This one is kind of inspired by a dream I had, some canon divergence from the show.
Everything happened so quickly.
Last thing he knows, he was there, a gun pointed at his temple with both his hands tied in his back, taken hostage by a criminal. His partner was standing in front of him, helpless, her trembling fingers wrapped around her own weapon, unable to pull the trigger – it would kill him too otherwise.
There was fear and tears in her brown eyes, and despite the critical situation in was stuck in, all he could think about was how beautiful she actually was.
It was strange, this feeling coursing through his veins as he was as close to death as he's ever been in his entire career. He should be (and truly thought he would be), scared as well, but truth is he wasn't.
On the contrary, even, he was feeling oddly serene.
In fact, if these were to be his last moments on this Earth, he was rather happy the last image he's ever seen would be of her. As long as she was safe… That's why he smiled to her, wanting to reassure her.
You'll be alright.
Praying her to do it, too.
Shoot him. Even if it hurts me. Even if he shoots me.
He would only have one regret. Not telling how he still felt about her. How he never stopped feeling.
I've always liked you – even though I ended up being too much of a coward to tell you so.
So, when he heard the gunshot, he was certain this was it. The end.
She had let out his name in a desperate cry, and he had fallen onto the floor with the impact. He could feel the blood coursing through his body now – his hands, his chest, and even his hair.
There was no other explanation, then. Death was coming for him.
It wasn't as if someone he hadn't seen nor heard had come to his rescue at the last minute. Amy and he were all alone, in this hell of a place.
(Well, if their criminal wasn't taken into account, of course.)
And yet, when he finally manages to open his eyes, it's not the cliché white light that blinds him.
No, it's rather the darkness of the floor he's fallen upon, pulled down by the now dead body of his perp laying next to him, and his blood dirtying him on its way out of the deceased's skull – not his own.
"Jake!" Amy's voice calls him when she spots him moving, and he looks up for the first time.
It's not only her gaze that he meets. Their Captain is there as well, all geared up, and a gun in his hand.
It doesn't take the detective more than just that to understand what really happened here, then. Holt is the one who took down his attacker.
He can't think too much about this all, though, since soon enough, without further warning, arms come wrapping around him, and he finds himself stuck against his beloved partner's chest.
He doesn't wait to tighten their embrace, and finally lets out all the fear he's been repressing this whole time, without even realising he had it within until now.
It's soothing to be there with her, to be able to touch her still, with her good, familiar, scent taking over the smell of fresh blood surrounding him in his nostrils.
"It's alright," he hears Amy whisper after a long, quiet while, and he doesn't quite know if she's trying to calm him down with her words, or herself. Probably both.
After all, she's been through hell too, watching her partner like this without being able to do anything.
"You're alright, you're alright," she repeats.
"I am," he quietly answers, and hugs her even tighter than they already are.
He's so glad she's there with him, right now. That they're safe and sound. That he still has time… to tell her how he truly feels about her. About them and their relationship. That he'd like more.
If she wants it too…
(They're both single, this time. There's no more Teddy or Sophia or anyone else between them.)
For a moment they remain like this, until Holt eventually decides to interrupt them.
They're still on a crime scene, after all.
"Go home," he simply tells them, though. "That's an order," he adds when he notices them open their mouths, ready to argue with it – they can't just leave like that.
They still have a lot of paperwork to do, and questions to answer regarding the death of this criminal.
But apparently, for now, all of this doesn't matter to their boss, and they can just 'leave like that'. After what they've experienced, they need some well-deserved rest, according to him.
(And to wash up, also, given the amount of blood that's now covering both their bodies.)
The ride back in their shared police car is spent in silence.
Amy still tries to sneak some glances at her partner every chance she has before quickly putting all her attention back to the road as she's the one driving, to make sure he's alright.
To remind herself that he's here, with her, and fine, too. That they avoided the worst, thanks to Holt.
Only when she's stopped in front of Jake's building for a few seconds already and none of them seems to be ready to leave the vehicle does she eventually speak. "Do you… want me to come with you?"
"Please," he lets out a sigh, relieved she asked. He doesn't feel like being alone right now.
(He doesn't feel like leaving her, mostly.)
She obliges, then, cutting off contact and going out of the car, soon followed by her colleague.
They don't say much as they climb up the stairs and make their way into his place either.
It's just as messy as Amy remembers it was the last she was there, and she can't help but smile at how much of Jake's personality is visible in its decoration. She wanders around the room, hanging her coat on the hook by the main door, and acting so natural – as if she were at home here.
Jake watches her do for a while, a small rictus forming upon his lips as he does so.
It's like she actually belongs here.
He's taken back to the true reason behind her presence in his apartment soon enough, though, when his gaze finally leaves her face and falls onto her shirt – it's stained with fresh blood he surely passed onto her during their shared embrace earlier.
"I –," he says then, his voice husky for staying silent for too long, and points to her chest. "Do you want me to lend you a shirt or something, to get rid of this?"
She looks down, confused by his words, and that's when she sees the marks. She hadn't noticed them before, too concentrated by other things to see them. Panic soon starts coursing through her veins as she realises she's not the only one covered in red – he is too, in way greater quantities than she is.
Jake is quick to calm her down, hopefully. "Relax, it's not mine," he tells her. He doesn't need for her to voice it to actually understand what all this blood made her believe.
Her horrified look scrutinizing him from afar in search of any visible wound spoke for itself.
"Well… I'd like that, yeah," she accepts his offer then, manages a shy smile at him, a bit taken aback by the fact he was able to read her that well.
He doesn't leave her alone in the room long, and within a few minutes is back by her side, his favourite N.Y.P.D. hoodie in his hand. "Here," he gives it to her, then acts as if he's going to leave again.
"Feel free to make yourself home here. I'll be in the bathroom, trying to take this out too," he explains himself, pointing out to the stains covering his own T-shirt, but also hands, arms, and even his hair.
Amy waits until he's closed the door behind him to take off her shirt, and put on her friend's hoodie, his scent soon taking over her whole being. Then she goes on with her wandering around his place.
As she's watching the few pictures spread across one of his pieces of furniture, one of them, looking familiar, catches her attention. She remembers it. How proudly he showed her he had framed it –
The reminiscence of their victory over the Vulture, all those months ago…
Back at the precinct, she noticed it was gone but didn't know he was the one who took it home.
Her little discovery immediately melts her heart, and a tender rictus makes its way across her face at what this means. He cares about her, so much that she's even allowed her own spot right between his mother and an image of their whole squad together they took during their annual weekend together.
And, of course, she cares about him too. He's always been such a good friend to her – her best friend, if she would dare say so, even. She doesn't quite know what she would have done if their boss hadn't come in time to save him – save the both of them, actually. And she prefers not to think about it either.
He's alive, after all. And well. That's all that matters.
He must be shaken up, despite him not showing it too much, but it's nothing that can't be undone.
Suddenly though, Amy is taken out of her reverie and back to reality when she hears a sound coming from the bathroom – as if something just fell hard onto the floor, then a curse.
She doesn't have to hesitate one second before rushing towards the room where her colleague is, and is relieved when she sees he hasn't locked to door behind him. She can easily enter then…
… and eventually finds herself face-to-face with the brunette, kneeling shirtless in front of his tub and bending over it, his arms covered in shower gel as he attempts to take the blood off his arms.
His hands (and whole body, too) are shaking so much, though, that not much work has been done in the whole time he's been in there. The open bottle of shower gel is on the floor now, she soon notices – hence the noise she heard, probably. She reaches to it then, but doesn't give it back to him.
Instead, she kneels by his side, and carefully grabs his arm, along with a washcloth.
He finally looks up at her, confused, but doesn't complain anyway. He doesn't have the strength to do so right now – he has to admit it, he's way more traumatised than he first thought he was.
"Here," she tells him as she washes off the last red stains of his body more efficiently than he ever did with one hand, while the other has found its place on his naked back, stroking gently, back and forth.
"Look, soon all of this will just just a bad memory," she tells him what he desperately needs to hear.
Then, when she's done with both his arms and there is no trace of what happened visible on him, she puts the shower gel back where it belongs, and grabs a bottle of shampoo laying next to it instead, ready to take care of the last part of his body that is still covered in their perp's blood.
This time, Jake is about to argue, but she shushes him before he has the chance to say a single word. "Let me help you with that too," Amy offers, and her voice is so full of concern, he actually lets her do.
She puts some shampoo in her hands then, and starts washing his hair.
He closes his eyes at the touch, trying to relax.
Charles is wrong, is all that the male detective manages to think about as he's putting all his thoughts on Amy's fingers and how they're working on his skull. This gesture is nothing near erotic.
But it is good, and sweet, and mostly all he needs to calm down right now.
It's his friend trying to cheer him up, her hands tenderly massaging his hair as she's talking to him, with him, sharing stories and silly banter as they're used to, and making sure he doesn't look down at the red foam falling into the tub not to freak him out as the blood is slowly leaving his raven curly hair.
Only when she's done with everything does he open his eyes again, and instantly meets hers. She's so close to him right now, closer than he remembered she initially was, with her smiling face only a few inches away from him. He can't help but smile in return – he's feeling way better now, thanks to her help.
Thanks to her only presence by his side.
They remain like this for awhile, neither one of them moving from where they're kneeling next to each other on the floor and in front of the bathtub, eye-in-eye without exchanging any word.
It's peaceful.
Amy's hand is now resting on her partner's chest, unconsciously playing with the bits of hairs laying there. She can feel his heartbeat going faster with each new passing second, and she's sure hers is doing the same too right now as she's getting lost in his brown, loving orbs blissfully watching her.
Finally though, Jake breaks their moment, looking away as he speaks. "I, uh – thank you."
"Don't thank me. That's what friends are here for, right?"
He swears he recognised some bitterness in her use of the word 'friends' and a bit of disappointment in him breaking contact, but tries not to read too much into it. He's still in shock, and imagining things that he wants to be true – nothing else. She doesn't like him like that. Not anymore, anyways.
Not like he does, her.
Eventually they decide to stand up and leave the bathroom, going back to the living room.
When they watch the time, they're surprised to learn it's past 8pm, and so it's rather naturally that Jake invites Amy to stay for dinner then. One thing turning into another, he prays her to stay a little longer when they're done eating, not feeling like being alone yet, and that's how they end up curled up on the couch in front of the TV.
The distraction is truly welcomed, after the events of the day, and before all they know that will happen the days after – the paperwork, and interrogations, and so many other stuff.
But in the meantime, it's with her head carefully laid in the crook of her friend's neck that Amy closes her eyes to the sound of Property Brothers and the slow, even beats of Jake's living heart.
(She already knew she wasn't going home tonight anyway, from the moment he asked her to stay a bit more after their shared meal, so she doesn't really feel bad dozing off like this.)
And, when he thinks she's deeply asleep next to him, Jake finally tells her what he's intended to say for a while now, but never finding the guts to do so before. Facing death truly helped.
(Even if not enough to say it to her face yet. But it's still a beginning.)
"I really like you, Amy Santiago. You know – romantic-stylez."
What he didn't expect, though, is for her to answer in a tired, almost inaudible whisper, "I like you too."
She then smiles at him, but doesn't bother opening her eyes. She still reaches to take his hand in hers, and pulls herself even more against his side as he passes his arm around her shoulders.
There will be plenty of time to talk about these feelings tomorrow. And all the days after this one.
For now, they just need some rest.