JOCELYNN
I am convinced that this day could not get any worse.
The universe has been against me from the moment I opened my eyes. After I snoozed my alarm way too many times, I proceeded to get ready as quickly as possible, bumping my knee, arm and shoulder into furniture. I stepped in dog shit outside of my house and spent way too long cleaning it.
Stuck in the middle of traffic, listening to the news reporters drone on from the stereo, I text Emmy and ask her to cover for me until I get there. If I had not made a breakthrough in the case I have been working on for weeks, I might've been slightly terrified at my lieutenant's reaction to me being late.
Lieutenant Jonas is the most irritating, controlling, undermining, misogynistic man I have ever met. He takes pride in trying to prove to the world that the police force is no place for a woman, that her emotions will forever cloud her judgement. No matter what I do, how many cases I solve or how many drug dealers I put away, nothing is ever good enough.
My fingers tap, tap, tap against the steering wheel, my brain sending off waves off 'move it the fuck along' energy. If I don't get to work in the next ten minutes, I will lose my case.
My phone pings and I reach into the cup holder to read the message.
Emmy: He's not in yet. Will cover if needed.
I make it to the station house exactly seven minutes late and hurry out of my car, almost leaving my jacket in the process. I lock my car and hurry through the entrance, and speed walk past the front desk.
My name is called from behind me, bringing me to a halt. "Detective," a woman's voice calls. "Detective Sanchez,"
I turn around and am met with a young, pretty officer, one of the three manning the front desk. "Yes?" I say, my voice even despite the anxiety rolling around inside me.
"Captain Baker wants to see you in his office," she tells me with a cautious smile.
Ugh. "Tell him I'll be there as soon as I can, but I have to check in with my lieutenant,"
"He said it was urgent, and that he's already spoken to your lieutenant,"
Stifling a groan, I make a turn and walk through the room that houses the Major Crimes Unit. This unit consists of mostly men, because again, 'women can't handle it'. As I walk through, I hear whistles and hollers and hoots from every direction. I keep my eyes forward and my steps purposeful as someone shouts to ask me if my trousers aren't too tight and if I'd like for him to help me take them off. Yes, we are in a police station, where literal murders need to be solved, but instead of doing their job, they're staring at my ass.
I make it to Baker's office and push the door open. He better have a good reason for calling me into his office when I have work to do.
I regret the choice as soon as I open the door. Four men from Baker's special Homicide unit take up the entire space of the small room, the sight making me want to bolt.
James Anderson stands at the small bookshelf by the right wall, looking at me like I'm a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his ugly ass sneakers. Leonard Deluca stands on the other side of the room, eyes roaming up and down my body. Ian Sorenson stands next to him, staring at the floor. And Andrei Smirnov is in the chair across from Baker, looking back at me with a pleasant smile.
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jacket. "You wanted to see me, sir?" I say, my attention on Baker, hoping my eyes convey the question in my mind.
What the hell is going on?
My Captain shakes his head and gestures for the seat next to Smirnov. "Would you like to sit down?" he asks me, his tone making me wary.
"I'll stand,"
"I insist,"
With an inward sigh, I walk over and take the seat, keeping my eyes on Baker. He smiles at me, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Something is wrong. Really fucking wrong.
"What's going on?" I ask him.
He sits back in his chair and folds his hands on top of the desk. "We're expanding the unit,"
And there it is. And just like that, I wish I hadn't come into work today. I should've just taken the day off like Emmy suggested. But no, I had to stay up all night to prove myself to someone who could give less of a shit.
"What?" the man to my right shouts. "No way,"
"Captain, with all due respect," Deluca says, "our unit doesn't need expanding. We're doing well as we are,"
"And we certainly don't need her," he says, the last word coming out like it should be an insult.
Smirnov's head snaps up, but instead of looking at one of his friends and jumping in with the criticism, his eyes burn holes in the side of my face. I keep my gaze on Baker, hoping he sees the error of his ways before this goes too far.
The two men break off in a conversation that has a lot of 'she doesn't have what it takes' and 'what good would she do?'. I'm not surprised. This is the way they are, which is why I'm not in the division, and why I don't socialise with any of them.
"Let's not get carried away," Baker says, annoyed. "If anyone has any objections, take it up with me,"
"I have one," I tell him.
He gives me a look that says he knew this was coming. Of course he knew, but he did it anyway. "I think the five of you would benefit greatly from working together. Don't you?"
"No,"
"I second that," Anderson says.
"Me too," his partner in stupidity says.
Baker sighs. "This is how it's going to be, and I need you to accept that sooner rather than later," he says, addressing the men.
"I don't think this is a good idea," I say.
"Well, I do. And if anyone, except for Sanchez, has objections, there's a spot open in Narcotics." He shakes his head. "You would do well to show her the respect that she deserves. She is not here to be anything other than your colleague, and if I hear any slander, harassment toward her, you will have me to deal with," he says, making sure to meet every pair of eyes on him.
He is met with a silence that threatens to swallow the room whole. He waits for a response, looking around the room, before opening his laptop and typing in his password.
"Right. You're all free to get back to work now," he tells us. "There are cases to be solved,"
There's a murmur before the door opens and Ian Sorenson walks out, Anderson and Deluca following suit. Smirnov is the last to leave, looking hesitant and slightly conflicted as he does.
I wait for the door to close and for my heart rate to slow down before I speak.
"What the hell was that?" I ask him, keeping my temper at bay.
If there is anyone who'd know how much of an inconvenience this is, it would be Anthony Baker. And yet, he's the one responsible for this monstrosity.
He shakes his head with a sigh. "Joce, don't start. Please. This is for your own good,"
I cringe at the nickname, thankful he didn't use it in front of the others. If they know he addresses me by name, they'll think it's okay for them to do it.
I narrow my eyes on him. "And how do you figure that?"
"Just trust me,"
"No,"
He sighs again, closing his laptop to meet my eyes. "The state suggested that you not work alone anymore,"
Of course this has something to do with the state. The stupid state controls nearly everything in my life-where I live, which days I'm allowed to work, how many times I need to see a psychologist. I am so fucking tired of it, but there's nothing I can do. I can't change my past, and they won't forget it.
"Why? I've worked alone since I became a detective, and I've done well," I tell him. "I was good in Narcotics,"
He levels me with a look. "You mean with the lieutenant who treats you more like a secretary than an actual detective? The one who reassigns your cases when you have a breakthrough? The one who told you to consider a career in fashion instead of this?"
I could put up with that. It is better than what I'd experienced with my TO, and far better than what I'd gone through as a child. I could put up with anything, except working in Homicide, with men who are exactly like my lieutenant.
"Then give me another lieutenant. Don't take me out. Don't put me with them,"
He sighs. "I know this isn't what you want, and I know it's going to be hard, but it is needed. If you show the state that you're willing to work with others, that you're not on your own all the time, it could help with all the psych evaluations," he says. "And it could be better for your mental health,"
I shake my head. "I'm fine,"
"You say that, but you forget that I've known you your whole life. I know you, J,"
"If you knew me, you'd know that this is the last thing I would ever want. Do you think they're just going to accept this? They're going to give me hell,"
"So give them hell back," he tells me, an arch in his left eyebrow. "They have nothing on you. Any of them,"
"That doesn't matter. You know them. You know how they are, how they speak to and treat the women in this building-women in general," I say, my brain close to exploding. "I work better on my own. You know that,"
He nods. "I do. I also know this isn't the reason you don't want to do this," he says, cocking his head at me.
"What are you talking about?"
"It's not because they're men or because they don't like you. It's the division,"
I shake my head, pushing down the sinking feeling in my stomach. "I can't,"
"You can," he tells me with a small smile.
"Don't think about that. Think about how much better your life would be with less evaluations. Less talking to people about your feelings, which we know you hate,"
"This is the stupidest thing you've ever done. This isn't going to work," I tell him.
"Make it work,"
Great. "I don't have a choice here, do I?"
He shakes his head. "I wish it were any other way," he says, his expression sombre. "And I trust Smirnov and Sorenson. They're good people. They'll look out for you,"
My brows shoot up. "You didn't tell them to do that, did you?"
I don't need special treatment and I definitely don't need people thinking I'm getting special treatment because the Captain said so. I have worked long and hard to make sure that no one sees our relationship as anything but professional. I don't need to be hated more for something I can't control.
A chuckle rolls through him. "Like I would risk your wrath." The laugh fades and he looks at me with a serious expression. "I need you to sign the papers,"
I shake my head with a scoff and lift off the chair. "You know where to find me," I tell him, leaving the office.