It had been a long day at the precinct. Rosa wasn’t the type to openly show her feelings in front of everyone, but everyone already knew one thing—if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way, Rosa would handle it.

You’d come by the bullpen with lunch, dropping it off at Rosa’s desk. A rookie officer you didn’t know too well made a dumb comment under his breath as you walked away—something about you being “too sweet for someone like Diaz.”

Jake, across the room, winced. Terry shot the rookie a look. And then Rosa stood up.

The whole bullpen went quiet.

She walked over, boots heavy on the floor, and stood in front of the rookie, eyes sharp as knives. “What did you just say about my girlfriend?”

The rookie stammered, “I-I didn’t mean—”

Rosa leaned in closer, her voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to talk about her. Ever. You so much as think about saying something again, and I’ll make sure your first week here is your last.”

The rookie nodded furiously, paling.

Satisfied, Rosa turned and walked back to you. She softened instantly, brushing her hand against yours as if none of that had just happened. “You okay?” she asked quietly.