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Despite all of her experience and training, nothing could prepare Amy Santiago for the anxiety she felt as she pushed open her fellow detective’s apartment door with her gun drawn.
Jake had been over an hour late to work, and despite his history of chronic tardiness, this was pretty out of character. Usually he strolled in fifteen minutes or so late, never an hour. And all of the squad’s calls went to voicemail, which had them concerned.
Amy was charged with stopping by his apartment to check on him before anyone got too freaked out. Charles wanted to go, but Holt suggested he may be too emotionally invested. And Amy wasn’t. Jake and she were just coworkers so...she was able to remain objective.
Or so their captain thought, of course. He didn’t know that somewhere deep down inside Amy, she felt like breaking down at the thought of anything bad happening to Jake.
“Jake?” Amy called into the quiet apartment, voice tense as it shattered the silence. There was no reply. From a distance, Amy could hear a shrill noise, and her brows pulled down as she tried to decipher what it was.
Amy stalked down the hall toward the bedroom, where the sound was growing louder. She nudged his bedroom door open and stepped in, surprised to see that it was pretty clean, save for a pile of laundry on the floor. She realized the noise was an alarm blaring from Jake’s phone, which was thrown haphazardly on the bed. She frowned deeply and approached the phone, seeing that it was his alarm from this morning, set for 8AM. To get to work. It must have been chiming out for about an hour.
Amy killed the sound and glanced around the room, extremely alarmed that something awful had happened to Peralta.
Then, she noticed a beam of light coming from beneath the closed bathroom door. Gun drawn carefully, she moved toward the door, taking a deep breath as she pulled it open, only to gasp at what she saw inside.
Jake was strewn across the tile facedown, curled up next to the toilet. He wore a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, arms stuffed underneath his head. Amy let out a shrill, unintelligible cry of panic and dropped to her knees beside him.
“Jake!” She squealed, holstering her gun and reaching out to touch him.
Suddenly, Jake jolted a bit and sat up, wide-eyed and alarmed. He seemed to realize there was another person in the room, and he flinched away from her, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Amy took in the sight of him; he looked positively awful.
His skin was white as a sheet, pale and translucent. There were deep purple circles beneath his normally jubilant brown eyes. His lips were dry and chapped, hair greasy and disheveled, and there was a decidedly green hue to his alabaster complexion. Obviously he’d been up all night vomiting.
“Santiago?” He managed in a raspy, strangled voice.
“Oh, Jake.” Amy realized aloud, “Are you sick?”
“No!” He hit back defensively, but the crack in his weak voice gave him away, “Why are you in my bathroom you creep!?”
“You slept through your alarm.” Amy explained, “We were all worried about you. I came to make sure you hadn’t been kidnapped by another ex girlfriend’s boss.”
Jake scoffed, “I’m out of ex girlfriends anyway.”
Amy hesitated, and then reached her hand out to press her knuckles against his forehead. He seemed surprised by the touch, but he didn’t shove her off like she expected.
“You’re burning up.” Amy shook her head, “Have you taken any medication? When did the symptoms start?”
“So many questions.” Jake rubbed his face tiredly. A visible shudder ran down his bare torso, and he seemed to notice his indecent state, “Can you grab my hoodie please?” he gestured vaguely toward his bedroom.
Amy got to her feet and poked her head into his bedroom, noticing a navy blue hoodie thrown over the edge of the bed. She grabbed it and returned to the bathroom, holding it out to him. Jake pulled the hoodie over his torso and sighed with relief, scooting up to lean against the wall. He tucked his knees up into his chest with a heavy, exhausted breath.
“We should get you to bed.” Amy encouraged him softly.
Jake shuddered again, letting out a slightly manic laugh, “Trust me, you don’t wanna see what happens when I try to move.” he grimaced, “I’m pretty sure my body is entirely empty.”
“Then there’s low risk.” Amy chastised him, “Even if you throw it up, you need to eat something. And get off this hard floor.”
“Amy, I know what I’m doing, okay?” Jake shook his head, “This is the sick spot. I lay here on the cold tile and do nothing for 48 hours until whatever this bug is runs its course.”
“You have to hydrate and eat or you’re going to get worse.” Amy shook her head and crossed her arms demandingly over her chest, “I’m not going to leave until I see you get up and go lay down in your bed.”
She held her arm out and Jake hesitantly took it. Amy pulled him to his feet, and noticed his legs were unsteady. She lurched forward a bit to wrap her arm around his waist, feeling his weight press into her side.
“Sorry.” He muttered, “Jelly legs.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Amy replied shortly as she began leading him into the bedroom, though the close proximity was driving her insane. She wanted nothing more than to crawl in bed with him and wrap him up in her arms, peppering soft kisses to his skin until he fell into a peaceful slumber.
But they were just coworkers, and what she wanted didn’t matter. Amy helped him toward the bed and Jake fell against the pillows heavily, inhaling and exhaling with effort. Amy noticed he still looked rather queasy.
“Hold on a sec, okay?” she told him, “I’ll be right back.”
Jake looked up at her with those big brown eyes, but said nothing. He looked so...vulnerable, it was unnerving. She turned on her heel and exited the bedroom.
Amy walked into Jake’s cluttered kitchen and shuffled around cabinets until she found a large mixing bowl. She headed back into the bedroom and passed it to Jake, who looked at her a little confused.
“In case you need to...expel.” Amy explained, gesturing toward the bowl, “So you don’t have to walk into the bathroom.”
Jake looked at her like she was an idiot, “I’ll have to walk into the bathroom to empty the bowl anyway.”
“No, I’ll empty it.” Amy waved her hand dismissively, “Now, where do you keep your medicine? You need some ibuprofen to get this fever down.” she reached out and touched his clammy forehead again, convincing herself that it was purely out of medical concern. His flushed skin really was hot enough to cause a concerned frown to crease her brow.
“You’re gonna empty my puke bucket?” Jake demanded a little smugly, voice teasing.
“Tell me where the damn medicine is.” Amy growled.
“Cabinet above the coffee pot.” Jake said, throwing his hands up defensively.
Amy rolled her eyes and walked back out into the kitchen to hunt for the medicine cabinet. It took a minute to find the right one, and the contents were unorganized and scattered, but she did find a bottle of advil. She filled up a large glass with water from his britta (that was a surprising addition to his kitchen stock, but she supposed even Peralta needed clean water) and began moving back toward the bedroom.
As she neared the doorway, she heard the distinct sound of retching from inside, and sympathy yanked at her heart. For some reason, those awful sounds coming from Jake didn’t gross her out, they only made concern wash over her and she rushed in.
Jake was bent over the bowl, gag-coughing, though it seemed like there wasn’t much left to throw up at this point. Amy quickly set the pills and water on the nightstand and moved to his side, not sure what her plan was, but knowing she needed to be near him.
“Do not look dude.” He warned, holding his palm out as if warding her off, “It’s-” he gagged unpleasantly, “Super barf-y over here.”
“Shut up, Peralta.” Amy said, and reached over to gently rub her palm down his trembling back.
He stiffened a bit at her touch, glancing over his shoulder to give her a perplexed look. He cleared his throat and asked in a gravelly voice, “Why are you being so nice?”
“Nice? I just told you to shut up.”
Jake rolled his eyes, but seemed to regret the motion as it had him curled back over the bowl gagging and coughing uselessly. His body shivered and there was a distinct rattle in his lungs.
“Jake, you need to eat something.” Amy told him, “The dry-heaving isn’t good. Your body needs some nutrients.”
“I’d rather lance Scully’s foot boil than eat right now.” Jake groaned.
“The barf definitely isn’t the grossest thing in this room right now.” Amy scowled.
“Can’t eat.” he simply replied.
Amy didn’t respond, but she kept rubbing soothing circles over his back while he finished dry-heaving into the bowl. After a few moments it seemed like he was done. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he’d started to lean into her touch, as if he liked the feeling of her comfort.
But she did know better. She was reading too much into it.
“I’ll trade you.” Amy handed him a couple advil and the glass of water and pried the bowl from his warm hands, “Take the pills and drink the water slowly.”
Amy rinsed the bowl out in his surprisingly tidy bathroom, and then re-entered the room to see him practically chugging the water.
“Jake!” She hissed, “Slowly! It’s gonna come right back up.”
He glared at her over the glass but did slow his slurping down. Once the glass was empty he set it back on the nightstand and looked at her expectantly, “Are you satisfied now?”
“Absolutely not.” Amy shook her head, “One glass of water? How much have you been throwing up? When was the last time you ate? When was the last time you urinated?”
“Stop flirting with me.” he scoffed at her last question.
“Jake.” Amy chided, and he seemed to realize she wasn’t in the mood for teasing.
“Been puking since like...seven last night.” He said with a shrug, “I ate dinner at like 6:30 and it came right back up.”
“Did you feel sick before you ate?” Amy asked.
“Yeah kinda.”
“And the bathroom?” she demanded.
Jake cringed, “I dunno Amy, I don’t keep track of when I take a leak. It’s been a while.”
“You’re dehydrated.” Amy said, “If we don’t get you rehydrated you’re going to need to go to the hospital for an IV.”
Jake’s eyes widened fractionally, and for the first time since she got here she noticed some genuine concern for his own wellbeing in his face, “I don’t want to do that.”
“Then listen to what I say.”
“Sir yes sir.” His mocking expression was back in an instant. Classic Peralta.
“I’m gonna run to the store and pick up a few things.” Amy told him, “I’ll get you some more water before I go. Don’t move a muscle, okay? Just call me if you need anything.”
“Amy, you don’t have to-” Jake started to argue immediately.
“It’s non-negotiable.” She cut him off, and he bit his lip.
“Take my wallet.” Jake told her, “It’s on the kitchen counter.”
“Okay.” She agreed.
After grabbing Jake’s wallet -which was really more of a tattered piece of leather barely held together by duct tape, yes, actual duct tape) Amy was off to the market. She picked up gatorade, ginger ale, several cans of soup, fruit, saltine crackers, jello, and sour gummy worms for when he was feeling better. She called Holt to explain to him what had happened and let him know she wouldn’t be returning to work today. He asked her to give his best wishes to Jake.
She was only gone about a half-hour, but she was already eager to get back and make sure he was okay. She didn’t like the thought of him home alone, retching into the bowl with no one to rub his back.
Amy re-entered the apartment and called out, “Jake?!”
“Duh, who else?!” he called back from his bedroom.
She snorted and set the grocery bags on the counter, beginning to unload. She was so engrossed in her task that she didn’t notice Jake’s entrance until he spoke, startling her.
“Jesus!” She yelped, turning to face him with her hand across her heart, “Don’t sneak up on a person like that!”
Jake gestured around them with one hand, the other still clutching the empty mixing bowl, “You’re in my apartment.”
“You should be lying down.” She said, turning back to her task.
Jake meandered into the kitchen, his bare feet padding on the tile. He perused the groceries, eyes zeroing in on the sour gummy worms. He snatched the bag up before Amy could stop him.
“Absolutely not!” Amy turned and wrestled the bag from his weak fingers, grateful the illness had basically sapped any of his typical strength, “Those are for when you’re better.”
“Oh c’mon!” Jake’s voice was a grating whine, “That’s all I have an appetite for!”
“No!” Amy snapped, “Here.” She passed him a sleeve of saltines, “This will be easy on your stomach.”
Jake scowled at her, but accepted the saltines. He grabbed a ginger ale and headed into the living room to plop down on the couch. Well, it seemed like the advil was kicking in at least.
“How much did the influenza groceries run me?” He inquired from the couch, picking up the remote and flicking through Hulu.
Amy hesitated, knowing she’d grabbed his wallet but ended up just paying for everything herself. She knew he could afford it, and it was all for him anyway, so there really was no reason for her to buy it. Logically, she knew that.
But something in her weirdly yearned to...care for him. To do things for him. She couldn’t explain to herself why.
“I ended up just getting it.” She said nonchalantly, shrugging, “It wasn’t much at all.”
Jake turned to face her, a legitimate frown on his face, “Amy.”
“What?” she demanded, “I have a savers card at that market. It just made sense.”
“Well, what do I owe you? Let me Venmo you.”
“No.” Amy shook her head, “Don’t worry about it. Just focus on feeling better.”
Jake was quiet for a beat, then, in a confused voice he asked, “What is up with you, Santiago?”
Amy closed the fridge after depositing the ginger ale and turned to him with her arms crossed, “What do you mean?”
Jake picked at the fabric of the couch, not meeting her eyes as he said, “You’re just being weird.”
Of course, she shouldn’t have expected anything more from the clinically emotionally stunted man. He wasn’t a real talker, or an introspective thinker, he didn’t like to even scratch the surface of anything meaningful.
“Just trying to make sure you don’t die.” Amy forced her voice to remain light and teasing. She desperately hoped he didn’t notice how concerned she really was for him
. Jake’s lips pulled up to the side in a mocking smirk, “Are you worried about me, Santiago?”
Amy scoffed, “Yes Jake, the guy who constantly makes my life hell at work and annoys me to no end is at the top of my concerned loved ones list.”
Jake pursed his lips and looked down at the saltines, seeming to need a moment to think of a response to that. Amy instantly felt guilty. In an attempt to deflect from her true feelings, she’d said something that probably hurt him.
“I’m sorry.” Amy said immediately, “That was rude. I didn’t mean it.”
Jake glanced up at her, and Amy felt her heart shatter into pieces at the look on his tired face. His large mahogany eyes were still sunken deep in dark shadows, and his teeth pulled at his lower lip nervously. He just looked so human and vulnerable and real in that moment- miles away from the usual cocky detective who sat across from her.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Amy said quietly, approaching him with a bit of caution, “I’m sorry, Jake.”
Just as quickly as it had come, the moment of vulnerability vanished, and Jake snorted, “You couldn’t hurt my feelings if you tried, dork.”
Amy shook her head and closed the distance between them, sitting beside him on the couch. She fidgeted for a moment, eyes focused on a scratch at the corner of his coffee table. She glanced sideways and balked a bit, noticing he was staring at her as if trying to figure out what she was thinking.
“I am worried about you.” she admitted cautiously, “I...care about your wellbeing.”
“Really?” Jake asked, voice full of genuine surprise.
“Of course, is that so terrible?” Amy shook her head, “That I may care for you?”
“No.” A small smile pulled at the corners of his broad lips, and accented that little dimple in his chin so well, “No, it’s...really nice.”
If Amy didn’t know better she’d say that the look on his face was...hopeful? Was she crazy, or did he look like he wanted her to say more?
“I...care for you too.” Jake said before she could think of a coherent reply.
“You do?” Amy asked with disbelief, “Cause all you do is tease me.”
Jake shrugged, chuckling a bit, “I only make fun of people I genuinely like. For realz.”
Suddenly, Amy felt a burst of bravery. Maybe she wasn’t totally misreading this. Maybe he felt...something for her. Maybe not exactly how she felt, maybe not as strongly, but maybe, possibly, if she was lucky, he wanted to be more than just coworkers too.
“Jake.” Amy said somberly, meeting his eyes, “I like you too. As more than a friend.”
She had been hoping and praying he’d wrap her up in his arms and kiss her, telling her he felt exactly the same.
But instead he reached over, grabbed the mixing bowl, and vomited noisily into it.
Well, she’d been rejected before, but certainly never so viscerally.
Still, she couldn’t help but reach out and hold his back, hands gently rubbing soothing lines down between his shoulder blades as he barfed. After a few unpleasant moments of intense puking, Jake uncurled his body and accepted the paper towel Amy offered his shaky hands.
He wiped at his face and caught his breath, turning to face her with desperation in his eyes, “Amy that wasn’t-”
“It’s okay!” she cut him off, not needing to hear any further explanation. She swiftly took the bowl from him and made for the bathroom, happy to have an excuse to get away from this awkward air.
You are the biggest idiot to walk the earth, she thought miserably as she scrubbed vomit out of a plastic mixing bowl in Peralta’s dimly lit, tiny bathroom. You really are a pathetic loser.
Of course he didn’t feel the same way. He’d made that pretty clear since she rejected his initial confession of feelings before his undercover mission. She dated Teddy, he dated Sophia, he’d moved on...but she hadn’t. And that wasn’t his problem; it was wrong of her to try and make it his, especially today. Especially when he was feeling so awful and sort of reliant on her to make sure he didn’t die.
Amy reluctantly returned to the living room with the clean bowl, frowning as she noticed his spot on the couch was empty. Concern coursed through her veins; he definitely shouldn’t be walking around in his condition.
“Jake?” she called with worry in her voice, turning to head down the hallway.
But Jake had already appeared in the entryway of the hall, holding something in his pale hands. He looked weak and haggard standing there, but there was an odd determination in his gaze, as if he was about to do something he’d been building up to for a while.
“Jake?” Amy demanded, “Hey, come sit down.”
Jake took a few feeble steps toward her until he was standing closer than ever. Mint wafted off his breath, and she realized he must’ve rinsed with mouthwash that was stashed somewhere other than his bathroom.
“Amy.” Jake said in a low, solemn voice, “I’ve been waiting to give you this, but it kinda never felt like the right time. First you were with Teddy and then I was dating Soph and...and it was all kind of freaky to admit the truth.” He offered her a small smile, “But...you should know that I have always wanted something more.” he held out his hand and passed something to Amy.
She looked down with wide eyes, an unbridled smile breaking out across her expression. She ran her fingers over the paper, which had her name written across the front, and unfolded it.
Dear Amy,
Terry said sometimes writing a letter and never sending it is a good way to get out feelings. I think that’s pretty stupid but apparently I’ve really hit rock bottom, cause nothing else works and I’m taking TERRY’S advice. So yeah, it’s pretty bad.
I don’t even know what I’d say to you if I could show you this letter for real. Probably something really corny. Probably something like “you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I dream about waking up and falling asleep next to you everyday.”
But that’s stupid, so I’m not gonna say that. I guess all I wanna say is...you’re a badass detective, and a really good friend, and I feel super lucky that I get to spend so much time with you. And maybe I’m just really emotional cause I got dumped pretty recently, but I think a big part of me was hoping for that to happen. Cause the truth is...she was never gonna be what I wanted. She was never gonna be you.
Anyway, Terry was wrong and this actually isn’t helping at all. All it’s doing is making me think about you, and being with you, and what it must be like to watch you drink your coffee in the morning. What it must be like to do the crossword with you on Sundays. You’d probably get pissed and tell me not to help though. But I like that about you- you’re tough, you don’t take shit from anyone.
Well, I haven’t written a letter in forever because it’s the 21st century, so I’m not sure exactly how you end these things, but I guess I’ll just say one more thing:
If I’m ever lucky enough to show you this letter, if I ever get the balls to tell you how you make me feel, slap me upside the head for how long it took.
What am I even saying? I’m never gonna show you this.
Peace out,
Detective Sherlock Peralta
(P.S DIE HARD RULES!!!!!)
“Amy?” Jake’s voice broke through as Amy finished reading the letter, and she glanced up from the crinkled page to see his worried expression, “Are you crying?”
She wiped at her face, blinking in surprise as she realized there was a steady stream of tears dampening her cheeks. She rubbed at her eyes desperately trying to rid herself of the tears. She couldn't help herself.
It was so perfect. It was so sweet, it was so dorky, it was so Jake Peralta.
“I’m sorry.” Jake was saying, “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, Amy. I just, don’t really know how else to say what I’m thinking, and I-”
Amy cut him off by grabbing his collar and pulling him against her body, mashing their lips together. Jake seemed startled at first, but after a moment, he began to kiss her back, their lips molding together seamlessly. His hands cradled her waist, and they felt perfect there, like they were made to touch her. Amy’s fingers knotted in his curly hair, keeping him close as she deepened the kiss.
“Ames,” Jake murmured against her lips, “You’re gonna get sick.”
“Don’t care.” she insisted.
It took another few moments before they finally pulled away, and Amy noticed that Jake’s complexion was increasingly pale by the second, and he looked unsteady on his feet. She grabbed his arms and ushered him to the couch, where he sat down heavily without any argument.
“Sorry for assaulting you.” Amy said bashfully, a small smile donning on her face as she sat beside him.
“I take it you were okay with the contents of that humiliating letter?” Jake asked nervously.
“You’re insane, but also really sweet.” Amy assured him, “I am really glad you feel the same way.”
“Sorry I yakked after you said you liked me.” Jake smiled sheepishly, “It wasn’t on purpose.”
“Oh it’s fine,” Amy shrugged with a small laugh, “That’s about as good of a reaction as I was expecting.”
“I guess that’s pretty on brand for me, huh?” He shook his head, then looked up to meet her eyes, his own exhausted gaze completely sincere, “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Of course.” Amy reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly, “You’re with Amy Santiago now, it’s gonna get a lot less chaotic over here.”
Amy didn’t miss the way Jake’s grin spread all the way to his brown eyes, “I honestly can’t wait.”
“Not to mention, more of those kisses.” Amy mused with a grin.
Jake nodded, swallowing hard as Amy noticed a green hue starting to blush up under his cheeks, “uh...not related to that...can you please grab the-”
Amy snatched up the bowl and threw it on his lap, wincing as he bent over to barf again. She was back in position, rubbing his back with one hand, while her other came down to grip his fingers.
The way he held her hand so tightly, as if he never wanted to let go, was all the reassurance she needed. Even if her affections always made him barf, that touch was enough to keep her confident.
Wow, two seconds with Peralta and she was already thinking like a weirdo. Hopefully that didn’t continue.
Though, maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.