The day is done. They're so ready to leave Coral Palms. It's over, Figgis is locked up, and everyone is reunited, and Amy and Jake are reunited.

Amy and Jake. Together again. Tomorrow everyone will be on a plane home to Brooklyn.

Tonight Jake and Amy are sleeping in the same bed in hot motel 6 Florida heat. Together. They fall asleep curled up into each other, limbs slotting together like puzzle pieces falling into place. It feels right. This is where they're supposed to be. Together.

Jake wakes up in the middle of the night to an empty bed. It takes him a second to realize why that felt so completely wrong when that's how he's woken up the past six months straight. To no one beside him.

The past few days flash through his mind. Ending to hell. Getting to go home. Amy.

Something sinks in the pit of his stomach and he wonders if it was just another of his recurring dreams of seeing her again.

The realistic dreams of the whole nightmare of Florida ending, and then he'd wake up to an empty bed.

He thinks he's going to throw up. He is going to throw up.

He sits up and tries to take deep breaths and wills himself to keep everything down when he hears her.

"Jake?" She asks, voice full of concern.

"Amy?" He almost chokes. He's worried she's a dream again.

She's just stepping out of the bathroom in their hotel room, the light still on behind her and filtering through the half open door she left behind. With her long dark hair framing her face and falling past her shoulders, the black tank top and underwear that made up her sleep attire strike a contrast against the light and darkness of the room. With the light enveloping her silhouette, her outline, he can't help but think she looks like an angel. He gets goosebumps just looking at her in that moment.

Amy slides into bed to sit next to him, her hand crossing his shoulder to pull him closer.

"Are you okay?" She asks, eyebrows knit together in worry and she pulls his head to her chest.

It's in the middle of the night, he's exhausted, and the heat's probably messing with his head, cause he's still not sure if he's in a dream or not. If he's awake or not. If this is real or not.

"If I asked if this was a dream or not, would you be legally obligated to tell me?" He asks with a tired chuckle and her huffs of laughter are warm against his skin.

"I'm here, Jake. Tomorrow morning we're gonna go back home. You're coming home with me. I'm here now. I'm here with you. Not dreaming, baby. I'm taking you home."

"You'd be surprised how many times dream Amy has told me she's not a dream before. How many times dream Amy says I'm not dreaming this time, and I fall for it every time. I fall for it every night."

She tightens her grip on him as he speaks. Even though Jake is right here in her arms, her chest aches. She hasn't cried this whole time yet, even though when she first saw him again she thought she might cry she was so happy.

But this, right now, at his words, the sound of his voice- her throat feels thick and her chest is tight, her heart hurting so much she almost feels sick to her stomach.

When she holds him tighter, she's not sure if it's for her or for him. Maybe a bit of both.

The thing is, Jake doesn't sound particularly sad. No, he's still got the soft and sleepy self deprecating smile in his voice, like he's feeling light and airy for the first time in awhile, like he's finally alright. There's still that exhausted little humor in his tone, like he's about to shake his head again at himself, wanting to laugh at himself too, but not in a bad way. In a good way- for him at least. There's genuine humor and contentedness with that good natured, self deprecating edge as he tells her about his dreams, about falling for her every night.

And still, it makes her heart hurt so much. All twisted and crushed inside her chest at his words, a sharp spike of pain twisting in her gut, well and truly heartsick, like she didn't know the meaning of the word until now.

But, holding him close helps. A bit. Helps ease that sinking feeling in her stomach. It's still there, but it's not as bad anymore as she clutches him to her chest, feels his steady breath landing just under her clavicle, the soft smile on his lips half pressed against her skin.

It's not so bad when she's cradling him to her chest, and the heart sickness eases enough for her to think as she starts rubbing his arm up and down, wanting to keep him safe and close to her, wanting to protect him like this forever.

"Hmm, what is something your subconscious would never have dream Amy say?" She says, trying to keep her voice light as she starts rubbing his arm up and down. She wants to comfort him. She tries to go for the genuinely light and smiling tone that he had, and not something wry. That's what she's aiming for at least, the humor that he had for her response, more for the sake of her sanity and not breaking down than for his benefit. Pretending everything was okay even though she wasn't feeling okay made it a little more bearable. Because everything was okay now, she had Jake back, he was safe, happy in her arms right now, and they were going home. She still didn't feel okay yet, but it was a process, and she didn't really have time with everything that happened today to emotionally process all of it.

Holding him helped though.

"I'd probably only say you're a better detective than me in your dreams, so if I say I'm the best detective in the nine nine, which is true on all accounts, does that prove I'm real? Your subconscious mind would probably have me complimenting you, right? So what if I tell Mr terrible detective to suck it because Amy Santiago is literally the best person ever to exist? Cause dream me in your mind would probably only build up your ego, right?" Amy reasons, mostly trying to make him smile, but she thought her argument was pretty sound too.

Jake laughs. A genuine laugh. It's been so long since he's laughed with not an ounce of weight on his chest. Too long.

When he laughs and no part of his heart hurts, he knows it's real. He knows this is real. He knows she's real.

"I'm awake enough now, thanks," he smiles. "But your logic is super flawed if I was still half asleep and actually not able to tell if I was dreaming. Your subconscious compliments argument wouldn't work at all. I actually dream about you yelling at me sometimes," he admits, eyelashes fluttering across her skin. "That's how much I miss you. When I wake up from a dream where you're totally pissed off at me and like yelling about me doing something that only works with dream logic, like you yelling at me for leaving the shark cage open at work and letting all the sharks out, when I wake up from a dream of you yelling at me it's still a good dream when I wake up. That's how much I miss you." Jake's voice is a murmur, the warmth of it spreading to her very bones. Her breath rustles his hair, her lips faint and light at the top of his his head, moving, shifting.

Jake sighs, calm and slow, like a release. Like all his uncertainties are finally starting to escape, the doubts leaving his mind, something like peace overcoming him at her constant reassuring touch.

"I mean, like 95% of my dreams with you in them were like super nice and happy, but even in the 5% when you're insulting me about unleashing sharks on the city it's still a good dream. You yelling is a good dream. Anything with you is a good dream."

She doesn't say anything to that, just presses her kiss into his hairline and it's good.

When she speaks again her voice catches a little.

"I actually started writing my dreams down when you were gone. A dream journal thing. Not very consistently, though. My mom said it might help. Well, she actually suggested a diary first, like writing what happened at the end of every day as something therapeutic or whatever, and I tried it for a bit even though it felt like third grade all over again. But I stopped after like three days cause it was just too depressing. Writing about what happened at work that day or whatever when the most important thing about those days were that you weren't there. Writing about developments in a case and not having your name anywhere in my day," she exhales, and closes her eyes, trying to focus on the reality of having Jake in her arms right now. "Your name was always missing," she adds quietly, shakily.

At that Jake actually starts wiggling and shifting away from her, and she wants to stop him, because pulling away from her feels like it's pulling her heart out of her chest.

But then he resettles against her, and at the feeling of his arm snaking around her back, she realizes the only reason he was moving was to get his arm out from under him, so he could put it around her.

"I missed you so much," he whispers, his voice just a bit cracked and broken. Amy moves one of her hands to start softly stroking his hair, running her fingers through it. Gentle and loving, like a promise.

"I know. I missed you too. More than anything. But it's okay now, baby. I'm here. We're going home. I'm bringing you home, Jake. It's alright. I'm taking you home."

Author's note:
Disclaimer, I wrote the first draft of this on 9/29/2016- AKA five days before Coral Palms part 3 came out, so that's why Jake doesn't have a leg injury. I wrote the second draft today, and didn't care to change it too much from the original.

I've got some stuff in the works now, like peraltiago requests, but I thought in the meantime I would go back to like my most productive year b99 fanfic wise and fix a little something up and post that, so huzzah. That's what we have here.