#amysartiago

She hears the click, feels the subtle pop of the drivers’ side door unlocking, and breathes a sigh of relief. The dark head, which she can now see is attached to a black jacket with NYPD emblazoned across the front, is still getting closer, but she still doesn’t think he can see them. She takes a moment to curse the man under her breath – figures he would happen to be walking down this street today. He probably came for the rainbow sprinkle cronut from the bakery on the corner – after all, that’s why Jake dragged her to this block.

Jake dives into the car, a little too quickly for her cautious taste. Jake is brash and bold and sometimes a little careless. She still can’t believe that she’s working with him, and it’s been more than a decade since the cute boy being a little too obvious with a toolbox and a Pontiac caught her eye. She follows her partner, trying to keep an eye on the NYPD jacket, but the act of getting into a car without looking suspicious forces her to move her eyes for just a few seconds. It’s enough, though.

“Fuck,” she says aloud.

Jake, meanwhile, is jamming various tools into the keyhole. (“Like French kissing,” he told her back when they were both green and eager and he was lending his skills to her brilliant plans, long before they were the most legendary low-level crime duo in New York. “Jam it in and move it around wildly.” She hopes he doesn’t really kiss like that – it would ruin way too many drunk fantasies.)

“What? Judy coming this way?” Jake sounds mildly concerned, as though she’d informed him he left expired milk in their fridge – definitely not at the panic level it should be when their arch-nemesis is less than a block away with a gun, a badge, and two sets of handcuffs.

“I don’t…think so?” Amy’s uncertain, but she doesn’t have time to find out for sure before she hears a series of rhythmic taps on her window. She doesn’t have to turn to know who it is – no one spends 11 years, 7 months, and 14 days stealing cars with Jake Peralta without knowing the Funky Cold Medina. And there’s only one person other than her idiot partner who would use that knock.

“Judy?” she asks her partner, whose jaw has gone slack as he stares over her shoulder to the sidewalk.

“Judy,” he growls in confirmation.

“Hey, guys! Long time no see! Y’all two smooshin’ booties yet? ‘Cuz ya should be, with all that chemistry happenin’! We need to catch up! Fancy a ride back to the Nine-Nine?”

Jake redoubles his efforts to start the car, hoping to floor it and get them out of this mess. It refuses to start for even a second, sputtering and coughing to protest to the pair about its empty tank. Only Jake would pick a Pontiac without gas.

Amy bangs her head against the seat behind her and groans, eyes closed. She’s in for a long day. With one hand, she subtly texts their backup to initiate Plan Strike Team Gamma Pizza Blowout (her birthday gift to Jake seven years ago, when they were still broke, was that he could name all their plans) and get them out of this.

—–

Three days, eleven potted orchids, a well-trained dog, a trip to the Bronx Zoo, eight jars of Nutella, a thrift store evening gown, and thirty-six rounds of Taylor Swift karaoke later, Jake and Amy are safely in the back of an eighteen-wheeler headed towards the airport. Running through their brief captivity in her head, Amy’s pleased – five of the six items were actually part of the plan. That’s a much better ratio than the last time Jake Peralta and Doug Judy were in a room together.

She glances over at Jake, who is almost giddy with excitement at having evaded his nemesis-slash-best-friend yet again. He can’t stop talking about Doug Judy’s idea for a tech startup that provides display-temperature pizza at the push of a button – “Fast-y and Nasty”, as Judy called it. His hair is mussed and hot pink spray paint covers half his face (their escape plan may have gone a bit sideways at the end, she’ll admit), but he still looks adorable. He always looks adorable, much to her deep frustration. Glitter is stuck in her ponytail like sand from the beach, but she’s sure she doesn’t look nearly as kiss-able as her idiot partner.