Salt In The Wounds

by writergirl89

In which Santiago deals with the aftermath of a situation that puts her partner in dire straits - and the memory of a revelatory talk that might have been their last. Implied gun violence. Run-off of Starting With A Gunshot.

Title: Salt In The Wounds

Author: WriterGirl89

Fandom: Brooklyn Nine-Nine

POV: Third-Person

Rating: M (for implied gun violence and some language)

Pairing: Jake/Amy

Summary: In which Amy deals with the aftermath of a confrontation that puts her partner in dire jeopardy – as well the memory of a revelatory conversation that might have been their last.

Author's Note: Okay, what the hell is wrong with me? Because I have no clue. You see, I've been dealing with a lot lately – chief among them being the recent death of a loved one very dear to me – and I don't know if I'm writing these kinds of stories because of that stuff or I'm just suddenly into publishing slightly dark, kinda violent fics for a show that is normally comedic. And also, I couldn't stop thinking about it. So, without further ado… *makes annoying orchestra noises*

P.S. Also, the song that, for me, basically encapsulates how Amy feels throughout the duration of this fic is the song, Break The Chains by Oh Land. And you'll only understand if you just listen to it. Trust.

Disclaimer: Yeah, nothing. I own nothing.

…

This isn't how things are supposed to happen. Is all Amy Santiago can think of as they wheel her partner to ICU, a towel held to the bleeding, red wound where a gun had shot him not to long before.

She remembers everything despite the blur of the actual moment itself.

David Klein.

He's – had been – an auto-mechanic that they'd suspected helped some perps they'd been searching for steal car parts and sell them on the black market.

Turns out later that Klein's actually a lot more innocent than he looks but, nevertheless, they're questioning of him brings to light his criminal record to his employers.

Who fire him.

Which lead him to visit the 99.

Which ends up in a confrontation outside the station.

Again she remembers it all in a blur – the ranting. The yelling about ruining his life. The anger. The gun. The way everything feels like slow motion as Jake pushes her out of the way.

Her partner falling to the ground, only having enough strength in him to shoot at Klein before the other man could get another shot in.

The way seem to freeze as he gets shot.

The minute she starts to move directly to him. The yell she gives for help. Every little sob she lets out without giving a damn about what the others see as they pile out of the precinct to see clutch onto him, crying like a mad woman.

All the... blood. So much blood. Running over Jake's shirt and onto her as she holds him, beyond caring.

Staring into those big, brown eyes she never even realizes she'll miss looking at her until they start closing. Taking away that humor-filled warmth she never realizes until then that is so important to her.

And she doesn't even recall how long she holds him until she's not anymore.

"Get off me!" She yells as she struggles against uniforms pulling her off her injured, bleeding out partner. Limbs flailing. Fists flying. Just in complete hysterics as paramedics arrive to get on a gurney as quick as possible and take him away... from her. And it's unreasonable. And completely irrational because they are taking him away to help him and this all has nothing to do with her.

But, it's not enough.

She needs him with her. Concrete. Real. So, she can know he's there, breathing and able to function.

She later tries to find at least something abnormal with the way she crawls into the ambulance with Jake and without thinking twice, curls her fingers into his still ones, hoping the contact will somehow rev him back to loud, Peralta life to annoy, flirt, and be as inappropriate as she usually knows him to be.

It doesn't work out that way and Amy finds herself now sitting in a waiting room chair. Alone.

It's better that way, she thinks. That way her colleagues won't have to comment on the clear streaks of mascara on her face or the redness of her nose clearly from her crying jags or the unfamiliar rasp of her voice as though she'd run a long marathon or something.

Though when they do arrive, they know better than to say something.

She sits there so long that her mind begins to wander. To another night.

And the irony is not lost as to why.

...

"God, what a week!" Peralta exclaims, tossing back a shot, after a long, work-riddled seven days in which she and him have come up empty on most of their cases - both with and without the other. Two b&ns. Five muggings. Three murders. And more robberies than is possible in the span of a couple of days.

"Yeah." She says as a response, twirling her tiny straw in her Manhattan, the dark amber color swirling in her glass with the movement as she absent-mindedly stirs at it, thinking on the week's events. "I'm never gonna get that Schneider guy." She mumbles, grumpy at her inability to catch the suspected murderer. "He never leaves any trace of himself at the scene. None." She forgoes the straw in her cocktail and tosses it back, taking the burn down her throat surprisingly well. "And his lawyer is a smug jackass. I don't know. I can't even-" She cuts herself, shaking her head, already jonsing for another drink.

"Hey?"

The unexpected gentle tone of his voice makes her look up from her hole of self-pity and meet his eyes.

"You'll get it." He tells her, the earnest vibe coming from him causing her breath to catch in her chest. "You're Amy fucking Santiago and if there's anybody who'll stop at nothing to close a case. No matter how many. It'd be you." He adds seriously, leaning in an inch as if to drive his point home. "You're a great detective because you work super hard and you don't take no for an answer." He leans back, continuing with a scoff, as if his words could book no argument. "You'll be fine. It's a goddamn slump. Remember mine? Well, now, we're both having one. You'll be fine."

"How did you know I needed that?"

"Because I know." He cocks a brow at her that actually causes her to blush. "I know that when we're here just hanging out with the crew, you order a Gin & Tonic." He gestures at her glass. "And on the rare occasion, despite the fact that this is a bar." He gives her a pointed point at that. "A beer, even though you think it tastes like gasoline and you have the worst poker face about it." He grins at her, happy with his assessment. "But, now, you've ordered a Manhattan because it's been a tough week and you want something stronger, but, like I said, you don't need to worry. You'll do great. You always do."

There's a silence after that, in which she digests his words and he twiddles a shot between his fingers, breaking the quiet with. "I mean, you're not me but, you'll do great." He adds, swagger coloring every word this time.

It's lightening up of an otherwise out-of-nowhere, tension-filled moment. An icebreaker. And she laughs out loud, despite herself, her next words coming out without any real bite, the smile breaking across her lips belieing her comment completely. "You're such an asshole."

He laughs with her. "See? There she is." He comments with exuberance. "Welcome back, Santiago. I missed you."

She laughs louder, her head tossing back, and in the process, completely missing the brief look of yearning that crosses her partner's face.

"Oh, God." She adds, still chuckling, starting to get up. "Want another drink?"

After he tells her what he wants, she moseys on over to the bar, ordering herself another Manhattan and Jake, a scotch on the rocks, leaning against a barstool as her thoughts start to wander onto the walking, talking contradiction that is her partner.

It a funny thing. Cause he can be such a child. A wildly energetic, inappropriate man-child on a sugar high that just loves to annoy her. One-up her. Tease her. Get a rise out of her. Pick on her.

But, then, there's this. A look behind the curtain at the actual human being behind the cop. The man behind the child. The same man who, despite enjoying their competition at the precinct, could switch up if need be and let down his guard a bit. Like when she needs cheering up and he's right there to make her feel better.

And though it's taken her a while to figure it out, she knows the person he presents himself to be around others is more a cover than anything else and yeah, it is a part of who he is but, the man who can be earnest and sometimes sweet and funny without any need for gimmicks is him at his core, she's sure and wonders why he won't show that side of himself more.

Whatever the case may be, she does like this part of him and decides to enjoy while it lasts for the night.

"Here you go." She says upon returning to their table, carefully setting down his scotch and then circling to sit with her own drink.

"Thanks."

She takes her seat once more, about ready to chat it up again before he interrupts her, surprising her. "Amy?"

"Hmm?"

She watches him expectedly, practically seeing the clicketty-clack of his brain as if he's struggling with what he has to say and for some reason, it causes her to become nervous. "Jake-"

"Have you ever..." He pauses and Christ, he looks troubled. Troubled but, hopeful. Though, she can't catch his eye because he's too busy looking down at his glass. "Have you ever thought about... us?"

There it is. It's like her heart stops and her lungs stop taking proper air and she just stares at him for a while, several thoughts echoing all through her brain at once and it takes even longer for any words to catch up with her mouth as she figures out what it is he's talking about.

"I... don't know." Is all she can manage, heart starting up and pounding all over again.

"Don't know what? Don't know if you've thought about it or don't know what to tell me?"

She looks at him, at the guarded intensity of his expressive face and can't find anything to say.

This is so not what she expected when she'd agreed earlier to have drinks with him.

"Amy..." He repeats, looking down again at the grain of the wooden table, his habit of playing with his glass starting up again. "Remember the night I won the bet?"

"Yes?" She answers as though it's a question coming from her mouth but, it's also not and she has no idea why she does it.

"That night... later... when we were on the rooftop together, I, uh..." He trails off for a minute and takes a deep breath while she watches him, truly unable to say something even though she should because she's starting to understand where this is all going and can't help but, feel a need to put a stop to it.

She doesn't, though, and the seconds tick by as she sees him struggle against himself before he speaks once more. "That night on the rooftop I realized some things. And then Holt called with news of a relief team and I... didn't want it to end."

And god, she doesn't mean to speak up right then but, she does anyway because well, anxiety. "Didn't want what to end?"

"Us." He smiles a little as he answers and she is taken aback by her heart's reaction to it. "The night. How nice it felt to have you smile at me like you enjoyed being around me instead thinking of me as the idiot partner that you can't stand."

She thinks he doesn't necessarily intend it but, she hears a hint of bitterness at the last part and her stomach plummets because she has said that in the past during moments where's he frustrates her to the point of saying those things and it's not like she really means them anyway and it's an unpleasant shock of how it's coming back to bite her in the ass like it's doing, now.

"Jake, I never meant-"

But, he cuts her off again and it sounds like he doesn't even wanna hear her. "Remember the hotel? The case that we worked on when you told you were interviewing for the Vulture?"

She nods. "Yes."

He sighs, not meeting her eye as he talks in a low register, causing her to lean in a bit to listen to him. "There was a lot more to me not wanting you to go that day."

She takes this in, her pounding in her ears, breath snagging because she knows now where he'd heading with this line of talk and to be honest, she suddenly feel dumb for not realizing this sooner because the signs were there the entire time. His reaction to her telling him about the interview. The anger at her later on in the day. The speech he gives when he catches her after she turns down the job.

It's all there and like with most moments like that between them, she ignores it.

But, she also can't help wondering is this is what she'd wanted. Wanted to hear from him that day.

"I meant what I said at Major Crimes." He says next and really, how could he read her mind like that? "You are a great detective. And they would have been lucky to have you. Like we all are." He nods to himself before continuing. "But, that's not why I didn't want you to leave."

Her heart is beating really, really fast at this point and her voice, to her horror, is shaky when she adds in. "What do you mean-"

"Amy, I..." He sounds softer, just this side of affectionate, when he says her name again and she doesn't think he's ever sounded like he does now. "...I didn't just want you to not leave the team. I didn't want you to leave me."

And there it is again.

He is staring at her right after that little doozy, in that intense manner he's good at when he's not goofing around, and she has a feeling that's it. Whatever he has to admit begins and ends with that and the ball's in her court to with it as she pleases.

Only she's not sure what to do with the ball. Hell, she's not even sure she knows how or wants to play.

"You wanna... say something now?" He asks after a few minutes, hesitance and fear coloring his every word now.

God, like what? She thinks. What could she possibly say to that?

"I..." She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind enough to say something concrete. "I don't know what to say."

And she doesn't what's written on her face but, he takes one look at her and leans back and even with the small table between them, Amy can practically feel the cool distance of him now and he might as well be across the room for the cold feeling that settles in her bones as his demeanor completely changes, the vulnerability that he let himself show vanishing right before her eyes, shutters falling over the gaze on her, and his mouth twisting in a way that unnerves her.

She knows what sadness is. What it looks like. What anger looks like.

This is a combination of both under an icy sheet of dejection and... embarrassment.

Embarrassment at her or himself, she doesn't really know but, instead watches as he gets up, something like fear gripping at her lungs.

"No, wait-"

"Hey, listen..." He begins, gathering up his jacket and badge. "... It's cool. I wasn't expecting anything from, you know, this." He gestures between them in a dismissive way that hurts her more than it probably should. "So, whatever, it's fine. We can just forget this happened. It's not I haven't been an expert at hiding feelings anyway so, it's not a problem. Here." He throws down some money on the table. "That should cover us both."

He turns to leave and the fear cuts her deeper. Feeling as though something is being broken right before her very eyes. "Jake, please-"

"I'll see you tomorrow." He says in response, not even looking her way as he does, heading for the exit.

"Wait-"

But, he's gone, the door behind him swinging and the urge to follow him comes and goes as she sits there, frozen, knowing she would probably have no words to make him feel better.

And it's not until way later when she comes home that Amy truly feels the brunt of a sickening feeling of it dawning on her that she might have just rejected her partner and friend and has no clue if it's the right thing or not.

...

That had been two nights ago.

And now, she's here, sitting in a waiting room with the 99, waiting on news about one of their own and she looks back on that night with dread because the day after, Jake acts like nothing happened and is... distant. Friendly - actually no, not friendly, polite - but, distant and every time she tries to get him alone to talk, he rebuffs her and does anything he can to not be around her unless it has something to do with work or he absolutely has no choice otherwise.

Again, it doesn't feel exactly mean-spirited but, at the same she knows he's punishing her in some way and the worse part of it is she sort of thinks she deserves it.

It's two days of that.

And nothing is resolved and now, he's been shot and she has no idea if he's gonna be okay or not and she feels everything cave in as the memory of that comes back to haunt her. Taunting her with the mistake she might have made.

The doctor does come out eventually and the prognosis is that they'd been able to repair the damage done by the bullet that gone through his stomach but, the loss of blood and trauma has put him into a coma so, they aren't sure about his recovery at this point.

It's bittersweet to everyone but, especially her.

On the one hand, there's a tiny bit of hope but, on the other?

She goes home and cries herself to sleep that night. Sobbing like a crazy woman into her pillow, the images of blood and her partner's body on wet cement a last picture in her brain before everything goes to blackness.

...

Holt ends up giving her a week off - which is basically only half of the time allotted for the normal amount of weeks allowed for this type of situation but, if she suspects it before, she definitely knows now that she and the Captain share a connection because he seems to know she will go stir-crazy if that ends up being the case - and of course, she takes only three of those days off and when she walks into the bullpin of her precinct on that fourth day she kind of, almost regrets it because every single person there stops what they're doing and stare at her.

Yup, it sure feels nice to have the people who bore witness to your emotional breakdown as your partner lays in a pool of his own blood after pushing you out of the way, staring at you like you might have another meltdown just for funzies.

Fantastic.

She feels that irritating, prickly itch of humiliation beneath her skin as she avoids their eyes and heads to the desk she usually shares with Peralta and feels the brief comings on of an anxiety attack when it sinks in that just the week before Jake had walked in late, singing Bugs Bunny tunes because he knows she hates it although, also knowing her favorite fancy coffee order - vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso and a few extra pumps of vanilla - and giving her that atypical, Peralta grin, already knowing he's earned brownie points with that particular move when she accepts it from him with a begrudging smile.

Now, she won't have that. Hell, she hasn't had that in the two days prior to the shooting and that's pretty much her fault so, whatever.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" She asks as way of greeting when, a few days, she is called by Holt to come into his office.

"Have a seat." He says simply and she does what she's told, folding her hands into her lap.

"How have you been?"

The question catches her off guard a bit and the automatic answer to come to her is, Absolutely god awful.

What comes out of her mouth is. "I've been better."

Her boss looks at her for a minute, looking like he has something to say but, at the last minute stops himself and she has a fleeting question of who much he can see the dark circles under her eyes or the lack of make-up she has on or the complete and utter mess she's become.

Then, he says. "David Klein is dead."

She blinks, feeling herself nod before saying. "Good."

When she glances at the Captain, he looks a little shocked and while she wants to feel ashamed to say something like that about a man's death, it's still the same guy she saw nearly kill Jake so, the way she sees it, she's allowed the justifiable glee at this little bit of news, even though it goes against who she is as a good person and a fair cop.

It's a nasty feeling and she's all to grateful when it passes after a bit.

"Have you gone to see Peralta?"

Ah. There it is. The question of the day.

"No." She manages to say with a tinge of regret because it's been almost a week since he'd been shot and it's just not the same. Working without him. Living... without him. It's like there's a certain energy missing because he's not there.

It just sucks. Plain and simple. And she tries her best to bury herself in work to the point of not going home and setting up shop in the breakroom with a borrowed blanket and pillow, her only company at three in the morning being Leonard, their night janitor, his breath smelling like strong hand-sanitizing chemicals - of course, Peralta would be right about that - as she somehow manages in a few measly hours of sleep before going back to yet another case file.

And when she does go to her apartment, it's to shower and maybe eat and sometimes get some rest on a proper bed even though it never works and she only ants to get back to the station more or... gets that urge to visit Jake, which is out of the question because she has no idea what it will do to her.

She feels a lump grow in her throat and makes a noise to clear it, her voice still coming out hoarse and full of remorse when she does speak anyway. "No, I haven't gone to see him. I..." Her eyes find the floor, unable to face the inevitable disappointment her potential mentor could show at her inability to go see her comatose partner and it's not like he knows where she and Jake stood, judging by their time talking at the bar and really, nobody hates her more than herself right now because she feels like a coward and that feeling is actually is the worse. "...I can't."

"You should."

"I know." She admits quietly.

She'd never thought she would ever feel this way. Especially with Jake Peralta.

Her partner. Now, also the man who sort of bared his soul to her just before this whole disaster.

Only for her to properly wreck it.

And it's horrible and that's the place her would go during those lonely three days in her apartment, images of his hurt, rejected face flashing through her memory and interrupting her sleep because of course, the time off gives her room to overthink and maybe she does feel something less than platonic for Peralta despite her reaction to him at the bar and it is really shitty that this is happening now. When he's in a hospital and could quite possibly never wake up.

What a cliché. You never know what you have until you don't have it anymore.

And now, she probably would never have it.

And that realization tears at her insides like nothing else.

"May I please be excused, Sir?"

"Yes." Her boss says, giving her a careful look that she tries to ignore, her gut clenching at the expression of concern and sympathy in his steady gaze. "You're dismissed, detective."

She gets out of there as quick she can, vowing that no matter what she will not go see Jake.

...

She goes to see him. Completely breaks that vow to herself because she misses him like a cut off limb and there's a large part of her that just won't stop badgering her until she does and she assumes it'll hurt a lot less to see him after all this time.

That and everyone at the 99 but, her has gone to see him.

The first thing Amy notices when she walks into his room - which is actually pretty, confusingly swanky but, then she remembers police and that in New York, especially, cops and firemen are treated with as much special treatment as a pregnant woman on a crowded plane hence, the private room - is that he is most definitely not alone and that there's a woman sitting next to him and holding his hand, large coke-bottle glasses hanging on her nose as she reads a book silently beside the man in the bed.

She's older. In her early sixties, to be precise, though she seems to have aged pretty well, her hair short and light brown on her head. And oddly enough, she has a strange feeling of having seen this woman before. Finding her familiar in some way.

"Hello?"

The woman looks up from her book, a look of surprise on her face. "Yes?"

Suddenly nervous, she starts stuttering. "H-Hi, I'm, uh, Amy. I'm here to visit-"

The lady's face shifts from surprise to slight delight, hazel eyes behind her spectacles brightening in her direction. "You're here to see my son?"

She tries to hide her own surprise because that does explain why this woman looks so familiar to her.

Because she's Jake's mother. And they're meeting for the first time as her son lies in a hospital bed after saving her life.

Yes, this is liable to be a very awkward first meeting.

"Yes, it's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Peralta." She utters sincerely as the woman rushes up to her with a sort of joyous energy she would never expect, the older, more diminutive woman standing a little below her shoulders, thanks to Amy's heels.

"Yes!" She exclaims, shaking her hand enthusiastically, the big smile on her face reminding her of Jake so much that it startles her. "I'm Marjorie. It's nice to meet you dear."

"Me, too, ma'am." She responses, smiling anxiously despite the warm welcome. "I'm Amy Santiago. Jake's fri-" She starts to add before pausing entirely as she remembers the bar. Peralta's face. His words- "Partner. I'm Jake's partner." She ends up sputtering instead.

Luckily, Mrs. Peralta doesn't seem to notice and only grins wider. "Oh! You're Amy!" She says as though she's just had an aha! moment and now, she knows something extremely important that no one else does. "Ohh..." She touches at Amy's face with a look of wonder, causing her eyes to go big a bit. "You are as beautiful as he said you'd be."

What's that now? "Wha-?"

"Come!" The smaller woman yanks her forward. "We must get to know each other!"

Oh boy. Amy thinks as she allows her feet to be taken in a specific direction by the surprisingly strong Mrs. Peralta, the woman in question's infectious energy once again reminding her of her partner though, she's quite sure that no matter what, just because they're gonna get to know one another, that they're going to be giggling together like gal pals and looking over funny pictures of said partner.

...

"Hahaha!" Amy howls at the photo clutched in her hand of a much younger Jake smirking at her from under bushy, fro-like curls, still looking every bit as handsome as he is today, though she'd never tell him so. Tears from her laughter falling from her eyes.

"That was before he got into the academy." Mrs. Peralta - she actually wants Amy to refer to her as Marji, though she doesn't because it is way too soon for something like that - laughs from across the other side of the hospital bed, plucking the picture from her hands and looking at it herself. "They told him to cut it. I've never, in his adult years, seen him so upset."

She continues chuckling as she looks at the expanse of old pictures that she'd seen already and then several she hasn't yet. A couple of him as a smiling infant and toddler. A few of him as a teenager with jacked-up teeth and long hair (a steep contrast to the heart-stopping, imperfect grin that is his signature today but, shhh!). As well as some of him in more recent times - including the one of him before the academy with the unkempt bushy fro' and then another a few years and a short haircut later, next to Marji in his dress blues and as far as the twinkle in his eye is concerned, a growing confidence that would make him the man she would know years later.

The man, she realizes, Amy is actually proud to know years later.

Then, she spots it. Another old (much, much older) photograph that she picks up very carefully.

She can tell by the grainy, up close nature of it that it was taken in distraction. The two people in it way too focused on their newborn baby.

Jake. Jake as a newborn.

He's as adorable as he'd been in the other pictures she'd seen already. Tiny, resting in the crook of a young Marji's arms, her smile wide and happy as she gazes at her son. The glow of new motherhood wearing on her well.

But, it's the other person who captures Amy's attention.

She's been here long enough with Mrs. Peralta that she's starting up to pick up on the little nuances. Bits and pieces she can see mirrored in her partner's face and mannerisms. Small stuff you'd have to really pay close attention to in order to pick up.

But, this? The man in the photo grinning down at baby Jake looks soo much like the man in the hospital bed next to her that it freaks her out for a second.

It's almost eerie. The slope of the nose. The jaw. The very bone structure. The hair. The expressive eyes.

It's all inescapable.

There's some differences, too, though. Skin a little more olive and five o'clock shadowed. Smile kinda too matinee idol perfect and not wide enough in her opinion. But, it's also not enough to detract from the striking resemblance.

She recalls the rare instances of hearing about him. The man who'd left Jake and his mom as a boy.

But, it's another thing entirely to actually see him. In an old photo but, still. It feels like she's encroaching on something ten times more private than anything else as she stares down at the man who'd not only abandoned the partner she cares about more than she should but, also gave him his looks. His physical attributes.

She wonders if Jake realizes this, too. If he remembers his father clear enough to see the same thing in the mirror everyday.

"He does look like him, doesn't he?"

She snaps out of her reverie to look up at the older woman across from her who's now wearing a sad, wistful smile on her face as though some memories are coming back. "I remember that day. We were so happy. Joe was very excited that I was giving him a son."

There's a pause after that. A pause in which Amy almost wants to stop her from speaking again because she doesn't think she can bear what Marji might say next, given the look on her face.

She says nothing instead and when Mrs. Peralta talks again, it's with a slight tinge of emotion. "He was nine when he left us. And I know he remembers things. My Jakey does. But, anytime I bring it up, he just tells me that he doesn't anything much." She looks at Amy and gives her another smile. "Which I know is a lie because my son is many things but, a good liar is most certainly not one of them."

She smiles back slightly, not knowing what to say, only nodding a little because it is true that Peralta is a god awful liar at least when it comes to some personal stuff because he is also good at being affably poker-faced with suspects that they mostly end up telling him their life story but, that's for another time.

She feels her smile dim as Marji's words settle in. A feeling of protectiveness clenching her gut as she gazes over at the man lying in the hospital bed. Hair mussed and ruffled. Skin the palest she'd ever seen, only to be enhanced by the growing stippling of stubble encircling his red lips. The shadow of his eyelashes resting lightly on his cheekbone. Making her wanna take care of him and keep him from being hurt ever again.

She feels an affection then. A feeling of... something strong and new and yet, kind of familiar to her and then, uh-oh.

Oh, no. She recognizes this emotion. This heart-stopping, scary, terrifyingly addicting feeling inside her that she now realizes has resided there, right next her heart along. As if waiting for the right time to come out of hiding.

She knows because she's felt a version of it before. Only now, it's a lot worse.

And she knows it just as she gazes over Jake, her heart making an odd movement as if to reach for it's owner.

Oh, dear God, she loves him, doesn't she?

She's in love with him. She is in love with Jake Peralta.

She's in love with him and it is completely ridiculous how much it catches her off guard yet, it clears things up some because yeah, it all makes soo much more sense now and the bar and how confused yet speechless she'd felt then. How shattered she'd been the minute she gets home.

The devastation over him getting shot and the coma...

"Amy?" She looks up at Marji's voice, seeing an expression of concern her face. "Are you alright, dear? You seem in shock."

She's without words for a long moment, looking at the older, kind woman across from her and then the younger version of the same woman, holding her now grown son as a newborn, seeing those bits and pieces of Jake on his mother's face, the unreal resemblance between him and his father. A feeling like gratitude growing in her and she is suddenly thankful for having these two people bring the man she would come to know well - the man she loves - into the world.

And she doesn't stop herself from saying so. "Thank you." She utters in almost a whisper, feeling moisture gather into her tear ducts.

"For what, honey?"

"For..." She takes a deep, shaky breath before gulping down the lump in her throat. "... Raising him. For making him the way that he is. For... giving everyone who knows him such a good man to have in their lives." She's able to say, clearly aware now that tears are falling down her cheeks yet unable to stop it. "In-In my life. Thank you. Thank you for that."

And it's not long after that that Amy makes the decision to come see Jake more often.

...

She doesn't necessarily plan on sharing her revelation about her feelings until Rosa helps herself to the chair across from her at the bar where their crew frequents and quirks an eyebrow in her direction. "You seem better."

It's basically on open yet unspoken thing over at the precinct that everyone tread lightly about her partner, which she kind of hates but, at the same time, appreciates because it's nice show of solidarity towards not only Jake but, her, which shouldn't surprise her like it does and they've seen her break down during after the shooting and it's not like she has anything to hide anymore anyway.

"I am." She nods, looking down at the glass of dark liquid in her hands, stirring things around with her cherry.

"You saw him, right?"

That makes her look up, assessing the other woman.

It's been, until very recently, a mixed bag when it comes to her's and Rosa's relationship.

She recalls feeling competitive and oddly threatened when they first start interacting after she arrives initially to the 99, her family history of having six brothers growing up weighing on her and making her feel as though she would have to fight her own gender to keep up and she's only all to glad that she's been wrong so far about that.

It's a slow development but, it's in moments like these when she realizes that she actually has a friend in Rosa Diaz and if she's being honest, it feels like having a terrifying, tough-as-nails big sister - though, she'd never say that out loud because she's sure she would just get a punch in the face for her troubles - and of course, Rosa, in terms of her reputation as a cop, is everything she'd always she want to be. Tough. Unapologetically blunt. Scary to perps. The very definition of badass.

Not to mention the remote way she could handle her own emotions because she doesn't ever recall seeing her shed a single tear.

Of course, she's learned that what she does have - her brains, determination, dogged need to help people - is more than enough to be good at her job but, still, she does admire Rosa a great deal.

And she wonders how the woman across from her is taking all this because she knows that, out of all the 99, she's known Jake the longest because of their academy days together and the fact that she'd been at the precinct just a year shy of her before she'd arrived.

"How do you do it?"

Rosa simply raises an eyebrow in response. Typical.

"I mean, how did you handle seeing him like that?" They both don't need clarification as to who he is. "He's one of your oldest friends. How could you handle that?"

She almost expects her to say something along the lines of, what are you talking about, we're just great co-workers, or something else to straight out deny the friendship between her and Jake, so she's caught off guard when her sister-in-secret just shrugs and then says. "I just do." Rosa takes a casual swig of her beer before continuing. "My life's not gonna stop just because he's not around right now. Peralta wouldn't want that."

Amy nods, feeling compelled to say. "I wouldn't know what to do by myself. If his mother hadn't been there-"

"You met Miss P?"

"Yeah."

"How was that?" Rosa shows her a rare smile. "I met her a couple times back at the academy. Woman's a trip." She tells her with a laugh.

She chuckles, too, in agreement, feeling herself smile slightly. "She is. I think she liked me. It was nice. She even showed me funny pictures of him as a kid. It was nice. She's sweet."

After that, there's a silence. A comfortable, calm silence that Amy enjoys for a while before she can't help but, wanna say something. Something that's been on the tip of her tongue since she's figured it out three days before sitting next to Jake and his mother. "Rosa?"

She hears the tail end of her table mate's drinking her beer before hearing an acknowledging. "Hmm?"

And then, it just comes tumbling out. "I... love Jake."

"Damn."

"Yup." She feels her head move in a quick nod. "And I messed up. Messed up real bad."

She looks up to see Rosa frowning at her. "What do you mean?"

"I..." She sighs, trying to scramble up words to explain. "Before he... what happened... Jake told me he has, had more likely, feelings for me." She's able to get out, feeling her face start to burn as the whole moment passes through her mind, leaning on her elbow and rubbing at the area between her eyes that's already starting to ache. "And I didn't exactly handle it the way he wanted."

"Why? What'd you do?"

She meets her friend's eye reluctantly. "I basically said I didn't know what to say."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, Rosa, that's it." She replies in sudden exasperation. "But, I'm telling you, it sounded bad. It sounded like..." She pauses, swallowing down the lump in her throat and only half succeeding. "... It sounded like I was rejecting him."

"Were you?" The other woman asks in actual curiosity.

"I wasn't sure." She answers honestly, recalling the mix of emotions that night. "I didn't know what to say and I told him that and he got upset and he left."

"Sounds typical." Rosa responses archly. "Men are babies."

That almost makes her wanna laugh but, not enough, so that she actually does.

She stays silent for a minute and then says. "You didn't see his face." She utters quietly, looking down at her Manhattan, twirling the rim with her fingertips. "He looked soo... disappointed. Soo hurt. I've never seen him look like that. Especially with me."

Another long beat follows.

"What are you gonna do?"

She lets herself think hard about that. Thinks about Jake in the hospital. The hope in heart that not only will he get better but, still want her because she doesn't think she could live with the fact that she would never him that way, given the way she feels. Even though she'd probably do anything to keep him in her life, including remaining just his friend when she so clearly wants more.

And she says as much when she answers Rosa. "Try not to make another mistake." She finally says, tossing back her drink.

...

She essentially spends the next week in a half visiting Jake and working every case she could get her hands on in order to not think about the visit during the day before night comes to go see him so, she wouldn't drive herself crazy and not go and it actually goes well and she even, on occasion, spends nights there, being woken up by stingey nurses with her glasses hanging off her face and case files scattered on her lap.

She goes there so much that when one such nurse asks how long she and Jake have been together, she just answers honestly and says two years, not even caring that they might mean something else.

She runs into Marji again and even a few of her friends - little old bitties that look at her in strange, fascinated ways that cause her to wonder exactly what Mrs. Peralta has told them - and then, people from the precinct going in and out, not even remotely surprised to encounter her at their fellow officer's bedside in the same clothes from the day before.

And it's fine. Somewhat.

She gets to see him, check his progress with her own eyes, and it's neither here nor there that the visits sort of nurse her feelings for him more and more, further increasing her determination to be at her best for him.

She loves him. It's that simple.

It's a fact that is as concrete the color of her hair. And slowly but surely, she's becoming more okay with it.

Of course, her luck being what it is, it kind of shouldn't come as a shock that she's actually not there when he wakes up.

The news from a stilted, emotionally excited phone call from Marji and it doesn't her long to get to the hospital, considering the midday hellish traffic and slow as shit drivers keeping from the best moment of the last, long month.

She gets there, though. Just under the wire. Out of breath, sweaty, and an utter emotional mess.

And there he is. Handsome as ever. Pale and scruffy but, still her Peralta. Especially as he smiles at everyone around him. God, she's missed that smile.

And he is surrounded.

Surrounded by Marji, a few of her friends, and a few guys she hasn't meant yet that she assumes are his buddies and she doesn't fully realize her entrance has been noticed by the man of the hour until she snaps to it when he says her name, gruff with surprise. "Amy?"

Then, it's like most muscle memory as her feet carry her to him in a blur and she's in the hospital bed with him, wrapping herself around him in the barest hug she could manage, burying her nose into his neck as his arms return the embrace.

And it's, like, the greatest. Being surrounded by him like this. In a way that she never would have suspected she'd crave a few months prior even.

"Hey." His husky, deep voice sounds good and comforting in her ear and she never, in a million years, would ever guess how much she'd miss it like this. How much it would soothe her like the best chicken soup. "Hey. It's okay. I'm alright." He whispers and she just squeezes her eyes tightly to revel in this moment.

"I missed you." She says lowly into his skin in a choked voice. "I thought I'd lost you."

"You didn't." She can feel the bass of his comforting voice in his chest vibrating near her heart as thought it belongs to her. "Not by a long shot." He adds with a hint of that Peralta levity that she doesn't realize she even needs until she lets loose a small, wet laugh into his shoulder, her chest grateful to him as it loosens up for the first time in a month.

Slowly, she starts pulling away, lifting her face to look at him properly, not yet removing her hands from his shoulders, his own hands large and warm on her waist, his breath hot and welcome near her lips because they're so close that she has to suppress a shaky exhale.

She peers into his face. The same face that haunts her dreams with all the hurt and disappointment she'd put him through. And is relieved when she sees none of it now. He just looks happy to see her. Confused but, happy.

"You okay?" He asks, eyes bouncing over her face.

"I'm fine now." Is her reply, belieing the moisture collecting in her eyes.

And her joy at seeing him again, awake and breathing, is well worth the slight embarrassment at the amused reactions of his basketball buddies - Brad, Josh, and Jerry so, yeah - as well his mother and her troupe of overly curious bespectacled old bitties.

It's whatever. She's happy to see him. She's allowed this.

...

It ends up being another week and some change before Jake can come back to work and it's not like she doesn't try to see him beforehand but, it's also amazing how busy one can become when they would prefer not to be because their partner is recovering and there's a strong chance that she might blurt out that she loves him and it is straight-up unnerving thought.

And while she won't admit she's scared to be alone with him - oh hell, she's scared! She's soo scared of being in love with him that the minute he shows up on his first day back, she merely says a quick hello and disappears into the evidence lock-up with her case files, leaving him to be surrounded by their colleagues and boss, hoping he won't be mad at her and come looking for her.

He comes looking for her.

Though, he's less mad than he seems to be baffled.

"Amy?"

Her head pops up from hunching over a photograph of a smashed in, bloody face to see him standing at the opening of the dusty archives of ancient cold case files in the back back area of the lock-up, his expression a mingling of a frown and some amusement as he eyes her sitting on the floor, her work scattered around her.

She stands up quickly, her heart already pounding in her chest like a wild hummingbird at the sight of him. "Jake... Hey!"

As he takes another step towards her, she has a belated realization of the affect he has on her now. The dormant, warm fuzzies that's been in her for God knows how long and that are now exploding and creating a mess in her stomach and a hitch in her breath.

He looks good, too. The same. Dressed in his plaid, denim, and mandatory tie, all the way down to his Nikes. It's a rich tapestry of some of what she's missed about him and the swoop in her gut lets her know a moment too late of the pull that gravitates towards him right then because all she's been focusing on is the emotional aspect of things with him that she doesn't anticipate how physically tempted she'd be by him.

"What are you doing back here?"

"I'm, you know..." She gestures around at the dusty files in the slightly darker area. "... Working. It's quiet here and everything."

He's a lot closer to her now and she swallows hard at the proximity, looking down at her shows as he winds up in front of her. "You can work at your desk." He replies calmly and though not sure if she should but, compelled anyway, she says. "Kinda don't want to, though."

She hears a sigh and has no idea how long she keeps eyeing the ugly floor and both their shoes - and wow, she should invest in new heels - before strong, broad fingers tip her chin up to meet his steady, dark gaze. "There you are." He lets her go and she is stumped by wanting him back, the touch on her skin, despite how innocuous it may be. "I thought you were in there somewhere."

"Jake-"

"Listen." He interrupts, leaning into her space and shutting her up. "I... know that it's awkward now, between us." He gestures between them and she frowns at his tired, trying-to-be-optimistic tone. "After the bar, I mean." She feels her eyes widen inches apart at the mention of that. "I know I said some things-"

"Are you taking them back?" She hears herself whisper in abject horror, feeling her gut clench at the very thought.

He stops talking, looking at her with a frown. "What-? No." He shakes his head. "No, I'm not doing that." He adds with a hint of disbelief, as if that is completely out of the question and the relief that engulfs her is very big. "I... I just wanted let you know that it's okay." He says gently and her frown deepens.

"What do you mean-"

"Amy." He interjects, again, with a firm resolve that she hasn't seen before. "I have... feelings for you." That comment is followed directly with a pointed look at her face, eyes searching her out, her throat closing up real good at the determination written there. "But, I don't want that to wreck things with us because you're my partner and I really don't wanna start over with someone else. You think I'd hate that." Another pointed look her way. "And it is really okay that you don't feel the same way-"

"Jake-"

"No, it's fine, really, you don't have to-"

"Jake-"

"It's fine to just-"

"Jake!" She's able to get in loudly enough, causing him to shut up completely, an expression of surprise in his eyes. "Just... stop."

He's staring at her then, a look like he's never seen her before on his face, as if something's coming together in his mind.

So, she kisses him. Grabbing his face, hands on either side of his jaw, and pressing her lips to his, she chastely goes back and forth on his closed mouth, only sighing her lips open when he starts responding, starting a slow, still careful rhythm as his hands settle on her hips, not pulling her forward but, just holding her as they kiss for the first time.

And... it's good. Better than good. His mouth is hot and wide. His lips supple and full. And she revels in the light groan he emits when she lightly, experimentally, licks at his bottom, both of them falling open to the other, tongues meeting and brushing, moans being exchanged as a promising heat erupts in her belly, her fingers curling into the collar of his shirt and her other hand cupping the nape of his neck, scratching the tiny hairs there.

Eventually, they do end the kiss and after taking a deep breath, she opens her eyes to peer into Jake's face, seeing his eyes still closed, his breath gusting over her lips as he sighs, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down as his fingers, now holding her closer, tighten on her hips and Amy thinks she could see him like this every day. Open. Vulnerable. Content.

And she doesn't know why but, it bolsters her. Emboldens her with a new bravery.

"I love you."

His eyes open and the expression of awe there is so wonderful, it pains her. "Really?"

"Yes." She kisses him again, softly this time. "I. Love. You." She says between pecks around his mouth, something like happiness settling in her body along that ol' sunbeam of affection blooming in her chest. "What do you say to that?" She teases.

"Uh-" He utters, a brief look of helplessness passing over his face.

She laughs, throwing her head back, feeling free to do so. "Relax, doofus." She kisses him once more before pulling away and taking his hand. "Come on, we'll figure it out as we go along." She adds, winking at him and hearing him chuckle deeply behind her as the walk out together.

Now, this here? This is how things are supposed to happen.

...

A/N: Now, I have a few things to say about this diddly here: While, the description of Jake's mother is all mine and belongs to my imagination, the name I ended up using - Majorie along with the nickname Marji - is the actual name of Andy Samberg's mom and I have trouble naming original characters, especially if they're an existing person's parent, I just Wikipedia the shit out of it and steal it. And also, Joe is Samberg's father's name and the physical description is based off of pictures of Andy in late 2012, where he looks more tanned, is wearing glasses, and has a great deal of scruff - like mid press for Celeste & Jesse Forever. That's pretty much the young version of Jake's dad. Look it up. You're welcome.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed! :)