The precinct had caught themselves a major homicide case that fell into their jurisdiction, and that was enough to trigger an all-hands-on-deck. Trying to handle the homicide alongside regularly assigned cases was enough, but Major Crimes was lurking, waiting for a chance to snatch the case from the 9-9.

This inevitably lead to shitty work hours and lots of (more often than not unpaid) overtime being taken out by the squad, and you and Amy found yourselves without exception to this unspoken rule on a particularly slow Friday night. Amy decided to take on the graveyard shift and had essentially begged somebody to come with, and you were the only person who had agreed, much to your chagrin.

Amy was sitting tensely at her desk, chewing on her pen as she poured over the case file for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. A mug of coffee sat next to her, untouched and cold, a special Colombian blend that Charles had put up in the break room for any late-night stragglers to enjoy before he left.

Despite her passion for solving cases and uncanny love of paperwork, all Amy wanted to do was go home. She should be on her couch right now, watching Jeopardy with potato pancakes and pierogies and hot chocolate from that one Polish place she adored so much, but no, she was stuck in the bullpen.

She shouldn't be too spiteful, she supposed, since she was here of her own volition. But still - Amy found herself wanting to go home. Or at least out of the bullpen for a minute. When had her back gotten so stiff?

Amy let out a soft sigh as she stretched her arms above her head, brows creased and eyelids drooping with exhaustion, before she bent back over the files, intent on figuring something - anything - out. A lead, or something. Couldn't let all this stupid overtime go to waste...

Her eyes flickered up as she felt your eyes on her, lips curling into a tired pout. God, she was grumpy when she was tired.

"What? Why are you watching me like that?"