Chapter 15: Halloween Heist Chaos - Part 3
POV: Kole Martinez
Shaw's Bar after the Halloween Heist felt like stepping into the warm heart of the Nine-Nine family, where competitive rivalries dissolved into affectionate ribbing and shared war stories. The familiar dive bar hummed with off-duty energy—cops from multiple precincts unwinding over drinks, but tonight belonged to Holt's squad celebrating their most sacred tradition.
This is what I've been watching for years. Real camaraderie, not scripted moments.
The squad had claimed their usual corner, tables pushed together to accommodate the post-mortem analysis that every Heist required. Empty beer bottles accumulated like evidence markers while everyone dissected strategies, near-misses, and the crucial moments that had determined victory.
Jake dominated the conversation with theatrical reenactments of his "almost had it" moments, gesturing wildly as he described his technological warfare with Amy's security systems.
"I was literally three seconds away from cracking the lockout when Rosa's diversionary tactics triggered the motion sensors," he declared, standing to demonstrate complex maneuvers that looked ridiculous without proper context.
"Three seconds and seventeen minutes," Amy corrected primly, consulting her phone where she'd apparently documented precise timestamps. "My statistical analysis shows you were never closer than eleven percent to successful infiltration."
Amy brought data analysis to a bar conversation. Of course she did.
"Statistics are just numbers refusing to acknowledge the power of creative genius," Jake replied with wounded dignity.
Rosa, nursing a beer with her characteristic economy of movement, actually smiled at their bickering.
"I enjoyed watching everyone panic when they realized I wasn't where they expected," she admitted. "Especially Charles. His facial expressions were... educational."
Charles, who'd been providing running emotional commentary throughout the evening, immediately launched into detailed analysis of his own psychological state during various Heist phases.
"The moment I realized my trap had actually worked, I experienced genuine surprise followed by pride, followed immediately by concern that Martinez might not appreciate being eliminated, followed by relief that he seemed to take it well, followed by—"
"Charles," Terry interrupted gently, "Terry thinks you can summarize emotional journeys without mapping every single feeling."
Charles processes emotions like other people process crime scenes—exhaustively and with unnecessary detail.
"Terry's emotional journey was much simpler," Terry continued, referring to himself in third person while mediating the group dynamics with practiced ease. "Terry wanted everyone to have fun without destroying precinct property or relationships."
Captain Holt had remained largely silent throughout the celebration, but when Jake grudgingly acknowledged that the captain had "executed his plan flawlessly," something approaching satisfaction flickered across Holt's usually expressionless features.
Rare smile. Actual rare smile from Captain Holt.
"Strategic patience combined with psychological manipulation," Holt said quietly. "Victory was achieved through understanding each participant's motivations rather than relying on elaborate physical schemes."
Classic Holt. Turning party conversation into leadership philosophy.
Gina looked up from her phone long enough to contribute her own analysis.
"I won through superior disinterest," she announced. "While you were all scurrying around like caffeinated squirrels, I maintained my dignity and natural superiority. Also, I live-tweeted the entire thing and gained forty-seven new followers."
Gina treats the Halloween Heist like content creation opportunity.
Scully and Hitchcock had claimed a separate table where they could discuss the evening's events without interrupting the main group's more intense analysis.
"I thought about participating," Scully said around a mouthful of bar nuts, "but then I remembered I don't like running or competing or really doing anything that requires effort."
"Smart strategy," Hitchcock agreed. "We should get participation trophies."
Kole absorbed every moment with photographic precision, cataloguing details that television episodes had never captured. The way Jake's competitive energy softened into genuine affection for his colleagues. Amy's analytical intensity balanced by unexpected moments of humor. Rosa's careful emotional walls dropping just enough to reveal genuine warmth beneath intimidating exterior.
This is family. Messy, complicated, absolutely genuine family.
"Martinez," Jake said, throwing his arm around Kole's shoulders with the casual affection of someone who'd had exactly the right amount of alcohol, "you're alright."
Jake's drunk enough to be honest about his feelings.
"You're still weird," Jake continued, "and I still think you're possibly hiding something significant about your background, but you're solid. Good detective, good partner, good guy."
The most Jake compliment possible. Suspicion wrapped in genuine affection.
Kole's lie detection confirmed what Jake's body language already suggested—growing genuine care beneath the competitive instincts and investigative suspicion.
"The scrapbook has a 'probably friend' section now," Charles added with characteristic oversharing. "Previously, you were filed under 'potential threat to Jake's partnership dynamics,' but tonight's performance moved you to 'emotionally invested in squad success.'"
Charles maintains psychological files on everyone. Of course he does.
Rosa raised her beer in Kole's direction—the closest thing to enthusiastic endorsement he was likely to receive from her.
"You fight well, think tactically, and didn't try to dominate your first Heist," she said simply. "That's enough for me."
Amy lifted her glass with more ceremonial precision.
"To Detective Martinez, who demonstrated that strategic thinking includes understanding when not to win."
Even Captain Holt inclined his head slightly, the minimal gesture carrying weight that a more dramatic acknowledgment couldn't match.
Acceptance. Conditional, complicated, but real.
Kole felt warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with belonging. For the first time since transmigration, he wasn't pretending to be part of something—he actually was part of something.
They like me. They actually like me, not just Martinez's credentials or abilities.
But even as the warmth of acceptance settled over him, darker thoughts intruded with persistent weight.
"They're accepting someone who doesn't exist. Detective Martinez, the cover story built on borrowed memories and fabricated background. Not Kole the transmigrator, not the man with impossible powers who's been lying to them since day one."
His photographic memory replayed every genuine moment of connection—Jake's reluctant respect, Amy's analytical appreciation, Rosa's tactical approval, Charles's emotional investment, Holt's measured acknowledgment. All of it built on deception.
"I'm building a life on foundations of lies to people I genuinely care about. Every joke we share, every case we solve, every moment of trust—it's all contaminated by fundamental dishonesty about who I really am."
The contradiction threatened to tear him apart. He wanted this belonging desperately, but earning it required maintaining deceptions that poisoned every authentic moment.
"My lie detection screams warnings about my own massive deception. How can I build genuine relationships when my entire existence is a lie?"
Jake was telling a story about his first Halloween Heist, gesturing wildly while Amy corrected his chronology and Rosa provided sardonic commentary. Charles hung on every word while Terry managed the group dynamics and Holt observed with subtle amusement.
Perfect family moment. Exactly what I wanted when I transferred here.
Built entirely on lies.
The evening wound down with promises to plan next year's strategies and threats to study each other's techniques. Kole exchanged contact information for weekend social plans, committed to Thanksgiving gathering at Shaw's, and accepted invitations to join the squad's regular activities.
Integration complete. I'm officially part of the Nine-Nine family.
Under completely false pretenses.
Walking home through Brooklyn's cooling November air, Kole carried the warmth of belonging alongside the cold weight of deception. Street lights cast long shadows that seemed to mirror his internal conflict—moments of illumination surrounded by darkness.
They trust me. They like me. They're beginning to love me.
None of them know who I really am.
And if they ever find out, everything we've built will collapse into betrayal and anger and the kind of hurt that destroys relationships permanently.
His phone buzzed with a text from Jessica: "Conference went great! Landing at JFK Friday evening. Still want to try that dinner we missed last time?"
Jessica. Another relationship built on impossible knowledge and careful deceptions.
Another person I care about who doesn't know I'm living a lie.
Kole stopped walking, standing under a street light while November wind cut through his jacket. The Nine-Nine had accepted him, Jessica was returning for what felt like their first real date, and his carefully constructed life was finally taking shape.
Everything I wanted.
Everything I can't keep if the truth ever comes out.
Which it will. Eventually, inevitably, the truth always comes out.
His photographic memory held every detail of the evening's celebration—genuine laughter, authentic connection, the particular warmth that came from being accepted by people whose opinion mattered. But it also held every lie he'd told, every deflection he'd made, every moment when he'd chosen deception over honesty.
How long can I maintain this?
How long before someone asks questions I can't answer?
How long before the weight of deception destroys everything I've built?
November stretched ahead with promises and threats in equal measure. Jessica's return, deeper integration with the squad, cases that would test his abilities and his cover story.
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