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The blinds of the office creased just a fraction as he adjusted them, maneuvering the string slowly until it was adequately open, giving him enough privacy for his own affair while allowing an excellent view of the desks. Gina had, surprisingly, done an excellent job by ordering in the new blinds for his workspace- gray, adaptable and in a tone that did not distract him, like other objects in the room.
Once the blinds were left alone and he was back at the lean comfort of his chair, he intertwined his fingers and leaned against the desk, observing his precinct with attention. He still needed one final evaluation of the day before going home for the evening and letting the night shift take place.
The Sargent was busy at work, going over each desk and a few uniformed officers to settle for the night. Neither Santiago nor Diaz were at their desks, and as he spared a glance at the calendar next to his array of pens, it reminded him of their trip to collect files from the fire department. He could not trust even Jeffords to go near Fire Marshall Boone after repeated sauce incidents.
Scully, for once, differing from his partner, was working. His glasses were at the very tip of his nose, threatening to fall, but his eyes were skimming over paperwork at a rate that left the Captain surprisingly satisfied. Hitchock was napping on his desk, but Holt had already managed peace throughout the present and was in no need to start an insurrection.
Gina was receiving calls, Terry had taken off his glasses, and Boyle had locked in another self proclaimed street artist, whose spray paint cans were the only evidence needed for a fine to take place.
Holt could nearly feel his lip twitch into an indecent smile, but something was missing.
Peralta.
To his surprise, or dread, the detective was not present in his view. The schedule next to his calendar indicated that the young man was currently on the trail of another killer, one who, even if the title of serial killer was one murder away, had not left any trace in his crime scenes.
Holt frowned to himself. He knew Peralta liked to pursue cases like this ones closely without giving importance to personal hygiene or basic needs. When he first arrived at the 99 he had only noticed these bad habits of Terry, and had taken a significant amount of time to notice them on Peralta. He had only assumed Jake always lived like this- on the edge of tomorrow, munching on hot pockets every four or five hours, drinking unhealthy amounts of sticky orange soda and coffee, and taking shortly timed naps on a corner of the break room.
But, as his warm care for his people grew and his eye noticed more details, he could tell the difference. For starters, Jake had become significantly less unhealthy since he started dating Santiago. She made him drink pure water, go running with her three times a week and eat three square meals. On any normal police officer this would have been little change, but even Gina had commented on his glow.
The second, and perhaps most important, detail he noticed was the difference between Jake’s normal self-care routine. Whenever a case prolonged, any self respect the young detective once had was thrown out the window.
Instead of going home, he would stay in the break room, sometimes even the terrace, going over the case over and over. His diet would worsen with only coffee and the occasional bagel, or whatever Boyle remembered to bring. Holt once saw Jake munch on some octopus donuts without even a grimace at the taste. His hair would be tousled, sleep deprived eyes making him clumsy around even the most obvious obstacles.
As Peralta was nowhere in sight, and his desk seemed too cluttered than usual for him to have gone home.
Holt sighed, slightly peeved about leaving the tranquility of his office.
“Gina, is Peralta still in the office?” he asked, leaning out of the door.
“Uh huh.”
“So he has not left?”
“Nope.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Uh-uh.”
She was too focused on the game on her phone, vaguely glancing at the heater underneath her desk every few minutes.
“Thank you, Gina.”
“Uh-Huh.”
He approached Boyle next, who had begun to pack his belongings and leave for the day.
“Boyle.” he greeted.
“Ah! Captain. Ready for your night?”
The man seemed tired but satisfied. “I am, thank you for asking. I am curious, however, about Peralta’s whereabouts.”
“Jake? I’m pretty sure he’s still in the evidence locker.” replied Boyle. “Which reminds me-”
“Thank you, detective. That is all I need right now.”
“Oh, yes, of course, sir-”
Before the string of gratitude could keep pouring out of Boyle like long rolled pasta, Holt kept walking towards the evidence room. He didn't need to knock before pushing the halfway open door to reveal a stack of boxes, where a tuft of brown hair peeked.
“Peralta?”
The tuft of hair became bigger with a pair of eyes. “Oh Captain, my captain!”
Holt crossed his arms. “I’m surprised you are familiar with the works of Walt Whitman.”
“Who?”
He couldn't help but roll his eyes. “The author of the poem you have just referenced is-”
“Oh yeah, yeah yeah, I know the guy. Uh huh.”
Peralta emerged from behind the boxes, looking as disheveled as Holt had pictured, except for his oversized hoodie- which he could only guess belonged to Terry.
“Have you read his works?”
“Not really. Amy’s a fan of the movie with Robin Williams.”
“Ah yes, the genie.”
Peralta's eyes morphed into a surprised delight. “You know him?”
“My nephew Marcus was an avid fan of, what is it called… Aladdin, as a child. I myself quite enjoyed the scenery.”
“First of all, that's adorable, but second of all,” he threw his hands up in the air. “Now I can finally accomplish one of my childhood dreams!”
“Which would be?”
“Having a Disney marathon with my dad!”
Holt pursed his lips but internally smiled in the slightest. While he found no pleasure in watching child movies, perhaps he could enjoy Mulan if they portrayed Chinese culture appropriately. He had seen plenty of terrible interpretations already.
He raised an eyebrow. “I must interrupt your excitement over children’s entertainment, Peralta. Is it not too late to be… searching in the evidence locker?”
Jake shrugged and began picking some of the boxes. “Nah, just looking for something for the case.”
“What specific thing is taking so long?”
“There’s this-” he struggled behind some of the cartons before dumping a few more on the stands. “-past case that reminded me right now of this Ghost’s traces. The guy left wine bottles in the same place for every murder. Rosa had a perp like that two, three years ago, I think? Dude died in prison. Yes- I checked properly, but! He did leave behind quite a few tokens.”
“Right, well.” Holt paused to hold one of the boxes as it lost balance on its pile. “It is very late. You should be heading home.”
Jake’s head poked from one of the corners of the pile. “Uh, yeah, sure.”
“I am serious, Jacob. You are beginning to resemble a-”
“Corpse we pulled out of the river? You've used that one before, my Captain!”
“I was going to say a xoloitzcuintli, but your description is suitable as well.”
“A what?”
Holt cracked his neck. “ A xoloitzcuintli. It is a mexican breed of dogs.”
“Ah, dogs.” Finally, the detective finished placing the evidence back to its place. “Always learning something new!”
While Holt enjoyed Jake’s newly found liking towards new teachings, he was still peeved at his detective. “Go home and rest, Peralta-”
“-but the case!”
“You will not be able to continue this case with the proper mindset if you do not take care of yourself.” he finished.
Jake seemed to even consider it for a brief second before slumping his shoulder.
“Find. Your wish is my command, Captain. But first I need to, uh, pick up.”
“Have you not finished-”
“Nope, but said disaster is not for your eyes, oh good sir!”
Before he could reply, Peralta had already dived into a pile of what he thoughts was paper near the corner. Internally groaning, he left the room, knowing it was impossible to drag Peralta out of the precinct without breaking the peaceful atmosphere that had settled.
After swinging on his coat and making sure there were no crease marks on the shoulder pads, he approached Terry, who seemed to be ready to leave as well.
“May I ask you a question, Sargent?” he asked politely.
“ ‘Course, Captain. Anything troubling you?”
Holt twitched his lip in a terribly emotional frown, even if the man couldn't understand it, “How long has Peralta been working this case?”
“Jake?” Terry scratched the back of his neck. “Nearly a month. He was about to make it a cold case before two more murder appeared in Myrtle Street.”
“Oh.”
He frowned again, a little more deeply this time.
“What's wrong with that?”
Holt shook his head. “Nothing. I was just curious. Peralta seems… tired.”
“More like exhausted.” said Terry. “He gets like this sometimes, when a case stresses him out.”
He already knew that, but nodded and bid the Sargent a pleasant night. The light of the evidence room was still on as he passed towards the elevator, and a pang of worry nudged his stomach. He would have to confront Peralta the next morning.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Heyyy, Captain-”
“Peralta. I am busy right now-”
“I know, but this is more important.” Jake cleared the desk, accidentally shuffling some of the Captain’s papers until they fluttered to the ground. Holt leaned back against his chair with a flat expression. He tried not to grimace at his detective’s disheveled appearance or baggy eyes, instead choosing to act as his usually annoyed self.
“Do you always consider your shenanigans, and I sink lowly to use said word, more important than my work?”
“What? No, just-”
“Peralta, as a Captain, sensitive information comes and goes through my desk. You might have crippled a page containing the names of important member of the WPP-''
“The what?”
“-therefore, endangering their lives as the ink I had just used on it smudged. You would be responsible for the deaths of key members to the state. Do you understand?”
Jake bit his lower lip before placing his file in front of the man. “I have no idea, Capitan, but I'm sure you’ll figure it out with that big brain of yours. In the meantime-”
He flipped the file open.
“I have a lead on our Myrtle Ghost killer.”
“Must you insist on calling it that? Perhaps the crime scenes were close to Myrtle Street but ghost-”
“It's a character in Harry Potter and Amy will be disappointed if I don't take my chances,” he quipped back. “Sir.”
Holt’s sigh of disappointment was his only answer, but after taking off his glasses the man proceeded on going over the documents.
“Brief me on this Myrtle Killer, then.”
“Myrtle Ghost killer, sir. I’m pretty sure this guy started as a robber until he eventually realized killing bigger, smarter creatures was cool. I’ve confirmed three killings by him, and am suspicious of another two. He tends to leave Port bottles with his victims, along with little post it notes- which reminds me, should I get Amy some more of those industrial sized post it packets?”
“Peralta.”
“Sir, yes, sir. My lead is based on the Ports and, wait for it,” he turned around and took out a small fake moustache, putting it on before going. " de la bière pinot noir. ”
Holt wasn't impressed. “How long did you practice that phrase?”
“Little over an hour.” Jake smiled.
“You just said, and beer pinot noir.”
Only Jake’s eyes radiated tiredness but his smile was still there.
“And you are sure it’s a man?” asked Holt.
“Oh yeah, he’s made it clear through the post it's. Not that women can't become serial killers, I mean, Rosa and Amy would make a legendary murder spree if-”
“Peralta.”
“-only if they wanted to.” His smile turned into a small grimace before continuing his report. “Back to my original point. Port. The bottles he’s been leaving are all from a specific date. If I can track the stores that sell only that type maybe they can lead me to the buyers and a potential list of subjects..”
Holt leaned onto his desk, and by the twitch on his eyebrow Jake could tell he was correct. Or perhaps infuriated, he could never tell.
“Good job. I’ll tell Diaz to begin the questioning.”
“Yeah- wait, what?” Jake had turned to walk away before turning back. “Why Rosa?”
“Because,” Holt closed the file. “You have been on this case for far too long.”
“Doesn't that prove my point, sir? I have been at it since the beginning, so why shouldn't I be the one to complete it?”
“Peralta, didn’t I instruct you to go home and rest yesterday night? I believe you figured this all out last night in the precinct.”
Jake shifted on his feet, looking down.
“Take a seat.”
“What?”
“Take a seat.”
He suppressed a groan and settled on one of the chairs, sticking his hands on the pockets of his jacket. It was disappointing to have his case taken away but having the Captain sit him down for a chat was odd.
“Peralta, it has come to my attention that, not only have you been spending the nights in the precinct, but have also been drinking an inadequate amount of coffee and not eating enough food.”
Jake squirmed uncomfortably on his seat. “So?”
“You have not had a full night's rest in a long time. And I know your personal relationships are none of my business, but is everything alright with Santiago?”
“What? No- I mean, yeah, everythings fine. We’re fine. And as much as I love you going into my love life, why, exactly, are you asking?”
Perhaps he was being too defensive, but it irked him to have Holt watch him so intently.
“I assumed something was amiss since you have been living in the break room.”
“It’s not that.” he said, and rubbed his eyes. “Listen, everything is fine between Ames and I.”
“Right.” HolT put his palms together. “Then why are you still sleeping here? It is not good for your back, and a diet on ‘hot pockets’ can easily have negative, long lasting effects on your stomach.”
“So you've been stalking me?”
“Just answer the question.”
Jake stood up, too quickly for his own good and had to sit back down when his head started palpitating. He didn’t want Holt to keep prying into the way he solved cases. It was only natural for him to camp out without taking any evidence to his apartment, with the sole purpose of staying at the office to work on the case.
“I’m working, that’s all.” He answered.
“On the case?”
Jake sighed and nodded, feeling like a child underneath an adult’s disappointed gaze.
“And you believe that by sacrificing your basic needs you will solve the case faster?”
“I’m just focusing on it, Captain.” he said. “I don't want any distractions, and I’m already very close-”
“No, you are not. You are only hurting yourself and taking more time to solve this case because of your physical health.”
Jake felt his stomach clench and a significant knot form on the back of his throat. He ducked his head again, feeling Holt’s stare carving at his hair with disappointment.
“Sorry.” he muttered, fidgeting with his fingers.
Holt, to his surprise, did not sign or dismiss him. “I am not angry, Jacob, only concerned. While I know you are a brilliant detective, perfectly capable of solving this,” he motioned the file. “I do not enjoy the fact that you are harming yourself just for taking time.”
“Oh, well, uh…” Jake still refused to meet his Captains eyes. “I just wanted to be productive.”
“Not being able to solve all puzzles immediately does not make you a bad detective, Jacob. What would make you an even better one is acknowledging the fact that you need rest and other needs.”
Jake nodded, slumping his shoulder. “Okay, yeah. Fair.”
He heard Holt shuffle around his desk before something large was placed in front of him, and he couldn't hide a look of curiosity. It was a tupperware full of liquid, which, surprisingly, smelled good. Holt seemed to catch his expression of curiosity before he could ask.
“I would not get sick often, as a child, but whenever I did, my mother would make me tomato soup.” Holt explained, pushing the container further towards him until Jake took it. “I myself am not an able cook, but Kevin was more than willing to make you some when I explained your situation.”
Jake felt the knot untighten slowly. “You told Kevin I was sick?”
“I told Kevin you had not been taking care of yourself properly, Jacob.”
“Oh/”
He turned the container around his hands, feeling the glass heat up his palms.
Holt stood up and circled his desk until he was next to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Take some time off, Jacob. Let Diaz continue the question. Though I know she is a capable detective, I doubt that the case will be solved once you come back.”
Jake wanted to cry. Of happiness, and relief of course, but the amount of meaning behind Holt's demeanor made him feel less weary than before. He nodded and stood up slowly, still hugging the soup against his chest. He sniffed.
Holts lip twitched upward. “Are you crying, detective?”
“What? No, there's just a lot of cosmic dust around here.” he sniffed again and made his way to the door. “Just cosmic dust and tomato soup. So much of it.”
“Go get some rest, Jacob.”
Rest sounded even more appealing when he opened the door, feeling cared for both by the Captains gaze and the soup in his arms.
“Yes, Dad, bye, see ya.”