Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own B99. Or my allusion to The Office. Or Air Jordans.
I've been wanting to make this Tax Day B99 fanfic for weeks but never got around to it until yesterday when I realized it was Tax Day. Oh my gosh, I forgot about that. Anyhoodlum . . .
"Guess what came in the mail yesterday," Amy said, almost leaping onto Jake's desk. They hadn't seen each other since yesterday morning, between dropping off to sleep at different times in the same king-sized bed and leaving the house at different times that morning.
"Something that'll make me super happy when you wear it tonight?" Jake wondered hopefully.
"Almost as good as that, but not quite," Amy said. Her eyes glittered. "Our W-2s," she squealed.
Jake stared at her a moment. "I'm failing to find the excitement in this," he said, blinking. "Or the punchline. 'Cause it's a joke, right?"
"No, no, it's not," Amy said seriously. "When someone asks me what my favorite season is, my answer isn't as basic as winter or spring. It's tax season."
"Which is technically spring, so spring's your favorite season," Jake said. He lost his smile when he found out his wife didn't find his humor humorous.
"Don't joke about tax season, Jake," Amy growled.
"Yeah, man. Don't joke about tax season, Jake," Terry reprimanded him from his desk.
"It's only Amy's favorite time of year," Charles pointed out.
"It's to be taken seriously at all costs," Rosa said, passing his desk.
"How could I have failed to notice this before?" Jake wanted to know.
"'Cause you always put your taxes off to the last minute and then paid exorbitant amounts of money for some CPA to file them for you," Scully volunteered from his desk where he and Hitchcock were playing the game of how far apart they could roll their swivel chairs while not missing their shots of puffed cheese balls into the other's mouth.
"Thanks, Scully," Jake said half-ungratefully.
Scully waved his hand cheerfully. "No problem, Jake," and he caught a puffed cheese ball launched by Hitchcock without missing a single beat. What talent.
"Wait, Amy, this is great. You love filing taxes and if I wasn't a cop who knew about the criminal costs of tax fraud, I wouldn't file mine if my life depended on it!"
"From forgetting about doing it or not wanting to do it?" Amy demanded to know.
"From forgetting about it; of course I'm technically always planning to file my taxes; what kind of barbarian do you take me for?" Jake demanded to know.
Amy withdrew a little bit. "Just checking."
"You're just now getting the bright idea of having Amy file your taxes?" Rosa scoffed.
"Yeah, what?" Jake said, looking wildly around the room. Charles, Rosa, Terry, Hitchcock, and Scully scoffed and shook their heads, as if they were in on some secret Jake didn't realize he wasn't privy to until now.
"Jake, I've been filing everyone else's taxes for years," Amy said, like, duh.
"What? How could this be for so long without me realizing it?" Jake wondered to himself, amazed.
"Yeah, Amy's the best. I don't know what Sharon and I would do without her. She takes all the stress out of it," Terry said happily. He nodded and pointed a finger at Amy. "Thanks, Amy."
Amy nodded appreciatively as Charles said, "Amy is without a doubt the best unofficial CPA I've ever had, and I've had my share of actual official CPAs through the years. Amy just has that special touch."
"She can write off anything. We get tax credit for our van when we go to Wing Slutz 'cause she writes them off as work-related!" Hitchcock said.
Amy sighed to herself. "I still wake up in cold sweats over that one. When do I draw the line under what can justifiably be written off and what is tax fraud?"
"She does yours, too?" Jake asked Rosa harshly, as in 'Et tu, Brutus?'
Rosa shrugged. "She charges a fair rate. She's the only person here who knows how much I make, and if she tells anyone, she knows I'd slit her throat with my axe and spend the last few seconds of her life watching me drink her life's blood."
"Love you too, Rosa," Amy said, putting on a great deal of force into her grin as she pointed at Rosa.
"Wait, so I've been overcharged and stressed out over my taxes for years while Amy's been providing discreet, five-star service to literally everyone else in the office?" Jake scoffed. "Why did you never do mine?"
Amy shrugged. "You never asked. I thought it was a pride thing for a while, but now I know it's just an ignorance issue."
Captain Holt opened the door to his office and Jake said accusingly, "And I suppose you've paid Amy to file your taxes for you, too."
"Of course not. I would never undermine our professional relationship or hinder our superior-subordinate positions by allowing Sergeant Santiago to see the intricate financial details of my life," Captain Holt scoffed. "However, I do heed her advice on her credit techniques." He pointed a finger at Amy.
"Always ready to help out a fellow filer," Amy said, nodding respectfully to him.
Jake was wide-eyed and a little mortified. "What else has been happening literally in front of my eyes for years without my noticing?" Jake wondered, amazed. "Some detective I am."
"Yeah, some detective you are," Rosa said unhelpfully.
"Rosa, don't help him in his self-depreciation," Charles admonished her.
"Charles has been growing mung beans in his desk for the past three months," Terry pointed out.
"Yeah, I actually knew that one. The stench from their actual existence smells worse than my desk, Charles. My desk," Jake said.
"Don't be so quick to put down mung beans. They have a variety of health benefits—" Charles volunteered.
"He also runs down the list of mung bean health benefits every time anyone mentions his stupid mung beans," Rosa said with a vengeance, like she had a personal vendetta against those distasteful mung beans.
"Yeah, noticed that too. I have the list of benefits memorized," Jake said.
"Mung beans are high in fiber, protein—" Charles started excitedly.
"'—and potassium, zinc, and magnesium,'" Jake couldn't help but finish.
"Jake, seeing as you know so much about mung beans," Charles said, opening his desk drawer, "you must want to try them—!"
The rest of his coworkers groaned in disgust and dispersed like roaches under a light. Amy called over to Jake by the elevator bank, "I am going to get us such a big refund!"
"I love you, babe!" Jake called back after her.
"Oh my gosh, we have to pay so many taxes," Jake said, looking at Amy's laptop over her shoulder that night.
Amy gave him a look. "You realize that our jobs are funded by tax dollars, so . . . ?"
"Anyways, keep going," Jake said. "Wait," he didn't know much about filing taxes, but he knew that you totally had the option of filing jointly if you were married, "why are you filing us separately? I thought the point of getting married was being able to tick 'married' under relationship status." Amy gave him a look. "I mean, one of the great and many awesome perks—I love you so much—but come on; why are you filing us separately?"
"I've weighed the pros and cons of filing separately versus filing jointly. We won't get much of a tax break by filing jointly. We don't have any kids to write off under the Earned Income Tax Credit or Child and Dependent Care Credit. We get better deductions if I file us separately."
"And?" Jake said.
"What 'and'?" Amy wanted to know.
"C'mon; I know you have at least three different investment accounts that earn you interest; you just want them in your name, not in both of ours, since I contributed, like, nothing to them," Jake said knowingly.
Amy said, "Well, maybe so. I was the one with the financially responsible frame of mind who made those shrewd investments."
"Here's an idea," Jake said, taking one of Amy's hands between both of us, "it's obvious who is the financial genius between the two of us. We're married, but have our three different bank accounts. Yours, mine, and ours. I want you to make investments from my account. I'll even forgo making jokes about it being all in my name; I'll give you all the credit for all the returns."
"And all the losses," Amy pointed out.
Jake scoffed. "As if Amy Santiago could make the amateur mistake of investing a single cent of her money in a venture that wouldn't make her a valuable return!"
"Are you making fun of me for the whole Boyle-food-truck incident?" Amy wondered warily.
"That was a one-time thing I honestly forgot about until now, so thank you for that," Jake grinned, "but seriously, you weigh the pros and cons of everything. If you weren't such an amazing cop, you'd make a kick-butt accountant."
Amy smiled, pleased. "Thanks, Jake."
"No, thanks to you, Ames," Jake said, lifting her hand to his lips.
Amy Santiago did not wait until the last minute like some people (cough, her husband, cough) to finish filing taxes; by February 13th, the taxes of Terry Jeffords, Charles Boyle, Rosa Diaz, Norm Scully, Michael Hitchcock, Jake Peralta, and Amy Santiago were all filed away. "Between my federal owing and your state return, the Peralta-Santiago household has netted back money," Amy said proudly, sitting on Jake's desk that morning.
"Wait, I actually got a return for once, instead of owing?" Jake couldn't believe it.
Amy nodded proudly.
"Wow, and you owed? Who woulda thunk it?" Jake grinned. "Oh, wait, this means I can buy something totally expensive and ridiculously unpractical but seriously cool!"
"Like another massage chair or the home sno-cone machine?" Amy wondered.
"You can never have too many massage chairs, Ames," Jake said.
"You could blow it all in one spot or you could invest it in stocks and assets and make more money through delayed gratification and reasonable knowledge of the stock market," Amy said coaxingly.
Jake weighed the pros and cons for two seconds before saying, "Or I could buy a pair of Air Jordans."
"Jake," Amy said, smiling as she held his hand.
"Yes, Ames?" Jake asked cheerfully.
"No." Through gritted teeth.
"You know what, excellent point made and point conceded." Then Jake turned thoughtful and asked, "How much of a return did I get, anyway?"
Amy mumbled while watching Charles lovingly talk words of daily encouragement to his mung beans and Jake said, "A-come again?"
"Eleven-thirty-eight," Amy said resignedly.
"A whole eleven dollars and thirty-eight cents? Wow, you made it sound like a whole lot of money or something," Jake said, a little disappointed.
"No, I mean eleven-hundred-thirty-eight," Amy said.
"Well dang, why didn't you start with that? 'Honey, I finished our taxes and we got a chunk-a of cash to blow,'" Jake said.
"Jake," Amy said, "it's under your name, so you can technically do what you want with it. But," she squeezed his hand, "don't blow it."
"All right. Here's what we'll do. We'll yours-mine-and-ours-it, marriage-stylez," Jake said. "We'll invest a part of it for you, buy something totally cool for me, and then pay off some shared credit card debt with the rest."
Amy's eyes shone. "Yours-mine-and-ours-it is my fave and you know that," she said.
"Anything for my favorite unofficial CPA," Jake said. "So, are Air Jordans out of the question?"
Amy sighed, but said, "No, they're not."
Jake pumped his fist. "Yes!"
Domestic Jake/Amy is where it's at, yo!
Thanks for reading. Review?