AN: I take back what I said about this being a short fic.

I wrote this right after I uploaded the last chapter but never summoned the energy to proofread it. And when I finally did, I did it at 2am while having a cold. And I fell asleep reading my own story. So there's that.

Here's to trying again.

Also: Thank you for your lovely comments/reviews! You rule.

26 December, 10:35AM

Amy woke to a start, feeling groggy and disoriented, much unlike her usual self. She rolled over to sneak a peek at Jake, but found that his 'bed' was, strangely, empty. In fact, it was gone. Someone had picked up the pillows and the blanket and put them away - somewhere. That can't be right, she thought. Jake never wakes up early. He usually just slept in, 'till... oh. Oh no.

She jerked up and reached for the alarm clock.

10:35AM. 10:35AM? Oh, no. Oh, no, no. No. Why didn't her alarm go off?

She had never jumped on the ground quicker, and when she surveyed the dark room with the curtains still closed, she found his pillow at the end of the bed. She tugged at her jacket and zipped up as she felt the morning chill creep into her tank top. (She had decided she was going to wear her hoodie jacket to bed. She knew nothing was going to happen between the two of them, but she didn't feel comfortable walking around wearing anything that didn't at least have sleeves.)

Where the hell was Jake?

She was murmuring to herself now, frantic. She knew it was a Saturday, and that you were supposed to sleep in on a Saturday - it was a universal rule or something - but she never did. She didn't even do it at her own house, and now she had gone and done it at Jake's. On Boxing Day. Everything felt wrong and horrible. What if they thought she was rude for not coming down to breakfast? Hadn't Jake said something about that last night? That his mother liked to make sure her kids had a hearty breakfast, even her kids weren't actually kids anymore? Did Jake say anything to Julie about her sleeping in? Or did he just take photos of her drooling all over the pillow so he could plaster them all over the Precinct on Monday morning? She gave an inward groan at the thought.

Amy opened the curtains and squinted as sunlight streamed in. She paused, hands on her hips, eyeing the bathroom door.

She hadn't checked the bathroom.

Jake might be in there. Brushing his teeth. Washing his face. Singing along to Taylor Swift while he combed his hair. (She had actually witnessed that happening once, when the whole precinct had to go on a team-building trip somewhere out in the woods. He was spraying product in his hair while humming "22", and he didn't notice her standing behind him. When he finally did, it was too late; he had sung the chorus twice, and she had heard everything. She was impressed he was able to hit the high-notes - who knew he had such a knack for them? - but the whole thing was so amusing that it became a running gag for several months, until it finally died out when Charles spilled coffee all over his pants and everyone focused on that instead. Charles claimed that he had done it on purpose to lift the curse off Jake, but everyone knew that he was just being a klutz.)

Amy barged into the bathroom and scanned it quickly, but it was empty. And that was when she started to really panic. Hard.

She walked back to the bed and picked up her phone from the bedside table, yanking the cord to free it from the wire. She was hoping for a text from Jake, or maybe even several missed calls, but no one had reached out to her overnight. If he were her real boyfriend, she'd at least have gotten a text, because her real boyfriend would be smart, and responsible, and... and... oh, bother. Focus, Amy.

She thought about getting changed and going downstairs, but she felt embarrassed and awkward. She wasn't in her own house. She didn't really know these people that well. She didn't like the idea of walking in and interrupting their 'family time' - whatever they might be doing. She didn't want to have to feel weird about oversleeping and possibly having missed breakfast.

She also thought about simply going back to bed and waiting until someone shook her shoulders and told her to wake up. That was a good idea - safe, except that she didn't feel like going back to sleep.

So it was going downstairs, then. She couldn't possibly stay here forever and do nothing until someone came to check on her. She wasn't sleepy, and she figured she needed to be productive.

Yeah, she thought. Washing up and getting changed would be good, for starters.

She picked up a brush and ran it through her hair absent-mindedly, still pondering, still only just weighing her options. She was reluctant to put herself in a situation where she would be the centre of attention. She knew she already kind of got there, with the fake embryo and all, but she didn't want more attention. Just as she was untangling a lock, she heard the door knob turn. She spun around, brush still in her hands, and stared at Jake, who entered while balancing a tray on one hand.

"Amy, y-"

"Where the hell were you?" she blurted, half-irritated, half-relieved. She was glad that she was treading on familiar ground again. At least she knew Jake well. She was happy she didn't need to go downstairs on her own, but annoyed that he hadn't left her a note.

"Well, good morning to you, too," Jake said. He closed the door with a shaking hand while he balanced the tray on his knee, and walked over to the bed, where he set it down.

"Wha-"

"My mum insisted I bring this upstairs for you. I told her you were still sleeping, but she said you'd be awake by now, and, God knows how she figured that out. It's like she just has this sixth sense that tells her when people will be awake, which, if you ask me, is really creepy, but-"

"Was she mad? Did she ask why I was still asleep? Was everyone... already there? When did you even wake up?"

He looked at her and tried not to smile. Though it was hard not to. She was so... uptight. About everything. So panicky, so jumpy, so... Amy. He delighted in seeing her like this. It was a guilty pleasure of his. The way her brows start to knit together, the way her face falls... he knew that it was wrong to find it funny - how sadistic did he have to be? - but he had always thought she had a great face for disappointments. Which was something he'd never tell her, ever, because while it didn't sound like an insult, it wasn't a compliment either.

She noticed the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, and she frowned.

"Seriously, Jake. What did your mum say-"

"I know, I know," he said. "Nothing. She said it's all good. And that you should eat more, because of the baby, and because breakfast is delicious." He pointed to the tray, and she looked at it. He was right. It was a plateful of pancakes, topped with butter and syrup. The side was littered with fruit - raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, and apple slices chopped up so daintily it would have been mistaken as a meal for a teething baby. And a cup of tea stood on the side, fumes hovering on its surface. The thought of all of that being hers made her mouth water. "So... you can worry about everything later, but there really isn't anything to worry about."

She had put down her hair brush, and now she was standing with her arms crossed. She looked perplexed, and then suspicious.

"Look, Amy. I didn't tamper with your alarm clock, if that's what you're thinking. You look..." Jake paused. "You look weirdly angry. With me. With me?"

"I didn't think that. And I'm not angry," she said. "Do I look like I'm angry?"

"A little bit," he said, and then mentally punched himself in the face. He had forgotten that he was not supposed to agree with women when they asked stuff like that. He had been through so many of these exchanges with his mother; he would've known better by now. But he apparently did not.

"You're not supposed to agree with me," Amy mumbled through gritted teeth. "You're supposed to say, 'no, Amy, you don't look angry.' And then you're supposed to tell me it's your fault anyway, because it is, and then I'll smile, and you'll smile, and I'll say, 'stop smiling, I'm still mad at you', and then you'll accept it, and stop smiling-"

"No," he said quickly, albeit forming a frown, too. "You don't look angry. At all. You look..." he searched for a word to use, and failed. "You know what, I'm not going to finish that sentence, because I'm gonna use the wrong verb and that'll piss you off."

"Adjective," she corrected him without batting an eye, and then softened. She had only just realised how harsh she had sounded just then.

"Okay," she said. "Sorry. Sorry. I just..." she looked at him. "I just freaked out, because the alarm didn't go off, and now I'm late, and-"

"Relax," he said. "You're not late for anything. It's Saturday."

"I was late to breakfast, I bet," she said. "I mean, I already know that I'm late to breakfast, without having to bet, because you've just brought the tray up. Which means you probably talked about me during breakfast, because we all know how this family thing works - we do that with my brother's girlfriends behind their backs - all of them - and now... oh God." She paused to catch her breath, and all Jake did was look at her.

"And now you're a mess," he pointed out.

She looked down at what she was wearing. The hoodie jacket over her tank top, and a pair of pyjama shorts.

"I am," she said. "And I haven't got any make-up on, and I've only brushed the left side of my hair. Plus my voice sounds weird because I've just woken up, and... and..." she looked at him, helpless.

"I was joking," his words rushed out to stop hers from forming, and shrugged. "You look great, make-up or not. You'd probably even look great if you were bald. Which is just unfair. Not many people can pull that off."

She kept her head down and let out a huff from her nose, the kind when you were slightly amused, but didn't find it funny enough to laugh aloud.

"Alright," Jake said. He exhaled. "You do your thing. I'll be downstairs. I'll tell my mum to exempt you from lunch if you want me to, because it's in, like-" he glanced at the clock. "An hour and a half. And you'll probably not be hungry yet, given... this." He gestured at the filling breakfast. "So."

"So," she said, and pursed her lips.

"I'll be downstairs," he repeated, and turned to leave. He got outside, and poked his head back in, causing Amy to jump. "Don't worry," he said. "This isn't middle school camp. You're not late for registration. There is no registration."

He smiled and closed the door.

Amy looked at her breakfast and smiled to herself. She could hear his footsteps as he ran down the stairs, and she heard him shout 'PRESENT-OPENING TIME!' even with the hardwood floors that, she was sure, muted almost every other conversation.

What an idiot, she thought, rolling her eyes as she walked into the bathroom, still smiling.

3:00PM

Amy did skip lunch in the end, and Julie didn't mind at all. Though if you feel peckish at any time, just pester Jake, she had told her. There's plenty left over from lunch, but if you're not up for that, he should be able to fix you something. Amy had nodded politely, and then sneaked a glance at Jake. She wondered if he was any good at making proper, edible, human adult food. Just last week, she had seen him put orange juice in his cereal. For lunch. That man had no boundaries... or maybe he was just exceptionally creative. She found herself defending him in her head, and told herself to shut up.

Allie and Josh had to leave right after lunch because Josh had something urgent come up at work. They had to reschedule their flights, and during peak season, it took them a while (and a hundred dollars) before they finally managed to squeeze themselves on a plane. Julie was planning to tell Allie to stay, but decided against it when she realised she was leaving the next day anyway, and that they had packed their luggage together. She would see them again soon - they always came back for weekends whenever they could, because Allie had a strong sense of attachment to her mother, and Josh liked Julie, too. She let them go, and before she left, Allie gave Amy a hug - one that lasted a whole minute.

Amy normally squirmed when a hug lasted more than five seconds ("I have work to do. I can't just hug people forever."), but she was comfortable this time. Maybe spending time here did help her slow her pace down, and she was glad that it did. Allie left Amy her number and told her to call her, and Jake doubled over at their exchange.

"Great," he had said, while leaning against the door frame. He waited until Julie was busying herself with saying goodbye to Josh, and then dropped his voice. "My life is officially over, now that you're friends with Fart Monster Amy." He was loud enough for both Allie and Amy to hear him, and Amy rolled her eyes as Allie smacked her brother on the head gently.

"You should be on the ground worshipping Amy for agreeing to help you with this, not calling her names," Allie whispered. "She totally upped your dating average." She turned to Amy and pulled a face. "Men."

After everyone had said their goodbyes, and the three of them had watched them leave the driveway, the house felt empty.

Julie decided that she didn't want to make Amy uncomfortable by bringing too much attention to her, so she busied herself with a book, telling the both of them that she'd be upstairs in her room if they needed her.

"Is your mum annoyed with me?" Amy whispered after Julie had gone upstairs.

They were sitting on the couch, flipping through some old magazines, their legs tucked beneath them, with just enough distance between the two of them.

"No way," he said. "Trust me; if she were mad at you, she'd make it obvious. She's probably just giving you space. She doesn't want to overwhelm you, with just the three of us here."

"Oh," she said. She thumbed through an old issue of The Ecologist and put it down. She wasn't in the mood for educational reading, which was strange, for her. "So..."

"So..." he prompted her.

"So. It's 2pm. Your mum has given up on us. What are we going to do with all this time?"

4:10PM

"You are so immature!" Amy yelled as she threw his pillow across the room. It was a strong shot; it him in the gut, and he fell back, leaning onto a cabinet. He held out an arm behind him to stabilise himself. In doing so, he knocked over a plastic photo frame, which fell to the floor with a loud thud.

"Well, what are you going to do about that?" he shouted, dodging as a cushion came flying in his direction. He grabbed it, and catapulted it back at her.

"For the first time ever, probably nothing," she responded, letting out a high-pitched scream as she put her arms in front of her face to defend the force of the blow. "Because this is so much fun."

"Amy Santiago, living life for the very first time!" Jake declared, before picking up the pillow she had thrown at him just moments ago to take revenge. He poised himself, and aimed at her face.

An hour ago

The two of them were bored out of their minds sitting on the couch, and being a responsible, mature, and grounded adult, Jake suggested they have a pillow-fight.

"I've never tried that before," Amy said, matter-of-factly, as she colour-coded the magazines, and he looked at her. He gasped dramatically, appalled.

"You've never - never, ever, ever - had a pillow fight before?" He stared at her, open-mouthed. He couldn't believe his ears. He knew she didn't play as much as she worked, but... pillow-fights were a classic at every sleepover. Or every non-sleepover. When they were still teenagers, he would barge into Allie's room with a handful of cushions and start attacking, with no explanation. It would send her shrieking, and then she would yell at him to tell him to leave her room, because she was working on some very important project for her University application, and he would roll his eyes at her every time.

"University application? Please. You're only a junior. Besides, who wants to go to University anyway? I'm not. I'm going to stay at home and play video games. Mum said I could do that if I wanted."

"What do you know about University? You're in middle school, for God's sake," Allie would dish out, and when he refused to leave her alone, she would turn to using force and pushing him out of her room, almost always slamming the door behind her.

Jake smiled at the memory, and then looked at Amy. She seemed to know what he was thinking without having him to say anything.

"I've never been to a sleepover," she said defensively. "Nor have I ever hosted one. It's not my fault. My parents didn't like the idea of sleepovers very much. My friends all went to each other's, and they all had these inside jokes from nights of staying up late gossiping about boys and school. Except me."

For a moment, he almost felt bad for her.

"But have you ever built a fort?"

"No."

"Oh, come on, Amy. You're better than this."

She shrugged.

"My brothers built forts. I didn't. I chose not to participate because I didn't know how to build one."

"You could've learned! You have seven brothers! Teenage me would have gladly traded Allie over for any one of them."

"I would've done the same," she agreed. "I couldn't ask them. They would've known that I didn't know how to build one in the first place, which... casts me in a bad light."

"They're your brothers."

"We're competitive," she explained.

"Well then," he said. "Guess it's down to me to teach you how to live."

An hour and a half later

The pillow hit Amy on the shoulder, and she gritted her teeth. She was going to get back at him, she was going to get back at him, she was going to get back at h-

She flung the pillow in his direction, and it flew through the roof of his fort, which had been sitting safely behind him. He reached over to defend the shot, but it was too late; his fort had crumbled to pieces. He raised his arms in the air and let out a defeated groan that sounded like a dying animal, and she laughed as she made faces at him, dancing around the room at the expense of his downfall.

He had to admit that it was cute. He had rarely seen this side of Amy at work, though with good reason. She never clowned around at the Precinct with Holt being there. She needed to impress him too badly. She needed to prove to him that she was a professional. That she wasn't like Jake. That she could be relied upon, and that she had plans to become the Captain herself one day.

Even when they received their monthly reports and she found that her track record had beat Jake's - which it did, sometimes, and it always made her incredibly giddy - she would hold it in together until she got to her car. It was only then that she would proceed to let out a whooping laugh and do some in-seat dancing. He knew this because he had witnessed it several times, and he loved that she didn't know he knew.

All along, he knew she had it in her to goof around properly. It just took a bit more time for her to feel at ease, and whenever Holt was around - which was often - he weighed her sense of humour down like a leaded anvil. "He doesn't tie me down. More like he keeps me on my toes, like a good mentor would" was what she always said. But Jake knew what he saw and he knew the difference between the Amy at work and the Amy right now. He supposed he adored both versions, even if the most Work-Amy could do was grin like a moron.

Anyway. He couldn't believe Amy Santiago had beat him at his own game, which had taken place in his own room. He had picked the best spot for himself, building the fort with extreme caution, while she merely put hers together without second thought, and in a hurry. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't deliberately let her win. He did let her hit him on purpose for a few times at first, but he never intended for his fort to be destroyed by the hands of his very amateur enemy. He wanted her to feel good, but not that good.

And yet.

Here he was, soaking in all the shame, while she basked in her glory. It was unacceptable as it was embarrassing. He just knew that Allie would be delighted to hear that Santiago had kicked his ass again.

5:45PM

"I didn't know being immature could be so much fun," Amy panted.

They were lying side-by-side on the double bed, and his pillows, blankets, and cushions were strewn all over the floor. Like the way they used to, he thought, as he reminisced about his middle and high school days. Amy's instincts were telling her to pick them up before Julie comes in to see the mess they've made, but she suppressed them as best as she could. She was learning to unlearn all the strict rules she had previously imposed on herself. Jake was right. This was the Peralta family home, not middle school camp. There were no punishments waiting to be doled out. She could let loose and live a little for a weekend.

"Well, even at your age, it is not too late to start leading a brand new life," Jake responded almost mockingly.

"No," she said. "I can't 'lead a brand new life' revolving around sleeping in and snacking and napping and pillow fights and building forts."

"Why not?"

"It's not who I am," she said. "This life is yours. I have mine."

"We can both have mine," he said.

"That's like... if I asked you to start living life my way forever," she interrupted. "It doesn't work."

No, it doesn't, he thought. Though he supposed he could try, if she had wanted him to.

"And I need to go to work, and I need to be professional, and I need to-" she stopped talking when she noticed that he had turned to look at her. His gaze felt heavy, and she tried not to feel too self-conscious, even though she knew that he was not looking at her to scrutinise her appearance.

"And you need to what?" he asked.

"Don't look at me like that."

She didn't know how to continue the conversation. She knew when he was giving the look - she could recognise it in an instant - and he was doing it now. She had seen him look at Sophia like that when they were dating. It was the kind of look that felt like it could be love, and maybe that did make her tense up and jealous and irritated when it wasn't her on the receiving end instead. But now that she was, she felt uncomfortable.

She liked to say yes to romantic adventures. Her work schedule was hectic most of the time, but she went on dates when she could, when she found them attractive enough, when they used proper punctuation in texts, when they tell her that they were not afraid of commitment. But deep down, she knew that she was never going to marry any of those men. It was true that most of them were, by definition, great potential husbands. They were employed, they were respectful, they didn't find her boring. But she had always thought - hoped - there would be some sort of spark, and she never felt that longing, that feeling like she was on the verge of exploding every time she received a bouquet of flowers.

With Jake, it was somewhat... different. She wasn't sure why she felt jealous when she saw him with Sophia, but she knew that it wasn't because she wore a size 2 or that she had really great hair. Jake had told her that he had feelings for her, and even though that was months ago, and she knew that crushes were not any sort of commitment, it still felt weird to see his arm around someone else. Even after he had broken up with Sophia, Amy felt a surge of panic every time he mentioned going on dates. It was unfair of her to keep him on an imaginary leash, so she always wished him luck, even though she also always hoped that it wouldn't work out. She wondered if he thought the same every time she went out on a date. She kind of hoped that he did.

Maybe she was just biding time. But for what? And why?

"Like what?" he asked, still looking at her.

"Like... you know."

Complicated. Maybe that was the only word to describe their relationship after all. And she didn't think she could do complicated. She was too practical. A part of her wanted time to stand still while she figured it out, piece by piece. She wanted both of them to stay single so she could finally put her mind onto them. And until then, until she had come to a logical conclusion to what their relationship was and could be, she preferred them leaving things unspoken. It didn't matter what they already knew. That was six months ago. She wanted to, at least, be absolutely clear about her own feelings this time round.

"Like we're romantic stylez?" he asked.

"Like we're romantic stylez..." she echoed, not knowing what he meant by that. Not knowing why he had to bring it up.

"Santiago," he said. "Look at me."

She turned to him hesitantly. It was weird seeing him close-up. It was almost as if he were a different person.

"Well?" she mouthed. Things were taking a turn for the unexpected.

"I don't know why you never be yourself at the Precinct, Amy. I mean, you're..." he paused. "Put it this way. Gina lets everyone know that she loves to dance, and she sasses everyone, and she treats herself like she's the queen of everything. Charles talks about food. Rosa doesn't hesitate to let you know that you have pissed her off. Terry keeps a framed photo of his girls on his table, and-"

She frowned. That was not what she was expecting, and she looked away, almost as if she were trying to pull away. "Oh." She didn't know what she wanted to say to that.

"That's not what I'm trying to say," he added quickly.

"What are you trying to say?"

"No, look at me," he said again, but this time she was reluctant, and he didn't make her. He just carried on talking. "It's just, you have a thing, Amy. Your thing is being smart and strong and funny. And you don't show it. It irritates me when you get your words all jumbled up in front of Holt."

"What do you have against him?"

"Nothing. It's not about him-" he said. He was flustered. "It's about you. You never know how good you are. You don't have the confidence. You should walk into the Precinct knowing that you're at least the second best detective there - I've seen your track records -"

"You've seen them? Jake-"

"I've seen them, and you're always great," he said. "And I don't understand why you just don't own up to that. You don't need to impress anyone. You're a good detective. I just wish you'd know this."

She averted her eyes. So it was just about work, she thought.

"And it's not just about work," Jake said, as if he had just read her mind. "It's... everything. When will you realise that you are a great person, Amy? You're clever, hardworking, and... let me just say this: super attractive. This is why I like you. That's what I'm saying. Men should be lining up to go on dates with you. Why aren't they?"

He stopped talking, and she had never heard silence quite that loud. He seemed to feel the same, and he filled in the blanks for her.

"Well, apart from the fact that you are carrying my baby, nothing should be stopping you from going on dates."

He was teasing her now, his tone changed as suddenly as this conversation had occurred, and she tried not to punch him in the rib.

No physical contact, Santiago, she reminded herself. There were only two ways this could go: she could punch him in the rib, and he would return the punch gently, and soon they would be nudging and pinching and poking and prodding, and things would get messy. Or she could just step off, and let things suspend in mid-air until she made sense of herself, and why that conversation had taken place at all in the first place.

She sat up on the bed, and then got up.

"Where are you going?" he asked. She could hear the confusion in his voice. "Amy, I-"

"Your mum should be preparing dinner right now," she said. "I- I think I'll go give her a hand in the kitchen."

And before he could do or say anything, she slipped out of his room without looking back, closing the door behind her gently. The house was silent upstairs, and she could see Julie's empty room from where she stood. She paced the landing slowly, waiting for her breathing to smoothen, and kept quiet and waited for signs of Jake getting up from the bed. She hoped he wouldn't. And she hoped they would pretend that their conversation had never happened.

Inside, Jake lied still, his breathing ragged. He was trying to process the conversation that had just taken place. With Amy walking off like this, he knew he had messed it up again. A good moment. A good friendship. (Was it still friendship after everything he said?) He was always messing things up when it came to her - being too loud, too abrupt, too impatient, too... something. What Holt did to Amy, Amy did to him. Spilling things, tripping over words, making their dynamic weird and awkward and uncomfortable. Except that Amy had not the slightest romantic interest in Holt.

And thank God for that, he thought.