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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

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baby, I’ve got you on my mind

“Thank you for that update, McCla- I’m mean, McCarthur.”

Clearing her throat, Amy ducks her head down to focus on the paperwork in front of her, quietly praying that nobody has noticed her mistake. She knew the chances were slim, given that it was her third slip-up since her briefing had begun fifteen minutes ago, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that the concept of returning to work after three months of Pure Family Time was going to be way harder than she’d anticipated.

There had been a part of her that was so. eager. to return to work today, taking extra care to iron her uniform into perfectly symmetrical pleats and polishing her badge so that it shone with just enough pride. Rumours had been circulating around about somebody trying to make adjustments to her precision based filing system (and she wasn’t mad, she just wanted to talk to whomever they were), and as the weeks wore on and Jake returned to work, it became apparent that her FOMOW was no longer something that Amy could easily hide.

She has loved every single second of being a Mommy, right down to the sleepless nights and the cold mornings with her son sleeping snuggled warm against her, but there was no way that Amy could deny how much she missed the order of the NYPD. She had craved the regular flow of paperwork (some that even needed to be notarised); the meetings and seminars and conference calls and oh, how there were so many binders waiting to be filled.

In the past few weeks it had become habit once Jake returned home each evening, to spend the first half hour (at a minimum) telling her about his day - filling her in on any cases that had opened while she’s been away. She lapped up all the information eagerly, throwing out ideas as they came to her, and the sheer thought of being able to play a part in regulating justice to their city made her giddy with excitement. So Amy had been excited to return to work, if only to scratch the itch that her FOMOW had left her with.

As it turned out, she had a much larger case of something brewing underneath her skin - something that was increasing dramatically with every passing second.

Amy had FOMOM: Fear Of Missing Out on Mac.

It had, for example, been exactly one hour and thirty seven minutes since she’d walked out of her and Jake’s apartment, blowing goodbye kisses to her son as he rested comfortably in his father’s arms. One hour and thirty six minutes since she’d reconsidered the whole notion of returning to work, her fingers hovering over Holt’s number on her cell phone as she made her way down the stairs, and one hour and thirty four minutes since she’d convinced herself that she could totally do this.

(Also, it has been sixteen minutes since she’s realised just how many officers on her team had names that began with the letter M. And how her mind no longer seemed to be able to say any other name that began with the same combination of consonants and vowels without automatically reverting to her son’s.)

She hadn’t even passed the two hour mark yet, and already Amy felt like she’d been away from her family for eight years.

Her phone lights up from its resting place along the edge of the podium, and she glances at it quickly, trying her best to tamper down the racing heartbeat that accompanies the notification that her husband has sent her a photo.

This was it. This was the text Jake was going to send to her, that announced excitedly that their prodigy of a son had managed to figure out how to walk, fifteen minutes after she’d stepped out the apartment this morning. Or that he’d pronounced his first word - a clear and proud call for Daddy - and that Jake hadn’t managed to get video of it but it was so amazing, babe, I wish you could have been there to see it!

Her hands grip the wooden edges of the platform her Return To Work speech occupied, eyes glued to the background picture of Mac sleeping on an also sleeping Jake’s chest, and from the tables before her one of the officers clears their throat politely. The sound cuts through the spiral Amy was beginning to gravitate towards, pulling her attention back to her team, and with an apologetic smile she wraps up the rest of the briefing quickly. There were still four and half pages left of her speech, but it’s nothing that she can’t compose in an email when her mind is a little less preoccupied, and in all honesty the only order of business she can focus on right now is Priority One: Unlocking her phone.

There have been many, many advancements in the name of modern technology; and 2 hours, 53 minutes and 47 seconds into Amy’s first shift she has twice already cursed the fact that nobody has created the option for a person to be able to reach into their phone and touch the subject of an image. Never before has she had such a craving to squeeze her son’s chubby cheeks, to feel the unbelievably soft skin that she knows he has.

Her husband, in yet another display of sweetness, has been giving her regular updates on his and Mac’s day at home together - and two minutes ago he’d sent through a photo of their son, reclined in his baby seat, with apple sauce spread out allll over his cheeks. It was equal parts adorable and painful for Amy, for her to not be able to a) grab a cloth and wipe away the mess as her son grins up at her, and b) smother his tiny face with a million tiny kisses.

She missed him. Missed him more than she’d thought possible. Her arms felt empty without their son in them, and it’s nearly impossible for her to imagine what life was like before their family had become a party of three.

In absolutely no surprise to anybody other than himself, Jake has turned out to be an excellent father. He’s been by her side through the whole thing - even the middle of the night feeds, taking to burping their son like a pro - and the way Mac’s face lights up whenever his eyes land on Jake (and vice versa, it’s honestly just the sweetest thing to see) tells Amy all that she needs to know. Their son is going to adore Jake, and there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that her husband is EVER going to walk away from his family.

Distractedly, Amy shuffles the paperwork around on her desk, offering a tight smile to one of her colleagues as they pass. Get it together, Santiago. You are a badass police sergeant for one of the strongest teams in the entire NYPD. You can get through one shift without seeing your son. Her phone vibrates with an incoming heart emoji filled text from her husband, and she takes his support as fuel for her cause, standing up from her desk and taking purposeful strides towards the filing cabinets. You’re a badass police sergeant with a highly effective, strongly sought after filing system, and you can do this.

Her eyebrows knit in disgust as she opens the first drawer, taking in the messy array of folders that occupied the once orderly space, and she supposes she should be thankful in some way that there was someone in the office who thought that this hot mess worked better than her system (and therefore provided a worthy distraction for her entirely preoccupied mind), but in all honesty she’s just completely horrified.

Already composing a polite but firm memorandum in her mind, Amy begins pulling the files out of their incorrect positions, glancing at her watch as she gets to work.

Only five hours, two minutes and twenty seconds to go.

It’s 4 hours and 28 minutes into Amy’s workday when she hears the elevator doors open and a tiny gasp escape Officer Alvarado’s mouth, and with a quick lift of her head she notices why. Jake has suddenly appeared on her floor, with their son safe and sound inside the carrier strapped to his chest. His smile lights up the room - like it always does, even at home - and even though he’s clearly trying to make his way towards Amy, it seems that the sudden appearance of Mac Peralta in the precinct has garnered every single officer’s attention.

Amy’s not one to pull rank (honestly, who is she kidding?) but her footsteps are quick against the linoleum floor, increasing in intensity the closer she gets to her husband, and Jake’s already in the process of unclipping a strap as she nears. “I figured you’d probably be in need of a pick-me-up right about now,” he mumbles, his voice soft enough to only land in Amy’s ears.

Nodding eagerly, Amy shoots her husband a grateful look before smiling in Mac’s direction, stretching her hands out as he lifts his own in recognition.

“There’s my little guy!” She cries out, sliding one hand along her son’s back as his chonky little arms and legs begin to wave around in excitement. He coos as she lifts him out of the carrier with Jake’s help, and the sound buries deep in her heart as the feeling of utter completion begins to wash over her now that Mac is leaning against her chest.

Shifting her shoulder slightly, Amy tilts her grip slightly in an effort to show off to the crowd her greatest achievement to date. “Squad, meet our son - Mac.”

There’s a crowd of tiny waves, all of which are greeted with a tiny saliva-covered fist moving back and forth from Mac’s mouth; and after a few more minutes of leg squishing and attempts to reach out for various badges, Amy’s squad disperses - suddenly aware that absolutely none of them were currently doing their work, and that there was no way they could hide such a fact from their boss.

Jake’s palm rests against Amy’s shoulder as she leads them towards the third floor break room, a quiet eating space that has yet to be tainted by the questionable eating habits of either Scully or Hitchcock. “You have had many brilliant ideas in all the years we’ve been together, babe, but I think this one might just be your best yet.” Amy announces to Jake as she settles into a vacant chair, grinning over at her husband as he chooses the seat opposite.

He smiles, that gentle nod of his head that he does when he’s secretly proud of his actions kicking in, and Amy stretches her left leg out to brush against his. His beam grows brighter as he leans forward, brushing his fingers gently along the tiny curls that have begun to form on their son’s head before replying, “Safe to say, I’ve gotten pretty good and picking up on the my wife is having a meltdown style of texting.”

Scoffing, Amy cranes her head back slightly to take in her son’s adorable face as she responds. “I’d like to think I’ve handled today pretty well.” It’s a lie, and they both know it.

Letting out a soft laugh, Jake shakes his head slightly. “Tell that to the fifty-odd messages I’ve received from you today.”

She feels a soft blush wash over her cheeks, but Amy doesn’t care in the slightest. They both know that Jake fared no better when it had been his turn to return to work, and they’ve come to the total and utter acceptance that Mac Peralta just so happens to be the most adorable and addictive baby that ever graced the earth. Facts are facts, and there was no point hiding it.

“Okay, so maybe I’ve - ” Pausing mid-sentence, Amy takes a closer look at her son, fingers swirling around his soft hair carefully.

“Ames?”

“His hair has grown.”

Nodding, Jake scoots his chair closer, and the corresponding scrape sounds oddly loud as it bounces off the surrounding walls. “Yeah, he’s definitely going to end up with my curls. It’s both a blessing and a curse, but he’ll figure that out eventually.”

Amy shakes her head quickly. “No, I mean it’s grown. Since this morning.”

“Babe, it’s been five hours.”

“It has, though! See this curl? It’s WAY more pronounced than it was earlier today. It wraps around my finger twice now!”

His eyes are dubious, but if there is anything that Jake has learned by now it is not to doubt his wife, and so he responds simply with a nod. It’s not convincing in any way, shape, or form, but Amy is way too distracted to bother with a rebuttal.

“I knew this was going to happen! He’s growing so quickly, babe.” Her eyes have turned wide as saucers, and she can feel her eyebrows raising to nearly the point of her hairline, but none of that matters in the slightest. “We’re going to miss out on so. much! Why did we not take this into consideration?” Her lips press against the top of Mac’s head as she holds him closer, jiggling one knee on reflex as he wriggles slightly in her arms. Slowly, Amy begins to feel her chest tighten up as all of the niggling doubts of her returning to work rush to the surface.

“Ames”. Jake’s hands rest gently on top of her own, squeezing slightly as she raises her head to meet his. “We’re not going to miss out on anything. You have put together the most thorough, well-spaced out babysitting schedule that has meant that one of our friends or family is always going to be around when we’re not. With any luck, it’ll never be longer than eight or nine hours before we’re all home together again, and either one of us is always only a video call away.”

Nodding, Amy drops her head back down to leave another kiss on Mac’s forehead, and she takes in a deep breath of that incredible new baby smell while she’s there. Already, she can feel herself being to reset.

“There are going to be a thousand moments, some big and some small, and yeah, maybe we might miss a couple here and there, but the most important thing is that Mac is already so, so loved. He knows that, and we know that, and honestly that’s all that matters.”

Amy’s pounding heart slowly lessens its assault against her chest, and as Jake’s hands tighten their grip over hers she begins to nod. If someone had told her eight years ago that the immature cop that sat across from her would end up being the source of some of the sweetest things she’s ever heard in her life, she would have laughed in their faces. But here he was, holding his rightful title of Greatest Husband and Father Ever, and honestly she wouldn’t have it any other way. She smiles, leaning in slightly to bridge the gap between them with a chaste (read: work appropriate) kiss. “I love you so much, babe.”

He mirrors her nod with his own, throwing in a wink. “It’s easy to do, Ames. I am very loveable.”

She knows it to be true, but still Amy rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Peralta. You’re just lucky that we make pretty cute babies.”

“Liquid fire, Ames. I said it on Day One, and there’s no way I’m backing down.”

Letting out a contented sigh, Amy pulls Mac in for one last tight squeeze, taking in another hit of his perfect baby scent before standing. “Alright. I’ve got to get back to work now, otherwise it’s just never going to happen.” Leaving one last parting kiss on Mac’s forehead, she passes her son to Jake, still unable to tear her eyes away from him for too long. “Thank you so much for bringing him in today, this is exactly what I needed.” Her son grumbles out a protest in the sudden change of plans, and it’s all she can do to not pull him immediately back into her arms.

Jake smiles, reaching out to fiddle with Mac’s flailing right arm as he leans towards Amy for another sneaky kiss. “I figure once he’s big enough to fit into that NYPD onesie the squad gave us, we’ll just set him up with his own desk in the corner.”

“There you go, with another brilliant idea!”

Gripping Mac’s hand in his fingers, Jake calls out “Goodbye, Mommy!”, and oh, how Amy’s heart begins to ache. She feels it squeeze tighter as her two favourite men walk towards the elevator, and it gives one last protesting ache as the elevator doors slide shut. Her feet feel heavy as they turn away from the exit, and she flicks her wrist upwards to check the time again.

2 hours, 57 minute and 38 seconds to go.

There’s a vague memory of paperwork, interrogations, and a quick debrief as Amy’s shoes hit the pavement on the sidewalk outside the precinct, and her mind is still partially thinking of a case that landed on her desk late this afternoon when she notices what has easily turned into one of her favourite sights to see: her husband and son, waiting patiently outside for her return.

Her hands may be a little grabby as they reach for her baby boy, but Jake only chuckles as he passes Mac over, running his hand up and down her back in greeting as she smothers her son’s face in kisses. She mirrors the kisses with another one on Jake’s cheek as he reaches for her purse, gripping it with one hand as he takes her free hand with his other, and Amy’s smile is undeniably bright as they make their way down the familiar path home.

Tomorrow, she will interview a suspect and put all of her efforts into finally cracking the drug ring that had begun to fester on the streets of Brooklyn. Tomorrow, she will play her part in the takedown of a organised crime kingpin that has held reign for far too long.

But for now, Amy’s going home to spend time with her family - this little family of three that might be smaller than others, but that her and Jake have created on their very own, and nobody can tear away from them no matter how hard they try. Sometimes, she will be a badass sergeant that can take down New York’s worst with a swing of her fist. And sometimes, she’s simply a mother at home with her family, singing along to nursery rhymes and wiping spit-up from her blouse.

She misses her family when they’re not together, and she misses her work when she’s not in uniform - and even though there’s still a tiny portion of lingering doubt that maybe she won’t be able to handle both, with Jake’s fingers gripped tightly against her own on their walk home a sense of calm washes over her.

Both are equally important, and both are 100% worth it, and if one means missing out on something from the other, there is always going to be one Most Important detail to consider - that she and Jake were working hard to create a safe and loving world for their son.

And that was worth fighting for, even if it came with a little FOMO.

#a little something that came from nowhere last night #juuuust scraping in for April 28 #aka our National Holiday #the FOMOW is real #b99 fanfic #jake x amy fic #peraltiago fic #hope you guys find this sweet #title from Powderfinger ... Aussie represent!#my writing

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sambergscott · 4 years

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🤒😴😢 I feel like these 3 together would be so cute for Jake and amy if you would like to :)

prompt: one falling asleep with their head in the other’s lap. set the night before amy’s maternity leave starts aka me trying to cope with my excitement for tomorrow night

only doing for now but will get to the other 2 at some point :)))

It’s time.

It sucks, and she can already feel the familiar rising panic in her chest that she will now admit is FOMOW - and she hasn’t even left yet -, but it’s time.

It’s a conversation she had with Holt the day they announced they were pregnant (after Charles picked himself off the floor and everyone - even Rosa - hugged them). She’d been dreading it for weeks and when Holt steepled his fingers and asked when she would like to commence her maternity leave, she panicked and said a random date a couple of weeks before the baby’s due date.

That date is tomorrow.

Jake had been desperate for her to take it early and, to be honest, she probably should’ve done. She’s been exhausted, spent most of her work days going to and from Babylon and has exceeded every size of NYPD-issued uniform. Her swollen ankles are massive by the time she gets home, forcing her to put her feet up on the couch the minute she gets home and resist all natural instinct to tidy and prepare and be productive.

(When the time comes to wash and fold all the baby clothes, Jake brings everything out to the living room so she can still be apart of the process. She guides him through how to fold Marie Kondo-stylez and instructs him where things should go and even permits him to use her favorite label maker).

(Yes, she has a favorite).

It’s where she finds herself, here, now, the night before her maternity leave commences, feet up, Property Brothers on TV, her head in his lap, Jake playing with her hair.

“Stop stressing about tomorrow,” he murmurs as the show goes to commercial break.

“I’m not-,” she tries to lie but she can practically feel the ‘I don’t believe you’ look on his face. “Fine. I’m super stressed. What if loads of serial killers suddenly decide to resurface? What if there’s a ton of B&E’s? What if my file organization system falls apart?”

“Gary would never let that happen.”

Which, OK, is a fair point.

“And I’m only one floor away, I can keep an eye on it for you.”

“You’re the sweetest,” she responds, tilting her head back so he can lean down and kiss her. He complies and then she readjusts herself to get comfortable in his lap. “And I apologise in advance for three solid months of FOMOW.”

“Eh, it’s OK,” he brushes her off. “The whole baby thing will make up for it.”

The whole baby thing being their son, who they now have a name for. Who will soon no longer just be a fuzzy black and white picture on their nightstand or a new fruit each week according to her Pregnancy App or a foot kicking everytime he hears his dad sing Taylor Swift. Soon he’ll be a real person out in the world with them, a buddy to keep her company during her dreaded maternity leave. The FOMOW eases when she thinks about him.

They wanted him for so long and it’s finally time for their new recruit to join the Peralta squad.

Her lips tick into a small, content smile and she falls asleep.

#my writing #jake x amy #b99 fic #i only wish i could fall asleep this easy tonight #I'M SO EXCITED!!!!!#this is 6 years worth of waiting.......

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peterbishop · 5 years

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my hands can't hold enough

He looks at her, dazed, with a lazy smile. “Happy snow day, babe.”

“You have any other plans for us today?” she asks, amused. “Or are we just going to make out on our couch?”

(or; jake, amy, and a snow day)

read on ao3

She watches how the snow, slow and wispy and almost nostalgic, falls into his hair, cold white against brown curls. His left hand is warm in hers, and she feels the expected weight of his wedding ring, no longer so sharp and metal almost two years into their marriage. He leans into her side as he stares up, up at the skyscrapers and impermeable blanket of grey clouds, as if he had never seen them before. Wide, wide eyes and a tilted smile that she can’t help but kiss on street corners.

“I loved snow days when I was a kid,” he tells her that morning, imprinting his smile on her shoulder. “My mom would make me hot chocolate and give me ten marshmallows.”

She doesn’t complain when Terry calls five minutes later, telling them not to come in—Jake and Amy have endured a series of exhausting cases lately—and Amy hangs up with a smile, further snuggling into her husband. His arm is heavy across her back, and she buries her nose into the hollow of his throat, the smell of spice and clean sheets greeting her. Their legs tangle, whole and complete and intertwined, something of a metaphor of what they’ve become. Her thumb runs over his jaw, warm skin and solid bone. She keeps her eyes shut, caught in that realm between wakefulness and sleep, but she knows he’s smiling: it’s his most natural state. She thinks, if only they could stay like this.

Eventually, Jake murmurs that they should go outside and enjoy the snow (She moans, “But it’s freezing outside—“ “Don’t worry, Ames, I’ll keep you warm,” he grins with a wink).

So, that’s how she finds herself outside during a Brooklyn snowstorm. Her breath almost looks silver in the air, the soft, white flakes getting caught in her eyelashes. Jake amiably chats away about his upcoming movie night with Charles—“We’re watching Frozen 2!”—and Amy happily listens along, the warmth of his voice cutting through the February chill. The sidewalks are iced and near blue, the snow crunching underfoot like the timed beat to a song. She has always marveled at New York during a storm: cars are infrequent and the city that never sleeps succumbs to a calm lull, of falling snowflakes and quiet mouths.

“Ames,” he’s pulling her into him. “Let’s go here.”

It’s a quaint cafe—quite literally a hole in the wall with its square opening carved into a brick wall. A few people stand in line while others meander and smile behind the sweet steam of hot coffee. Two women work in the cafe (Amy isn’t sold on if it can be called that considering the lack of seating), bustling to serve drinks and take customers’ money.

“Can’t we go someplace that’s indoors?” Amy gripes with a shiver.

“But they have mint hot chocolate, babe!” Her husband exclaims like he’s ten-years-old and finding out school has been canceled. “With extra whipped cream!”

Perhaps she’s gone soft, but she gives in, letting him drag her along. Jake orders his sugary drink—“A large for me and my wife”—with a smile so wide and earnest, Amy begins to blush, a rose-red against her pale, wind-bitten cheeks. He takes a sip, and his eyes shine like sun through ice.

He holds out the cup to her. “You gotta try it. It’s, like, stupid good.”

She takes the cup, briefly relishing in its radiating heat, before taking a sip. The drink is hot, yet cooly mint, with the perfect bite of dark chocolate. “Alright,” she says, eyes half-lidded. “It’s pretty good.”

“Told you we didn’t need to go somewhere indoors,” he says, a smirk cutting across his face.

She takes another taste, eager and thankful for the warmth it provides. When she looks back up at her husband, he breaks into a goofy smile, trying to smother it behind his hand. “What is it?”

He hums: “Oh, nothing.”

“Jake.”

“You’ve got a little—“ and his lips fall on hers, kissing the whipped cream off her top lip. Somehow, in the winter air, she’s melting into him, his hand on her cheek and her free hand on the back of his neck. It’s gentle and nothing more, soft mouths meeting, tasting of hot chocolate and she thinks, love is this simple. This and this and this—standing on a quiet Brooklyn sidewalk, kissing without a care with snow in their hair and affection on their tongues.

They walk a dance back to their apartment, hands enclasped and taking melodic steps. At one point, he tries to twirl her but ends up spinning himself, and they’re laughing. Laughing because it’s easy and laughing because they can, forgetting about unfinished cases and paperwork and remembering them: a constant center within busy streets and blinking lights. His lips are against her temple when he pulls her in close, and she feels as though he is everywhere, everywhere.

When they get home, delirious on hot chocolate and stripped of their winter clothing, he falls back onto their couch and tugs her to his lap. His hands smooth over her ribs, her back, her hips, consuming and him, if she can put a proper word to it. She sinks into his touch, still as breathless as she was on their undercover case all those years ago. When he kissed her at the restaurant, and she kissed him against the tree, and the real version of them collided, gentle and true, in the evidence locker. Here, in their apartment, it’s easier, more languid and thoughtful and known, but the thrill remains the same.

He looks at her, dazed, with a lazy smile. “Happy snow day, babe.”

“You have any other plans for us today?” she asks, amused. “Or are we just going to make out on our couch?”

He holds her hips with intention. “I’m pretty cool with making out with my hot wife.”

Her hands curve around his neck, thumbs on his jaw, and he watches her with constellations in his eyes. She says, “I’m surprised you’re not making me have a snowball fight with you.”

“Oh, Ames, you know I would kick your frozen—but very cute—ass if we did that.”

“Please,” she scoffs. “Five of my brothers played baseball. They taught me how to throw a mean curveball.”

His eyes widen. “Did you ever wear those tight baseball pants because babe—“

She bats at his chest. “Could you stop being a flirt for one second?”

“Nope,” he grins widely. “Because you married me, and that means we’re kinda stuck together forever.”

“I guess we kinda are,” and she’s smiling too.

They never make it back outside; but they do end up in matching pairs of grey sweatpants and ragged NYPD shirts, outfits they once made the mistake of wearing in front of Charles during last year’s trip to the beach house. “They’re twinning!” He had cheered, brimming with joy and—were those tears in his eyes? Amy couldn’t tell.

They don’t make it far from the couch, minus once for Chinese food delivery and second for Jake to put in one of his worn Die Hard DVDs. “It’s the perfect film for today,” he tells her. “It’s a winter movie.”

“That seems like a bit of stretch,” she says.

“But it involves Christmas!”

“It’s February, Jake.”

He drags her down next to him, knowing it’ll end their bantering, and they lay on their sides. His body seems bigger this way, how he curls around her and splays his hand across her stomach, keeping her flush and close. When the credits roll, their eyelids droop. Outside, slate grey melts into syrupy blackness, coating the night sky. Snow continues to fall, but softer, more elegant. A crescendo and swirl of white, backlit by street lights.

“Have a good day, Ames?” he mumbles into her hair.

“Of course,” she says, sure and absolute.

“I honestly thought,” he considers, “you would get FOMOW.”

Her eyebrows screw together. “Why would I get that?”

“Because you love work and solving cases and doing paperwork, and I don’t mean that as a bad thing, not at all, it’s just how you are and—“

“Babe,” she says, “you’re rambling.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says softly.

She moves around in his arms so now they face. She looks at the pink bend of his mouth, the richness of his eyes, the dimple on his chin. She’ll never tire of his intricacies. “Did you ever consider,” she asks, “I only get FOMOW about working with you?”

His mouth shifts, a small quirk of confusion. “What?”

“I get the fear of missing out on work with you.”

“Oh,” and his eyelashes flutter. “Oh.”

“Whenever you’re at work and I’m not, I hate it. Even before we started dating, and I kinda hated you—“

“More like had a crush on me—“

“—That was you, babe.”

He reluctantly nods.

“I liked being around you because you pushed me, and you still do. So when you’re at work, and I’m elsewhere, I feel like I’m missing out. I know I’m not a detective anymore, but you’re always going to be my partner. I just like being… well… with you.”

He kisses her hard and with intent, holding her face like he’s holding the world in his hands. “I love you,” he breathes out when they break apart.

“I love you, too,” she smiles with ease. “So yeah, work is fun, but work with you is better. And even better than that? Spending a lazy day with my husband.”

“Even when it’s practically zero degrees outside?”

“Then, too. Although, I still could have gone the whole day without going outside.”

“But that cocoa was to die for!”

“We definitely could have made that at home. How hard can it possibly be?”

He replies flatly, “The smoke detector went off the last time you tried to make pasta.”

Exasperated, she says, “I think there’s something wrong with that detector, okay? It’s not like a fire actually started.”

He rolls his eyes, but it’s fond with affection, and his thumb sweeps across her cheekbone. “Whatever you say, Ames.”

She huffs, "I know I'm right," but she can't help but kiss the smirk right off his face.

Eventually, they make it to bed, slow and serene. And when the snow finally drifts, so do they.

#almost all my lecturers went on strike #and deadass 3/4 of my classes have been canceled #soooooo here i am #with another fic #b99 #jake x amy #my writing #peraltiago

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amyscascadingtabs · 5 years

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i’ll walk through hell with you

chapter 5. love, you’re not alone

read on ao3

read earlier chapters

Amy mourns, important conversations take place, and a new decision is made.

june, cont.

Amy has never called in sick for three days in a row before.

She's been on leaves, and the odd sick day is inevitable when you have a kid at daycare, but it's never been more than one or two days before she’s at least attempted to work from home. Now she can't even make herself do that.

Technically, she’s perfectly healthy, which should probably exacerbate the guilt she feels over calling in sick, but not even her FOMOW is strong enough to drag her out of the cave of misery she’s dug herself into.

It's unlike her. She's Amy Santiago, she's a vessel of productivity more days than not, and even on lazier days, she'll have the energy to go about her daily life. This zombie-like existence, where it'll take three repeats before she notices her own name and she's uncertain when she last ate a full meal, isn't what her life is like. She's been sad before, she's been heartbroken and on the verge of giving up, but it's never enveloped her quite like this. She’s never felt this alone with her pain, because there’s no one to be mad at, no external circumstances or evil forces at work. The only things she can be angry at is her body, bad luck, and maybe fate, but she can’t put up a fight against either.

On the first day after what she supposes is the start of an early miscarriage, Amy googles, scouring the Internet for more information about chemical pregnancies. Her research feels largely pointless. It’s common, there’s nothing she could have done, it’s all down to a chromosomal accident. A chemical pregnancy can be seen as a good sign, one of the websites encourages her, and she snorts. It’s proof you’re able to get pregnant at all, she reads, and maybe it’s true, but it doesn’t give much comfort. After eight months of trying for twelve hours of euphoria that were ruined by a genetic fluke, she’d have wished for more reassurance.

On the second day, she gets out of bed and dressed, thinking she can trick herself into going back to work and pretend like everything’s fine if she gets far enough. It nearly works and Jake looks relieved when Leah and her hug goodbye, but once she’s in the car, the panic attack from two days ago flashes past her eyes and she’s shaking until she can get out of the vehicle and walk back up the stairs to their apartment. She spends the rest of the day in bed. At first, she doesn’t cry, but then she hears Leah asking from the other side of the door about what she’s doing and her heart shatters hearing Jake try to explain that mama’s just tired, she’ll play with you again tomorrow.

On the third day, she really tries. She gets started on a presentation for work and lets Leah pretend to make her coffee in her play kitchen, and she does feel better until her phone buzzes with news from the Santiago family group chat; David and his wife are having another baby. A welcome surprise, the message reads, and Jake has to hold her until she stops crying. Amy’s wracked with guilt as Leah brings her stuffed animal after animal, her eyes wide with distraught confusion.

It’s after the fourth day things take a turn. As far as her days of mourning - because she supposes it is mourning, after all - have gone, day four is subdued. Equally as gray, but not as sharply painful. It’s as if someone muted the volume in their apartment and slowed down their movements, turning everything into a lackadaisical haze. Even Leah is quieter than usual, almost acting a bit nervous around her, but when the evening comes she lets Amy read her bedtime stories and she falls asleep with her hand on Amy’s cheek. It’s the most peaceful and content Amy’s felt since six days ago.

“We have the best kid,” she mumbles as she curls up with her head on Jake’s shoulder ten minutes later, and he gives her an agreeing smile. “I think I’m going back to work tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

“I need to get back to normal. I’m starting to miss it, anyway.”

“Can’t cure that FOMOW easily, huh?”

She ignores the comment. “Is the precinct still standing without me?”

He laughs. “Barely. On that note... I got a request from Holt to go on this stakeout for two days. I think I have to take it, because, well - we’ve taken a lot of days off recently.”

“Yeah, of course. I can handle a bit of solo-parenting.”

“Actually -” Jake’s voice is apologetic, tinged with a bit of regret, and Amy’s instantly on edge, lifting her head from his shoulder. “- I was thinking Leah could stay with my mom for a few days.”

“Why would she need to do that?”

“Ames, don’t take this personally -”

“I’ll decide that for myself.”

“But I think it’d be better for both of you.” Jake’s eyes are boring into hers, and there’s a gravity to his tone she wasn't expecting. “I know you don’t want this to affect her, but I think it does, even if she doesn’t understand why, and… maybe you need a couple days on your own.”

She blinks, trying to make sense of his words. “So now I can’t be a parent to my own daughter because I'm sad over this?”

“Not what I was saying.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

“Don’t make this into something it’s not,” he asks, face twisted in a pained expression, and it takes all her self control not to get up and slam the door to their bedroom. She’s learned from her mistakes, though, so this time she listens. “I love you, so much, but I don’t know how to help you when you don’t want to talk to me, and I don’t know what to say to Leah when she keeps asking why you’re sad. She notices so much - it doesn’t feel fair to her.”

“No, but it’s not forever. It’ll get better,” she says, more to ease her own remorse. “And what do you mean I don’t want to talk to you? We’ve talked.”

“Not for real.”

“What do you mean, not for real?”

“You haven’t asked me how I feel about this, for example.” She opens her mouth, but he shakes his head. “Don't do it because you think you have to. I know it’s worse for you. But I’m disappointed, too, you know?” He bites his lip. “I think we all need a break before we go crazy.”

She wants to object, but part of her knows he's right. They’re going crazy. Mostly her, but she can tell it’s affecting her family too, despite how desperately she wishes it wasn’t. She reluctantly swallows her anger for now - most of it is only poorly concealed guilt, anyway - and nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” The tension fades from his expression as he exhales, watching her like he’s searching for signs of protest.

Amy shrugs. “I feel like the world’s worst parent. But sure.”

“You’re not,” he whispers, wrapping her in a hug as she buries her face in his neck for comfort. “This is just really, really hard.”

Her bad conscience is even worse when she wakes up the next morning. It's made easier by Leah jumping with glee at the question of whether she wants to have a sleepover at grandma’s house, but hugging her daughter goodbye at daycare is still extra difficult. It takes five minutes longer than usual and enough cheek kisses to make the toddler try to wriggle herself out of Amy’s arms, and she’s still fighting tears when she gets in the car. She turns the music up so she won’t have to think, but her phone shuffles to Paper Rings by Taylor Swift and endless memories of family dance parties to the song flood her brain.

She turns it off.

Five seconds later, she turns it on again and lets the memories be a welcome reminder of why she has to keep fighting. By the time she reaches the precinct’s garage, she’s singing along at the top of her lungs.

She expects her first day back at work to be complicated, making abundantly clear how much she’s missed out on, but it’s not. After helping Holt out with a briefing, going through emails and submitting a work order for another broken fridge, she’s back to feeling like her efficient, professional self. She can do this. She can move on with her life and put this behind her. She can even follow the squad out for drinks later and have a glass of red wine for the first time in two months, enough to get her tipsy and laugh too loud at Rosa’s narration of a lively debate between Charles and a suspect about the ranking of different cheeses. Karen texts her a video of Leah pretending she’s Elsa from Frozen and gliding over the living room floor while singing the same lines of Let It Go on repeat, and her heart aches a little, but the guilt is easing. Jake sends her an update on the stakeout, asking if she’s doing okay, and for once, she doesn’t have to lie when she writes back I’m doing good.

She starts her second day back doing paperwork, but she doesn’t get far before she’s interrupted.

“Hey. Amy.”

She looks up from the stack of papers. “Rosa?”

“I need your help with this witness.” Rosa cocks her head in the direction of the corridor. “I know she saw my perp, but she’s confused and I don’t think she trusts me. I was wondering if you could help me talk to her? You’re much better with the emotional ones.”

“Ooh!” Amy shines up. “Is this another case for the Sleuth Sisters?”

“If it’s what gets you on board, then, sure.”

Rosa briefs her on the case before they go in, and it doesn't take much to wake Amy's excitement. As much as she loves being a lieutenant, likes the administrative work and appreciates the more flexible hours, she does miss the constant surprises and adrenaline rushes that come with being out in the field. She even misses this, the simple interacting with people in order to both help them and discover new clues, anything leading closer to a solved case. She enters the room with a pep in her step and an ambition to help, but freezes when she sees the witness.

At first, she wonders if it's the same tension she’s felt the handful of times she's had to question a familiar face - an identical twin of a high school bully, or a former neighbor she held a grudge against - but it only takes a closer look to realize that's not the issue. Amy doesn't recognize this woman.

The witness simply happens to be very pregnant.

She doesn’t ask, because it’s not pertinent to the case, but Amy would put the woman at around six-seven months. Too far along for it to go unnoticed, not yet at the point where it looks like you’ve swallowed an exercise ball. She remembers loving that part of pregnancy, with the nausea gone and the energy returning. Her jealousy is a physical ache when she sees the witness placing her palm high up on her stomach, smiling in the same way Amy remembers she would do whenever she’d feel kicks.

The woman is shy at first, talking in a low voice with short sentences, and she keeps her hands atop the baby bump the whole time. Amy doesn’t blame her - she knows how naturally the instinct comes - but it doesn’t keep her from wishing the woman would stop drawing more attention to her state.

She doesn’t remember what questions she asks. She doesn’t remember what the woman answers. She makes notes but isn’t sure what she’s writing. All she can focus on is how the witness seems to personify the romanticized pregnancy glow, with shiny, thick hair and a cute bump. Amy’s using so much willpower in order not to cry, panic, or leave the room, it’s making her sweat, and yet she can tell from Rosa’s quizzical glances that her behavior is conspicuous. She can’t hide her envious anxiety, because every instance the woman touches her belly is another reminder of the pregnancy Amy thought she had and lost.

Amy rushes towards the women’s bathroom the second it’s over. She needs to breathe, put her head between her knees and let the tears come until she’s cried out every drop of frustration over her situation, the unfairness of it all, the deep shame in not even being able to feel happy for someone else anymore. She’s disgusted with herself. Eight months of limbo trying to conceive has officially made her insane.

She’s leaning over the sink and splashing cold water on her face when Rosa catches up with her.

“Amy? What the fuck was that about?”

“Nothing. It was nothing,” she rambles. “I’m good. Great.”

“No, you’re acting weirder than usual, and something’s clearly up. Come on.” Rosa’s grip on her wrist is firm without feeling pressuring, and Amy’s too shaky to protest, so she follows her friend to the evidence locker.

“Can you sit down?” Amy nods. “Okay, great. Do you need your meds?” She manages another, more tentative, nod. “Okay, wait here and I’ll get them. Handbag, outer pocket, right?”

Rosa disappears before she can confirm the information. She returns a couple of minutes later with two cups of tea and a prescription bottle, handing Amy the anxiety medication and gesturing at her to sit down before giving her a stern look.

“Okay, Santiago. Tell me what’s up before I get mad at you for making that witness feel weirded out.”

“I’m sorry.” Amy twists the cap, swallowing one of the pills before sitting down on the floor next to Rosa, their backs against a shelf of cardboard boxes. “You didn’t tell me she was pregnant.”

“No, because I didn’t know it was something you would act all loony about.” Rosa raises a brow. “What’s up? Are you pregnant again? That’s usually when you’re crying in here.”

She sighs, twisting back the cap and placing it on the floor beside her. “No, I’m not pregnant.”

“So?”

“We’ve been trying since fall,” Amy blurts out, admitting it to someone else for the first time in six months. “With IVF, now, but I’m still not pregnant. I almost was. Or I was, but I had an early miscarriage, so… no.”

Rosa nods slowly, bringing the cup of tea to her lips. “Damn.”

“It took eight months before we got a positive test. Ovulation testing, scheduling, IVF with shots and pills and money and a billion doctor’s visits. Then we finally found out I was pregnant.” The words are flying out of her, an unstoppable flow once she’s found them. “Except not even a day later, we found out it wasn’t happening, the numbers were too low. Chemical pregnancy. It’s why I was gone last week.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She bites her lip. “God, it’s so good to tell someone.” “Uh-huh. Wait.” Rosa scrunches her nose and knits her brows like Amy just critiqued The Holiday. “You haven’t told anyone?”

Amy laughs. “How would I do that? Call a briefing, stand in front of everyone and say hi, just so everyone knows, I’m trying to have another baby but I have shitty ovaries so it’s not going well and it’s making me depressed? Sure.”

“Not a public announcement, dum-dum. But you could have told your friends.”

“I didn’t want people to know. It’s been hard enough to deal with on my own. ”

“And I get that,” Rosa nods. “But there are people here who care about you. We could have been there for you.”

“How? Steered me away from every pregnant woman in case I start crying? I’m sorry, Rosa, but I don’t see how it would work.”

“Maybe not, but we could have helped! I could have known not to ask you to work with me on this specific witness instead of sitting through that shitshow!” She groans. “I know you hate accepting help or whatever, but you’re not alone in this, even if you think you are.”

Amy looks down at her shoes. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Just… don’t torture yourself over this more than you have to. It’s not worth it.”

They sit like that for another moment, no sounds but the occasional sips of tea and heavy breaths as Amy feels the anxiety fade from a heavy storm to a cool breeze. She still feels guilty over ruining the case for Rosa, for the poor pregnant woman who probably thinks Amy’s a sociopath, but the tea and company are helping more than she can express. She knows Rosa’s right, too - she’s been keeping this pain mostly to herself for so long, never considering the option of talking about it. It’s a little bit of performance anxiety, a little bit of embarrassment and a little bit of stigma. She’s not supposed to struggle with getting pregnant.

“I guess I was afraid if I talked about it, it would make it more real.” The realization takes shape as she speaks it. “Like, as long as we didn’t tell anyone, I could pretend it wasn’t happening.”

“But it’s already real, isn’t it? Talking about it won’t change that.”

“I guess not.”

Much to Amy’s surprise, her friend, who could and probably would break Amy’s arm if she hugged her without asking, lays a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it gently.

“Look, I get if you don’t want to talk about it right now. It’s fine. But if you want to come over tonight, watch a Nancy Meyers movie and drink tequila, you can. I won’t bully you if you cry.”

The sentiment is sweet, and so very Rosa of her, it makes Amy throw her arms around her best friend in gratitude, risking the fact that she might lose her arm. Rosa grunts, but then she leans into the hug for a brief, precious moment before disentangling herself.

“I’ll expect you at eight,” Rosa says before collecting their teacups and standing up. “Bring pizza.”

This time, Amy manages a proper smile. “I’ll be there.”

She tries to get back to work, but her focus is done and the precinct appears calm, so she takes the freedom of working from home for the rest of the day. There are only three hours left until she’s supposed to pick up Leah, anyway, and the apartment could use some cleaning. Her daughter’s room, in particular, is a mess so thorough Amy’s nearly impressed, but mostly shocked by how a person so tiny can create so much chaos. There’s no question about which parent the child inherited her non-existent organization skills from, she thinks, and gets to work on pairing together different puzzle pieces with their boxes.

It’s when she’s laying on her stomach, trying to get a hold of the pieces that’s made their way underneath Leah’s bed, that she finds something. There’s a plastic bag pushed all the way to the wall, and she reaches for it to see what it is. She can’t see clearly through the packaging, so she unwraps it, pulling out a white toddler-size t-shirt with black arms and fancified gold writing that reads Promoted To Big Sister.

The heaviness in her chest returns with a vengeance when she realizes Jake must have ordered it - either during the few hours they thought they were having another baby, or even earlier. She clutches the item to her chest and closes her eyes, anticipating the tears.

“Shit. I was hoping you wouldn’t find that.”

Amy turns her head to find Jake standing in the door opening. It's clear from the messy hair and crumpled t-shirt that he's coming straight from a long work shift without showering first, and the bags under his eyes make her wonder when he last slept.

“It's okay,” she says quickly, folding the item so she can't see the design. “Just… can you take it?”

He nods, taking it from her hands and sitting down across from her on the gray long-pile rug, putting the shirt behind his back.

“I can hide that better. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Amy snivels. “It's fine. I'm fine.” She stands up, picking up a stuffed Ikea shark from the floor and putting it on Leah's bed.

“You're cleaning.”

“Yeah.” She finds an illustrated Harry Potter-book at the foot of the bed and returns it to its shelf. “It calms me. How was the stakeout?”

“Good,” he nods. “How are you?”

“I'm okay. I think. How are you?”

His smile bears heavy traces of exhaustion. “Also okay, I think. Did a lot of thinking while I was away, actually.”

“Yeah.” Amy picks up a basket of fabric vegetables, putting them near the play kitchen before she sits down across from Jake again. “So did I.”

“Do you want to share, or…?”

“No - you go first.”

Jake grimaces. They’ve gotten better at this over the years, finding a balance between his hesitancy to lay bare his emotions in serious conversation and her tendency to read into details and draw the worst conclusions posthaste, but she can still sense his discomfort as he reaches for a stuffed dragon from Leah’s bed, squeezing it to keep his hands occupied.

“I know I don’t know what it feels like,” he says slowly. “It’s not my body that’s…”

“Broken,” she fills in reflexively.

“Putting up a bit of a fight,” he corrects her with an unyielding look. “But you’ve been acting a bit like it doesn’t hurt for me, too. I know it was only a day, but for that day… I was already ordering that shirt for Lee, you know? I was so excited.”

“I know. I’ve really been busy feeling sorry for myself, huh?” She tries to laugh, but the chuckle dies out like a droplet of water swallowed by a raging fire.

“No, you’ve been suffering. Don’t be mad at yourself for that. Just… you’re not alone in this.” His hand reaches out to hold hers, and she squeezes it tight.

“It’s funny. Rosa told me the same thing today.”

“You talked to Rosa?”

“Yeah. I’m going over there for Nancy Meyers and tequila tonight.”

“Good, you need it.”

“I do, huh?” This time, the quiet laughter survives. The corners of Jake’s mouth quirk up.

She's missed seeing him smile, she realizes. She's missed sharing happiness with him. They’ve had moments of hope, and even when everything has felt dark, they've still smiled and had fun with their daughter; but she wonders when they last laughed at something trivial just the two of them. It feels like ages.

“I miss our normal life,” she says, because it's the only way she can think of to describe it. “I’m sorry I brought you into this mess. It's all my fault.”

Jake frowns. “No, we agreed on trying IVF.”

“I meant, I'm sorry we're struggling at all.”

“I don't think I get it -”

“It's my body that's the problem, right? If only you’d married a woman with well-functioning ovaries, you wouldn't be sitting here.”

She's serious, but the way he narrows his eyes and looks at her like he doesn't know if she's joking or not, makes her giggle. He joins in, shaking his head in disbelief, and for a moment, it feels like old times.

“I know this might be hard to believe,” he grins, “but Amy Santiago, I did not marry you for your ovaries.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

“I swear. I love you, more than anything in the world except our daughter, and that means I love all parts of you.”

“Even my shitty ovaries?”

Jake rolls his eyes lovingly. “They wouldn't be the first thing I listed, but, yes. I love them too.”

She laughs again. “Thanks, babe.”

“You're welcome.”

“I love you, too.” Amy closes the short bit of distance between them, wrapping him in a close hug as they sit there on the carpet. She's sniveling again, drying her eyes against his flannel, and he strokes her upper back and kisses the top of her head as he holds her. “So, so much.”

They sit like that for a moment, not moving more than the slightest of shifts, another soft kiss pressed to a neck or a cheek.

“Do you want to think about the next step?” Jake asks, and she nods.

“We still have two frozen embryos left - we could transfer those and hope one sticks.”

His eyes gleam in that mischievous way she recognizes so well, maybe even from the first day they became partners. “And are we doing both at once?”

“I guess we might as well, right?”

Jake pumps his fist in a childish victory gesture, and it's Amy's turn to roll her eyes. Her skepticism is half-hearted, though, because it's hard to remain unaffected by his infectious happiness.

“I can't wait to be a family of five with you,” he whispers into her ear, pulling her onto his lap, and she groans.

“You’ve got to stop saying that, I swear you’re going to jinx it.”

august.

Maybe it’s the fact that she’s gotten used to it, that she’s not forcing her body to produce an unnatural amount of mature eggs, or that she’s filled with so much now-or-never furious ambition, but Amy experiences their second attempt with fertility treatments to flow much easier. She takes the medications, is thankful they don’t involve as many injections this time, goes to checkups, and does all she can to maximize her chances in the meantime. No tip is too absurd in comparison with her desperation for this to succeed. She tries acupuncture and changes her diet. She cuts back on caffeine despite the headaches it gives her, and takes even more vitamins. She does a few tries at fertility yoga, which mostly fail when Jake walks in on her doing a very wobbly supported shoulder stand and explodes in laughter, or when Leah insists on watching and is silent for exactly one minute before she wants to use Amy as a jungle gym and tries to climb on top of her in bridge pose. At first, Amy’s frustrated, but then she thinks of the sources she’s read about laughter being able to boost fertility, and lets the yoga session turn into a giggling tickle fight with her toddler. It’s much more fun, anyway.

She continues the tips after the transfer, too. She wears fuzzy socks for her day of bed rest even though it’s the end of July and their bedroom is uncomfortably heated as is, because keeping your feet warm is supposed to boost chances of implantation. She orders jasmine scented candles for the same reason, but it only takes a minute after lighting one for her to realize she’s wildly allergic. In the end, there’s nothing to do but wait, hope, and try to relax.

They decide to go all-in for the relaxation part. Truthfully, it’s not as much a decision as an offer from Charles and Genevieve to tag along for free on their family vacation after a pair of Boyle cousins dropped out, and not as much relaxation as it is a change of environment to chase their dare-devil two-and-a-half-year-old around in, but it is a paid-for one-week-trip to a family-friendly resort in Mexico and they’re not going to say no. Amy packs two pregnancy tests in her bag, and they’re on their way.

She worries about whether being on vacation with Charles will inevitably mean an abundance of intrusive questions and terrifying dining choices, but either Genevieve or Jake must keep him in check, because it’s neither. Rather, having two extra adults present ends up hugely improving the vacation - there's always someone guarding the kids, and Amy finds herself finishing reading one book, a poetry collection and listening to two podcasts already in the first four days. She gets her daily workout in by chasing Leah around, trying to prevent her from jumping headfirst from the deep end of the pool. She takes turns with Jake to pretend they're sea monsters who want to eat Leah's toes while she floats around with her swim ring and puffs, laughing merrily at them both. She discovers that the best way to get her daughter to let her put on sunscreen is if she gets to watch YouTube clips on the iPad meanwhile, and reaffirms that the best way to get Jake to put it on is to do it for him, then accept his offer of returning the favor. They try out all of the resort’s playgrounds and eat a ton of ice cream to keep cool. On one of the days, Jake and Leah take a nap together in the shadow spooning on a daybed, and Amy takes about a hundred pictures before scooching her bed as close to theirs as possible.

With her heart full, and her relaxation levels higher than they've been for a long time, she almost forgets it's time to take a pregnancy test.

It's evening by the time she remembers.

Charles and Genevieve have offered to babysit Leah for a night in exchange for Jake and Amy watching Nikolaj the next, which gives them the rare chance to have a proper date night. Amy gets dressed up, opting to go the extra mile with a sleek, black, v-neck dress that hasn’t seen the light of day since their honeymoon, and paints her lips a matte red for a pop of color. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she worries it’s too much - the dress sits tighter over her hips than it used to and the makeup feels like she’s overcompensating - but the way Jake’s gaze lands on her once she steps out, how his eyes widen and he swallows a gulp of air, makes her stresses dissipate.

Eight years of dating, five years of marriage, and he still looks at her with as much awe as he did their first night together.

He’s wearing a familiar pastel pink button-down, paired tastefully with dark jeans and the curls she still goes crazy for, so Amy figures she looks at him the same way.

It is with great willpower they make it down to the restaurant in time for their reservation, only stopping once to make out against the wall of a hotel corridor. They’re seated at a nice table near a window with an ocean view, and it takes the waiter placing two drink menus on their table for Amy to realize why it feels like she’s forgotten something.

“Shit,” she mumbles, biting her lip as she reads the wine list.

Jake looks up, a horrified look on his face. “What? Don't tell me they only have Orangina for orange soda.”

“No, it’s not that. I just remembered I don’t know if I can drink. I forgot to take a pregnancy test.”

“That’s today?”

“Yeah. I was going to take it this morning, but then we slept in and Leah woke us up by jumping in our bed...” “And then Charles knocked on our door and asked us to come down to the breakfast buffet in five minutes,” Jake nods, bringing his hand up to his chin as if he’s in deep thought. “Well, we could leave and take it now?”

Amy considers it, but as much as she wants to find out, she also wants to sit here forever. Something about the restaurant’s lighting is making her husband look especially gorgeous, and it’s been way too long since they last sat through a proper nice dinner. She needs this. They need this.

“No,” she decides, intertwining her hand with his across the table. “Let’s have a quick dinner. I won’t drink anything, and then we’ll take a test.”

“Okay. Then I won’t drink either,” Jake declares, flipping to the non-alcoholic drinks with his free hand. “Yes! Regular orange soda!”

“You don’t have to just because I can’t -”

“Ames, I’m repeating, regular orange soda. This is the opposite of a problem. Plus,” he shrugs, “I literally just want to spend time with you.”

His tone is so genuine, his smile so sweet, she can’t stop herself from leaning forward and kissing him despite the looks from their fellow restaurant-goers.

The dinner is wonderful, yet Amy can’t shake her nervousness. It bothers her. She’s having a luxurious meal, toasting in fruity soda together with the love of her life, and she can’t even be fully present in this moment because she’s worried about what the test will show. If this attempt has failed, she’ll have to do another full round of IVF, even though the thought of more injections makes her want to scream. If they get another negative test, it’ll be ten months and counting of this taking up too big a part of their lives, and Amy’s tired.

She wants to be pregnant and she wants to have another baby, but she also wants to enjoy life with her family without worrying about cycles, ovulation tests, and clinic check-ups. She wants to go on more of these date nights, more vacations, and share a glass of wine with her husband in the evening because she can. She’s tired of rules and recommendations, of counting, scheduling, and planning. For ten months she’s tried to be patient, but now the exhaustion has begun to creep over her.

They rush back to the suite once the dinner is done. Jake waits outside the bathroom while she takes the test, tries to make her hands stop shaking as she washes them, and carefully places the test display-down on the sink. He hugs her when she comes out, and she lets herself relax for a second in his arms even though she feels sick with anxiety.

They sit on the balcony, drinking from glasses of alcohol-free champagne in silence until the timer on her phone rings. Jake goes to get the test from the bathroom, but Amy feels like she knows the result before he’s given it to her.

The test shows a bolded, plain, Not Pregnant, and she scoots it with her foot across the balcony, getting it as far away as possible.

“I’m sorry, “ Jake whispers, letting her lean her head on his shoulder and squeezing her hand.

She exhales, forcing herself not to cry. “So am I.”

“What do we do now?”

“First, I say we order a bottle of real champagne.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t object.

Much like it was a sudden thought that awakened a long lingering feeling when she first suggested they’d start trying, this time it's the immediate and overpowering negativity bringing up the growing sensation of impending burnout, that makes her say what she's thinking.

“I want to stop.”

Jake looks at her with as much shock as if she’d said she was thinking of canceling her Staples Rewards Membership. “You want to… stop?”

She nods.

“Like.. just… stopping?”

“You heard me. I don't think I want to do this anymore.” Amy draws a shaky breath, looking down at their intertwined hands. “If we have another go at IVF, we have to do the whole thing again. I guess we could, but it’s so much money, Jake.”

“We could work it out,” he mumbles.

“We could. I just don't know if I want to.”

“But… you wanted another baby.”

“And I still do.” She thinks of all the families she’s seen at the resort over the last few days. Sisters and brothers playing together, a light-haired toddler taking a break from swinging to run and kiss their baby sibling’s head, tiny infants with sunhats and baby swimsuits eliciting screams of happiness from being in the water while their big siblings try to entertain them. It’s painful to imagine never having her dream of more than one kid fulfilled, but it’s infinitely more agonizing to feel like she’s missing out on the wonderful life she does have.

“But it's been so long. It’s been so much pain, time and tears, and I'm still not pregnant. Remember when you said we’d do IVF as long as I felt it was worth it for me?”

Jake nods slowly. He’s watching her with a wistful look on his face, which is somehow more heartbreaking than the negative test.

“I don't think it is worth it for me anymore,” she whispers.

“I… are you sure, Ames?”

“No,” she confesses. “Yes. For now, I’m sure.”

He wraps his arms around her again, neither of them saying anything as she twists her head so their foreheads are touching. Trailing her fingers against his jawline, she cups his face, lips brushing against his with the softness of doing it for the first time and the familiarity of doing it for the thousandth. He’s a little surprised by the move, but then he’s kissing her back just as carefully, one hand tangling in her hair before he draws back.

“I’ll go get us that bottle of champagne,” he says, and squeezes her hand another time before leaving.

The sun’s starting to set, painting the sky a captivating roseate-orange blend. It fills Amy with a sense of peace and relief - a hope that her life will soon feel more like her own again.

Checking her phone inside, she sees that Charles has texted them a picture of a soundly sleeping Leah. She ignores the trio of winking emojis he’s written after encouraging them to have a good night and sends back two hearts instead. She’s already missing her daughter so badly it’s physically painful, and her eyes linger on the picture long after she’s replied, but she reminds herself that tomorrow is only hours away. Tonight is date night, and she’s determined to make it a good one despite its unconventional start.

Jake returns ten minutes later, all out of breath from what he describes as a brisk walk to the corner store to buy the fanciest bottle they had for a decent price, and she smiles and kisses his cheek before accepting a glass.

“This is beautiful,” she says, moving aside so there’s space for him on the patio loveseat.

“The sunset?”

“This night. The sunset. You.”

“You’re beautiful-ler.” His reply is as reflexive as her eye-roll.

“I mean it. I want to enjoy this night with you. Hell, I just want to enjoy my life,” Amy gives the abandoned test a death-glare, “without this constant stress. It’s ruining everything.”

“It hasn’t ruined everything...”

“No, but everything would still be better if it wasn’t there, you know?” She shrugs and he nods, taking a sip from his glass. “I want to get back to our normal life. This vacation is making me realize how much I miss it.”

“What do you miss?”

“Being relaxed. Having any sort of free time. I miss being able to just live our lives with our amazing daughter, and not be constantly thinking of whether I’ve taken this and that medication or gone to this and that appointment and what day of what cycle it is.”

“I get that.” There’s a playful smile on his lips, and she’s about to ask what he thinks is so funny before he speaks again. “Do you think maybe we make such great kids that the universe couldn’t handle more than one? Think about it! Your brain, and my good looks - maybe it’s too powerful a combination, and if we have more children, everything will, like.. explode.”

It’s a ludicrous theory, but he delivers it with so much conviction it makes her snort, laughing until there are tears in her eyes.

“I’ll have to admit,” she says when she can finally form words again, “it sounds way more plausible than any other explanation.”

There’s a lighter atmosphere between them after his joke, the warm evening air a little easier to breathe. They change the topic, drink more wine, and she makes less note of what they’re talking about than how content she’s feeling. It's like just making the decision to stop and accept the situation, rather than doing everything in her power to change it, is a giant block of stone off her shoulders. Without it, she can feel like herself again. The painful thought of never having another baby still bites at her, but for once, she's able to push it aside and refill her glass instead.

She wonders when they last had a proper date night like this. She’s certain it’s been too long - if nothing else, then for the way she finds her eyes resting in certain places after a while. The one unbuttoned button on his shirt, revealing a bit of slightly tanned chest. The way his fingers wrap around the thin glass. His neck, practically asking to be peppered with nips and bites. His arms, his hands, the thighs she can't help but rest her hand on.

A moment of deep eye contact, meeting his curiosity before she blushes, looking away.

“Another thing I miss about my life,” she says, struck with sudden confidence. “Having sex with you without always thinking about whether I’ll get pregnant.”

“Woah there.” Jake coughs, examining her expression. “Did you have four drinks already?”

She shakes her head.

“Hmm. Anyway - it's okay, Ames.”

“For you, maybe.” She swallows the last in her glass. “Less so for me.”

His cheeks turn a dark crimson. “I'm sorry -”

“It's not your fault,” she assures him. “Honestly, I haven't let it be about me. Or us. But - god - I miss it being just for pleasure.”

“Me too.”

The heated glance he gives her is a physical sensation, making desire pool in the pit of her stomach and sending her nerves on full alert when his hand touches her bare inner thigh, softly stroking.

“I can't remember when we last were child-free together for a whole night,” she whispers, and he smiles a knowing smile. “Let's make the most of it.”

“If you say so.”

She pulls him in for a searing kiss, sighing with pleasure as he moves his hand higher, closer to where she's aching for if to be.

“Let's go inside, babe.”

She’s nervous about so many things - whether she’ll change her mind tomorrow, whether this counts as giving up, if it makes her weak - but as Jake’s fingers brush over the faint bruises from the last injections with so much reverence, and he makes a point of kissing the thin white stripes on her lower abdomen that remain tangible proof she once carried their child inside of her, she decides those thoughts can wait. His lips move to her centre, and she gasps so sharply, he places a hand on her hip to keep her still.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she breathes, feeling the vibrations of his laugh before he sucks harder and everything is forgotten except the blissful sensation of his tongue against her and the building, pleasant tension as he pushes her closer to the edge.

It’s a night of relief, in more than one sense.

#we're nearing the ending guys hold tight it'll be good i promise #my writing #b99 #brooklyn 99 #brooklyn nine-nine #peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 fic #brooklyn 99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fic #b99 fanfiction #brooklyn nine-nine fanfiction #jake x amy fic #jake x amy fanfiction #peraltiago fic #peraltiago fanfiction #iwthwy

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askthe99 · 5 years

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has Amy had fomow recently

Don’t tell her I told you this, but... it’s been real bad lately. I’m thinking about scheming with Kylie to subtly introduce her to a new hobby – I feel like distraction is gonna be the best way out of this

#b99 #peraltiago #jake peralta #amy santiago

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sueboohscorner · 5 years

Text

#BrooklynNineNine S6, Ep. 14 "Ticking Clock" Episode Recap and Review #Brooklyn99

Mama Maggalione! The Nine-Nine precinct is hit with a computer hacker, they must find him before it's could be too late. Will they stop the hacker in real time? Here's a recap! The episode starts off with Hitchcock and Scully heating up their lasagna at the time of a normal run time of an episode. Soon, Jake and Rosa see that Holt is not himself; as Jake believes he's having a meltdown, which he is. Someone has hacked into the precinct's computer and gets the unit to look everywhere for the suspect.

As Knox (guest star Sean Astin) tries to stop the hacker, things start taking a turn for the worst as the holding cells were opened automatic; Rose dealing not only work but a personal matter with her relationship with Jocelyn. Even Amy, who rushes from the dentist tries to get there to help as she has a bad case of the FOMOW. As the team reunites and Knox locating the suspect, Jake finally learns that the suspect is no other than Knox. The reason because he feared that my might recognized him from a previous case. As the team comes back to Holt, Holt has a gun at his back as Knox holds a standoff with Jake and the team. But soon the timer of the oven for Hitchcock and Scully's garlic bread was distracting enough for Jake to take down Knox and arrested him. Even though Rose missed the action she fixed her relationship with Jocelyn. Even though the garlic bread was burnt at the end; Jake advised Hitchcock and Scully to eat the lasagna without the bread, which they did. "Ticking Clock" was another hilarious episode. The episode was so well done; with strong character development with Rosa and Jocelyn. And the character of Knox that was so well played; performed by Sean Astin. The humor throughout this episode just hit the marks and the writing was solid. Overall, I give this episode a 9/10.

What did you think of the episode? Leave a comment!

You can catch Brooklyn Nine-Nine Thursdays at 9/8c on NBC.

#Brooklyn Nine-Nine #BrooklynNineNine #Brooklyn99 #@NBCBrooklyn99 #Season 6 #Episode 14 #NBC #Comedy #Thursday #Thursday Night #Thursday Night TV #Thursday Night Comedy #Must See Thursday #SuperGoodThursday #Must See TV #MustSeeTV

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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

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10 and 24 for the festive prompts :)

(please excuse me while I hang my head in shame, for this was 1: received last year, and 2: still didn’t manage to appear before Christmas this year.) 🤦🏼‍♀️ Best laid plans really do be elusive, huh? @ Anon, I'm sorry this is so late, and I hope you’re still around! ♥️

Prompts - 10: I don’t care what you say, The Nightmare Before Christmas works for Christmas and Halloween! and 24: Secret Santa is bullshit.

(for the sake of this story and b99′s vague timelines, this is set pre-manhunter and post-casecation). (ao3)

all the lights are shining (so brightly everywhere)

Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la lah, la la lah lahhh …

Amy sighs, tapping her feet - sadly, trapped in a curled up shoe, and does her best to ignore the jingle that comes from its dangling bell.

Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la lah, la la lah lahhh …

Christmas Carols have always been a favourite of hers, forever singing along to the melody despite being told by many that she really shouldn’t. They were joyful and uplifting and reminders of everything wonderful about the holiday season. But tonight, she’s been standing post for three hours, listening to Z-List celebrity covers of sacred songs of hope; and as a result has spent 85% of her time hatching a plan to find the source of the music and put an end to everyone’s misery.

Don we now our gay apparel, fa la la, fa la la, fa la lahhh …

Jake’s off-key singing voice filters in through her earpiece, and a tiny smile finds it’s way onto her face.

“Troll the ancient yule-tide carol, fa la la la laaaa, la la la laaa! … Wait, troll? That can’t be right! Hey Ames, do you think trolls celebrate Christmas?”

Knowing that answering would blow her cover, Amy remains quiet; nodding slowly both to the beat and her husband’s question as the track fades away and a new atrocity begins.

Seriously, she needs to find out where this music is coming from.

From underneath her undercover position as Head Elf of Candy Cane Lane, Amy shifts uncomfortably, resisting the urge to tug down the tinsel edged skirt that hovered just a little too high for her liking. She wanted to burn the bra she had chosen to wear tonight (digging into her ribcage like it did), save for the fact that it was very expensive and very beautiful, and very much worn this evening with the sole purpose of seducing her husband.

Work had descended into pure madness in the past fortnight, with both her and Jake’s schedules descending from holding relative similarities to polar opposites. And maybe it was the surplus of romantic movies on every single TV channel, or the scores of advertisements reminding her that the holiday season was for being together with loved ones (for Jake Peralta was most certainly Amy’s Loved One) - either way, Amy had begun to miss spending nights alone with her husband something fierce.

Tonight’s plan had been so simple, it had barely required a binder. Wait until it’s nearly Jake’s finish time, don sexy lingerie, cover up with comfy clothes and go pick up her unsuspecting husband from work. Let him unlock the door when finally home, then jump his bones right there on the couch - giving Jake just enough time to discover the red lacy set and look at her the way he always manages to do - like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. Then, sexy timez. Lots of sexy timez.

And it had all been working so well - until she’d shown up at the precinct unannounced (Jake being too distracted to notice the text she’d sent him), and immediately found herself getting wrapped up in a sting her old squad were devising.

In a spark of true evil, one of Brooklyn’s most elusive drug runners - Art Akemi - had invented a new way to dodge any of his drug shipments from being discovered; deciding to build candy canes around the narcotics so that to the unaware eye, they would appear completely innocuous.

Unfortunately, one of his most recent handovers had gotten mixed up with actual candy canes, resulting in several innocent members of the public ending up in hospital with mysterious drug overdoses. It had taken the 99 and their neighbouring precincts days to piece together Akemi’s plans, and just this afternoon Rosa had been given a lead that suggested a handoff with the kingpin and one of his henchmen would be happening at Santa’s Village that very evening.

It was brazen, to set up an exchange of illegal narcotics in a public access area - particularly, one frequented by children and families alike - but also completely on brand for someone like Akemi. The squad needed to work fast, and work smart; running through the finer details of their mission when Amy had arrived.

And yes, perhaps her FOMOW had reached an all-new peak as she listened to the detectives speak, and perhaps she hadn’t really thought about what she was volunteering herself for - but the next thing Amy knew she was Holly the Christmas Elf, toes squeezed into surprisingly curly shoes as she fielded questions from children and waited for any signs of wrong-doing.

It has been twenty-five minutes since Santa had disappeared to ‘feed the reindeer’ (aka disappearing to the back docks for a quick drag of a cigarette), and just as Amy was beginning to wonder if a search party needs to be called, she feels a gentle tug on her hand, looking down to find a little boy no older than five gazing up at her with awe.

“D’ya think Santa is busy making da presents?"

His eyes are wide - filled with the kind of awe that every child seems to get when they are lulled by the magic of Christmas - and as Amy crouches to match his diminutive height, she can’t help but notice how the unkempt curls on his head remind her of a photo with a similar aged Jake that Karen had once shown her.

(He had been mid-discovery of a fairy garden, one built by his Nana and immediately claimed as his own, and the sheer joy in his face had made Amy’s heart swell, even years later through the faded colours of an oft-cherished photograph.)

“You know, I bet he is.” Scanning the crowd for that familiar mixture of red and white but coming up blank, she turns her attention back to the little boy. “Santa’s magic like that, don’t you think?”

The child’s nod is so enthusiastic the tiny curls on his head begin to bounce, turning quickly as his searching father calls out his name. “Just a little longer, and you can tell him all of your wishes, okay?”

“Da elf said Santa’d building da presents Daddy!” The child runs back towards his father’s outstretched hand, and Amy gives the adult an understanding smile as he lifts his son back into his arms. From his undercover position at a nearby popcorn stand; Jake catches Amy’s eye as she returns to her earlier position, giving him a tiny smile when he throws her a wink.

The topic of parenthood - of them trying to have a baby, one day - had been mentioned by both more than a few times since their anniversary; and the regular use of the word when rather than if ignited a sense of hope in Amy that made her stomach flutter every single time. While the enormity of it all still scared Jake - still scared Amy, if she were to be completely honest - what always seemed to remain after each conversation was the understanding that even if it scared them: together they’d figure out how to get through it.

(Last month’s arrival of Miguel’s baby girl Adamaris, and the sight of Jake cradling her in his careful arms, had definitely not helped, playing on a loop in Amy’s mind for several days after their visit.)

“Nothing beats a bit of Santa magic, hey Santiago?” Jake’s tone is light and playful, and only serves to remind Amy just how much she’s missed talking to him these last few weeks.

Rolling her eyes slightly, she tucks her head downward, playing the pretence of adjusting her costume as she speaks into the hidden mic. “Ha ha, Peralta. Santa is magic, especially to cute kids like that one. No way was I going to be the one to burst the Santa bubble.”

With a stuttered gasp, Jake slaps a hand against his chest, and a passing stranger gives him the side eye. “Wait a minute. Are you suggesting that Santa is fake?!”

“Santa is real, Peralta. As is this very real mission to take down Akemi. Time to focus up.” Terry’s firm tone breaks through the earpiece, busting into Jake and Amy’s conversation, and a sheepish grin breaks out on Jake’s face.

“Right you are, sarge. This is Super Serious Santa Shutdown Situation.” Shoving several pieces of popcorn into his mouth, Jake waits a beat before continuing. “Ames wasn’t wrong, tho. That kid was a cutie.”

The unspoken addition of but ours will be cuter lingers between them, and Amy feels her skin warm up under Jake’s faraway gaze.

Maybe this bra was going to come in use after all.

Rosa’s voice cuts through the unsaid, her tone steady as she moves in closer from her position at a nearby payphone. “Heads up - Santa’s back. And it looks like they’ve swapped out their player.”

Immediately switching into detective mode, Jake shields his face from the new Santa’s sight as he passes, already very aware of earlier (unsuccessful) run-in’s with the kingpin. “That really looks like Akemi.”

“Santiago, can you get close enough to confirm?”

Handing out Christmas tree shaped cookies to the children milling around her position, Amy glances up just in time to catch the replacement Santa as he walks into the village. With the cocky swagger of a man who rarely pays any consequences for his actions, this version of Father Christmas looked paler and far more arrogant than the man wearing the costume earlier.

Pushing past the waiting children with barely any acknowledgment of their tiny hellos, New Santa pauses on his way to his plush red throne; snapping his gum and giving Amy a very jolly (read: creepy) once-over with his eyes. Glancing quickly in Terry’s direction, she gives a subtle nod. Akemi’s case file has landed on almost every detective in New York’s desk at one point or another, and she’d recognised that hard gaze anywhere.

“Well, well, well … don’t you look good enough to sit atop my Christmas tree.”

Acutely aware of their audience, and knowing that the red and white striped stockings covering her legs would definitely be restrictive if she needed to go full ninja on Santa’s ass, Amy quickly chooses to plaster on a bright and shiny grin. “So glad you’ve made it back from the North Pole, Santa. We’ve got lots of excited children just bursting to see you!”

“Yeah, whatever.” Akemi leans in, an unwelcome mixture of tobacco and sweat washing over Amy, and it’s all she can do to not recoil in disgust as he lowers his voice. “I’m only interested in one thing, lady, and once I got it I’m outta here. But don’t you worry, there’ll be plenty of room on my sleigh for you.”

“Ok. I don’t give a damn about any Christmas magic, Ames. If he tries to make you kiss him under that mistletoe, I swear to god I will punch Santa right in the face.”

“Cool it, Peralta.” Terry’s clenching jaw is almost audible in his response, and Amy takes a slow and calming breath, safe in the knowledge that her squad most definitely has her back.

“Right. Yep. Cool it. Cool cool cooling it.” Each member of the team watches from their position as Santa saunters over to his seat, throwing several finger guns to waiting mothers as he goes; and Jake lets out a snort of disgust. “So … has everyone gotten their Secret Santa present organised yet? Rosa, you need some shopping tips?”

“No. Secret Santa is bullshit.”

“It’s a fun holiday tradition that you are definitely participating in and if you picked my name I’d really love a voucher for that sneaker store on 28th.”

“I don’t have you, Peralta.”

“Yep. No problemo. Just saying. In case you do.”

To her right, Amy notices Terry’s unmissable frame break through the crowd. “Heads up, guys. Looks like Santa’s buddy has found his way into the queue.” With his wooly beanie and scores of shopping bags clutched in his hands, their sergeant blended in relatively easily as just another father doing some last minute panic shopping; but they all knew one flex of his oversized muscles would break that facade fairly easily.

A silence falls over the comms as they watch Santa breeze through child after child, giving them barely any attention as his target draws closer; and slowly both Jake and Rosa close the gap from the other sides.

Pulling out a poorly wrapped parcel and handing the gift to Akemi, the unshaven man at the front of the queue feigns surprise when Santa reaches into the sack next to his throne, handing the supposed stranger an oversized bag of ‘candy canes’.

“There’s the exchange. Boyle, can you confirm you got the footage?”

“With a beautiful slow zoom that really captures the thrum of festive anticipation hovering amongst the crowd, sarge.”

Cringing slightly, Jake shakes his head at Charles’ description as his eyes follow the bag of candy canes, their new recipient now walking at a steady pace towards the exit. “We’re going to lose this guy if we don’t move now.”

“Go, Peralta. Diaz, you run backup. Amy and I will take care of Santa.”

With a grin, Jake breaks into a fast walk, already focused in his pursuit. “Alright, taking down a bad Santa in a public environment. Now it feels like Christmas!”

“We’re going to wait until Akemi has left the village, Peralta. You know, try not to break a bunch of children’s hearts?”

“You do you, Terry!”

There are still remnants of festive glitter in Amy’s hair as she and Jake walk up the stairs of their apartment building several hours later, both of them slightly weary from the hours of paperwork and debriefing that took place after Santa’s Village.

“Boy, bet thats the last time you come to the precinct and pick me up on your night off, huh Ames?” The apology is obvious in Jake’s tone, and Amy glances over her shoulder to give him a reassuring smile. Even if it hadn’t been in her original plan, she still got to spend the night hanging with her husband (although in a slightly different capacity than originally planned), and she was choosing to count that as a win. (A small win, but a win all the same.)

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I’m really sorry you got pulled into all of that, babe. I just didn’t see your message in time, or I would have … hey, Ames?” The touch of his hand against her forearm is gentle, pulling her in with the quiet strength she knows her husband to possess, and Amy turns towards Jake without hesitation. His eyes search her face, immediately seeing through her concealed defeat, and he really is the only one for her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I just …” she feels a blush rush over her cheeks again, suddenly feeling ridiculous as she thinks of how to divulge her secret plan. The underwire from the damn bra digs into her skin again as she squirms, and if tonight has taught Amy anything, it’s why lingerie like this is only designed to stay on until your partner rips it off seconds after reveal.

“Babe?”

“It just feels like forever since we’ve had a night at home, just the two of us.” Jake’s brows knit, and Amy leans in to rest both hands against her husbands chest. “And I know that work has been crazy lately, and that it’ll eventually calm down again, I just … I��d sorta planned on tonight going differently once you were home.”

“Oh god, and instead you ended up in a glittery elf costume with a creep leering at you.” Left hand slapping against his face in shame, Jake shakes his head in obvious frustration.

“I mean, we can mainly blame my FOMOW for that, babe. It doesn’t matter, really. If I hadn’t been there, you might have gotten home even later so when you think about it, it’s way better we - mmfph -” the rest of Amy’s argument stops in it’s tracks as Jake pulls her in for a kiss, the gentle but insistent press of his lips against hers casting any other thoughts far to the side.

The familiar touch of his hands as they roam against the outline of her butt causes Amy to melt entirely in Jake’s arms, resting her arms against his steady shoulders as her fingers slide into his hair. This - these tiny moments where the world seemed to fade away and all she could feel was Jake - was what she’d been craving for weeks.

Jake sighs against her lips, letting her tongue slip into his mouth as he shuffles ever so closer to her, and maybe he’d been missing this just as much as she.

“So,” Jake whispers as he pulls away from the kiss, leaning in to brush his lips against Amy’s once more. “Time to get this night back in track.” Another kiss. “What kind of plans did you make for us, Santiago?”

“Lets just say … the lingerie I’ve got on under here is going to blow your mind, Peralta.”

“Going to blow your mind, title of our sex tape.”

Amy nods, biting her lower lip as she steps out of Jake’s embrace, gesturing towards their apartment. “But it’s also really uncomfortable. C’mon, let's get inside before it ends up in the dumpster.”

Jake’s footsteps echo behind Amy’s, hands landing on her hips as she digs for the keys. “I’m declaring it now, Ames. Tomorrow night we’re both leaving early and staying in for movie night at home. Phones off, popcorn, everything for the full movie experience. We can watch Die Hard and Love Actually and Nightmare before Christmas …”

Amy’s nose crinkles at the last movie, unlocking their front door and tugging her husband through as it swings open. “Didn’t we watch that last one for Halloween?”

“I don’t care what you say, The Nightmare Before Christmas works for Christmas and Halloween!”

“Jake …”

“Christmas is literally in the title, babe!”

Pulling him closer, Amy takes a leaf out of her husband’s handbook, silencing him with a definitely not PG rated kiss now that the risk of being discovered by a neighbour had slimmed to none.

Jake’s arms wrap around her middle in response, holding Amy close as her fingers begin to trace the edge of his buttons, and she lets out a sigh of satisfaction that finally her initial plan was coming to fruition.

Next time, though, she might add a sub-section into the binder about potential diversions, and how to avoid them (not join them) - FOMOW be damned. This stuff was way more fun.

#my writing #very delayed #peraltiago Christmas #pre-mac #sorry anon #undercover peraltiago taking down bad guys #b99 fic #b99 fanfic #peraltiago fic #peraltiago fluff #jake x amy fic #not tagging the prompts as its too long ago

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