A series of vignettes centered around the episode AC/DC. How does the rest of the squad react to Jake's getting-hit-by-a-car incident? Basically just an excuse for me to write gratuitous hurt/comfort.
Orginally posted on ao3 10/10/17
B99B99
"Detective Santiago?" Holt is standing by the door to his office.
"Yes, sir?" Amy snaps her head up from her work, and in the process aggravates her hangover headache.
"Do you have a moment?" He leads her to his office and gestures to take a seat. Something feels off, but Amy can't exactly put her finger on it.
"I've just got word from Sergeant Jeffords and Detective Boyle. I trust you haven't yet heard from them?" Holt sounds graver than usual.
Amy shakes her head. She knows Charles had accompanied Jake to Atlantic City, hopefully to keep an eye on him and make sure he rests, but she doesn't know why Sergeant Jeffords is involved as well.
"Detective Peralta was hit by a car last night."
"What!" Amy feels her heart drop into her stomach and a familiar feeling of panic constricts her chest.
"He's okay," the Captain reaches across the desk and pats Amy's hand in a rare gesture of affection. "It turns out he wasn't vacationing in Atlantic City, he was following a lead for his robbery case."
Amy is feeling too many emotions to process all at once. Relief that Jake was okay. Anger that he never put his health first. Humour that of course Jake would go to such measures to keep working.
Holt continues his explanation, "when Detective Boyle found out he called Sergeant Jeffords, who travelled to them with the intention of taking Detective Peralta home." He pauses. "But it seems the perp spooked before the ACPD arrived, and Detective Peralta could not resist pursuing on foot."
"Of course he couldn't," Amy says quietly.
"With three broken toes, it's quite a feat," Holt states. "Detective Peralta was running across the street when he was struck by the arriving ACPD car."
"Oh my god." Amy feels like she's floating. She knows she should feel the chair underneath her, but she can't.
"According to Sergeant Jeffords, he had surgery last night, but he's awake and stable. Although one must think that his previous injuries did not help the situation. I'm going to visit Detective Peralta tomorrow, I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me?"
"Yes," Amy squeaks out, "of course."
"Good," Holt nods, the reason for his conversation complete. But neither he, nor Amy, make a move towards the door.
There's a beat of silence, then Amy asks, "How injured is he?"
"I only spoke to Sergeant Jeffords briefly," Holt says, quietly, kindly. "But he's okay," he reassures her. "I believe he broke a few more ribs and fractured his wrist, as well as sustained a minor concussion. He was treated in surgery for internal bleeding, but that is no longer a concern."
"Oh, okay." Amy is trying to discretely regulate her breathing. Deep breath in, hold, release, repeat.
"He really is quite lucky, Detective Santiago, the situation could have been much worse."
She knows that the Captain means it as reassuring, but his observation only catapults Amy's mind into what could have been. How much worse this conversation between her and Captain Holt could have gone.
Captain Holt looks at her gravely for a few seconds, before slowly realizing he was not having his intended effect on Amy. He tries again, "We'll make sure he gets better, Detective Santiago, that's an order."
B99B99
"Oh my god!" Charles yells as he watches his best friend crumple onto the hood of the ACPD police car.
Terry turns towards Charles' voice, before letting loose a shout of his own. He jumps up and runs into the street. "Jake! Are you okay?"
Jake is lying sprawled on the hood of the cruiser, his head resting against the windshield. Terry sighs a small breath of relief when he realizes Jake is still awake.
"No Sarge," Jake's face contorts in pain, "I got hit by a car!" Jake's eyes dart around in disbelief.
It feels like the scene freezes for a minute, and then they all jump into action. The ACPD officers pile out of the car. The driver, a male in his mid-forties, starts yelling, 'what did they think they were doing'.
Terry steps towards him, towering over the slightly portly officer. "He was pursuing a known criminal, and now he's injured, so what about you stop yelling at him, and start calling for an ambulance with your radio."
"Wait, you're…"
"Sergeant Jeffords, NYPD," Terry snaps. "And that's an order."
Meanwhile, Charles is leaning across the hood of the car. "It's okay, Jakey, you're going to be fine."
"My head feels funny," Jake mumbles and tries to move his hand to touch it.
"Don't move if you can help it, okay? I know it hurts, but you don't want to injure yourself more."
"I already am injure myself more," Jake tries to laugh, but it comes out in a groan. "Ouch," he exclaims, "my chest kinda hurts too." He tries to turn his head only to have Terry gently restrain him.
"Just lie still until the ambulance comes, can you do that?" Terry can hear the note of distrust still in his voice, he winces, but part of him can't help but think this wouldn't have happened if Jake had just listened to him for once.
"We've called for an ambulance," it's the female officer who comes to stand next to Terry and Charles. "Is there anything else I can do to help?"
"We're fine, thanks." Charles tells her with a little too much snark. Terry had forgotten how protective Charles became in a crisis. Terry turns to her, "Can you meet the ambulance on the main road and direct them here?" Giving people tasks was always the best way to manage bystanders. He turns his attention back to Jake, whose eyes have slipped closed.
"Jake," he tries to make his words gentle, but firm, "you need to stay awake."
"Hmmm," Jake opens his eyes, dazed and not quite focussing on Terry in front of him.
Charles is cycling his way through their emergency first aid training. Leaning down to check Jake's breathing and putting two fingers on his neck to check his pulse. Charles looks up and meets Terry with concerned eyes. Jake doesn't seem to be imminently dying, but he doesn't seem to be in very good shape either.
His breathing is becoming a bit laboured. Finally, they can hear the strains of the siren in the distance.
"Oh good," Jake mumbles, "hope that's for me."
And Jake's willingness to admit his injuries is what scares Terry the most. The ambulance arrives and the EMTs pile out, and time seems to be going on warp-speed.
"Sergeant Jeffords, NYPD," Terry hears himself make introductions. "Detective Peralta was pursuing a suspect on foot when he was hit. He has previously sustained injuries."
"Do you know what kind?" the EMT asks briskly. Her brown eyes making eye contact with urgency.
"Three cracked ribs, three broken toes on his right foot, and a hairline fracture in his left thumb" Charles offers, for once his tendency to memorize his friends' personal information is useful.
"He wasn't even supposed to be working," Terry can't help but add.
And then they are putting a brace around his neck, and giving him something for the pain, and carefully moving him onto a stretcher, and talking purposefully, concerned about his oxygen levels.
And then Charles is moving like a lost puppy, trailing behind the stretcher, and Terry is telling the EMTs he'll follow them in his car. The ACPD offer to follow as well, and Terry wants to tell them off, but he doesn't, he knows they'll need to file a report about the incident. Charles is babbling in one ear, but Terry doesn't hear him as he walks to the car, and sits in the driver's seat.
They don't see Jake again until hours later. They're sitting in the waiting room, Charles giving an endless analysis of what the nature of his injuries could be, Terry sitting silently in the corner, bouncing his leg, until he finally snaps at Charles and tells him to be quiet.
Charles goes to find a, "heartbreakingly terrible" cup of coffee, and it's not until the silence envelopes the waiting room that Terry realizes he should call the Captain. And Jake's mother. And his own wife.
Charles returns with the coffee, but he's toned down his chatter. In a moment of quiet, Charles says, "I don't want him to die, Sarge".
Terry is taken aback. "He won't die, Boyle".
"He's been in there a really long time."
"I know," Terry admits. And then adds quietly, "I don't want him to die, either."
They sit in the silence of their worry for a minute. Acknowledging their fear, more importantly, acknowledging their care for Jake, and for each other.
An hour later, a doctor finally comes out to speak with them, and explains that Jake's been in surgery. He was bleeding internally. But he's stable now and they should be able to see him soon.
B99B99
Jake isn't awake yet. He's lying, unmoving, his left arm wrapped in a brace, and an IV taped to his right hand. To see Jake this still, this quiet, is a shock. Even in the immediate aftermath of the incident, Jake was talking, cracking jokes, trying to move.
Charles and Terry sit with him in silence, taking turns going to the bathroom and grabbing food. It's Charles who is there when Jake finally stirs. He's sitting with his hand hovering near Jakes, not wanting to hold his hand for fear of causing pain.
First Jake starts shifting his legs, his arms. Then, he tries to roll over, and before Charles can stop him, he's groaning and opening his eyes, only to snap them shut again.
"Jakey, you're awake" Charles exclaims.
"Hmmm, Charles?" He opens his eyes again, slowly this time. He grimaces as he notices the pain that is coursing through his body.
"I feel like I was hit by a car," Jake mumbles, "and I can say that 'cause I really was." He gives Charles a trace of his usual wide-mouthed smile.
"Are you in pain? Do you want me to call the nurse?" Charles jumps up from his chair and leans into Jake's line of vision.
"Charles," Jake raises his right hand half an inch in an attempt to stop Charles' speech. "It's okay, I'm okay."
"Are you sure? You were hit by a car, Jake. And you fell through a sunroof before that."
"I should stay away from vehicles for a while, they're not my friends." He stops short on the last word, wincing again as he tries to change position.
"We were so worried. And then we found out you had surgery. And—you're my best friend, Jake." Charles looks at him. "It was horrible. And I'm going to do everything to make your recovery easier."
"Thanks, Buddy." Jake says sincerely.
"Chicken noodle soup? Hmmm or goat? Nah we'll go for the classics…and Diehard of course. I'll go buy the movies now. Or do you want soup first?"
"I think right now I just need some sleep." Jake interjects with a yawn.
"Of course, Jakey." Charles is watching Jake's face, and the way his mouth and eyes are tightened from the pain. "Are you sure you don't want more pain medication?"
Jake opens his eyes a crack, and says quietly, "maybe, yeah."
Charles pushes the call button. "Just get some rest, I'll tell the nurse."
"Wait," Jake says, a little louder than before. "Thank you Charles."
"The nine-nine cares for you Jake. I care for you."
B99B99
"So how does it feel to get hit by a car?" It's Rosa's day off and she's stopped by Jake's apartment. She's handing him a take-out container of Thai food, her face blank as always, head cocked waiting for his response.
"What? You don't ask someone that! Especially not as they're still recovering!" Jake splutters from his place on the couch.
Rosa just shrugs. "Always thought getting hit by a car was pretty badass." She takes a seat on the coffee table opposite him.
"Well, it doesn't feel badass. Or even really look badass." He pauses, "You know when a bug hits the window while you're driving and it goes splat? That's what I looked like."
"Ha," Rosa barks out a laugh. "Glad you didn't really go splat though."
"Yeah, me too." They sit in silence for a while. That's how it's always been between Jake and Rosa, a friendship that didn't need words.
Finally Rosa speaks, "Can I get you anything?"
"You've brought me Thai food. I have no needs in the world except for unlimited amounts of takeout from Thai World." Jake shifts into a more upright position, but stops abruptly, puts a hand to his side, and lets out a groan.
"No other needs?" Rosa looks at him with a touch of incredulousness.
"Nope," he breathes out. "You know me!" He gives her a smile, craning his neck up because Rosa is now standing.
"So you don't need me to grab your pain medication and a glass of water from the kitchen?" She says as she walks towards Jake's kitchen doorway.
"Absolutely not," he sing-songs, in between deep breaths.
She comes back out and places his medication and glass of water within reach of the couch.
"Dumdum." She announces as she settles back down on her perch across from him.
"So," Jake drawls out the word, "working on any cool cases right now?" He tries to nonchalantly grab a pill and wash it down with a swig of water.
"Not telling you," Rosa replies coolly.
"What? Why?" Jake looks genuinely alarmed.
"You don't need any excuse to come in to work. No cool cop stories till we're sure you're healed."
"That's not fair," Jake whines.
Rosa glares at him.
"Okay, that's a little bit fair." He leans back into the couch and opens the takeout container.
"It's pretty badass to be hit by a car," Rosa says again, "but I don't care if you're badass or not, Jake. You're pretty cool the way you are."
B99B99
"Jake, in all the dramatic things you've done in your life, getting hit by a car twice in one week tops the list. You're close to upstaging me, and I am the most dramatic." Gina sits down next to Jake's hospital bed with a flourish.
"I didn't get hit by a car twice. I fell through the sunroof, there's a difference." He looks up, responding by way of greeting.
"Big diff. Still a pretty spectacular way to break most of the bones in your body."
Jake gives Gina a small nod, hesitant to agree but really without a way to disagree.
"Remember when you broke your wrist in high school?" Gina continues.
"I petted a horse too hard," Jake agrees with a hint of a smile.
They share a moment of silence, reminiscing.
"Or when I got stung by a bee in second grade?" Jake adds.
"You just kept hysterically laughing, it was really freaky."
"And you were the one to go get the school nurse."
There's an undercurrent to their recollections. Gina and Jake have known each other since they were babies, and so they communicated in things left unsaid. Jake looks away from Gina, fiddling with a loose thread with his non-splinted hand.
"You doing okay?" She asks.
Anyone else and Jake would respond with a joke and a lopsided grin. Something like, 'of course, it would take more than the ACPD to bring me down.' Or maybe, 'I got hit by a car and can't move, I'm definitely okay'.
But with Gina, Jake understands her question comes with years of knowing him. The way a dead body doesn't faze him, but the thought of the inside of his own body does. The way he put off going to the doctor's until four days after the unfortunate horse-petting incident, unconcerned that he couldn't bend his wrist until suddenly he was faced with an x-ray picture of the fracture 'That's what it looks like?'.
'I haven't been to the doctor's in eleven years, how trill is that?' Gina could hear the implications behind his words.
And so when she asks if he's okay, Jake takes a deep breath and says quietly, "I'm okay now, but maybe not so much earlier."
Gina is quiet for once, just gives Jake a small smile.
"I don't know, hospitals just sort of freak me out." But he knows Gina knows this.
"And the EMTs and doctors just kept reassuring me, but I could hear them talking and I knew it was about me and…as long as it's not about me or someone I know, it's okay. I don't know, I think I'm repressing the connection. But then I remember the human body is really gross and it's inside of me," he pauses and looks at her wide eyed, "and then I just can't get that freaked-out feeling out of my head."
"The human body is seriously disgusting," Gina says solemnly, emphatically.
"But then I was pretty out of it, and woke up in so much pain I could easily focus on that, and not why I was feeling it."
"That's a pretty messed up coping mechanism." It should sound harsh, but Gina's words are gentle.
"I know," Jake says, a little despondently. "But this thing," he gestures to his IV, "is magic, and when I can't feel anything, I can pretend it's not there." He gives her a smile.
Gina pats his arm softly, "whatever you say."
Jake looks a little sleepy, his eyes half closed. "Don't worry you can still be the most dramatic-est."
Gina nods once in agreement. "No one can upstage this," she sweeps her hands out, pointing to herself, "Now get some sleep."
"Thanks Gina."
B99B99
When Jake finally returns to work, he sees the familiar faces of the nine-nine sitting at their desks. Charles covertly opening his desk drawer to check on his fermenting eggs. Rosa scowling, three seconds away from beating the printer with her bare fists. Terry engrossed in reading something on his computer screen, a spoonful of yoghurt frozen midway to his mouth. Gina is lipsyncing along to a song only she can hear, while Captain Holt looms over her. Hitchcock and Scully are asleep in the corner, their hands and mouths covered in what looks like orange cheeto dust. And Amy is sitting, with that tight lipped face she gets when she's filling out important paperwork.
Their words echo through Jake's mind as relishes the sensation of walking without feeling pain shoot through his foot and around his chest.
Amy and Holt visiting him that first day.
Gina always knowing what to say.
Rosa (rightfully) calling out his stupidity.
Even Terry yelling.
Charles summed it up the best, the nine-nine cared for him.
~~fin~~
I've always headcanoned that Jake has a slight fear of hospitals/doctors/medical stuff as evidenced by 1), His comment about not seeing a doctor in eleven years. He seems pretty accident-prone, so I feel like there must be a reason he is deliberately avoiding it and 2), The scene in Coral Palms Pt. 3 where Holt ends up having to talk Jake through Holt taking care of his own wound. Jake seems pretty genuinely freaked out by the prospect of seeing Holt's injury, which does seem odd considering he's a detective who routinely visits crime scenes. (And makes me wonder how he dealt with his own leg wound later, when Amy shot him…hmmm maybe another idea for a fic?). I'm currently overseas on a work placement to finish my university degree, but the "work" part is pretty loose, so far no matter what I do or say, I have very little work to do, and thus my time has been spent writing copious amounts of fanfic.
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