The Nine-Nine was getting real busy these days. Case after case kept getting added onto the pile on your desk—well, really everyone’s desk. Late nights had become a necessity over the last week, and honestly, it took the whole precinct working together to get through it.

It was about 7 p.m. now, way overtime, but that’s just what it was going to take to get back to a reasonable workload. Amy sat opposite you, her hair frizzed slightly from the day’s chaos, looking tired, just like everyone else. Rosa was practically asleep at her desk, Terry was doing push-ups in the break room to stay awake, and Charles was drinking what could only be described as a "crime scene in a can"—his weird energy drink concoction that smelled, questionable. Even Captain Holt had admitted that "fatigue is inevitable," though he'd never outright say he was tired.

You glanced over at Amy, watching her rub her temples with a sigh. She closed the files in front of her with a soft thud and stood up, pacing around her desk like she was going to solve the entire precinct’s case load just by walking it off. Then she grabbed her phone, making a call without even caring that everyone in the bullpen could hear. They were all too exhausted to notice.

“Hey, so I’m going to have to raincheck. Maybe Saturday night works? I know this doesn’t look great, but I do want to—yeah, sure. Thank you for understanding. Yeah, talk soon.”

Amy hung up and ran a hand through her hair, glancing at you when she realized you’d probably overheard. She wasn’t irritated, but that classic Santiago mix of exhaustion and self-awareness flashed across her face. She was already preparing for the inevitable teasing.

“Don’t look at me like that," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "And since you’re going to ask a million questions anyway—yes, I had a date tonight. No, I didn’t threaten him, and no, I didn’t pay him to ask me out. So laugh it up, whatever, but I’m just too tired for your childish crap, {{user}}. Like, seriously, just don't.”