HOMEMADE DYNAMITE !
❝ BUSTED. ❞

DRUG TRAFFICKING HAD NOT BEEN WHAT ABIGAIL LANCE HAD SUSPECTED. Sure, when she noticed the lack of the camera she had come to the conclusion something illegal was taking place in the restaurant — but drugs? Good job she hadn't bet money. It would have been on a crime syndicate. The typical Carmine Falcone type. But it was nice to be surprised every once in a while. Charged at by Italian cooks wielding knives? Not so much.

The row of tables in the middle of the darkened room were seated by a few people at each, all of whom had stopped to stare in panic and fear at the woman who had just broken the door down to get in here. But none of them looked as downright terrified as the manager, who couldn't quite seem to believe that she was standing there after going through all of the chefs.

"Hi," Abigail smiled, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, her voice so sweet it was sickly, "We need to chat."

Fear was a powerful incentive. Terror? Now that motivated people to talk. Taking out six cooks that had probably taken down every other threat that had come through those kitchen doors? That inspired terror. The man practically blurted out what happened to the camera and where she could go to watch the footage it had. He even told her what he had seen, what he'd heard. She stopped him when he began to describe a girl, the girl who had left the building shortly after the screaming. Blue hair, he'd said. Young, dark clothes. Pale skin.

"Wait," Abigail cut in, pulling out her phone and sending Amy a text, asking her to send a photo of the girl who's photo she'd seen on that desk, "A girl? Was she with anyone? An officer?"

The manager frowned, "No, no no, she went in with one, but came out with someone else. Another man. White, brown hair. In a suit."

Her phone chimed, and she looked down to see a speedy and helpful reply from Rorhbach. She clicked on the image and held it up to the man's gaze.

"This girl?"

He peered at the face, concentrating, before slowly beginning to nod. Abigail pulled him to his feet from where she'd made him sit at one of the tables, ordering him to show her where she could watch the security footage from the time of the incident. He hurriedly lead the way, leaving behind the workers tied in a huddle with old, thick rope Abigail had found in the crate at the back of the room.

The security room was undoubtedly the most modern, up to date part of the drug organisation  and restaurant front, but she wasn't surprised. Better surveillance ensured better security of their product. With shaky hands, the manager loaded up the footage and stepped back to allow the brunette to take over. The tape was high quality, clear, nothing like the blurry videos she had access to before — this was even in colour. She fixed her gaze on the abandoned building, watching as the officer dragged the blue haired girl into the rundown house. She was sure this was the same girl from the photo, but their backs were to the camera and she wasn't taking the risk.

Abigail moved the mouse and fast forwarded the footage, stopping and going back a few seconds when she saw two figures leave. As soon as she'd clicked back twice, she paused the tape. Clicking on the area she wanted to see, she waited for the tapes to zoom in, then let a big grin overtake her face.

"Busted," Abigail smirked quietly, taking a moment to savour the feeling she hadn't realised she'd missed. The reward of finding a new lead to trace, a new door to knock on. That feeling came to an abrupt stop when her eyes caught sight of the car they seemed to be approaching.

She had forwarded past its arrival, but saw it clear as day now. A Porsche. One she'd know anywhere, vintage, silver, a family heirloom. Her heart stuttered slightly, then sped up until it was pounding against her ribs like it was begging to be let out. The man the blue haired girl was with was looking back on the house, facing away from the camera. Slowly, Abigail reached back for the mouse, uncertain if she really wanted to see who it was. But she clicked play, and watched as the man turned back to the street and his face came into view. She didn't need to pause. Didn't need to rewind. She'd know his face anywhere.

"What have you gotten yourself into, Grayson," Abigail whispered softly, under her breath, eyes watching intently as the two clambered into the Porsche. She quickly grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper, jotting down the number plate before the car sped from view.

She stood up and spun around, only to stop in her tracks. The manager was stood facing her, trembling head to toe as he held a gun up at her with shaky aim. Abigail almost pitied him.

"Really?"  the brunette deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

Abigail didn't give him time to respond, as she lifted her own hand and watched as the gun rattled and shook and shuddered before collapsing into all its individual parts; it fell from the manager's hands to the floor and Abigail stepped across its broken pieces and straight out of the door, without so much as a glance back. But she did make a phone call. Detroit PD pulled up to Maroni's Italian to find an entire team of suppliers tied up on the pavement.

THE TRIP BACK TO THE PRECINCT, whilst short, had been spent contemplating her next move. Abigail knew what she should do, knew what she would normally do. In any other case. Follow the lead, follow the girl. But chances were he was with the girl. She stepped from the cold, bitter air into the cozy department with a frown etched deep into her features, one Amy Rorhbach picked up on instantly.

"You found something, didn't you?" Amy wasted no time questioning Abigail for a reason behind her expression. No amount of years could make the blonde forget the look her former partner wore when she found a lead that unsettled her.

"Yeah... something," Abigail murmured, barely sparing her partner a glance as she strode past, back toward the interrogation room.

Amy easily matched her stride, "Well? What was it? I spoke to the guy I mentioned earlier, Detective Gr— oh my God, Abby are you bleeding?"

Abigail stopped, letting out huff as she looked at Amy, the storm of emotions filling her head clouding an natural response she might've given.

"Ames, look," Abigail didn't mean to use the nickname, but she carried on before she could think twice, "I've... I've gotta figure this out. Let me just... let me think."

She knew her words were cold, harsh. Abigail didn't mean them to be, but seeing him had thrown her. She hadn't expected it, and she was in too deep to back out of it now, but she wasn't sure what option to go with. On one hand, this was a promise, something she had to follow through, but on the other? Well, it seemed like it was about to turn over some stones Abigail would rather keep buried deep in the earth.

Abigail let out a frustrated huff, pushing into the interrogation room and dropping down in her chair, resting her head in her hands and dragging in a shaky breath. Fuck. She let out a long groan and leant back in her chair. Always causing more trouble than it was worth. Abigail stood up, pushing her chair back with a sharp screech and resting her fingertips on the table. She pulled out the scrap of paper from her pocket, slamming it down and opening up the department issued laptop Rorhbach had given her.

The registration plate was trackable at first, but soon enough she lost the Porsche and with it, her lead. Biting the inside of her cheek, Abigail tapped a nail against the table in thought, before moving to her bag and scouring through it, pulling out her own laptop a moment later. If the police systems couldn't find it, then her aunt's would have to do. Logging into the League mainframe using Dinah's account, the brunette typed the numbers in and waited for the system to run its course.

There was a knock at the interrogation room's door. Blonde hair soon appeared in the doorway, and Abigail turned to see Amy's face hovering at the exit. She smiled apologetically, an expression which Amy accepted with a smile of her own. The two estranged partners now stood opposite each other, and Abigail awkwardly pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

"I'm sorry, for earlier," Abigail finally said, grimacing before she continued, "What I found hit some painful memories. You know how I get."

Amy sighed, shaking her head as knowing smile spread over her lips, "Ohh... yes I do."

Abigail let out a laugh, one which Amy immediately joined in with, but was soon interrupted by the laptop behind her chiming loudly. The brunette turned around immediately, eyes narrowed as she read the location that had appeared on the screen in black lettering. She frowned, deeply. Washington. Her lips parted slightly, before her words escaped in a quiet, inquisitive whisper.

"Hank and Dawn?"

"Who?"

Amy's voice reminded Abigail she wasn't in the room alone, and her head snapped around to look at the blonde, who was gazing in confusion at the monitor. Abigail stood straight, pushing the computer closed softly as she turned to face the blonde.

"Nobody. Just thinking out loud," Abigail answered quickly, smoothly covering her stumble.

"Wait, what is that?" Amy's faced hardened, her gaze becoming colder than a block of ice, "Well?"

"I'm tracking a plate. I need to go to Washington," Abigail muttered, grinding her teeth in begrudging acceptance.

"No." Amy shook her head, letting out a small laugh, "Washington? That's like a seven hour drive, Abby."

"It's where the case is taking me. It is what it is," Abby shrugged, letting out a breathy chuckle, "I said I'd do this favour for you, I'm not just gonna give up halfway there."

"But this is ridiculous, I... I..." Amy trailed off, before her voice softened and she looked up at the brunette, "Do you want me to come with you?"

Abigail hesitated. She wanted to say yes. By God she wanted Amy to come with her, wanted a brief chance at reliving a moment of their partnership. But she knew that bringing Amy into this would end badly. She would have to enter the life Abby had driven her away with, but more importantly she could get hurt. No. No, she couldn't risk it. It was safer for Amy Rorhbach in Detroit, away from that life.

She cleared her throat and shook her head, "No, no it's okay. I've got this. I'll come back when I've got what I need."

"Wait, what? You're going now?"

"Every second I don't leave, the further they are away. If I leave now, maybe I can catch them before they leave Washington."

"Right..." Amy glanced down, voice faltering, "Right, yeah. Of course. That makes sense."

She'd never admit it, not even to herself let alone Abigail, but Amy had found herself enjoying her former friend's company. The way she worked, how easily solving crime came to the brunette. She missed her partner, she missed her friend. But maybe it was all in the past, maybe all that she missed was a memory. A ghost, not the revenant before her. Maybe.

"I know," Abby smiled slyly, "That's why it's the plan, Rorhbach. C'mon, keep up."

Amy chucked, then stepped forward and held out her hand to Abigail, "So long... partner."

Abigail grinned, pausing for a second before pulling Amy into a tight hug, "Don't be dramatic, rookie."

"Ha!" Amy laughed, slapping Abigail's back lightly in response before hugging her back, holding her delicately, as if her hand would go right through the woman if she held to tight, "Lasted longer than you, Lance."

The two pulled back, and Abby smiled nostalgically at the blonde before she picked up her laptop and zipped it back in her back, swiping up her helmet and leaving the room. Amy followed suit, walking the brunette out to her bike, surprise not being what came to mind when she saw it, but raising a brow instead.

Abigail swung her leg over the bike, straddling the saddle after she'd strapped her duffle bag down firmly. She pulled the helmet onto her head and turned towards Amy, who was stood with her arms crossed, watching the leather clad florist.

"See you soon, Ames," Abigail called as she flicked down the tinted visor of the helmet.

Amy didn't need to see under it to know Abigail had a shit-eating grin on her face, and scoffed fondly at her, "Stay safe, Abby. You have a habit of being a trouble magnet."

The biker didn't reply, simply revving her engine and pulling off, disappearing into the night with the roar of a motor and the crimson glow of her taillights. Abby stopped at the red light, hesitating for a second as she glanced behind her, back at the dimly illuminated precinct, at Amy — at the life she'd chosen, the life she loved. Then she looked forwards, staring out at the black night. The darkness ahead of her. At the life she left behind, the life which kept dragging her back.

The lights turned green. She didn't turn back.

NOTE!
wow okay i'm so ready for next chapter and abby's arrival into the canon episodes. i wanted so badly for abby to somehow change amy's fate, but i already had in mind what i wanted abby to do, and amy just didn't fit :( stay tuned for more!