Title: Keeps Getting Better
Author: WriterGirl89
Fandom: Brooklyn Nine-Nine
Rating: T (implied content)
POV: Third-Person
Pairing: Jake/Amy
Summary: It's now Amy's turn when her partner becomes unexpectedly under the weather after a few weeks of a long, arduous case and she takes it upon herself to return the favor of nursing the decidedly, uncharacteristically ill patient – just as things have already started shifting between them.
Author's Note: Okay, so, I'm basically writing this as a response to one of my readers (AccountNoLongerInUse) so, if you've been wishing for a follow-up to Not Enough of Us then you should thank her because even though there's been at least one other person who asked, aside from sending long, incredibly appraising messages, she actually made the idea concrete in my head, thumbs up for her!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Zero.
…..
"Jake?" Santiago asks into her partner's silent, dark apartment as she cautiously peaks in, slowly opening his door, using the spare key he'd given her a month ago, after an incident at work sends her to his home when he can't leave the precinct during an all nighter at the station.
He never asks for the key back and without thinking twice, she simply keeps it.
He asks her out on the very same night – or early morning because it's almost three am and they're both exhausted, his tired, husky voice asking to take her to dinner as he draws circles on her palm when their hands gravitate towards each other in the quiet of the empty police station, their sides meshed together and her head on his shoulder as they lean against their desk on the floor, their brains hurting after tediously bombastic hours on a longer than long case.
And she says yes and when Holt inevitable tells them to take a night of good sleep to get their heads straight, she and Jake instead up end up at her favorite diner and he buys her breakfast for dinner as they share relaxed, casual conversation in the familiar, Americana space.
It's nice. It's nicer than nice and they end up doing it again. Only this time at steakhouse that Peralta raves about and she finds out halfway through a juicy, flank cut how accurate those raves are.
And that's it. They've gone on two dates.
Two dates that end up being the best, most comfortable, familiar yet still new dates she's ever been on. The kind of feeling she never really remembers having until way past several dates with other people.
Comfortable and familiar because they know one another soo well. She doesn't need to pretend to be impressed by him or to fake forced laughter at his stupid jokes – because she really does laugh at his stupid jokes and is genuinely impressed by him sometimes.
And also kinda new because it's unbreached territory to see the other in this kind of light.
So, in other words, they're… great. He's great. And she's glad this is happening, whatever it is, and although she's getting that it's because there's something between them – that shifty elephant in the room that's been developing since he starts taking care of her back in her sick stupor, his visits becoming something to relish in when she couldn't look more gross – Amy still doesn't know what it means.
They're not in a relationship exactly and yet, there's still not a one thing casual about this – as far as she knows, he's not seeing anyone else and she would much rather eat tin foil than go back to the ackward, blind date scene ever again and they know each other way too much to even pretend casual – and yeah, through the confusion in her brain, she likes it. She likes what they have.
And although she could thank that long, exhausting case that causes them so much time alone that he asks her out, she could honestly curse it now because it is also the reason her partner lays somewhere in his strangely quiet apartment, probably dozing off a case of pneumonia because that all-consuming case ends in a stand-off in the rain and she already worries when he spends the next few days afterward, sneezing and coughing up phlegm at work until the Captain forces him to go home.
She knows the signs because she, herself, has had it once – at fifteen, running late for once to school, rain storm dropping on her just as she arrives – and knows it's hell on the body.
And that's why she's here.
It's been three days since Holt sent him home and now that's the weekend, she heads straight to his apartment after she finishes early.
She steps further into the apartment after closing and locking the door behind her, calling out again a little louder. "Peralta?"
She hears something - a groan maybe? – from somewhere nearby and starts to follow it as added hacking noises and unmistakable sounds of vomiting take her near a door not far from the foyer.
When she reaches it, she knocks cautiously. "Jake? Are you in there? Are you okay?"
There's just more hacking and then a mutter of what she's sure is, "oh, god, no", and then. "Amy..." He groans out loud, sounding both pained and embarrassed before roughly clearing his throat. "... Amy, for the love of my sanity, please leave." He seems to beg, voice uncharacteristically pleading and she feels herself almost give in but, then changes her mind quickly.
"Amy?" She hears him saying, something like warning in his voice, despite how scratchy it sounds. "I know you're still there. I'm not hearing any footsteps and I can hear you thinking outside that door."
She smiles even though he can't see her because even when ill, he seems to have a good read on her.
She then takes a deep breath, counts to ten, and opens the door and finds a pajama-clad Jake slumped over, hugging a toilet, and looking the most pitiful she's ever seen him, his haggard appearance telling her that he's had a less than ideal time while he's been home.
"Aww..." She decides to let her sympathy because there's no one around and he looks so pale and sick that her concern wins over any type of urge to kick a wide-mouthed horse while it's down. "... Jake."
He looks up at her from leaning an elbow on the toilet, eyeballs peaking out from his fingers and when he sees her, those eyes shut, his expression pained. "Oh, no, please tell me this is a nightmare. God, please let it be a nightmare." He mutters, bowing his head.
She goes over to him, not even hesitating, as she kneels and presses her palm to his damp forehead, her chest growing tight when he leans up into her touch after her hand drifts down to the side of his face, his eyes falling shut as if her presence relaxes him.
"Jake." She says firmly and when those eyes flutter open, she adds. "How are you? Are you in pain?"
"I feel shitty." He answers, a tone of misery present in his scratchy, hoarse voice. "I keep coughing up this gross crap out of my mouth and when I cough too long and too much, I just throw up, which is weird because..." He scratches the back of his head. "... I don't think I've eaten anything since I've been home."
"You haven't eaten?"
He shakes his head. "Aside from ginger ale and crackers, no."
She decides to focus on the problem she can fix for now. "Come on." She helps him get up, letting his heavy weight settle on her side, his arm going over her shoulder. "Let's get you some food."
...
Over an hour later, Amy considers herself lucky that her mother still thinks of her as the baby of the family despite her status as a top-notch detective in the NYPD because, once a week - or twice, depending on her mom's mood -, she gets treated to care package of easily manageable, delicious, and already prepared to-go meals delivered from Edison, New Jersey, courtesy of Gloria Santiago because she knows her youngest child and only daughter cannot cook to save her life and for right now, Amy could not be more grateful for that slightly embarrassing fact.
Because now, she's arriving back to her partner's apartment, a bag of goods that include his meds, a few healthy nut bars, and her mother's day-old left-over chicken noodle casserole that she hopes Jake can take down.
She may not be the best cook, but Amy Santiago can nuke it with the best of them.
She rolls up her sleeves as she puts the casserole dish in the small oven she's surprised he even has and starts setting things up when she hears footfalls behind her and a scratching of a throat, along with a mildly raspy saying of. "What smells good?"
She turns and sees her patient lumbering in, his hair wet and new pjs on and she recalls that, after making him some tea earlier, she sends him to a much needed shower before running errands for him earlier.
"Hey. How you feelin'?
"Human." He grunts, settling into a bar stool and getting himself comfortable, distributing his weight carefully.
"I brought my mom's chicken casserole." She gestures towards the oven. "Always made me feel better when I was a kid."
"Okay."
For a while after that, she just concentrates on watching the casserole, knowing and feeling Jake's eyes on her and this just suddenly seems soo domestic and normally it wouldn't be a big deal but, it's like, things are different between them now and they've gone on two dates and she's honestly startled by the realization that she would not mind doing this again in the future and she can see it all now and it's just a lot-
"Thanks." He says out of nowhere from behind her and she turns slightly over her shoulder to see him giving her an expression of gratitude so clear and so direct that she feels a lump grow in her throat and looks away to clear it and responses. "You're welcome."
After making sure the casserole is really heated through, she goes and serves them both generous portions and, hoping he won't get sick on it, peaks at him throughout eating - just to make sure - and then when it seems like her partner is starting to drift after he finishes (sans gagging so, she knows she did good with the re-heating, at least), she gets up, heading for the medicine cabinet she'd found in her rummaging earlier in the evening. "You want your meds?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
She comes over with the three chalky white pills and hands them over to him along with a glass of water. "Here you go. The woman at the pharmacy said to take three every few hours."
He nods at her and knocks back them back with the water and she finds herself watching the movement of his throat as he does and then, he tells her that he's sleepy again and Amy ends up having to wrap an arm around his waist, while his arm goes over her shoulder, leaning on her and they sorta have to crabwalk towards his bedroom and she fights a tremor going down her spine as his nose accidently brushes against the skin behind her ear and this close she can smell the distinct clean scent of his soap and she has a fleeting question in her brain of whether he uses shampoo, conditioner, and body wash or it's like a multi-purpose one-product-fits-all situation and yeah, it's all very strange and off kilter suddenly-
She shakes off the stream of thought and helps to his open bedroom door and watches him stumble to the bed and flop on it like a teenage boy - making her face palm a giggle - and once she hears snoring right off the bat, she slowly closes the door and leaves to the living room.
...
Next thing Amy knows, it's dark.
Like, one minute, she's flipping through channels on Jake's surprisingly big-screen television and then it's just... dark and she feels groggy and her body knows she's not in her apartment, taking a brief minute to figure she's at her partner's instead and when she looks at her phone to check the time, she frowns, seeing that it is almost eight at night and that she's slept the entire afternoon away, blindly searching out a light switch.
She adjusts to the new lighting when she does, blinking rapidly as she heads to the kitchen for a glass of water.
Jake's place is... interesting.
She recalls him being at her own apartment for that disastrous Thanksgiving dinner and the comments he makes through a smirk about "visiting a time before electricity was invented" and thinks him to be mildly hypocritical because, as she stands in the middle of it all, she can see he pretty has the same kinda digs and there's a floral curtain in the kitchen that she knows he couldn't possibly buy of his own free will and aside from the clear indications of bachelor life - the massage chairs, the big-screen, the testosterone-filled movie selection, the beer in the fridge, etc., - that this very apartment could also belong to a grandma.
She finishes her water and rinses out the glass under the faucet, deciding to head to Jake's room to see if he's alright and not choked on phlegm in his sleep, tip toeing in the short hallway until she gets there and opens the door just as slowly as she'd closed hours before.
And there he is.
He's lying on his front, face smooshed into his pillow so, she can only see half of his face and despite herself, she steps closer towards the sleeping man now highlighted by just the lamp at the other side of the bed, the soft ambience adding to his... appeal and she carefully sits on the bed, depositing her weight as to have a good angle to look him over.
Though, she can only see that one slice of his face, she still has ample opportunity to admire him. Because he's asleep. And can't comment or joke about it. Or smirk at her like he would if he catches her. And she's already got carte blanche for this. It's not like he hasn't been open about finding her attractive. Or, at the very least, what he says about her indicates as much.
She gazes at his face. The smooth-looking skin. The facial structure. The perfect mouth with the red lips and stipple of stubble. The fluttering of his eyelashes against his cheek bone. His hair in messy, short curls on top of his head and it looks so soft that she has a half a mind to bring to life one of her most prominent fantasies and run her fingers through it.
And that's exactly what she does.
She hears herself sigh as she tunnels into his hair. Stroking at the thick dark thatch of messy brown she thinks about way too often to be normal. And it's not like, she doesn't dream about other things with him but, this? This is at the very top of the list. Like a night when he asks her out for the first time and she's too tired to keep her thoughts clear and structured, she thinks about this. And yeah, it's weird and, considering the other situations her mind could conjure up involving him, more innocent than usual.
And she really likes the way he looks right now, too. Fast asleep. The lines of his face smoothed out by slumber. And well, she also enjoys that, too. Like when they're chasing perps and the guy gives them such a hard time that she sees Jake's normally affable demeanor dissolve and she gets to see his voice become hard and steely, his eyes get dark and unyielding. That jaw of his twitching and clenching in his anger.
And then, it's just like whoa. And many a times, Amy finds herself getting home afterward and thinking about it. While she's in the shower. When she turns in for the night, her fingertips traveling over her body. Imagining him above her, channeling all that aggressive energy on her-
Anyway, she likes this just a little bit more. He looks more... unassuming. More harmless. Less of the immature, overly energized, yet still tough manchild he acts like most of the time in front of others.
Here is - what's quickly becoming her favorite version of him. Sleeping. In repose. Peaceful. And she finds herself thinking she would not mind turning over and waking up to that face some time in the future.
Granted, she could maybe do without the sick thing, though.
Is it silly? Probably. And she's getting way ahead of herself. And he might not be thinking along those lines like her. But, here she is. Thinking long-term with a man she's only been on two dates with. Whom she hasn't even kissed yet. They've not had slept together - again, yet - and she's thinking about all this.
She's starting to feel... courageous. A springing up of bravery she never remembers feeling before and comes to the conclusion that it's okay. They've gone on two dates. And she wants more. And they've know each other for years. Despite trying to make it otherwise, he knows her better than most people who aren't related to her. He's a good cop. Under that at times childish exterior, in little pockets of moments, she also knows he's one of the most decent men she knows.
So, there's no reason for her to fight this anymore. It's basically pointless.
Looking down at his slumbering face, she leans down without hesitation and places a soft kiss on his cheek, fingers still tangled in his hair.
And just like she hopes for, the contact makes him murmur and she watches him begin to stir, leaning into her touch as it travels from the nape of his neck to his face, laying her palm on his cheek, feeling the contraction of his facial muscles as he slowly wakes up, his eyes blinking into the waking world and she smiles at him when they land on her immediately after he shakes the cobwebs from his brain.
"Hey." He says after a few minutes of silence, looking at her like she might be mirage. All sleepy eyes and hazy concentration.
"Hi." She responses shyly, thumping the top of his cheekbone, enjoying the contact.
His expression is a mixture of contentment and confusion as he lifts a hand to hold onto her wrist, broader fingers encircling her loosely. "Is this a dream?" He asks, voice scratchy and husky with sleep and the sound causes a funny, twirly feeling in her stomach.
She shakes her head slowly. "No." She answers, feeling a lump in her throat and her eyes well up as he looks at her in pure awe. "No, I'm here."
There's an ensuing moment where all they do is stare at each other and then as Jake wakes up more, he must see - read - something different on her face and he asks, the corners of his mouth turning up. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
She doesn't how to say the words so, she does the next best thing and shows him instead.
She leans down slowly into his face, pausing briefly before closing the distance between and presses her lips to his closed mouth that immediately becomes pliant and slack under hers, a deep sound escaping from his throat as they finally share their first kiss and it's more chaste than she would ever think a first lip meet with him would be like but, then again, he's ill and she must have the powers that be on her side because it's still very good. Even though, he's sick and his movements are a bit slow, the soft caress of his lips is more than she can ask for and the hand that suddenly appears on her hip relaxes and clenches as they kiss. Slowly. Patiently. Sweetly. Almost innocently.
After they pull away, their foreheads rests on the other, a bright smile finding it's way to Amy's lips. "Finally." She's able to say, a breathless laugh rushing out of her with an exhale of air, her heart feeling full and happy.
"I like you, Amy." Jake tells her after a few seconds of silence and when they meet eyes, she sees him give her a dopy, drugged up smile of his own and as his eyes start to droop, she responses. "I like you, too, Jake."
He simply hums, and pecks her quickly on the lips before starting to get comfortable in bed again and as she starts to get up, his hand on her wrist stops her and she turns to see him looking at her in that awestruck stare once more. Drawing her in.
"Stay."
Amy gazes at him, finding no will to resist his pleading puppy dog eyes and warm, inviting expression.
"Okay."