A/N This is my first time writing Brooklyn 99 and my first time writing anything in over a year, so apologies if it is OOC and rusty. This was inspired by real life events and the song Happiness by The Fray, I recommend listening to it during or after you read this. Feedback and constructive criticism is always appreciated. Enjoy!
Amy was 20 weeks pregnant when they found out. They went into the room nervously anticipating to find out the gender of their baby, only to later walk out with heart shattering news. Their tiny little baby, their little girl, was sick. Very sick.
Hypoplastic left heart syndrome. The words felt foreign on Jake's tongue. The doctor sat with them for 2 hours going over the disease and their options at this team. They both vehemently refused to even broach the subject of termination. They were given pamphlets and web addresses and sent on their way, with an appointment with the specialist set up for 2 weeks time.
Amy spent the next month researching. Books, journal articles, statistics and expert opinions piled into neatly organized, coloured coded binders.
Jake spent the next month freaking out. He was having a hard time comprehending how he would be a good father to a healthy baby, and now he was facing an uncertain future and he couldn't deal. Getting advice from the fathers he knew was useless. Terry just teared up and pulled him into a bone crushing hug. Charles offered to create a make Amy of (disgusting) homeopathic dishes, which he had given to Nikolaj to help with any and all ailments he experienced when adjusting to American culture.
The rest of the pregnancy continued similarly to how it did before they got the news, with bumps in their regular schedule for extra doctor's appointments and 2 hour crying sessions as the sun came up, mourning the healthy child they had pictured, and their hearts ever expanding infinitely to make room for the child they already cherished and loved so dearly.
And that's how they coped, until the cold, January afternoon when they met their daughter. Jake felt something tighten in his chest the minute her feeble cry pierced the air of the operating room. When he first laid eyes on her, all he saw was light. Light, and Amy's eyes and Amy's nose and his curls, and he had never loved anything more than he loved her in the moment. The rushing of doctors and nurses rushing around brought him back to earth. It was then that he noticed the blue colour of her lips, and her shallow laboured breathing and he remembered the precarious situation she was in. The nurse quickly wrapped her up and let Jake take her over to Amy for a quick hello, before she was whisked away in a clear, plastic box.
3 hours later, when Jake pushed Amy's wheelchair up close to the warm little incubator, his heart tightened once again, and tears fell silently down his cheeks. Their brand new baby was hidden in a mess of tubes and wires. She had a tube in her mouth to help her breath, she had a tube down her nose to feed her, she had a number of wires on her chest and one on her toe, and she had 3 IVs in place, 1 in her right hand, 1 in her left foot, and 1 in her head, in a tiny shaved area between her thick back curls. She was wrapped loosely in a soft pink blanket, and had a band around her ankle reading; Peralta, Girl. Jake's stomach did uncomfortable flip flops as he tried to swallow past the thick lump in his throat.
That's how Jake spent the next 48 hours, with a tightness in his chest and a new love in his heart as he spent the time between Amy's room and the NICU, gently brushing the tiny fingers of his baby. He couldn't put into words what he was feeling, he never was good at grammar, no matter how much Amy tried to teach him. It was a strange mix of happiness, loneliness and freefalling. He finally had a family of his own, one that he loved oh so much, but they couldn't be together, they couldn't go home. Happiness was just outside of his reach.
He thought things would be easier when Amy came home, but boy was he ever wrong. Amy was in pain, both physically and emotionally. Nothing in all her binders of research could have prepared her for how to cope when her brand new baby was across the city, all alone and clinging to her life with the help of machines. Jake made her hot chocolate, rubbed her back and dried her tears, but he could do nothing to feel the whole in her heart and in their home.
She was 10 days old when she had her first open heart surgery. When the doctors stopped her heart and began to med it. He never let go of Amy's hand for the 7 hours that their baby was away from them. Both their mothers were there, as were 2 of Amy's brothers. He has vague memories of the squad stopping by. Of Terry patting his back, Gina squeezing his arm and Rosa being a quiet comfort, only speaking up to comfort Charles. It was after everyone else left, that Captain Holt showed up and sat stoically with the couple while they waited for news. He only said 6 words the whole time he was there.
"I believe she will be okay".
To an outsider, this may have sounded like nothing, but to Jake and Amy, it was everything. When news finally came that surgery was successful, and Jake and Amy could see their daughter soon, Holt gave them a teary smile and ducked out of the waiting room.
She had a long, long road ahead of her. They took her home with oxygen tanks, a feeding tube, nervous smiles and so much love. She had 2 more heart surgeries within the first 2 years of her life. But Holt was right. She would be okay.
It was Holt's declaration that rang in his ears the first night they put her into bed in her own crib. The first time she visited the prescient. He heard it again as she reached out to him and babbled "dada". When she took her first, wobbly steps on her 1st birthday. It became a mantra of sorts, when Jake was feeling especially nervous for his little girl. On her first day of kindergarten, high school graduation, when she graduated from the academy, her wedding day… "She will be okay". And she was.