From Contact 1:
En el peligro se conoce el amigo
(A friend in need is a friend indeed)
From Spanish Hottie:
La necesidad agudiza el ingenio
(Necessity is the mother of invention)
Amy was first at the rendezvous spot this time, sipping her own heavily sugared drink. The bodega couldn't make a pot of coffee without burning it, but at least it was bustling with activity and noise. It made a good smokescreen, quite literally when the fry cook's bacon went up in flames.
Jake was running late, which she tried desperately not to speculate on. Her hands kept trying to fidget with the faux bob or with the hem of her uncharacteristically loud print skirt. It may have been noticeable, but at least it made her look as far from a cop as possible.
It was silly of her to worry, she told herself. She trusted Jake immensely, with her life, so she had to trust him with his own. It was incredibly hard though.
Her heart leapt when she heard the bell above the door ring. A relieved sigh escaped when she saw it was Jake, but Amy didn't relax. He had his blue hoodie up over his head, something he never did unless it was raining. His shoulders were hunched in on himself under the leather jacket. Amy bit her lip as his sneakers squeaked their way over to her table.
"¡Hola!" His voice boomed out loud as Jake fell into the chair. "¿Cómo estás?" He asked with a wide grin. Amy didn't answer. Something was wrong. His whole body language was off, his grin too superficial to be at ease.
"El libro." Amy demanded, and she was glad that he had the foresight to stuff the small well-thumbed Spanish phrasebook in his pocket. Jake flipped it open on the table between them. Grabbing it, Amy found the phrase she was looking for, pointing to it but not saying it.
¿Hay moros en la costa?
(Is the coast clear?)
Jake grimaced. "Mira." He flicked his eyes out the window briefly. Nonchalant, Amy lifted her coffee to her mouth as she glanced blankly in the indicated direction. Sure enough, there was a nondescript car with tinted windows on the far corner. It was idling, with any number of the Iannucci crew inside.
"Did they follow you?" Amy asked in a whisper, her lips still hidden by the coffee cup.
"Sí." He answered. Then Jake placed his elbow on the table and leaned his cheek on his hand, effectively obscuring it from the outside. He did this with a soppy infatuated expression, but when he spoke he was far more serious.
"A couple nights ago we were at a bar. I've got this trick for pretending to drink more than I do where I go to the urinal and…" He trailed off after noticing her scrunched up disgusted pout. "Anyway, Alex was hammered and he nabbed my phone from my pocket when I got up to go. When I got back the whole gang was going through it. They were laughing at me for having a shitty sex-life and when they got to the texts in Spanish I had to run with it. I used your ridiculous 'trying to learn Spanish to impress teacher' idea." Well, Amy took a moment to gloat inwardly, it couldn't be that ridiculous if he'd remembered it.
Unable to keep sipping her coffee indefinitely, Amy asked in Spanish. "¿Por qué…?" She couldn't finish the question, he wouldn't understand her, so she gave a subtle gesture of her head to indicate the car.
"I think they're just trying to find fodder to make fun of me." Jake replied, cautiously hopeful. "But it's totally possible they didn't buy my excuse." He squinted at her as if something had just occurred to him. "Hey, do you have a name?" Her eyebrows raised minutely, and Jake could apparently read her question from just that gesture. "No, obviously not your name. This," With the hand farthest from the window he made a sweeping gesture over her body, "Character, does she have a name? I kept calling her that Spanish chick, and it felt really weird."
"I don't need a name," Amy murmured, her face pointed down, "Because I'm not undercover."
Jake sighed. "I hate to break it to you, but those guys sitting out there mean you are now." Her eyes cut upward to see his honestly contrite expression. The air left her lungs with a whoosh, and Amy nodded. It hadn't been what she signed up for, and it made everything way more complicated, but she was determined to see this through.
Amy picked up the phrase book, sifting aimlessly through the pages. Carefully, her fingers dipped into her pocket and withdrew the small USB. She nestled the drive into the book. Jake watched her movements, for all appearances bored.
"Is that the intel I can give Leo?" He asked simply.
Amy lifted the book higher, angling it so it blocked most of her face. "I worked it out with Holt and Clark. It's a lot of fake info, detectives playing CI's, prop warehouses with drugs, and open cases that are already in court. It's enough to impress them, but it won't jeopardize anything. Besides, you've been out for almost three months, it makes sense that you wouldn't have up to date info for them."
"You're sure?" Jake said. Amy nodded, and was about to say more when he sat up quickly, childlike energy returning. "Ooh, what about America?" He suggested apropos of nothing. "You know, for a bogus name." The words America needs me forced their way into her mind. Like that night, her throat seemed to close up. Amy shook her head, averting her eyes. "What, too close to the real thing?"
"Actually," She murmured shyly, "It is the real thing." There was a stunned beat of silence. Heart fluttering, Amy chanced a look up. Jake was staring at her, and when he knew she was watching he mouthed, 'America Santiago.'
His expression of amazement was so sweetly painful, she couldn't look at it for too long. Glancing up over his head at just the right time, the blush drained from her cheeks. She ducked her head and lay the book on the table, the USB out of sight.
"El niño," She enunciated slowly, holding Jake's gaze, "Entra," His eyes widened, catching on, "La bodega."
"El niño entra la bodega." Jake repeated, his accent outrageously bad. Amy winced, at the butchering of the language but mostly to cover any possible relieved smile that he got it, he knew what was going on, and she didn't have to draw attention to the man loitering by the register.
They went on like that for nearly an hour. She would read him something in Spanish and he would repeat it badly, over and over again as she pretended to tutor him. Every so often Jake would try something flirty, like laying his hand over hers or nudging their feet together. Amy rebuffed him every time, sending a soft look his way, trying to let him know she was playing a part. The crew wanted fodder to make fun of him, and that's exactly what she'd give them. Better they be under the impression that Jake was a bumbling fool with women, than the reality, that he was smarter than they believed.
They parted ways, exceedingly awkward for effect. Jake told her in broken Spanish that he would see her next week. He left first, pushing the hoodie back up over his head. Their friend, who had meandered around the shop the entire time, didn't leave with him, so Amy knew she would have to enact one of her contingency plans. Good thing she had twenty.
Amy rode the subway all the way into Manhattan and up to Columbia University. Her shadow followed, discrete enough that a civilian wouldn't have noticed. At Columbia she used the alumni ID card to get in the building, knowing he couldn't continue tailing her inside. The ladies' bathroom gave her enough privacy to call Captain Holt and inform him that she wouldn't be in to work. Then she called Agent Clark and informed him of the situation and the successful drop.
After whiling away a couple hours in the library, Amy slipped out one of the side doors. Unsure if the man was still pursuing her, she caught a bus to the East Side. It was dark out as she meandered through Spanish Harlem, occasionally ducking into shops. No one payed any attention to her there. For once she didn't give off the unmistakeable sense of cop.
If she could've found one in that neighborhood, Amy would've gotten a cab. As it was, she retreated to the subway to take her back to Brooklyn. Reasonably certain her tail was long gone, Amy relaxed into the plastic seating as she barreled through the tunnels. She took out her burner phone and wondered what to text Jake, but there was no service, so she put that thought, like many others, on hold.
From Spanish Hottie:
Él que tiene boca se equivoca
(We all make mistakes)
From Contact 1:
Nunca llueve a gusto de todos
(You can't please everyone)
His text had been ominous.
Amy leaned against the cube on Astor Place, cigarette firmly between her lips. Foot traffic bustled around her, and this was one of the moments that Manhattan's constant chaos was comforting. She knew people's eyes were passing over her, but that's all it was. There was only one person who needed to notice her, and he could find her no matter what.
"¡Que pasa, chica!" The shout made her turn, a half formed smile on her face just knowing Jake was nearby. He was swaggering down the street towards her. The cigarette fell from her fingers as she took in his wild eyes, tight exaggerated grin, and the outlines of his fists in his pockets. She watched him warily as he got closer and closer.
"Hit me." Jake whispered before grabbing her face in both hands and kissing her harshly.
He was gripping her jaw tight as his other hand clawed into her hair. His lips seemed to squirm against hers, furious, but uneasy. For one moment, Amy swayed into it, accepting the bruising force without resistance. Grappling for something to hold, her hands snaked up his chest and wrapped around the strings of his hoodie. They were taught, grounding.
The thing was, Amy had thought about this moment. After she'd thought obsessively every night about Jake's feelings, the next logical step was trying to figure out what she felt. That was easier said than done, but Amy was nothing if not thorough. She considered every angle, everything she knew about Jake, every time they'd hung out without work, everything she'd thought she wanted in a boyfriend. It was a long arduous process, and every once in a while Amy allowed herself to muse about nicer things. Kissing Jake was one of the nicest things.
So she really wasn't thinking when she pushed into him, tilting his head back, wrapping her lips around his. Jake panted into her mouth, taking as well as he'd given. They struggled against each other for one suspended breath, hands still curled desperately into each other, their lips softening before breaking apart. Amy's eyes flew open and she stared at Jake, only inches away. He was watching her, awed, but also tinged with fear.
The world around them came crushing back, and Amy heaved him away from her with all her might. She got in three slaps, two more than she'd expected to land, before his arms came up to shield his face. Every Spanish obscenity she knew flew off her tongue as she pummeled him. Between her own shouts she could hear Jake crying out in protest, with choice phrases like "Latino bitch" and "crazy Puerto Rican". She knew it wasn't meant for her, it was for their unseen audience. Jake was being clever, using their prejudice to align himself with them by making her the outsider. It still hurt to hear from his voice.
She stalked away from him after unleashing as much fury as she was comfortable with. As she passed a car, she heard the murmurs within the car, a low voice calling her a "firecracker". Amy threw him a glare, looking into the amused face of Leo Iannucci himself. She kept walking, her step never faltering despite the swoop in her stomach. Amy made it to the subway stop, knowing she hadn't been followed, before she let out a long breath.
Why did he have to do it like that, Amy mused as she forcefully speared her dinner that night. Couldn't there've been another way to throw the Iannuccis off their scent? After all they'd been through, it riled her that this moment that should've been special between them had just been a spectacle for someone else's benefit.
Because Amy hadn't realize that she had this idea of a perfect first kiss with Jake before the possibility had been stolen. Half formed wisps flitted through her mind, of her holding his cheek in her hand, looking into soft warm eyes, leaning in until their lips just brushed, glancing off each other until they both sighed and came together fully.
Not that the frenzied clash of earlier had been disappointing. It was still Jake, still his lips and his hands on her, still his breath filling her lungs. But she'd wanted to be sure, the first time they kissed, that it was because they wanted to. She didn't want to have this niggling doubt that he only meant the kiss the way he meant the slurs he"d thrown her way.
When she sent the text that night she was close to crying.
From Spanish Hottie:
Me vuelves loca
(You make me crazy)
It wasn't in the phrasebook she gave him, she couldn't chance inadvertently misleading him, so she ended up waiting far longer for his reply. He had to be looking up a translation. When his text came in, it was a phrase he must've found in the book, but it was obvious he wasn't using it as code.
From Contact 1:
Ojos que no ven, corazón que no siente?
As an idiom, it could match the English, "Out of sight, out of mind." But the second clause literally translated to, "Heart that does not feel." Jake had posed it as a question.
The few simple words on the cell screen made her throat close up and the tears spill over. Her finger hovered over the buttons, needing to find some way to respond but stuck with a limited pallet of words. Before she could make up her mind, another text came in.
From Contact 1:
Lo siento
(I'm sorry)
Amy couldn't let him think he'd done something wrong. The right phrase came to her, something ambiguous, but that he would hopefully understand.
From Spanish Hottie:
Nadie sabe lo que vale el agua hasta que falta
(You never know what you have until it's gone)
The reply, when it came, was asking to meet. With shaking fingers, she agreed.
It was late, the tungsten orange glow of the streetlights the only reprieve from the darkness. Amy's nerves were high as she lurked under the El. train tracks. Trash and debris littered the pavement. She wanted to add to it, to get out a cigarette and burn it to the filter and leave stub after stub on the ground with all the rest. She couldn't though. The Amy of an hour ago had predicted current Amy's emotional state and took the pack out of her purse. She cursed her foresight.
"Yo." The syllable was punched out into the night.
Amy turned around. Jake stood a couple feet away, haloed by the streetlight, staring at her blankly. He didn't try to come closer, and Amy wondered if he was expecting her to hit him again. She tried to put him at ease with a smile, but the way it faltered probably did more harm than good.
Uncomfortable silence reigned.
"Did you mean to call me a dick face?" He asked, the tone light but the words vulnerable. Hazily she could recall loudly yelling 'cara de mondá' at him. Jake must've investigated to translate that too.
Amy shifted uneasily. "Not unless you meant to call me a Spanish whore."
"God, no, oh my god." He sputtered "I had to practice in front of the mirror to say all that without cringing." For some bizarre reason that made her laugh. The image of Jake reciting racist profanity that visibly pained him shouldn't be something so hilarious, but apparently Amy was on the last legs of her sanity.
"Alright, I forgive you." She declared easily as her giggles trailed off. Jake's head bobbed slightly at that, and despite the soft smile on his face his body was still rigid.
"For the bogus racist crap or…" He cleared his throat, and the light atmosphere evaporated. "…Or for forcing you to kiss me."
Without knowing what she might say, Amy shook her head. "Jake, you didn't—"
"No, I totally did." Jake spoke over her, and he seemed angry, but she guessed it was at himself. "Leo decided to give me the worst dating advice in history and just plant one on you until you were into it. I get the feeling not many ladies say no to that guy." He kicked an empty beer can aimlessly, not looking at her, just watching his feet as he scuffed the dirt. "I knew I had to do it, but…"
"I knew why you did it." Amy assured him, but when Jake looked at her her mouth turned dry. He was scrutinizing her like he knew it might've been a lie. She blinked and dropped her gaze.
"Can you, um…" Jake gestured towards her head, then to his neck, making a jerky motion around her her faux bob ended. Amy jolted, having forgotten she'd put it back up.
"You're sure no one followed you this time?" She had to ask.
"Yup," He said bitterly, "Leo and I are besties now that we've bonded over trash talking women." Jake looked at her hair more forlornly now. "I'm really tired of this Not-Santiago character."
Amy couldn't do much besides swallow the lump in her throat and comply. Digging out the pins and undoing the elastic, her hair flowed free over her shoulders. Jake practically sagged with relief, his eyes drinking her in as if this was his first opportunity. She shivered, but didn't look away this time. She was tired of their gazes darting away whenever their feelings got too intense.
"I kissed you back." Amy admitted, feeling as if it was a great secret. Even though he had to have noticed at the time, the way his eyes widened made it seem otherwise. She wrung her hands, nails biting her own skin. "I probably wasn't supposed to, right? That wasn't your plan?"
"I, uh, definitely didn't see it coming." Jake coughed. He looked terribly vulnerable standing like that, his jacket and hoodie unzipped, just a t-shirt standing between her and his heart. "Why, I mean…" He was doing it, he was really going to do it. Amy could see the question in his squared shoulders before Jake could force it out.
Her mouth found itself saying the truth, simple, short, but undeniable. "I wanted to." The words hung in the air between them. Blood was rushing through her ears, and Amy might've swayed where she stood from feeling so faint.
Jake had a peculiar expression on his face, one that said she could've pulled out her gun and shot him twice in the chest and he couldn't have been more shocked. After staring at her, his open mouth pulling in harsher and harsher breaths, he let out grating sigh and closed his eyes. Jake shook his head, and she felt like the distance between them had doubled.
"Amy, I need a favor." He told her, his gaze somewhere around her left ear. The planes of his face looked terse and unhappy. "We're three months in to this op. I'm just starting to get close. I don't know how much longer this is gonna take." Amy hadn't seen Jake this pessimistic before. He often got crabby and defeated, she knew, could remember many times at the station that he'd been cynical. Still, this felt worse.
Jake met her eyes, and she read the desperation in them plain as day. "When this is over, and you and I are back at the Nine-Nine together, and there's no more stupid gangsters or role playing…"
Amy understood then, a flash of revelation. Jake was just as scared as she was, scared that, like this, what they had wasn't real. He didn't want ex-cop turned gang muscle Jake Peralta to romance the Spanish Hottie with her bob and print skirts. He wanted Jake and Amy, Peralta and Santiago, partners in everything. Together, that's the only way they could do this, with clear heads. Their relationship, romantic or not, meant too much.
"Yeah," Amy said, "Okay."
Their gaze held, and they both knew what this meant: no more meetings in public, the ones that, deep down, they had treated like dates. They would work this case as hard as they could, not because they were too afraid to address their feelings, precisely the opposite. There was a light at the end of the tunnel now.
One more chapter is coming, with the thrilling conclusion.
I generally don't mention commenters in the story itself, but there is one Anon that I really have to thank. Anon154, your comments mean the world to me, and I wish I could tell you how often I've read through your long praise and favorite lines to keep me inspired. And, if it was you who commented on That's My Kind Of Risk, thanking me for my open-mindedness, I want to tell you that your reaction is why I do what little I do towards representation.
I would shovel praise at your feet if I could too, so thank you for being so kind.
Thank you to everyone who takes the time to review,
Laury.
