A vaguely more serious follow-up to last year's Nochebuena.
He's been quiet this year. It's been a year with more downs than ups for Jake Peralta, and there are times when Amy Santiago can see it in his behaviour. He's never been one for holidays - sometimes he was far too vocal about this, but sometimes he was too quiet about these things. Amy thinks she's beginning to learn how to read him. For someone who wears his heart on his sleeve in such a loud fashion, Jake could be very quiet when it mattered.
Christmas comes, and Jake seems excited for the first time since Amy has known him. She can't put her finger on it, but she can remember previous years, Jake snapping at her on cases in the run up to Christmas. This Jake doesn't seem irritated at all, not as perturbed as usual. He's his loud, goofy self and Amy adores every inch of it.
He offers to help Charles practice for the NYPD choir's annual recital and even attends Cagney and Lacey's nativity recital. Amy and Jake take a Saturday trip uptown to FAO Schwartz where Jake solemnly searches for the perfect gift for Ava, settling on one of each of the new Star Wars stuffed toys. Amy worries about her boyfriend's spending habits, but seeing his careful, measured joy as he helps his month old goddaughter open each individually wrapped toy does something to Amy, wiping away her anxiety.
She can't help her natural tendency towards competition. Rosa and Captain Holt get to her. Captain Holt holds her future in his hands, and he seems to be grooming Rosa. She adores Rosa, loves her like the prickly older sister she never had - Rosa, two years older than Amy, has done everything ahead of her and paved the way for women like her to break through. Amy craves their respect, needs it. She kisses Jake goodbye before he leaves the precinct, the two agreeing to meet at nine to catch the end of her parents Nochebuena celebrations.
She humiliates herself at the Polar Swim. Jake had expressed doubts when she'd told him of what she was going to do, but he never tried to discourage her. In hindsight, she wonders what she did to deserve a boyfriend so supportive of even her most ridiculous pursuits. Amy could declare that she wants to go to Mars and Jake would simply nod and ask "When are we lifting off?" It helps, but it doesn't stop her from feeling like a failure as she limps away from the shore.
All she had wanted to do was ring Jake and ask if he'd pick her up early (and bring the rum). She wanted to leave, to go to her parents, all the way in Jersey where she could ignore Holt and Rosa's expressions, stoic and judgmental at once. She looks down at her phone. A screen filled with texts from Jake, none ideas for his "Chanukah themed hip hop mixtape". This wasn't like Jake. Die Hard, Die Hard, Die Hard. Die Hard meant hostages. Die Hard meant danger. She runs into the water with no hesitation.
Holt drives them to Goodwin's, Amy sat in the back seat. She feels detached, on the verge of panic. She tries to focus on 'what if?'s of the positive variety. She tries to believe that Jake is just play acting his fantasies, but she can see the flashing lights of patrol cars and surveillance vehicles and even what she thinks is an ambulance in the distance. The thought that it might be for Jake makes it very difficult to pretend that things are okay.
Holt parks as close as he can and it doesn't quite register with Amy but she is running, running towards the flashing lights. She vaguely remembers how cold she feels, but it's not registering and instead her eyes search for Jake, leather jackets and big, goofy smiles. He's there, talking to the Sarge, and Amy cannot stop herself from jumping onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him until she's sure her breath is going to run out. He's here and he's warm and he's in one piece and she's never felt more glad.
"You're so warm," Amy gasps, curling her fingers into the back of his hair.
"You're so cold," Jake remarks, eyebrow raised. "Did your swim go well?"
"Well," Amy frowns for a moment but allows a smile to bloom over her face, "I did it, if that's what you're asking. Eventually. I did it."
"There's a story here, isn't there?" Jake wraps an arm around Amy's shoulder, kissing the side of her forehead.
"Why aren't you bragging about your Die Hard night?" Amy gazes up at her boyfriend, examining his face. "I can't shut you up about Die Hard on the best of days."
"No, it's..." Jake sighs, closes his eyes, and Amy swears she can see him wince. "...Charles messed up the catchphrase."
"Yippee-kay-yay mother...?"
"Yippee kayak other buckets." Jake sighs again, rubbing his head with his free arm.
"Yippee kayak other buckets?" Amy repeats.
"Yippee kayak other buckets," Jake confirms.
They're silent for a moment. She leans into him. He smells like Jake, soap and Old Spice and cotton candy, and Amy has to blink when she catches herself thinking that he smells like home. When had that happened?
"Detective Peralta?" a uniformed EMT touches Jake on his elbow, interrupting their reverie. "Sergeant Jeffords has requested we take a look at you."
"Oh, no, that's not necessary..." Jake tries to wave off the paramedic's request, but it's too late. Amy knows something is wrong. She grabs his face, examining him in detail. She'd been so anxious to see him warm and breathing and alive that she hadn't taken notice of the bump on his forehead, dark purple beginning to bloom.
"Detective Peralta, sir, the report states that you were unconscious for at least twenty minutes," the paramedic reminds Jake. "Any loss of consciousness following a blow to the head is very serious."
"Go, Jake," Amy drops him for a moment, folding her arms.
Jake gazes at her, not moving, and Amy feels guilty. She hadn't asked him how he was, so happy to see him alive. She takes his arm in hers, guiding him behind the EMT to the ambulance. He leans into her, unsteady on his feet.
"Jake has a history of concussions," Amy begins to tell the EMT, "and suffered internal bleeding following an accident last April..."
The paramedics check Jake over and agree that he is likely not seriously injured but recommend a scan. Jake immediately disagrees, claiming that he is the only one capable of reigning Gina in. Amy allows him to wrestle Gina into the backseat of Charles' car before accompanying her boyfriend - now dizzy - to the hospital.
"Hi, Mama," Amy rubs her forehead, tired by the day behind her. "I don't think we're going to make it down tonight."
"What?" Amy winces. She can hear the disappointment in her mother's voice. "Cariña, you were looking forward to tonight, I know you're worried about driving down but whenever you arrive is fine..."
"No, Mama, no," Amy interrupts her mother. "No. Jake hit his head, it looks like it's just a mild concussion so I think I'm going to take him home, just to keep an eye on him."
"Oh, goodness!" Nuria Santiago sounds genuinely surprised, but Amy's not sure why. They both know how Jake is: after all, she'd spent the entirety of Jake's post-'Peralta guarantee' slam dunk in the exact same position, on the phone to her mother. "He's alright, isn't he?"
"Yes, Mama," Amy sighs. "The doctor's letting him come home, I just have to keep an eye on him. He's fine.
"Good. You bring him home to your apartment, cariña, and defrost some of my moro, he'll want it when he's feeling better."
"Fine, Mama."
"Bueno, cariña, I need to let you go before your father tries to serve that pig without me...we'll see you before the New Year, won't we? Tell Jake we all hope he feels better, happy Christmas from us all..."
Her mother hangs up after that, but Amy is fine with this because Jake appears next to her only a few minutes later. In the cab home, Jake assures her that the doctor gave him adequate pain relievers for his post-mild concussion headaches, all he wants is to go home, put on a movie that has nothing to do with Die Hard and be with her.
It's after ten o'clock when they get home, and both Amy and Jake are exhausted. All Amy wants to do is get into bed with Jake and forget about the day, something she never thought she'd say about Nochebuena, but she has things to do before they can turn in for the night.
"It's so cold in here," Amy whines, hanging Jake's jacket on the rack.
"Yeah," Jake shivers. "What the hell?"
"I thought we'd be going down to Jersey for the night, I didn't set the thermostat..." Amy sighs, back turned as she turns the dial to turn it on.
"I'm sorry, Amy." Amy turns. Jake is standing in the entrance, solemn and quiet. "I know you wanted to go to your parents, you still can, I bet Gina would take any get out of jail..."
"No, Jake." Amy stops him, kissing his nose. She takes his arm, guiding him to the sofa. "You didn't ask for what happened tonight..."
"...even if I did enjoy it..."
"...even if you enjoyed it," Amy rolls her eyes. She takes a blanket, draping it over her boyfriend. "Jake, this isn't like your 'Peralta guarantee', or even what happened in Atlantic City, you were being responsible. Besides, this is different. We're a couple now. We take care of each other."
"Damn right we do," Jake smirks. "We're the most thoughtful, most caring, most..."
"Shut up, Jake," Amy laughs, kissing him on his cheek. "Be quiet. Just for a minute, be quiet."
Jake takes the remote and turns on Netflix as Amy busies herself in the kitchen. Amy sighs, tugging on her dressing gown. She's still freezing, still vaguely humiliated after her walk of shame. She takes a container of moros y cristianos from the freezer, feeling only vaguely embarrassed at the three shelves filled with her mother's cooking, and puts it in the microwave on medium.
"Jake!" Amy calls. "Tea or hot chocolate?"
"Tea, babe!" he calls back. "I'm the hot chocolate king, you're the tea queen!"
"That's because tea is just boiling water..." Amy mutters under her breath, taking down her old tea kettle. She reaches up for the apple cinnamon and chamomile tea leaves Jake took back from his aunt's Rosh Hashanah dinner, listening to the television in the living room. "Are you watching Brave Little Toaster?"
"My Dad got it for my first Christmas after he left," Jake replies, and his voice is soft. Amy peers into the living area. He's curled into the corner of the sofa, blanket tucked tightly in. He looks exhausted, on the verge of sleep. "I mean...I wanted him to take me to see Die Hard, and I think he did too, but Nanna had to be all sensible and point out that I was nine." He pauses for a moment, snuggling into the blanket. "I acted disappointed but I love the Brave Little Toaster."
"I liked that movie too," Amy smiles. "You can sleep, if you like, but the rice is almost ready."
Amy takes the rice out of the microwave and stirs. She inhales. It smells like home. Sofrito, Mama used to say, was the cure to all ills. Every family made it differently but Mama's - heavy on the cilantro, light on the cumin - would never fail to take Amy back to Nochebuenas past, her brothers racing around the kitchen but never taking Amy's focus from her mother's knife, dicing the onions and peppers to nothing.
She places the rice back into the microwave and turns to the kettle. This is the first Nochebuena that Amy will spend away from her family and precinct. She pours the water into one of her teapots and filled the infuser with Jake's tea leaves. She carefully takes the pot into the coffee table, shivers only now subsiding. Jake's eyes are closed, dozing quietly. He looks warm, home.
She wakes him a few minutes later, shaking him gently. His eyes open slowly, and Amy's heart melts. She skims her fingers over the blooming bruise on his temple, running them through his hair. He's perfection. She doesn't know how he does it; smooth, flawless skin and hair still thick even short. He irritates her more than any other human can, but there are moments - occurring with more and more frequency - when she feels as though she's looking at perfection.
"Look at me, baby." She cups Jake's jaw in her hands, gazing into his eyes. His pupils are still a little uneven, but nothing drastic. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," he yawns in her face. "Head hurts a little."
"Are you hungry?"
"No, I..." he stops, peering at the table. Amy momentarily wonders if she needs to suggest that Jake put his glasses on, or even if his concussion might be worsening, until she catches what he is looking at. "Is that your Mom's rice?"
"Moros y Cristianos," Amy smiles. "Like rice and beans. It's really good. Do you want some?"
"Did you make it?" Jake eyes Amy.
"No, it's one of my Mom's Tupperwares," Amy admits, "but I promise it's good. Will you have some?"
"I'm not hungry...but it smells so good." Jake continues to gaze at the rice. "Okay, please. Rice and bean me up."
.
Amy dishes the rice into two bowls then pours the tea into two cups, placing one of each in front of her boyfriend. Amy curls into Jake, pulling the blanket over the two of them. Somehow, sat on her sofa with Jake, eating moro under a Christmas blanket, all the cold has evaporated from the room.
"Your Mom's the best cook," Jake breaks their comfortable silence.
"Right?" Amy agrees, still working on her rice. "She used to tell me that sofrito could make everything better."
"I'm pretty sure that's true," Jake nods. "My Grandma taught me to make her version when I was a kid. She calls it sofregit and it's different but it still makes things better."
"Mama used to try to teach me to make hers. I think she gave up when I was 17, she realised I was a hopeless case."
"Don't be dumb, Ames," Jake looks up at her from his corner. "I can show you."
"No, Jake, let's not work on a lost cause," Amy sighs.
They're silent for a moment. Jake's hit on a nerve, sure - just another way that her boyfriend outperforms her without trying - but Amy doesn't really mind. She's happy that he's here, safe and alive and sharing this moment with her.
"I'm sorry, Amy," Jake speaks suddenly, breaking the silence. "I know you love Nochebuena, I know you were looking forward to it. I was excited for it too. Last year was...I saw everything I could have with you last year. Your Mom and Dad bickering over the pig, talking Nets with your brothers, playing Jimmy Jabs with your nieces and nephews...that was the first time I had all that, all that normal stuff. You'd given it to me, and all I could think was that...if things were different, if I didn't have Sophia and if you liked me at all, we could have made it for ourselves. And now I've screwed that up on the first time we could have had that. I'm Orangina."
"No, Jake, you're Orangina." Catching Jake's expression she rolls her eyes and clarifies. "It's a good thing. Look, Jake...when I was waiting for you in that hospital, I wasn't thinking about Mom and Dad, or Jersey, or even Nochebuena. I was thinking about you, and just hoping with everything I had that you were okay and that I'd be able to take you home. That was all that I wanted, in the end. I wanted Captain Holt's approval, sure, but I wanted you - safe and warm and with me - even more."
"I'm still sorry," Jake shrugs, "but that's not going to stop me from kissing you."
They kiss for a moment, warm and deep with the taste of sofrito still on their tongues. Jake rubs his eyes when they break, but Amy can't stop staring at him.
She's never met anyone like him. He's messy and noisy, prone to concussions and falling into sun roofs, but he loves harder and louder than any person she has known. She thinks of her parents; her mother constantly pushing her father to perfection, her father constantly urging her mother to relax. She closes her eyes, inhales. He smells like home.
"I love you, Jake."
Amy doesn't know why she said it. Something has come over her. She looks at him, and she can see every dream he spoke reflected in his eyes; their own Nochebuena.
"I love you too, Ames." His eyebrows are raised and his expression is relaxed but she can see in him that he means every word. "It's nice to hear someone else say that. I love you."
"You're my Nochebuena now, Jake."
She rests into him, head on his shoulder. She could have lost him tonight. She watches him as he drifts off again, gently taking the cup from his hand and placing it on the coffee table. Hers is rapidly cooling in her hands, but she continues to sip. It's difficult to get the memories of last year's midnight mass out of her head, of giggling with him over churros and chocolate at 1AM. She'll take Jake back out to Jersey when things are quieter, she decides. She'll go to his aunt's Shabbat dinner that he's been complaining about. He is her home now.
She closes her eyes, resting into him. Amy's a cold creature, but Jake somehow radiates warmth. It's funny, but with Jake, no matter how badly a night can go, it will always end with Amy feeling warm, loved, at home in his world. Qué noche buena.