A/N: This fic is probably never going to have an regular update schedule, sorry about that.

II. Water's Sweet, Blood is Thicker

Amy lied.

It's probably not the first time she's lied to someone and it's certainly not the last.

He shouldn't trust her, really he shouldn't, but Jake liked the way her hips swayed back and forth effortlessly while she strutted around the nightclub, and how she could captivate men with her eyes more than her body. She's got a self-confident feel to her walk, not overly conspicuous but noticeable enough that it turns heads, even for a fraction of a second. He has admitted to himself since that night at the at club that however dangerous Amy might be, she sure was a knockout.

But unfortunately, Jake Peralta is ticked the fuck off. Because he waited here, like the idiot he can sometimes be (blame all the cute people in the world), since opening time at 9 PM sharp. Then he finds out that she has off tonight. It's thirty to midnight when he's certain that Amy bailed on him, so he goes out through the back alleyway to escape the suffocating night club atmosphere, and runs right into her.

Their collision causes her cigarette to fall out of her mouth, but she's quick enough to save it with the tips of her fingers. She swivels around angrily, probably ready to punch the lights out of someone, until Amy realizes its just him. She grunts out a greeting before bringing the cancer stick back to her mouth, inhaling to calm her nerves.

"I'm assuming we're going to talk and you're not going to blow smoke in my face-" He's cut off when she blows a perfect ring to his right, the arc just hitting his ear. Jake knows she's purposely doing it to aggravate him, and he searches desperately for some kind of comeback. She does bother to give him enough time, instead Amy turns on her heels without saying a word, and walks off into the main street, beckoning to him with one hand and not even looking back to see if he was following.

Jake sighs and shakes his head, reluctantly chasing after her. He doesn't like the situation and she's probably leading him to his grave right now, but anything's better than returning to Special Agent Clark in a body bag. He'd rather a bunch of gangsters burn his body and release his ashes to the wind than leave Gina with burden of decorating his body in flower crowns and covering him in an angry unicorn blanket. Besides, if gangsters kill him then he really might have the chance to die in a fiery explosion and then Boyle can commit suicide at his funeral out of respect.

In retrospect, the entire idea is pretty depressing, but with the exposure of his identity on the line, it's not one Jake can just ignore. He also can't ignore the lack of skin she's showing once they step into the light of lamp post. Amy has opted for a simple blue blouse and jeans, a strong contrast to the uniform from a week ago. Jake He chooses not to say anything, afraid he might make her bad mood worse.

Amy finishes the cigarette and snubs out the rest of it, holding onto it instead of dropping it on the ground. He's surprised when she diligently throws it in a community trash bin, Jake didn't think criminals followed any laws, even if the most basic ones.

"Is littering one of those unspoken codes criminals abide by?" he wonders aloud.

Amy cracks a small smile, "Who says I'm a criminal?"

"You know criminals," Jake states, waiting for her to take the bait. If she can confess on behalf of Leonardo Iannucci, he can make a deal with her and bag this case. Instead, Amy hums, her lips still quirked up: she knows what he's doing and she won't give in.

"Come on, Detective," she urges, purposely using his title to remind him of his predicament. "We've got places to go."

"No people to see, I hope," Jake chuckles, but the sound is admittedly forced. He feels sweat starting to gather at the base of his neck. She has the nerve to laugh at him, sensing his discomfort.

"No, not today," she assures, watching as relief sets into his bones. Jake practically melts in the pavement. "I still haven't decided what to do with you." Jake's shocked by her honesty, but remembers no to take her words to heart. Still, he can't help but ask his next question:

"Leonardo Iannucci doesn't know about me," he confirms.

"Leo," she corrects, with a bit of affection in her voice that Jake swears doesn't make him envious, "does not know who you are. Yet."

"But you plan to tell him," Jake sighs in dejection. At least she's given time to think his way out of this.

"No."

"No?" he looks up hopefully.

"No. He won't know if we can come to our own little agreement," she amends.

"Of course," he nods enthusiastically. Compromising he can do. He's arguably the master of getting the best bang-for-your-buck when it comes to dealing with accomplices.

"Not now of course," she waves his aspiration away with a single, dainty hand.

"Then what?"

"Ice cream," she nods up ahead to an ice cream parlor, where a couple of kids are still milling around inside.

"Who the hell sells ice cream at midnight?" he asks, instead of the more important question of why she would want ice cream at midnight.

"Don't question the way people run their business," Amy admonishes gently, taking him by the hand and leading him inside. He's pleased to see her neck flush when he squeezes back, but the scent of rocky road gets to him before he can call her out on it.

"You're buying," Jake tells her immediately. Amy gives him an incredulous look.

"You're the man," she prompts.

"And this could be my last meal before death row, for all I know," Jake smirks to himself over the rhyme he creates. Why would I pay?" he continues reasoning, watching with satisfaction as her shoulders drop.

"Fine," Amy grumbles, marching over to the glass case. "One small rocky road, please. With Oreo's," she tells the employee, then turns back to Jake, "And you?" He's so in awe by their similar tastes and that fact that she said 'please' that it takes him a moment to find his voice.

"Same," Jake manages, choking on his own tongue and causing the employee to give him a funny look. Amy rolls her eyes when he goes into a coughing fit and hands the employee a ten.

"Keep the change," she mutters and the employee nods gratefully as Amy struts away with her cup. Jake scrambles to grab his own and follows her to one of the booths by the window, then takes the seat opposite from her. He's still unsure of what to say, still shocked by the kindness and appropriate behavior she displayed. Amy doesn't even look up from her ice cream when she speaks.

"Stop staring," she snorts, spooning a marshmallow into her mouth. "Just because I don't play by your rules doesn't mean I'm a lawless heathen."

"I just assumed -" Jake starts, cut off by the glare she suddenly gives him.

"That's what you all do, isn't it? Assume you know everything," she snaps, her gaze burning into his. He sputters out a some type of response, but Amy just shakes her head angrily. "Forget it, Peralta. I shouldn't expect you to understand anything." Her tone shifts into something more bitter, and he can feel her resentment despite not knowing what he did wrong.

"Sorry," he mumbles around the spoon in his mouth. Amy sighs and drops her spoon, leaning back in her seat to get a good look at him. Jake squirms under her analytical gaze, but keep his eyes steadily on her face.

"It's not your fault. It's your job," Amy concedes, picking up her spoon and shoveling ice cream into her mouth again. He stares dumbly as her tongue peaks out to catch a stray drop of chocolate ice cream. She smirks when she catches him watching, deliberately running her tongue over her bottom lip to tease him.

"Speaking of which," Jake transitions, trying to sound as casual as possible while pretending he wasn't just transfixed by her mouth. "How… exactly do you know about my job?"

"Classified," she smirks, and Jake kind of hates the way Amy knows that's a cop's line. This little role-reversal of theirs is starting to get a little irritating.

"You do realize I could arrest you right now and come up with evidence against you in less than forty-eight hours, right?" he threatens, doing his best to sound intimidating.

"You could. You wouldn't find anything," she replies, silently calling him out on his bluff. Jake swallows down another bite of ice cream to buy time to think.

"So you're not one of them," he states.

"I'm going to assume by 'one of them' you mean the Iannucci's," she confirms, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "No I'm not, but I do have ties with them I'd prefer to severe."

Jake grins, "You want out." He can work with that: an accomplice with no criminal record, ready to spill in exchange for a new start. He's seen this play out smoothly too many times before, there's no way he can screw it up.

Amy shakes her head, just as the bells on the front door chime, alerting everyone of a new customer.

"Not me," she smiles sadly, her eyes no longer on him. "I want him out."

The man at the door stands awkwardly amongst the children in the shop, a comical six foot-something compared to the four foot-somethings surrounding him. He's got tattoos sleeves and a industrial bar piercing on his left brow, and Jake can just make out the outline of gun tucked into the waist of his jeans. He's got an amazing jawline and calculating brown eyes that Jake recognizes from the mugshots of old cases.

This guy is one of Iannucci's boys, one of the dirty workers who take all the slack for the crimes the gang commits. He's got a long list of wrongdoings on his file back at the nine-nine, mostly involving manslaughter. That's what he's known for: killing people that pissed of the Iannucci's with his bare hands And maybe an axe, depending on his mood; Jake's not entirely sure how the thought process works when it comes to planning the dismemberment of living people. Regardless, the burden he's taken for the Iannucci family shows: covering that beautiful face and toned body (which even Jake can admit is model-worthy) is an array of scars and bruises. However, this guy has the nerve (or maybe the idiocy) to wear his marred skin like a medal, holding himself proudly so that everyone notices his presence.

"That's Misael Santiago," Jake swallows as Misael's surveying gaze falls on him. There's a striking similarity between him and Amy, especially when Misael gives him a wolfish grin. That smile is enough for Jake confirm what he already suspected when Misael walked in.

"Your full name is Amy Santiago," he says, hating the way his voice almost gets caught in his throat and the way Amy laughs while nodding in affirmation. "You're the sister of Misael Santiago."

"Correct," she nods, while Misael drops himself into the same booth as Jake. Misael's overwhelming bulkiness and stature force Jake into the corner, but he does his best to keep his back straight. Misael gives him a predatory grin before locking eyes with his sister.

"Looks like we have some talking to do," Misael chuckles, patting Jake on the back hard enough to make the smaller man cough up his entire abdominal cavity. Jake glances up at Misael, catching the knowing look he gives his sister.

This can't be good.

I have no clue what I'm doing with this fic still, so I'm anticipating the next chapter as much as you are!