Chapter Text
"Oh god, Jake. Are you okay?"
Ten minutes she was gone! Ten minutes at most. But as she'd come through the door, grocery bags in hand, there was the sound of gasping and sobbing coming from the bedroom. She'd shoved the bag onto the counterside, not wanting to destroy anything within, but had dashed to the bedroom as fast as her heels could carry her. The sounds that were coming out of the room weren't quite as horrific as the gasps he'd let out yesterday, but there was something else ...
He was half propped up in the bed, head forward, arms wrapped around his torso and letting out horrific, gasping half-sobs. His eyes were wide, staring at nothing in the gloom of the darkened bedroom. Wasting no time, confused and scared, Amy hopped onto the bed and crouched in front of him. She was awkward, in her pencil skirt and heels, gently resting her fingers on his cheek. For some reason, she expected him to be cool, but his skin was overly warm - and damp. Sweat or tears, she couldn't tell. But the gasps were ragged, scratching because of the broken bones, and in the half-light his eyes were so dark that she couldn't tell where he was looking or if he was even focusing on her.
"Jake! Jake, what's wrong?" she ran her hand up into his hair, stroking gently, trying to coax him into breathing properly. "You need to breathe, okay? Talk to me. Keep it steady. Don't - don't hurt yourself." another of those ragged noises tore from him and christ, she felt her own heart racing as if to keep up with him. "Sweetheart. Come on." eyelids flickered; a blink was a good sign, right? Just the slightest inclination of his head back up toward her. That meant ... that meant he was paying attention. It had to.
"In, out. Nice and slow. Follow me, okay?" and although it was burning her up to have to breathe evenly when every part of her wanted to panic and spiral... she managed it.
Amy could feel the way Jake was actually starting to breathe better underneath her hands, the way his shoulders rose and fell. He gave a little half-smile.
"Hey." the word was strained, difficult, but it made her smile - even as hot saltwater began to pour down her own cheeks.
"God Jake. What the hell happened?" Amy murmured, brushing his face with her thumb.
"Had a - nightmare." he said, still raspy. "Panic attack. Memories. Saw you."
"Okay. Okay, Jake. Just - breathe deeply. As you can." she stroked his hair again. "I'm going to get you some water - no. Orange soda. I'll get you an orange soda."
When she returned from the kitchen a few moments later, holding the glass of luridly orange drink, Jake looked a little more with it - his posture better, his eyes a little brighter. Clearly he'd dried his face on their bedsheets, but that didn't bother her. Placing the drink on his bedside table, Amy kicked off her shoes and flipped on the small bedside lamp, perching cautiously next to her partner as he took a sip of soda. Her mind flickered over all the ways she'd seen Jake in their partnership - not just as romantic partners. The things they'd been through together. The night on the roof. And now ... this.
"You have to talk to me." he looked pensive as she spoke, finding it hard to meet her eyes. "Jake. Please. You have to talk about this. I love you, okay? I love you. And seeing you like this is just - I want to help." she stroked his cheek again, soft and gentle. "And everything you were talking about ..."
"Okay." Jake murmured, "Real talk here." he gave a little half-laugh. "I will. I'll tell you, okay... if you don't get upset." he leant in to her, resting his head on her shoulder. "I love you too. But - tomorrow, okay?" she sighed and nodded.
"Get some sleep." she made to stand - but his hand jerked out, tangling fingers around hers.
"Stay?" he asked, weakly. "Please."
"Okay." she whispered, and kissed him. "Okay."
---
Normally Amy liked to sleep face to face with him, tucking her head up under his chin, all tangled together. Jake had said before it was the messiest he ever saw her... excluding maybe some of her braiding breakdowns, when her hair essentially exploded. But it was something comforting, very sweet, about them being tucked up together like that ... this, however, was different. She pressed her front to his back, gingerly, an arm thrown over him. Jake liked being the little spoon. And she wanted him to feel safe.
Having awoken probably about an hour before the other detective, Amy had been prepared to get her routine started - getting ready for work, following her tight, mentally-drilled schedule. Having Jake there had thrown it off, recently, but still... she liked to try to get him into it, too. Today, though. Maybe not. He was still asleep, breathing raspily, his face buried in his pillow. She reached to gently stroke his hair a little before extracting herself from his back. Rolling over cautiously, her hand scrabbled to find her phone - and a message from Gina. Wow, that was new.
Holt told me to tell you not to come in today, boo. Look after the idiot for him. xoxo
Well, that solved one problem but threw up a thousand more. Still. She'd decided to stay there, cuddling up to his broad shoulders, until finally Jake began to squirm.
Crawling out of bed, Amy moved around the space with practiced ease - all her things undisturbed in the same spots they'd been for about eight years. Hair brushed - once before the shower, so it was easier to get clean and dry - pulling on her fluffy dressing gown. Then she hesitated in the doorway. If ten minutes was enough for him to panic... teeth worried her lower lip. Was it a bad idea to leave him whilst she showered? No. No, use logic, Santiago. Shower - low power, door open, extractor fan off so she could hear if he sobbed like that again. Yes, good plan. Efficient. Holt would be proud. But, thankfully - unneeded.
Entering the bedroom wrapped in a towel, Amy smiled at the sight of sleepy dark eyes blinking at her.
"Morning," she sang out, beaming at him, triggering that wide smile back. Good. God, it was both the reason she got so frustrated with him and the reason she loved him so much. That grin could make her so happy, when he was bouncy and full of energy - or drive her to want to stab him through the heart with a rusty spoon when it was at her expense. Thankfully, recenty, it was definitely more the former.
"Does it have to be?" he croaked. She ignored that little comment.
"There's some soda for you on the side. Just because you're hurt." Amy conceeded to the junk food. Right now she wanted Jake to be happy... water could come later.
Keeping an eye on Jake as he maneouvered himself into something resembling a sitting position and downed his flat soda, Amy focused on getting herself ready, even if she didn't have to be at work. Schedule was her life. But then... so was the man currently sitting in her bed, still half asleep. She found herself glancing at him more often than was needed; at the way his hair tufted up and how sweet he was.
"Okay." hopping up, she walked around and kissed him softly, smiling at the slightly surprised - but pleased - look in those eyes. "I'm thinking ... "
"Three minutes?"
"No, Jake - not while you're hurt."
"Aw."
"Listen. Breakfast. I'll make pancakes. And then we can sit down with some junk food, and binge watch all the die hard movies ... and talk, maybe?" she suggested.
"Noice. Wait. Talking? And you cooking?" he said, making a face as if she'd said something truly horrific. Rubbing at his tired face, Jake carefully swung his legs out of bed. Amy heard the sharp exhale, poorly hidden, as his damaged torso was forced to move.
"You already said noice, that means it's approved. Here." she handed him a painkiller and a glass of juice. Wrinkling his nose, Jake swallowed them down.
"I'll even let you eat in bed, if you want."
"Wow, you must be worried about me."
"Ever the tone of surprise, Peralta. Don't make me change my mind."
"No, it's okay. I'm ... gonna sit. In the kitchen. Give me a few minutes."
The smell of blueberries and hot batter was filling the apartment by the time Jake made it to sit at the little table, having made his rounds to the bathroom and pull on a set of his more comfortable loungewear-come-pyjamas. Watching Amy move confidently around the kitchen, so different from him, it was ... nice. He loved that about her. One of the many things on a very long list he'd been cultivating for years in his mind. Maybe he should mention that. There was nothing Amy liked more than a list... but regardless. She was confident, she knew what she was doing, and for all her tendencies to spiral, she was incredible. A woman who could change a tire without hesitation; who could take down a perp with a perfectly placed baton to the knee; who could melt every inch of resistence out of him with just the tiniest little hint of a smile.
Yep, painkillers were definitely starting to kick in.
A plate with three perfect pancakes was placed in front of him; a small bottle of maple syrup (the expensive kind! She never let him have this. Wow, she must be worried.) and the jug of juice as she settled across from him.
"You're getting better." the comment was meant to be lighthearted, but he could see the strain in the half-smile on her face.
"I've been watching some videos on YouTube." she said, voice maybe just a little tight. "I wanted to learn to make some things you like." he took a closer look at her plate. Uneven, burnt on the side, definitely some inconsistencies that definitely weren't in his. But hey. Three edible pancakes was definitely an improvement. "And, y'know. Actually be able to cook them. I can get something from the deli for your dinner, if you want."
"And you stopped taking tips from Boyle. Can't get better advice than that." Jake added, beaming at her. "Okay."
Jake dug in - and soon found out why the syrup was permitted. But as he crunched his way through somehow-scorched and somehow-squishy blueberries mashed into what was kinda-sorta pancake batter but dryer than the croissants currently moldering in his desk, he tried to remember that she'd done it because she'd cared. One pancake in, he gave up - pretending that he was too full, still didn't feel well from the night before. Jake could kinda tell she knew, because her plate went in the bin too. But that was okay. She tried.
Moving to the sofa, Jake settled there, watching Amy set up Die Hard. It was still early but they had a lot of movies to get through, and he definitely wanted to binge watch all of them whilst he was off. Six movies ... hmm, maybe they could manage it every day. A soft smile was on his features as he saw how gingerly Amy handled his disks, placing them almost reverentially into the DVD player. Then she was standing, holding the remote; the menu began to play on the screen behind. And Amy didn't press the button, looking intently at Jake.
"What?" he looked up at her, blinking owlishly, confusion colouring his features. "C'mon. It's time for some real cop action." he beamed at her, to have it slip away like the delicious syrup as he took in her expression. He recognised it. That was definitely Santiago's I'm being firm face and that was a very scary thing to behold. "Okay, what did I do wrong?"
"Nothing." the light, airy tone. Damn, he was in serious trouble, then. "I'm making you a deal, Peralta." she leant forward, crosing her arms. "You talk - and the DVD plays. Or instead we can sit here, staring at the title screen - because I know you can't get the DVD remote from me."
"You're a monster." Jake said, voice low and a little rough, rising up to the competition. "You know I would do anything for John McClane. Anything. Even with a broken scrotum."
"Sternum, sweetheart."
"Right!" he agreed, acting like he hadn't made the slip, but Amy was smiling a sneaky smile and Jake was feeling more nervous by the second. "Oh no. What did you give me? What have you done to be, you yellow bellied harlot! Wait - sorry. Too far."
"Jake, I didn't give you anything." Amy sighed, with just a hint of a smile. "Except, obviously ... your pain meds. Which you are required to take, by the doctor."
"The ones which make me drowsy." he pointed out, "And -"
"Make you open up, yeah." she felt a little flicker of misgivings, and sighed. "Okay - okay. I'm not going to hold you ransom about your past, Jake." Amy bit her lip again. "I'm sorry, it's ... no." she offered the remote to him, and he automatically took it. "It's not right." and now she felt terrible, flopping next to him on the couch. "Let's watch Die Hard, okay?"
He was looking at her in a strange way, and Amy was suddenly reminded of the cruise, of the way he murmured that he loved her, and how her heart skipped a beat. Admittedly the moment had been ruined because - well - widows, but ... still. She hadn't forgotten it. And there was something familiar in Jake's expression, looking back at her.
"No. No, Amy, you're right, and if being off my head on prescription medication is the only way I'll talk about it ... maybe that's a tip to my therapist, aha." the laugh was small and forced, but it made her smile. "I mean, I've not really told ... anyone. Mom knows some of it, but." he cleared his throat. "If anyone's going to know it. I want it to be you."
Amy waited. She didn't push; didn't try to make him speak quicker. This was trust. This was an important moment. But she reached out, gently sliding her fingers to tangle into his, in case he needed that.
"You know about me in the trees, when I was a kid. But when I was sixteen, I was ... I mean. Teen angst, y'know? Aha. I uh. It's one of the many reasons I stick to cars and I'm not good on motorcycles. Friend of mine, Lawrence, he had this - motorbike. And I kinda..." he made a face, as he spoke. "Stole it. Well. Borrowed it without a permission. I took his helmet, and I went into his garage when he was off with his band, and I went out on it." he went quiet, catching his breath just a little, as Amy rubbed her thumb over the back of his knuckles.
"I wasn't a good driver, but I managed to get out of town. And I didn't slow down. I just kept speeding up." he swallowed hard. "I wasn't trying to - trying to die or anything. That wasn't what I wanted. I just didn't want to have to think any more." he muttered. "About dad, about looking after Mom, about being Jewish. I thought I'd never manage to be a cop, that all my dreams were trash ... I'm sure you get it." he murmured. "I mean, not because you - I mean. Never mind." he rubbed his face. Amy realised she was shaking, even if she was glad Jake was opening up, she'd never thought of the ever-smiling detective feeling like this.
"Smashed it into a tree in the end. Mom was furious. I had to pay for it to be repaired. And it was before I had insurance, so ... eheh. Crippling debt." he looked at his knees, swallowing hard, squeezing her hand as his were shaking. "I messed around, too. With mom's lighters and my friend's too. I don't know. It wasn't that I really wanted to hurt myself, I just ... never felt like I would manage anything. And then I got in the program, and it ... it went away."
"Jake." Amy said, shakily. "It just - went away? Just like that?"
"No." he looked sideways at her. "It's why I throw myself into cases like I do. I mean. I don't want anyone to ... suffer. I want to be a good person, do good things, to help people be safe and happy and just ..." he fidgeted. "It helps. Cases. Working hard. It's better than letting my head get like that again. But I know if it gets bad, well. I'll be okay." he gave her a genuine smile. "I've got you." and he pulled her hand to his mouth, giving it just a soft kiss on the knuckles.
"I don't know if it'll come back. There've been times.. in that slump, or when things have been ... I've gotten close. To that recklessness. To that just ... I don't know. Devil may care, I guess. Teen angst. Not thirty year old angst." he murmured. "It's dumb. I'm fine. Departmentally mandated therapy cleared me and everything."
"Jake." she whispered it softly, and he looked at her seriously as she reached up and brushed his cheek with her fingertips. "I love you, okay? I do. If it ever happens again..."
"I know." he murmured. "Noice. Smor- I mean." he cleared his throat. "I love you too. And I know. I'm safe."
"I'm safe with you, Amy Santiago. I'm going to be safe for as long as you're around." he leant in and kissed her very tenderly on the lips. "I love you."
He took the small remote, curling up to her, and switched on the familiar movie. Amy mimicked him, so glad to feel warmth of his still in tact form on her arm, thinking about how many times she could've lost him. And grateful, so grateful that he was still here. And she thought about him being Mr Santiago, and she smiled.