She strolled into the precinct just as he reached his desk. Resigning was the best decision. The best he took in a long time. That could have been self-hatred making that call but really there, he fucked up, and there was no denying it. He fucked up before, didn't lay his badge on Holt's lap then, but this one was beyond forgivable. He almost got her harmed. How could he even live with that? What happened that morning was not only bad cop work, it was plain endangerment, and he would have locked others behind bars for less than that. Giving up his lifegoal was hard enough, yet all he could think of was how it would hurt, not being welcomed by her greeting smile every morning, eyeing her from a distance, imagining, searching even, the touch of her skin. He had been lurking around her for so much time, every one of their colleagues could not help but notice, trying with an advice, a setup, a push to make them collide. It never happened. Better. That would have made it worse.

He would have rather walked out while she was stuck at the scene though. He was not famous for enduring the consequences of his bad decisions but having to explain he was leaving because he loved her without mentioning his feelings was going to be a challenge. Hopefully she'd just shout at him for 20 minutes straight, he'd freeze in an attentive stare, nod once and wouldn't have to speak a word before grabbing his jacket, waving at Boyle and exiting the premise. So, he rested on the side of his desk, folded hands and eyes to the ground, as she approached. Everyone's attention was on them now. The word had had plenty of time to run around, each expectation gathering to form the tension cloud she entered as she stationed herself in front of him.

The slap echoed through the ambient electricity. That was three expectations fulfilled. He did not flinch, received it like a man, a man focused on the blast of perfume her movement released and the strength she withheld. He saw her tackle crooks twice her size, yet he somehow hoped she would not use it all on him. Missed call. Another. He slowly brought his head back straight, facing her, staring directly into the green of her eyes, and clenched his jaw, ready to get the shitstorm. She took a step back, brought her hands to her hips, inhaled loudly, her nostrils flaring while spinning around slowly. He didn't detach his eyes from her, imprinting the shades of her dark hair, drawing her curves in his mind to masturbate on later. What? Jake, please, she's too classy for you. Out of your league. How many times had he heard it? Everyone, at least once. Santiago, Diaz, Linetti, Jeffords, twice, himself, every day, three times. No doubt about that. She was coming to the end of her turn, back to face him, that air she breathed in was going to turn into mean words.

She stretched one arm, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him in to fix his lips on hers. He kept his widen eyes open for a second or two before imitating her posture. That was no expectation fulfilled. The electricity turned into blatant shock, no one had seen it coming. Yes, there were signs she might like him back. Maybe. But that was a passionate kiss. The real deal. No words were spoken, seventeen breaths were held for the entire minute that stance went on. Her other hand was now also resting on his chest, her intensity palpable. He started lifting his hands up her back as she showed the slightest intention of withdrawing, but he did not let that happen. Quickly, he locked her in his embrace, widening his mouth to grab her tongue. Feeling her consent only increased his excitation, one of his hand trailed her spine to find a grip on her neck, clasping her in his desire. By then, their audience was sharing their enthusiasm, or confusion, or jealousy. Not like she was no one's covetousness.

They reluctantly parted, lingering on that last touch, now reopening their eyes to take each other in, oblivious to their surroundings.

"Well, that was unexpected", sang the captain, only speaking out the writer's words.

Peralta released her just enough for them to realize the position they were in. In the middle of the police station, their workplace, making a show of themselves. Glancing right and left, the embarrassment hit them hard. She searched comfort in her timid demeanor while he found the courage not to boast (but kept a sly smirk on). He suddenly remembered he had just quit and was preparing to say his goodbyes. He whirled to face his chief and was opening his mouth when Holt uttered:

"Of course, I expected you would reconsider and did not sign those papers we exchanged earlier. So, they're absolutely obsolete."

Jake stretched a relieved smile and gave him a nod of gratitude. Only to turn his attention back to the woman of his dreams. Woman who just pounced on him in front of the most important people of his life. Did he deserve this? Maybe not. Did he deserve her? Probably not. Was he gonna linger on those questions? Nah. He loved her, she loved him, and he promised himself, right there, he would not fuck this one up. After today's mistakes, that was a big oath.

"Sorry", he faintly addressed her.

She raised her left eyebrow in a sceptical expression. That made him grin wide, but he resumed a serious look when he couldn't take his eyes off her lips calling for another round. He threw a hand on her hip again and was going to pull her close, but their commander hawked.

"As satisfied of this outcome as I am, I'd like to implement a simple 'no row no cuddle' rule around here. Personal matters stay at the door. Are we clear?"

He let his hand fall back at his side, refrained his obvious frustration and nodded again. She did the same. And the precinct unfroze. Noises buzzed again, papers crackled, casters rolled, handcuffs grated, and Scully's nails clipper resumed snapping. Huh. That's gross. As soon as Holt's shoulders were halfway through his office's frame door, Jake extended his arm again, caught her far side and dragged her in another kiss. Just to be sure. Yep, she welcomed it by placing her palm on his jaw, her fingers subtly brushing his thick hair. She tasted of coffee and salt, and that was the best flavor he ever tried. He heard Amy's "aw" and Diaz's cough of disgust (way past her affection compass now) but all that mattered to him was how she fit so perfectly in his hug. Unfortunately, they had to make it quick. But it was only a postpone. As they sat back at their respective desks, he was already dreaming of pinning her against the elevator wall as he'd take her home, carrying it out in the corridor, lifting her with one arm as they'd enter his flat. Would he be patient enough to reach the bedroom or… The paper ball hit him right on the temple. He looked over.

"You owe me though, jackass.", she loudly claimed, "You almost had me killed earlier. Once more."

"I'll make you feel alive all you want, bitch."

All back to normal. But better.