as if he had just been waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

"Jake! Is everything okay in there?" Boyle's words hung in the air like a cartoon character popping up in the middle of a scene to remind the viewer of something incredibly obvious. His concern, though genuine, was overblown, completely out of proportion to the calm demeanor Jake was radiating.

Jake, who had just been about to crack a joke-probably something involving his usual banter about "the most mysterious woman he'd ever met in an elevator"-froze for just a fraction of a second, his smile faltering ever so slightly. Then, like an old hat, his sarcastic reflex kicked in.

"Boyle," Jake groaned, rubbing a hand down his face in mock exasperation. He glanced at Robin with that slightly apologetic grin, the one that screamed "I don't want to be rude, but I'm totally going to be." "Everything's fine, just fine. No need to send out a search party, I'm not being held hostage, I swear to you."

Robin couldn't help but chuckle quietly at the absurdity of it all. She had been watching Jake the entire time, the way his eyes flicked to hers as if testing the waters for some kind of response. His usual swagger was still there-leaning against the elevator wall, casual as ever-but his attempt to brush off Boyle's interruptions, while obvious, only made the situation more endearing. She raised an eyebrow in amusement, her lips curling upward as her eyes met Jake's.

Jake, trying to ignore the fact that Boyle's voice was continuing to drone on in the background-sounding like an excited dog who'd just discovered the door was open-shifted his posture, leaning closer to Robin as if to shield her from Boyle's vocal concern.

"Well, you know Boyle," Jake said, his voice lower now, as if trying to keep the conversation between them a little more private, "always making sure my personal space is... completely compromised." He rolled his eyes, the exasperation dripping from his words, but there was a small, fond smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I think he's trying to get me to confess a crime just so he can feel useful. It's adorable."

Robin tilted her head slightly, her lips pressing together in a soft, entertained smile. She watched Jake, her gaze softening as she took in the little details-the way his hand had momentarily strayed to the back of his neck again, and how his chest subtly puffed out in that characteristic 'I've got this' posture, despite the internal groan she could hear in his voice.

"You're doing okay then?" Robin asked, her voice light, almost teasing, but beneath it there was a sincerity. She had to admit, she was curious-curious about him, about this situation that felt as though it had just stepped out of a strange, not-quite-humorous, but undeniably human moment.

"Of course I am," Jake replied quickly, a little too quickly. The defensive edge in his voice was there, but so was a tiny, almost imperceptible shift in his expression-a fleeting vulnerability, as if in the midst of his sarcasm, he had let down the curtain just for a second. He cleared his throat, straightened up, and let the moment pass.

Robin smiled, her eyes twinkling with humor and something else-a little piece of understanding. "He seems like a lot to handle," she remarked referring to Boyle, her gaze flickering over Jake's face with a kind of knowing. "But I'm sure you're used to it by now."

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "Used to it? I'm practically immune."

And then, as if on cue, Boyle's voice came again, crackling over the speakers, as though he was determined to prove his point.  "You sure you're not-" Jake swiftly reached up and pressed the button that would silence Boyle, the elevator panel lighting up under his fingers shutting him down with a finality that was almost victorious.

Robin leaned slightly against the mirrored side of the elevator, she tilted her head as she regarded Jake, her expression halfway between amusement and curiosity.

Jake, on the other hand, was still recovering from the momentary triumph of silencing Boyle. He grinned at the button panel as if it were an old adversary he'd finally bested. Then, with his hands on his hips and a dramatic sigh, he turned back to Robin.

"Sorry about that," he said, his voice dripping with mock apology. "Boyle has this incredible superpower where he manages to be both endearing and completely insufferable at the same time."

Robin chuckled, the sound light and genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing her cheek with a casual grace that caught Jake's attention for a fraction of a second longer than he'd have liked.

"Endearing, huh?" she teased. "You two must be close then."

Jake's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with a boyish charm that seemed to light up the cramped elevator. "Oh, we're basically married. Without the benefits, obviously. Unless you count him making me a breakfast sandwich every other day and his desire to wash my hair."

Robin raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a small smile. "You could do worse, I guess. A man who cooks for you? That's a solid deal."

Jake pretended to mull it over, stroking his chin theatrically. "True, true. But then there's the downside-like him trying to set me up with his cousin at every family gathering. Or calling me at three in the morning to tell me he had a dream where we were detectives in space. Like, it's a great idea, i would die to see it, but it's still three a.m."

Robin laughed again, louder this time, and Jake felt a flicker of satisfaction at the sound. It wasn't every day he could turn a malfunctioning elevator and a talkative partner into a stand-up routine. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, rocking slightly on his heels.

"You're a good guy, Jake," she said after a moment, her voice sincere. "Underneath all the jokes and... whatever that thing you did with the button was." She gestured vaguely toward the panel, her grin teasing now.

Jake straightened up, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation. "Excuse me, that 'thing' was me heroically saving us from Boyle's ongoing monologue about egg recipes. You're welcome."

Robin shook her head, biting back a laugh as she leaned against the wall again. "Well, I'll make sure to add 'elevator hero' to your list of talents."

Jake opened his mouth to reply, but the elevator jolted slightly, cutting him off. Both of them froze for a second, their gazes darting upward instinctively. The hum of the machinery shifted, a subtle reminder of their predicament.

"Okay," Jake said after a beat, his tone lighter than the situation warranted. "Good news: it hasn't dropped us into a fiery abyss. Bad news: we're still stuck. But hey, at least we've got this totally charming ambiance."

Robin glanced around, pretending to inspect the beige walls and mirrored panels. "Oh, yeah, definitely. Who doesn't love being trapped in a metal box with a guy who talks about breakfast sandwiches?"

Jake grinned, tilting his head toward her. "Careful, Robin. You're starting to sound like you might actually enjoy my company."

Robin's smirk faltered for a split second, just long enough for Jake to notice, and then it was back, playful and self-assured. "Don't push your luck, Jake," she shot back, but her tone lacked the usual bite. There was something warmer there, something that made Jake feel like he'd scored a small, invisible victory.

"Well," Jake said, breaking the silence with a lopsided grin, "I guess this is what they call team building. You, me, and a whole lot of awkward elevator small talk. Classic bonding scenario."

Robin raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Is this what you do with your team? Get them stuck in elevators and make them listen to your jokes?"

Jake's grin widened, a flicker of pride sparking in his eyes. "You'd be surprised how effective it is. Boyle says my humor is 'disarming.' I think he means 'relentlessly charming,' but, you know, semantics."

Robin chuckled softly, the sound light but genuine. She looked down at her shoes-sleek black flats that had seen one too many long workdays-before glancing back up at Jake. His humor wasn't forced; it was effortless, a natural part of him. And for all his energy, there was something about the way he leaned casually against the wall, his posture relaxed, that made him seem... approachable.

"So," she said, tilting her head slightly, her gaze curious, "is this a regular thing for you? Getting stuck in awkward situations, I mean."

Jake let out a laugh, quick and sharp, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "Oh, absolutely. It's practically my superpower. Awkward situations, weird coincidences, rogue pigeons flying into precinct windows-if it's bizarre, I'm probably involved. I like to think of it as the universe keeping me humble."

Robin's smile deepened, her posture softening just a fraction. "Keeping you humble? That doesn't sound like something the universe is succeeding at."

Jake feigned offense, pressing a hand to his chest as if her words had wounded him. "Wow, harsh. And here I thought we were bonding."

Robin smirked, her arms still crossed but her stance less rigid now. "I don't know, Jake. Bonding usually involves something more... meaningful than avoiding Boyle's dreams."

Jake's expression shifted slightly at her use of his name-just enough for her to catch it. The teasing lilt in her voice didn't escape him either, and he leaned forward just a little, his tone conspiratorial. "You're not wrong. But I'd argue that surviving Boyle is a pretty strong foundation for any relationship. Friendship, partnership, elevator-ship. You name it."

Robin laughed at that, the sound rich and unrestrained. She felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest-a flicker of ease in a situation that should have been anything but. Strangers weren't supposed to make her laugh like this, and yet here she was, laughing with Jake as if they'd known each other for more than a handful of minutes.

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, taking in the little details: the slight scruff on his jaw that suggested he hadn't shaved that morning, the way his hair had an unruly charm to it, like it had a mind of its own. His leather jacket, worn but well-loved, added to the image of someone who didn't take life too seriously, even when it threw him into tight spots. And his eyes-warm, quick, darting between her and the panel-held a kind of openness that was rare in a stranger.

Jake, meanwhile, was watching her too, though more subtly. There was something about Robin's presence that intrigued him. She wasn't just laughing at his jokes; she was matching him, her wit sharp but not unkind. Her dark hair framed her face in a way that made her seem simultaneously polished and approachable. And when she smiled-really smiled-it wasn't just her mouth that moved; her eyes lit up too, like she was genuinely amused.

"So," Jake said, tilting his head, his grin playful, "what's your deal, Robin? Do you always get stuck in elevators with devastatingly handsome detectives, or is this a special occasion?"

Robin rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the smile tugging at her lips. "Devastatingly handsome, huh? Is that what you write on your business card?"

Jake gasped, his hand flying to his chest in mock horror. "How dare you ? I'm way too modest for that. It's just a footnote in the bio section."

Robin laughed again, shaking her head, her fingers brushing against her wrist as she adjusted the cuff of her blazer. "Well, Jake, if this is your version of modesty, I'd hate to see what full-on bragging looks like."

Jake straightened up, his grin widening. "Oh, trust me. You'd love it. It's a lot of flexing, a little jazz hands-it's got everything."

The laughter that followed was soft but unforced, filling the small space with a warmth that made the confines of the elevator feel less oppressive. For a moment, the world outside-Boyle, the malfunctioning elevator, whatever awaited them once the doors opened-faded into the background. It was just the two of them, trading banter, sharing a slice of humor in a situation that should have been nothing but inconvenient.

The metallic groan gave way to a sudden jolt, and the elevator hummed back to life, the sensation breaking the strange, suspended moment they'd been living in. Jake's eyes flicked to the illuminated floor panel, watching as it begrudgingly ticked upward. The soft ding that followed seemed anticlimactic, a bland punctuation to an experience that had been, against all odds, oddly compelling.

Robin straightened, brushing her hair back and glancing toward the doors as they hissed and slid open, revealing the glaring fluorescent light of the hallway beyond. She blinked against it, almost hesitant to step forward, as if the brightness was too sharp after the muted cocoon of the elevator.

Jake stayed where he was, staring out at the world they'd finally been freed into, and felt a pang of something he couldn't quite name. Disappointment? It was absurd, but there it was. The elevator had become a strange kind of limbo-a place where time slowed, where he could just be his ridiculous self without Holt scolding or paperwork waiting. It wasn't much, but it had been... something.

"Well," Jake said, breaking the silence, his voice laced with casual humor. "Guess this is the part where we walk out into the light like we're emerging from some underground bunker. Although, if this were a movie, we'd need at least one dramatic embrace first. You know, for the emotional payoff."

Robin smirked, stepping toward the door but glancing back at him. "I think we're missing the buildup for that kind of moment. Pretty sure surviving Boyle over the intercom doesn't count as life-or-death stakes."

Jake nodded, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets and rocking on his heels. "True. But Boyle would probably argue it was a bonding experience-and then try to turn it into a team-building exercise for the precinct. Something with trust falls. Or maybe role-playing. He'd be so proud of us right now."

Robin's smile widened as she stepped fully into the hallway. The world outside the elevator felt almost too ordinary, the stark lights, the dull hum of the building, all too normal compared to the oddly intimate bubble they'd been in. She turned back toward Jake, who lingered a step behind, his gaze fixed on the elevator as the doors started to slide shut.

Inwardly, Jake felt a weird ache, like closing the door on something he hadn't fully appreciated until it was over. But he wasn't about to let her see that. Instead, he plastered on his usual grin and strode into the hallway with exaggerated nonchalance.

"Alright," he said, clapping his hands together as if to break the tension. "Back to reality. Boyle's gonna be waiting with his 'Jake, I told you it'd be okay' speech, which will probably include a slideshow."

Robin chuckled lightly, her hands slipping into her coat pockets as she walked alongside him. "I'm guessing he's been on the edge of his seat this whole time."

"Oh, for sure," Jake replied, shaking his head. Jake stole a glance at her, noting the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled and how her steps had a quiet confidence, like she wasn't in a rush to leave this strange little moment behind.

Jake stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets as they pushed open the doors to the lobby. The noise of the precinct-voices, ringing phones, the shuffle of papers-greeted them immediately, jolting him fully back to the present.

"Welcome back to civilization," Robin quipped, casting him a sidelong glance.

Jake offered a crooked smile, his usual swagger slipping back into place. "Yeah. Right. "

Robin smirked, shaking her head as she moved toward the exit. Jake hesitated for half a second, his gaze lingering on her as she walked away. For a fleeting moment, he thought about calling after her, saying something more. But then the hum of the elevator echoed faintly behind him, and he shook it off with a small laugh, returning to the world that waited.

"Goodbye, Elevator Robin," he muttered under his breath, his tone light but his steps slower than usual as he headed toward his desk.

author's note !!!!

FINALLY THE PROLOGUE IS OUT !!!!!!
I WAS STUCK WITH IT FOR A MONTH !!!!
honestly i'm not still convinced by it but i want to give this version a chance.

tell me what you think !!!! leave a star and a comment 🩷🩷🩷🩷

thank you for the attention 🩷