Summary: Amy finally gets to see Jake. Then, they have to say goodbye all over again, at least this time it's only for a few days. Amy updates the Squad.
A/N: Thanks to kamekamelea (ao3/tumblr) for the beta!
B99B99
Jake's eyes are closed when she enters his room. It's semi-private, and there's no one else in the room right now. The lights are dimmed, and Amy thinks Jake's asleep until he opens his eyes.
"Hey Ames."
"Hey," she says softly, taking a seat next to his bed.
"I missed you so much."
"I missed you too. It was only a few hours…" she trails off.
"But it felt like forever," Jake finishes. His voice is soft and melancholic, but there's a hint of a smile too.
Then Amy's crying again. These are gentle tears though. Tears of relief.
"How are you doing?" Jake asks.
He looks up at her, and briefly reaches his hand up to her cheek. It feels so good to feel his skin, when it's not her hand on his leg stopping the flow of blood. Jake's hand is warm against the tears running down her face.
"I should be asking you that," she replies.
Jake shrugs. "It was a crazy night."
"But it's over now."
All of it is over. Witness Protection. Florida. Figgis. The blood seeping out of Jake's leg. Amy hears footsteps of someone walking down the hallway, and the shadows of a passing form play across the floor.
"How are you doing though, really?" Amy asks after a moment. Jake's leg is elevated a bit on a pillow but it's covered with the blanket.
"I…" his voice cracks, "I've been better to be honest."
Amy nods.
"And I'm just so tired," he continues.
She can see the exhaustion in the lines around his eyes and his mouth. There's a relief in his posture, though, that comes with the exhaustion. He has a band-aid on his right elbow, where he had the first IV placed. Now he has an IV in left hand, and Amy takes his right in hers.
"I'm so sorry—"
Jake cuts Amy off. "Shhh, I know, you don't have to be."
Amy doesn't speak. She looks over at Jake. He looks tired and a little pale, but otherwise okay. His hair has grown out longer than he usually keeps it, and even his bleached tips look good to her right now.
Jake tightens his grip on Amy's hand. Nothing else matters right now. They're back together, and they're okay, and that means everything else will be okay too.
"Jake?" Amy whispers after a while.
"Hmm." He opens his eyes.
"I have to leave, in the morning." She has put off talking about this for as long as possible. "I don't know when they'll discharge you."
Jake nods, slowly, and keeps his face neutral.
"Are you driving back to New York?"
"Mhmm." Amy's slowly rubbing her thumb on Jake's hand, and struggling to show the same neutrality. She doesn't know whether Jake is putting on a brave face for her, or if he's not fully present in the conversation. She knows they'll see each other soon, but it still feels like yet another goodbye.
"Need to get some sleep then." Jake closes his eyes, and Amy's not sure whether he means that she needs the sleep, or that he does.
"'M serious," he continues, eyes still shut. "Y'need sleep."
"I—I had to see you first. I had to see you were okay with my own eyes." Amy's not going to cry again, she's not. But there are so many feelings threatening to finally surface after a tumultuous 24 hours.
"Me too. 'Was staying awake to see you. I love you, Ames. We'll be okay."
"I love you too, Jake." She leans over to press a gentle kiss on his cheek.
The sky is growing light, with streaks of grey appearing in the window.
"Sleep," Jake insists. He's taking care of her, too. He's the one she has to leave in the hospital, with a hole in his leg, and he's still there for her.
"Don't wanna leave you." Now Amy's eyes have closed too.
She at least has the foresight to set a quiet alarm on her phone before she drifts off to sleep in the plastic chair beside Jake's bed, hand in hand.
B99B99
It feels like only moments later when the soft bells of Amy's alarm sound. She stirs and shuts off the alarm, rolling out her neck and her shoulders. She did wake up briefly when a nurse came in to check on Jake, but quickly fell back asleep.
"I have to leave now, but I love you so much, and I'll see you soon in New York," Amy whispers, leaning over Jake. "I'll help you out with all the medical stuff, so don't worry if you can't remember everything they tell you. The FBI are in charge of all the logistics. You're gonna be okay."
She figures Jake's still asleep, and she'll tell him everything she just said over text, too. But it seems important to say it all aloud. Then it dawns on her, she still doesn't have his number. She rifles through her purse for a pen and paper, one-handed so she doesn't have to untangle her hand from Jake's until the last moment. She finishes her note, adding her phone number at the bottom and feeling like a teenager leaving her number for a boy. She puts it on the table next to his bed. Then she leans over to kiss him on the forehead, and Jake stirs.
"Thanks Ames, love you too."
They kiss again, this time on the mouth, lingering a little before Jake finally pulls away. Amy doesn't want to leave, but she has to. She wishes she could stay and be the one to collect all the information she knows they'll give Jake upon discharge. Wishes she could help him into the car, and drive away. She'd let him sit in the back seat, with his leg up, and play Taylor Swift all the back to New York. Instead she looks back one last time, and leaves him in a hospital bed, on his own. She's wearing the same clothes from yesterday, wrinkled and sweat-stained, so she walks down the hall looking for a bathroom to freshen up. She pops a piece of gum, and answers a text from Terry, letting him know she'll meet him at the hotel.
There aren't any taxis waiting in front of the hospital this early in the morning. Amy considers calling the same cab company from last night, but instead she opens the map on her phone, and searches the distance to the hotel. It's only a 15 minute walk and Amy figures the fresh air will do her good. She pulls her hair out from its ponytail, half of it had fallen out anyways, and redoes it.
She has to admit, Coral Palms in the October morning is fairly pleasant. It's still warm, but the air holds less humidity, and the rising sun feels good on Amy's face. She follows the highway: There are a few cars on it, but not many. She walks past a car wash with a waving rusty clown statue, over a small culvert and under the shadow of a few palm trees. On the corner sits a dilapidated clapboard house. An older woman perches on a couch on the porch having a smoke. The woman watches her, curiously, but Amy doesn't feel it's malicious.
The man loading a toolbox into the back of pickup, however, feels very malicious as he rakes his eyes over her body. She tries to picture Jake and Captain Holt making their home here over the past six months. When she thinks about them, she pictures Holt in his Captain's uniform. Or in his sweaters and respectable dress pants. Jake, she thinks about his hoodies and his leather jacket. Did Jake even need his hoodies here?
Was Holt's WITSEC alias gay, too? Did he feel safe here, in this backwater town in the middle of Florida? What did he spend his days doing? Maybe there was a public library here. Did he still get the New York Times crossword puzzles? And Kevin—how did Holt cope without his husband?
She's walking past a strip mall, now. The pizza place and pet food store are closed, but there's a 24 hour MacDonald's on the corner and two lonely cars in the parking lot.
What about Jake? The summer before last, a heat wave descended upon the city, and Amy and Jake took refuge at the public pool on a rare, shared day off. Jake was a surprisingly good swimmer, something about summers spent at camp. Every day in Coral Palms must have been like that sweltering hot spell. Did Jake find a pool to swim in here? Summer in New York had been so lonely this year without Jake. Jake missed Passover with his mom, back when the spring was still turning to summer, and his absence was still a new, acute type of pain. He isn't particularly religious, but he's close with his mother and Amy knows it means a lot to both of them. Did he celebrate here, on his own? Or just let the day slide by like any other?
She passes an office park with blinds pulled shut, then an empty lot, another 24 hour fast food joint, and then, finally, the hotel. The rest of the squad are waiting in the parking lot. Rosa and Terry are rearranging the luggage in the back of the van, and Charles is juggling a takeout tray of coffees and paper bag. Terry raises an arm in greeting, and even Gina looks up from her phone.
Amy opens her mouth to say something, but finds she has no words. Instead she returns Terry's wave. Charles sidles up next to her, and Amy braces for a longwinded line of questioning.
Instead he simply says, "Got you an egg McMuffin, and some coffee."
A beat of silence, and then, because he's Charles, "It's a simple palette, but acceptable for the circumstances."
Terry gives Charles a pointed look.
"Sorry, Sarge I couldn't help it. You know I food-talk when I'm stressed."
"It's okay Charles," Amy says, confused.
"I wasn't supposed to bug you with questions. The Sarge said to give you space," he explains.
Amy sees the worry written plainly on Charles' face, sees Rosa's deliberately blank expression, and Terry's tightly drawn eyebrows. Gina is still holding her phone, but Amy can now see that the screen is dark and blank. She can see Holt's silhouette, already sitting in the van, and she can't read his face, but his body looks tense. Even Hitchcock and Scully are uncharacteristically silent as they sit on the curb. Amy takes a deep breath, drawing in the warm air.
"Jake's okay. I saw him last night. I didn't get to talk to a doctor about when he might be discharged, but they only kept him for observation. If the FBI fly him back, he might even beat us to New York."
"I was so worried something had gone wrong." Charles physically crumples as he exhales a sigh of relief.
"He's okay, well given the circumstances, but he's okay."
The squad nods, and Charles resumes handing out breakfast.
Amy speaks again. "How's Captain Holt doing?"
"I think he fell asleep." Charles turns to peer through the van's semi-tinted windows. They've rented a 10 seater, Amy assumes so that Holt can take up a row for himself.
"He's okay too. I think he even got some sleep last night, and they gave him some painkillers," Terry updates.
At the same time Rosa scowls. "He's so stubborn. Wouldn't let me help him. Wants us to just forget about it, but he still can barely walk!"
"Girl," Gina drawls. "Do you remember when you got sick and I had to literally lock you in a room so you would rest?"
Amy remembers. She can't ever think of a time Rosa has admitted she was sick or hurt.
"I wasn't sick," Rosa retorts.
Gina gives her a pointed look.
"That was a cold. This is a fucking piece of rebar through his leg."
Rosa's not talking that loudly, but her voice echoes across the empty parking lot.
"All I'm saying is, he might be stubborn because he doesn't like asking for help, not because he thinks he doesn't need it."
"That was…surprisingly astute, Gina," Terry says.
"What can I say, I'm kinda a genius." Gina flounces over the passenger side of the van, her snuggie flying out around her like a cape. "Now let's hit it."
Gina can be infuriating at times, but she knows the squad inside and out, and she has a special knack for saying exactly what needs to be said. Amy thinks about the time Jake got hit by a car. He was hurt even before the accident, unwilling to admit the extent of his injuries and flat-out refusing to take time off. Hell, even she had hidden her sprained ankle from the rest of the Nine Nine. She only let Jake help her under the guise of winning a bet for which the prize was Jake as her servant for the day. It was a stupid injury; she hurt her ankle at a dance-fitness class. Gina isn't only talking about Holt, she's talking about the whole squad's difficulty asking for help outright.
Amy follows Gina, walking around the front of the van, and rest of the squad piles in after them.
~~end of chapter 3~~
A/N: Passover in 2016, according to Wikipedia, started on April 23rd, which would have been just after Holt and Jake were moved to Florida.
Let me know what you think!