Soulmates AU. In which the time and place you're going to meet them appear on you as a tattoo.

Written for the 4th anniversary of 'The Bet,' aka. January 14th, 2014 – the day Jake got obsessed with Amy forever.

Call it Fate, Call it Magic... Call it Love

Jake first learned about soulmates when he entered elementary school.

And, as soon as he was introduced to the topic, he found this idea of having someone out there – your perfect match –, waiting for you somewhere, particularly awesome.

That is, until his dad left his mom (and him, in the process) about a year later, when he was only 7, and his first girlfriend dumped him for stupid Eddie Fung during his bar mitzvah at 13.

After that, he started thinking that this whole concept of love and soulmates finally wasn't that great.

Because of course the child he had been had always assumed his parents were meant to be together – he didn't know it was a special gift, something not everyone was graced with, so what was the point for him to have Fate matching you with someone else, someone supposed to be made just for you, if it ended in tears and pain and trauma like it did for his own parents – for his mother?

What was the point to fall in love with someone if they weren't your soulmate in the first place?

How could have he known Jenny Gildenhorn wasn't the one when she made him feel like she did, and who was it then? How was he supposed to meet her – or him, for all that he knew?

To recognise them?!

Soulmates sucked, according to him. The whole system was too complicated, and fucked up.

(He really should have listened more in class, instead of daydreaming about what his match would be and look like. Surely a lover of the Die Hard movies and the Nets, just like he was.

That way, he would have known the answers to all of his internal questions.)

That way, he wouldn't have freaked out when, years later, on the morning of his 20th birthday, he woke up with a tattoo on his left wrist that surely wasn't there the night before –

397 Barton St., NYC, 1/14 10:38, written in dark, indelible ink contrasting with his pale skin.

His mother told him everything there was to know about it with an excitation barely contained when he showed her the strange mark during dinner that day. "This, my son," she said with a grin, "is when and where you'll meet your soulmate."

And even though he was still skeptical at first, once she gave him all the details he'd been deprived of when he was younger, he started to change opinions on that particular topic.

Sure, he still thought it was a complicated concept – after all, even if the indications on his arm were rather complete, he didn't know the exact year he would meet them (it could be like the next or in 10), or if he was supposed to meet them at 10:38 am or pm – which was quite the bummer for him.

But at least soulmates didn't seem to suck that much anymore.

Of course Amy knew about soulmates. She'd always know, growing up surrounded by them –

Her parents were soulmates, her three big brothers had their soulmark (one of them even had already found his match only about a year after it showed up on the back of his neck).

And obviously, she'd read tons of books about them – not that it was her favourite topic, though.

Actually, on the contrary, she wasn't really keen about it, at first. Indeed, she didn't quite like the idea of not being able to decide whom she was going to spend the rest of her life with, even though there were no rules about not marrying your soulmate written anywhere – it didn't feel right to do so.

Still, she got a bit worried that she'd be the only one in the family not having one when it appeared on her twin brother's skin in the morning of their 18th birthday, and hers remained totally immaculate.

"Don't worry, tiger," her father tried to reassure her then, putting an arm around the girl's shoulder while everyone else was looking at her brother Daniel, who was proudly showing off his back, where the new words were now written. "You know how these things work. Yours will come when it's time."

She looked back at him, thankful, and offered him a shy smile in return.

Despite all she could have thought about soulmates before, she hoped he was right.

And, fortunately, it turned out he was – just a few months later, on a beautiful Spring morning at the very beginning of June, it was already on her right wrist when she woke up –

1/14 10:38, Barton St., NYC.

She didn't waste even one second to show it to the rest of the Santiagos, exchanging a knowing beam with her father as she did so. Her time had eventually come indeed.

From the day he got his mark, Jake made it his new personal tradition to go down 397 Barton Street at exactly 10:38 am and pm every January 14th in search of his soulmate – it really helped a lot that he was already a New Yorker, and that his boss let him do pretty much whatever he wanted to at work.

They, on the other end, must have not been from the place, or not get the chance he had with their own superiors, because they never showed up, at any of their possible meetings.

Until he didn't either, stuck on a case at work, because his new Captain – Raymond Holt was his name – was nothing like his former one and wouldn't let the hopeless romantic he was go.

Not even in the name of love.

"If they're really your soulmate, they – and you – can wait one more year – this case can't," he told him in a voice that implied no more argument.

Which he never knew if it was true, because he actually never went back. He simply gave up.

He was so sure – could feel it in his core – that he missed his chance that day, that whoever they were supposed to be, he would never meet his soulmate, now. That he was going to die alone, with nothing else than just his work to keep him company.

(Funny thing is that he didn't even catch his perp, that day, on top of all bad things.)

(Not a great, reliable partner, then. His life truly sucked.)

Hopefully he could always count on his colleague and best friend, Charles, to cheer him up. More than anyone else, when the younger detective told him the story behind his tattoo, he got excited about it.

He didn't believe it was over for his friend. And he didn't wait to tell him so.

"It's never too late when it comes to love. You just have to be patient."

But Jake was tired of waiting.

Amy never went to the place indicated on her wrist, the first years after she got her soulmark.

She did move to New York City partly because of what was written on it, though, when she graduated high school and time came for her to think about her future, and what she wanted to do next.

(Mostly because that's where all the best universities were, too.)

Still, even if she had the opportunity to check on them, being in the right city now, she never tried and met her match. She didn't want to, not just now. It was too soon, according to her –

She was too young.

Especially if he was going to be the one.

She needed to live her own life first – to be able to concentrate on her studies as much as she could (and wanted), without having to worry about a boyfriend as well – no, not just a boyfriend.

The boyfriend – her one and only.

(Not that she didn't have any before, for that matter. She did have a few stories with some guys. Even though she knew they were just that – flings, and would never become more.)

She simply believed that a few years were nothing compared to the rest of their lives together.

She believed the right time would come without her attempting to push it – that she would sense it.

(She believed her soulmate would understand.)

And she was right. Because on January 14th, 2014, when she woke up, she felt something in her guts that told her this is it. This is the moment she has to go to 397 Barton Street, New York City.

This is when she's finally going to meet them – whoever her soulmate is.

Good thing she doesn't have to go to work that day (another coincidence that makes her think she's right about this). And, even though no one shows up at 10:38 am, she doesn't lose one bit of hope.

Because tonight, at exactly 10:38 pm, she's going to meet her match for sure; she's never been so sure of anything else in her whole life – not even that one time in 10rd grade she tried to prove her Math teacher he had made a mistake in his calculation, and he wouldn't listen to her, despite her insistence.

"Do you know what day it is? And where we are?"

While Jake and Charles just arrived at their stakeout point during an unexpected night of work – they have been sent out of a party they were all having with the rest of their police squad at their favourite bar after their boss got a call from some informant on a case, and he asked them to go check there –, the latter can't help but suddenly feel excited when he recognises the place they stopped at.

397, Barton Street, is written in dark, big letters on the screen of the GPS of the younger man's car.

"Tuesday, why?" the brunette first replies, an eyebrow raised at his partner in question as he doesn't understand what the other means immediately – did he forget his birthday or something?!

(No. He would have heard one of their colleagues wish him a happy one at some point otherwise.

And Charles wouldn't look that thrilled if it were the case – on the contrary, he would be devastated.)

That's when realisation hits him then, when he catches a glimpse at the address in front of him.

"Charles…" he trails off. "You promised we wouldn't go down that path again."

"But Jake," the concerned man insists nonetheless. "Look at the odds: we've been sent on a stakeout at the exact same place written on your arm, at the exact same date as well, when we're not supposed to be working tonight," he enumerates the facts. "You have to admit there's a sign for you here."

He has to admit it, yeah. But he doesn't want to. Doesn't want his hopes to come back up once more.

Not when he finally managed to accept that he missed his chance at love and happiness.

So he tells his friend, denying it all with a lame excuse, "That's just a coincidence."

He tries to sound convincing. He doesn't even manage to convince himself.

He crouches a bit more into his seat, then – all he wants now is to disappear, forever.

Be far away from this damned place and forget about soulmates.

When he sees from the corner of his eye that his colleague is about to argue more, he cuts him short with a sign of his hand before he has the chance to say anything. "Please, Charles," he pleads him, "can we not talk about this and just concentrate on our work?" He sounds pitiful, he knows that. And though the older detective doesn't seem pleased by the request, he respects it anyway.

After that there's a moment of silence between the two men, during which they just look out for their perps to show up without a word. Until someone comes to them – a woman, who seems lost.

She knocks on the car's door with a apologetic rictus, and Jake opens it to her. "Hello," he politely smiles back at her. "Can we help you?" he asks.

She studies them for a little while, surely to gauge if they're trustworthy or not. After all, the street is pretty gloomy – absolutely not the most romantic place to meet your designated love, was the man's first thought when he discovered it a few years earlier –, and they're all alone in there, she and these total strangers. Soon enough though, she seems to decide they mean no harm, since she answers him with a question of her own, "Can you tell me if this is indeed 397, Barton Street, please?"

Quiet until then, Charles can't retain his squeal when he hears her interrogation, and suddenly jumps into the conversation the other two were having without a warning. "It is," he informs the woman, but doesn't stop just there. "Why are you looking for that particular place on that particular day?!"

He must look terrifying, for someone who doesn't know him or why he seems so interested in her whereabouts all of a sudden, scrutinizing her suspiciously with a weird, scary grin and shining eyes.

In search of something on her – a sign – a mark.

Something that would prove his hunch is right. That this is her. His best friend's soulmate.

As a response to his comment, the bystander frowns, startled by such a question. For a few seconds she doesn't speak, before she tells him, hesitant, "This is… none of your business."

"Actually, it is," the detective insists and Jake assists, hopeless, to the scene happening in front of him – there is no stopping him as Charles takes out his badge, and goes on. "We're police officers on a job, and we need to know why you're here."

"Charles," his partner tries to argue – in vain. "Leave her…"

Surprisingly enough, she is the one cutting him off, though, giving up on her privacy with a sigh.

"Okay, fine," she starts, and he can't help but try again anyway.

"You really don't have to tell him," but it's too late – she's already talking, sharing her story.

"I'm meeting with someone."

The brunette can't help but notice her blushing cheeks and shy rictus suddenly forming on her lips at the mention of this someone. He doesn't really understand why, but this image breaks his heart a little.

Or maybe he does know why –

He had hopes that maybe, just maybe, she was there for him. To meet her match.

(Which was foolish for him to think anyway, because his car's clock shows it's only 10:03 pm.)

Now his hopes are down again; because it's clear she already found them, whoever they are.

And that they seem to make her really happy, from her current facial expression.

(He wouldn't have minded having her as a soulmate. She's truly breathtaking, he can see that, even in the dark of the night – but he shouldn't be thinking about that. It hurts more than it helps him.)

"On such a random street?" his colleague's voice suddenly takes Jake out of his reverie, as he still tries to interrogate that poor woman. "It must be someone very special, then, huh?" he nudges.

She doesn't get it, though – only believes he's thinking she might be some sort of criminal.

But she doesn't have time to further explain herself and prove herself innocent, because Jake shouts his partner's name, severe, and glares a him, asking him to shush with just a look before putting his attention back to the stranger outside.

"I'm really sorry about my colleague," he begins apologising. "He's just… mistaken you with someone else. But we won't retain you any longer. You're right where you want to be – 397, Barton Street indeed. Have a good evening, ma'am."

Such an ending to that (stressful, she has to admit) conversation confuses her a bit, but she doesn't complain. She simply thanks the two men for their help, then quickly leaves the pair behind. When she's finally out of sight and earshot, the younger detective turns back to his friend and partner.

"What the hell was that?!" he asks, some anger audible in his voice, despite his attempt at keeping it low. "You can't do such things, she wasn't doing anything wrong, we can't interrogate her like this!"

"But Jake," Charles wants to defend himself. "I had to. Isn't that obvious?! That's her!"

"Who? Our suspect, you think?" the brunette turns back into the direction of the fading silhouette of their latest encounter – there's no way she did something wrong. He might not know her, but he's certain of that.

"Of course not," his friend surprisingly appears to agree with him. "She's your soulmate," he exclaims, as excited as ever now as he lets out the last word with a huge grin on his face. Waiting for his partner's reaction, wiggling his eyebrows in anticipation.

"That's impossible," the other breaks all his hopes of shared excitement, though. He sounds defeated, but soon regains composure. Seeing that Charles still looks skeptical, he adds, "Look, I'm supposed to meet them at exactly 10:38 – it's barely 10. Plus you heard her, and saw her. The person she's meeting, it's clear they are her the love of her life or whatever, not me, from the look she had mentioning it. Just face it, Charles, I missed my chance the moment I didn't show up three years ago. That's no big deal."

(It is, though.)

Of course, Charles doesn't believe that. He's an ever-optimistic and supportive man, after all.

He hates not agreeing with his best friend, but he knows he's wrong there. So that's what he tells him.

To which Jake doesn't have time to counter more, because suddenly, they can hear a gunshot from above that shuts them both up in a second. They exchange a simple look before rushing out of the car, their own weapons out, ready to shoot back at their opponent if needed. And, as they look up to where the sound first came from, they manage to spot two shadows running away from a rooftop.

There's another one, too – a woman, it seems – crouched down with her hands on her stomach.

It's not hard for them to understand from the scene that she was the one the criminals shot. Just like it's not hard for them, even from that far, to recognise the stranger they helped just a few minutes ago, as she suddenly completely falls down onto the hard floor of that roof – they must have hurt her bad.

Quickly, Jake turns to his partner. "Go after the guys," he tells him, and the latter nods in agreement.

"Yes. And you, go save your soulmate," he insists once more, which allows him a roll of eyes from his colleague, but he doesn't have time to reply with anything of his own – there's a life on the line, there.

Each of the two go their own way then: Charles towards where the men are now trying to escape, and Jake up the building in front of them. In his way up the stairs (of course the elevator doesn't work) he grabs his phone, dialing 911's number – there's no second to spare. Once he's passed the door to the rooftop, she's the first thing he lays his eyes upon; she's sitting against a small wall, visibly in pain and bleeding. She sighs in relief when she spots him too, and even manages a smile – even though all it actually looks like is a hurtful grimace more than anything else it's supposed to be.

"Hey, it's okay," he tells her once he's reached her side, and is now squatting next to her. "You're all safe now. An ambulance is coming, and my partner is out catching the guys who did this to you."

He watches her pale, worried face as he tries to be reassuring, gently stroking her arm in the process. "Let me take a look," he tells her then, eyes down to the wound on her stomach. She puts her hands off of it, obliging to his request. Apparently trusting him with her life.

And, even though he's kind of used to those things normally (given his job, it's really not the first time he's seeing someone hurt like this), Jake can't help but cringe at the sight. There's a lot of blood already. But he can't worry too long – he has to hide his concern behind a poker face soon enough, because he can see his reaction is starting to freak the woman out – which isn't good, obviously.

"You're gonna be alright. Everything's gonna be alright," he tries to make her look at him instead of the wound as he makes his promise. She doesn't reply with anything – only smiles a bit wider this time, hoping she can trust his words – hoping he's right about this.

Waiting until emergency services eventually arrive, and trying and changing her mind a little from what happened, he does what he does best: talk. "We never got the chance to introduce ourselves earlier," he begins. "I'm Jake. Jake Peralta."

"Amy Santiago," the other tells him in a weak voice, her face hardening a bit as she lets the words out of her mouth – it's clear she's hurting a lot, more and more each new passing minute.

"Nice to meet you, Amy Santiago," the detective replies as he offers her a tender rictus.

(They can't really see it, are too focused on the gravity of the situation to think about that now, but just as they give out each other's names, 10:38 strikes on their watches.)

As he goes on sharing stories with Amy, Jake notices how pale she is getting. He doesn't say anything though – doesn't want to worry her too much. Because it appears his ramblings are soothing her, from her softening expression with each new word he lets out (he even manages to make her laugh, sometimes – and, even though he has to admit he loves the sound of it, he has to reprimand her when she does – 'you're going to hurt yourself!'). So he simply wishes for that damn ambulance to hurry up, afraid it'll be too late otherwise – her wound doesn't seem to want to stop bleeding.

"I'm… I'm cold," the woman tells him after a while spent in dire silence now, only listening to the man in front of her, trying to hang onto his calming voice. He looks at her then, concerned, and can see how shaky she actually is, and how she struggles keeping her eyes open and focused.

He doesn't hesitate a moment when he takes out his jacket to put it on her, hoping it'll be enough to warm her up until doctors come and wrap her up in covers (why the hell is it taking so long?!).

That's when she notices it – the mark on his left wrist, the perfect mirror to the one she wears on her right arm. The reason why she came here in the first place. The reason why she got shot too…

She wants to say something, to let him know that he's the one she was looking for, that they're linked together, but it's too late. She's becoming too weak to let coherent words out of her mouth.

And, for the first time since she got her tattoo all of those years ago, she thinks that finally, it might not have been a good idea to wait that long to meet.

Because maybe this 'all their lives together' she believed in so hard will only last one night – as hers will end on top of that dirty rooftop. She can't fight the sleep that calls her anymore…

By the time the ambulance is (eventually) here, Amy is unconscious, all wrapped-up in Jake's clothes as he watches over her, checking that she stays alive. He reluctantly lets her go, not allowed to follow her to the hospital, and watches the red-and-white truck take her away from him.

It's weird, that feeling growing inside as he watches her leave, not knowing if she's actually going to make it or not when he looks down at his hands full of her blood once she's out of sight – her barely knows her, only just her name, but still there's this emptiness in his heart he can't quite explain.

"Don't worry, she's gonna be alright," a voice takes him back to reality – it's Charles who, after handing their perps to another cop that came in backup to take them back to their precinct (of course he got them), has come back to his friend, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder as he wants to reassure him. The brunette doesn't answer anything – simply wishes his partner is right.

Not only about that, but also about the fact that she is his soulmate, and not just another random civilian they just saved.

She makes it alive.

Jake knows that because as soon as he arrives (late) at work the next day after a tiring night when he barely slept, too concerned about the woman, Charles tells him the great news.

And that he's going to see her again, too, since they need to take her statement, now that she's feeling better and awake. Well enough to answer questions, anyway. Apparently, it wasn't as bad as it looked like – even though she did lose a lot of blood, the bullet didn't go too far, nor did it touch any organs.

He doesn't really understand why he feels so nervous, waiting in front of her hospital room for her nurses to go out and let them enter instead. Once again, it's not his first time doing this, so he has no reason to feel like this.

(He has. It's his soulmate after all – even though he doesn't know that. Not yet, anyway.)

She greets the two men with a huge, happy smile when they are finally allowed to come in, and it's all it takes for the detective to calm down – now that he's seen from his own eyes that she's doing well.

"I know you," she tells him, gaze locking onto his. "You're the cop who saved me!"

"That's me, yeah," he replies with a matching beam of his own. "I'm glad you're recovering already. But… that's not why we're here. We'd like to ask you a few questions about last night, if you don't mind?"

"Sure," Amy agrees, and extends one of her arms (her right arm) towards a chair next to her bed as an invite for them to sit by her side. And, as Jake makes a step forward, Charles, him, doesn't move.

He just stares at her arm, eyes wide open.

Before his friend has the chance to ask anything, he's looking back at him. "I KNEW IT!" he shouts.

Startled by such an incomprehensible reaction, the other two exchange a strange look.

"Charles?" his colleague tries to calm him down by calling his name.

"Jakey, look!" he simply points to the woman's wrist then. "I was right," he proudly says. "That's her!"

"Wh…" the brunette wants to ask, but then he sees it too – the matching tattoo on her wrist.

All of a sudden, he's speechless and unable to take his gaze off of the mark.

He's had time to imagine their encounter tons of times in the past, but this – discovering who she is at the hospital after she almost died in his arms – it never crossed his mind once.

As she follows the men's gaze, Amy finally understands what's happening here, and soon hides her hands under the covers, blushing and unable to meet the others' eyes now. She forgot she saw his tattoo too, before blacking out, the previous night, until now that's she's reminded of it.

"You know what?" Charles breaks the awkward silence that fell upon them. "I think I forgot something in my car. Go ahead Jake, start the interrogation without me, I'll be right back in a few minutes."

The concerned man gives him a thankful rictus, before focusing back on the woman in front of him once they're all alone in the room. She finally looks up too. "So…" Jake trails off eventually.

"You're my soulmate?" they both ask in unison, which makes them laugh at their synchronization, until they lock eyes again with a shy smile. The detective takes off his arm then, putting it next to the woman's.

They remain like this, quiet, watching their 'joined' hands and mirroring tattoos on their wrists. There's so much to say, they don't really know where to begin.

Learning to know each other could be a good start, though – but the hospital isn't the best place to do so, especially when the brunette's on duty. That's why he ends up asking, "How long are they keeping you here?"

"Only one more night, hopefully," she informs him. "They said the bullet didn't go in too deep, and that even though I lost a lot of blood, the whole thing wasn't too bad in the end. They said I was lucky you were there, though. Even if it was more Fate than luck," she playfully adds.

"Good," he offers her a tender rictus. "Can I offer you lunch tomorrow, then?" he directly asks her.

She seems surprised at first, and Jake is afraid he's going too fast – but she's his soulmate, after all. And he's waited long enough to let her slip away from him again. But she quickly replies, laughing, "Shouldn't I be the one offering you lunch?"

He frowns, not understanding her point, so she goes on, "You saved my life. Thank you, by the way – I realise I didn't have the chance to do it earlier," her gaze is so soft on him now, until it turns more serious, "And… I don't know if it was also your first time, but if you came the previous years searching for me… I'm sorry it took me so long to finally meet you. And that everything happened under such conditions."

"That's okay, don't worry," he quickly reassures her, putting his hand onto hers. "After all, what's a few years in comparison to the rest of our lives, right?" his words echoes her own thoughts.

She smiles, then, as she answers, "Right. So… lunch tomorrow, huh?"

"I mean, if that's okay with you…"

"That would be perfect," Amy agrees with a grin. "We have some catching up to do, after all."

They did indeed.

They want to say more, but soon (too soon) Charles is coming back, actually too excited to stay away from the pair of soulmates for too long. Plus, they have work to do, and a statement to take – he's sure Jake hasn't started on it yet, having more important things to discuss with the victim.

Just before they're interrupted by the other detective entering the room, though, Amy speaks again.

"And, Jake?" she hails him.

"Yeah?" he watches her with raised eyebrows and a puzzled look.

"When I saw you and your partner in that car yesterday night," she confesses, cheeks turning red at it. "I was hoping it would be you."

He grins at her words, a warm feeling taking over his heart as he lets out as well, "Me too."