#pining!amy

To be fair, it wasn’t all bad.  She could, for example; hear the jukebox in the corner, playing Come on Eileen for the fifth time in a row - unknowingly settling into a duet with squelching sneakers as a bunch of drunken frat guys danced, all of them too far gone to notice any repetition.  Plus, she could pick up on the subtle click of the acrylic nails on the woman at a neighbouring table, listening to them tap against a series of her friends’ photographs, rotating between descriptions of priddy and gawgeous.  

Mixed with the scent of spilled beer and day-old peanuts, it was exactly the combination that to others may appear seedy, but to Amy and the squad, just seemed … familiar.  Shaw’s was their watering hole, the basement bar each could disappear into and drink to forget their days, and despite the five empty glasses on her table and the half-full one in her hand, Amy was finding it incredibly difficult to stop noticing just how sweet Jake was with his girlfriend.  

Even more impossible was to stop imagining what it would be like if she were the one standing near the dart board, with Jake’s arm resting comfortably over her shoulders.   

It had all started earlier today, when she had glanced over at her partner just in time to pick up on the tiny little smile that grew on his face when he noticed a text from Sophia.

(Okay, it’s possible that it had actually started back at The Maple Drip Inn, with that look he’d given her after maybe, yes, a little.  It had definitely led to a series of Thoughts after Teddy’s departure, of which she’d only given herself just that night to think about.)

(Except ‘that night’ then turned into that week, and okay fine then it had turned into ‘just that month'; and now here she is, several weeks later; completely unable of getting Jake Peralta off of her mind, and it’s becoming very likely that this is more than just a little crush.)

It had been so endearing to see, that tiny glimpse of joy and enchantment as he’d read Sophia’s message - just fleeting enough for Amy to wonder if anybody had ever reacted to a message from her with such glee.  (Teddy, she remembers, preferred not to text; and would instead express his affections by saving her the last bottle of his favourite pilsner, or brewing a new concoction ‘inspired by her’ … sweet, but somehow didn’t hold the same sentiment.)

So she’d kept her eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her as she listened to Jake pick up the phone and order a bunch of flowers to be delivered to Sophia’s office - using his debit card, and not a combination of the five questionably balanced credit cards under his name - which in itself is huge.  Pretended not to notice the multiple kiss emojis in his reply, or the soft tune that he hummed for a few minutes after, focusing intensely on the case file in front of her as she described a recent interrogation in finite detail.  Kept up the facade of all that stuff with us is in the past as he recounted a romantic weekend to their squad in the break room - laughing along in all the right places, doing her very best to keep the wistfulness out of her eyes.  

And all the while, Amy’s mind had kept contemplating if she would ever get to know what it would be like to date someone like Jake: to have somebody who would take all the black and whites of her life and show her the beautiful greys in-between. 

So when he’d shown up at Shaw’s this evening, with Sophia’s hand carefully wrapped around his own and a grin that announced his contentment to anyone who cared to look; Amy had felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest.  Her painted smile had just lasted until the couple retreated to the corner for a crazily competitive game of darts, and Amy had decided tonight would be a great opportunity to drown her sorrows in a few glasses of whiskey, doing her absolute best not to notice all the little things she will never have.

Like the way Jake would punctuate each congratulatory high five with a kiss, even when it meant that his girlfriend had beaten him at a game.  The gentle way he steered them away from a rambunctious crowd, keeping an eye on the raised voices as his unaware girlfriend played her shot and came so close to hitting the bullseye.  Or the way Sophia’s hand would rest on Jake’s chest as he held her in his arms (just the way that Amy wishes she could do), and the way she would laugh so happily as he commented on the drunk guys dancing near them.  

It was all very simple, but undeniably sweet, and Amy doesn’t know how she ever doubted that Jake would be anything but. 

“Your covert skills need work, Santiago.”

The chair beside Amy scrapes angrily against the worn floorboards and she turns, startled by the interruption, quietly praying that her face isn’t quite as red as it suddenly feels.  Terry, far more interested in taking the last sip of his scotch than commenting on her appearance, settles in to his new location next to her, and his glass hits the soaking cardboard coaster with a slap.  

“Wha-huh?  Covert skills?  You really must be drunk, Sarge.  We’re not even on a stakeout right now.  Unless you’re talking about us staking out the contents of that fridge behind the bar haha!”  

(She’s rambling - she knows she’s rambling; but cannot stop the desperate need to pretend that she hadn’t just been completely busted for spending her entire evening staring at a life she may never know.)  

“Ugh.  Okay fine.”  Her mouth stretches out into a cringe, eyes flickering to the colleagues Terry had just walked away from.  “How noticeable are we talking here?”

“Noticeable enough that Charles has spent the last 40 minutes lamenting on ‘the beautiful tragedy of unrequited love’”.  Dropping his air quotes, Terry rolls his eyes, one eyebrow lowering as he returns to his drink.  “He lost me when he started quoting poetry.  Terry loves Shakespeare, but he could do with a little less soliloquies - and a little more spirits - tonight.”

“Oh!  You know what, there was just a Shakespeare play in Polonsky that starred - ” Terry overlaps her last words with his own heavy voice, and Amy’s stops in it’s tracks.  

“Dianne Wiest.  Terry knows.  That was his segue, Amy.”

She nods, sensing the need to dig up.  “Should have known.  Charles loves his Wiest feasts.”  Terry grunts his assent, pressing his lips together as he savours another verse-less sip, and Amy seizes the opportunity to cast another furtive glance at the happy couple.  

“Seriously, though.  Just because Peralta hasn’t noticed, doesn’t mean the rest of us haven’t.”

Amy brushes her hair to the side, swirling the liquid in her glass with her free hand.  “Okay, so maybe I haven’t been very subtle tonight, or whatever.”  Her gaze returns to Jake, drawn to him like a magnet, and her heart squeezes once more.  

To his credit, Terry gives her a moment; waiting for a silence to settle over their table before leaning forward in his chair, ignoring the sticky residue of the tabletop as he rests his arms on either side of his glass. 

“Out with it, Santiago.”

She shakes her head, swallowing hard to push down the burgeoning lump in her throat.  “They look really happy together, don’t they?  He looks … happy.”

Terry shrugs, glancing in the direction of Amy’s eye line.  “Yeah, I guess so.” 

“He does!  All shiny and cheerful and just .. happy.”

“I don’t know.  Terry remembers a time when you and Teddy looked just as content.”  His look is pointed, and followed by the unsubtle raise of his eyebrows.  Amy nods, draining the last of her drink.  Somehow, she has a feeling that Sophia’s underwear isn’t lined with mesh like Teddy’s had been (and even if it was, it would be some kind of inexplicably sexy mesh, for sure). 

“Sometimes things aren’t what they seem, sarge.”

“You know that works both ways, don’t you?”

Nodding again, Amy wipes her thumb along the smudged lipstick print on her glass, choosing to remain silent.  Terry didn’t get it - none of them got it, really.  She’d had her chance, the very first time the words romantic styles were uttered, and she’d let it slip away.  And now, she has to live with the consequences.  

Clearing his throat, Terry continues.  “I mean … she is a defence attorney, you know.”

“But see, even that isn’t something that I can fault.  Not fairly, anyway.”  Clocking the look of disbelief on Terry’s face, Amy shrugs defensively, waving her hand vaguely in Sophia’s direction.  “I know we all like to joke and call them evil, but really … all they’re doing is making us prove that our findings are beyond reasonable doubt.  If anything, it’s people like her that push us to do better - to work harder to make sure that we’re definitely charging the right person.  And as annoying as that can be, it’s definitely not a reason to hate her.”

“Kinda sounds like you do, though.”

She shakes her head, feeling the sense of defeat sink into her bones.  “I really don’t.  She’s incredibly smart, and funny and beautiful … she honestly looks like she should be in a commercial for shampoo or something.  She’s perfect for Jake, and I’m just …”

“You’re just … ?”

Shrugging, Amy slots her thumbnail into the edge of the coaster underneath her glass.  It, like her heart, had seen better days, and it was time for her to cut her losses.  “I’m just … going home.”

“What?  No.  Stay!  Our squad kicked butt this week, Amy.  We all deserve a drink.”

Painting another smile onto her face (she really is getting good at them), Amy pushes her seat away from the table, allowing herself one more glimpse at Jake’s smile before shaking her head at Terry.  “Sorry sarge, I just can’t seem to celebrate tonight.”

Heading towards the exit without a second thought, Amy doesn’t see Jake pull away from Sophia, taking a half step in the direction of the door as he watches her leave.  She doesn’t notice him pull out his phone, start to type a message before hesitating, pocketing it without hitting send.  The night moves on as Amy walks away, and the streets are deafeningly silent as soon as the bar door closes behind her.  

The sky seems to feel just as morose as Amy this evening, tiny droplets dropping onto her grey work blazer as she waits for a cab; too lost in her thoughts to take in the frivolity of a parting crowd.  As the rain increases and the splotches on her blazer turn into tiny Rorschach Tests she decides to give herself one more night - one last night of wishing for things that will never be. 

In the backseat on her ride home Amy twists her hands together, linking her fingers and imagining not for the first time that one hand was Jake’s (she would imagine similar .. later).  She thinks of what it could be like to have his warm presence near hers .. to have his hand resting on her leg, not out of possession but just to be near.  Watching him get out of the car first, only to turn and offer a helping hand for her exit, every time without fail.  

She pictures what it would be like to feel the brick exterior of her apartment against her back as Jake presses his soft lips against hers, kissing the life out of her, making her see stars before pulling her into the apartment for so much more.   

He wouldn’t always be the perfect partner - and lord knows, neither would she - but Amy knows that through it all he would remain her best friend, because even through all of this yo-yo pattern of denial and admittance, thats who Jake has been for her.  After all these years, he’s become the only one she wants to talk to, at any given moment of the day, who knows her coffee order better than his own and remembers her Abuela’s birthday, even when she hasn’t mentioned it in weeks.  

The scent of rain lingers in her apartment as Amy readies herself for bed, casting her pantsuit aside with drunken abandonment and giving her face a half-hearted wash before stumbling towards her bed.  She closes her eyes, the thoughts of what could have been still so loud in her quiet apartment, hugging the pillow beside her tightly while her mind begins to wander.  

As she finally drifts off to sleep that night, Amy tries not to remember the smile that Jake gave her as they danced so long ago at the community hall - that special kind of smile, that made her think that maybe it was solely for her - and tells herself once. and. for. all. that sometimes, life just doesn’t work out the way you’d hope.

* 

* * 

It’s a rush of cool air that alerts Amy to a brand new morning, the drop in temperature squashed as quickly as it arrives by the wrapping of a warm arm around her middle.  She smiles into the pillow as it completes its protective loop, letting her body get pulled closer to the human hot water bottle in the middle of her bed, and if there was a better way to wake up on a cold day, Amy is yet to see it.  

She lets out a sigh of comfort as the bridge of a prominent nose digs into her shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his breath through her old academy shirt, nestling closer until her legs are well and truly tangled amongst his.  It’s late, later than she would normally allow herself to sleep, but the two of them were far too invested in basking in the afterglow of a rainy Saturday filled with sex and movies to consider leaving the bedroom anytime soon.  

Jake’s voice is rough, the remnants of a deep sleep obvious in his throat.  “Today’s Sunday, right?”

Amy nods, wriggling herself just free enough to turn within her boyfriend’s embrace.  His hair is sticking out on all ends - unaided, she is certain, by her hands the night before - and she runs the tip of her thumb along his right cheekbone.  Though his eyes are still closed, he leans into her touch, and she grins.  “Definitely Sunday.  A rainy Sunday, but part of the weekend all the same.”

He nods, the short and prickly fibres of his morning stubble scratching her palm.  “Good.  More time for time machine building.”

“… we’re building a time machine?”

“Yeah, one that lets us skip past all the boring work stuff, and leaves us with all the time in the world for more of this.  Kinda like that movie Click, but a lot less ‘trying to change the past’ stuff, and a lot more sex.”

She chuckles, and his left foot rubs along the side of her calf under the blanket.  “You’re crazy, Peralta.”  (Although, she will admit - the ‘a lot more sex’ part did sound kinda great.)

His eyelids flutter open, gaze growing soft as a smile stretches across his face.  “You’re beautiful, Santiago.”

Amy feels her cheeks begin to heat up, resisting the urge to cool herself down by tucking her hair away, completely unable to move as long as Jake continues to look at her like that.  There’s a pimple growing underneath the surface of her chin that is going to rival Mount Vesuvius, and her morning breath could probably wilt the flower pots living happily on her kitchen’s windowsill.  But here, in bed with her boyfriend of almost two years, she feels more beautiful than all of her best days put together.  

“I don’t think I’ve told you this today, but I love you, Jake.”

Leaning forwards, Jake’s soft lips press against Amy’s, and he winks as he pulls away.  “I mean, we’ve both been awake for a sum total of three minutes, so yeah, you’re pretty late with the love you’s today, babe.”

Her free hand flies out from under the cover, delivering an indignant smack to Jake’s chest, and he grabs it back before she can pull away, linking their fingers together and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.  “I love you too, Ames.  Even if you don’t want to build a time machine with me, I still love you.”

She laughs - a giggle that starts in her belly and bursts through her lungs, something that she’s been doing a lot more of these days - and pulls Jake in for a longer kiss, morning breath be damned.  

One day, in eight or so years time, they’ll have a son - a miniature version of Jake that, much like his father, runs to the beat of his own drum; and answers to the name Mac.  Amy will fall pregnant again, and when they explain to their son that he’s going to be a big brother, his response is so perfectly him that it makes Amy’s eyes tear up with laughter.  

For they are, by Mac’s decree, now officially a Ninja Turtle family.  He is Raphael (or ‘Rafel’), Jake Michelangelo due to his love of nunchaku, and Amy nabs Leonardo purely out of homage to one of her favourite artists.  The mini-Peralta still growing in her womb is, by default, Donatello (or Donatella, depending), and even though there was a time when Amy truly felt like she could never be this lucky, she will love their little family with all of her heart.  

But for now, she has Jake; and together they have warm bedsheets and no plans for a future that isn’t together - no matter what obstacles may be thrown their way.  

And Amy realises, as Jake begins to trace a series of kisses along her side of her neck; truly, being loved by him is better than she could have ever imagined.  

But Amy is nothing if not practical, and she’s mostly learned to manage it. She flaunts her achievements publicly so that the doubt stays buried in her mind, and her colleagues are none the wiser. In a way, she thinks, the uncertainty is helpful—it means she’s constantly pushing herself, constantly trying to be better, and that’s a good thing.

It’s a good thing, which is why she doesn’t question her decision to throw a New Year’s Eve party for the Nine-Nine.

Last year’s Thanksgiving fiasco is still fresh in her mind, and even though she knows that it is objectively questionable to be so hung up about a party that she tried to throw a full year ago, she can’t help feeling like she needs to make up for it, like she needs to prove she can organize a fun event for her co-workers that doesn’t end in eating takeout at the precinct.

Plus, everyone at the Nine-Nine is closer now, which is evidenced by the fact that Jake barely bats an eye when she asks him to dress up.

“Why, got a hot new boyfriend you need me to make jealous?”

She winces slightly, but the regret that appears immediately in his eyes is enough to make her force a smirk. “Yeah, it’s that flasher I arrested last week.”

“Ew—”

“What can I say? He really made an impression.”

Jake laughs, and she determinedly ignores the way her stomach jolts at the way the corners of his eyes crinkle.  

“So, six-thirty then? You can bring Sophia.”

His amusement fades into a soft smile that definitely does not make Amy feel warm and jittery inside. “I’ll be there. Sophia’s out of town, though—she’s spending the holidays with her parents.”

“Oh,” Amy says, trying not to sound too cheerful. “That’s too bad, seeing as I was planning on making my famous roast turkey to impress her.”

Jake snorts, but before he can say anything, Charles has somehow appeared at the edge of their desks, his face full of panic. “Amy, I love you, but please let me cook that turkey, please—”

“I was kidding,” she protests, trying to shove him away. “I’ve admitted defeat in the culinary world, okay? I’m gonna go get pasta beforehand.”

“Yeah, Charles, relax,” Jake says, grinning widely. “But you should still bring those octopus balls. Santiago loves those.”

Amy throws her stapler at him.

 ---

“Is this New Year’s-y enough?” Amy asks Kylie in the dressing room of the mall Express.

Kylie sighs. “Yes. It’s beautiful and you look beautiful wearing it, just as you have in the last ten dresses you’ve tried on. It’s just a house party for you and your coworkers, whom you see literally every day. There is no need to be this anxious.”

“I’m not anxious, I just want to make a good impression. If I’m asking everyone else to dress up, I have to look the part myself.”

“Mmmhmm,” Kylie hums, reaching over to unzip the back of Amy’s dress. “Well, whatever you’re not anxious about is going to lose his mind when he sees you in this. Seriously.”

“He has a girlfriend,” Amy snaps, shimmying out of the dress and snatching her leggings off the wall. “And this isn’t for him.”

It’s not, really, but as she walks out of the store with a shopping bag in hand, she wonders if it maybe is, just a little bit.

Her excitement is completely gone the morning of, as she wakes up with what feels like a throat full of sawdust and a sledgehammer pounding away at her head. She groans as she forces herself out of bed and into the shower, where she stays until the water runs cold and her shivering has gotten undeniably out of control.  

She steps out of the tub, wincing as the cold air hits her skin, and dries herself off as quickly as possible. The kitchen seems indomitably far away but she somehow manages to make it, pulling her sweatpants up as she walks down the hallway. It takes her what feels like an hour to make some tea and force some oatmeal down, and by the time she swallows her cold medicine her body feels like it has already run a marathon.

Ordinarily, her frustration at the situation would be more than overwhelming, but her head is throbbing, and as she types out a long, apologetic text message the only thing she can muster is a faint sense of defeat. Her eyes are already closing as she presses send, and she crawls back into bed with no more than a twinge of regret.

When she wakes up again, two things register in her mind: it’s dark outside, and her doorbell is ringing off the hook.

She gives a slight whimper of frustration as she slides out of bed, grabbing her sweatshirt and her phone on the way into the hallway.

“Unless I ordered some extra-strength Tylenol in my sleep,” she grumbles, yanking the door open, “I don’t want—oh.”

Jake’s eyes widen as they travel up and down her body, taking in her old T-shirt and disheveled hair.

“Sorry I’m late, I got stuck on the phone with my mom—um, did you prank me? Was this a pajama party?”

“No, I—I texted,” she manages to croak out, wincing at the sting in her throat. “Look—” She unlocks her phone and thrusts it halfheartedly at him.

“Oh,” Jake says, glancing at her open messages tab. “Um—you only sent it to Boyle.”

“What? Fuck—”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, handing her phone back. “You’re sick, you were obviously just sleeping, I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s my fault,” Amy mutters. She wonders dimly how everyone but Jake somehow knew not to come, but the pounding in her head overpowers her brief curiosity. “Sorry, you could’ve made other plans—”

“Nah, I would’ve just been watching Die Hard.”

“Okay,” Amy says numbly. She tries to say something else, but neither her mouth nor her brain seems to be working properly. “I’m cold.”

Jake laughs softly, then steps inside, setting his eight-dollar bottle of wine on the floor. “Come on,” he says, turning her gently by her shoulders. “I’ll guide you back to bed.”

He watches her shuffle across her bedroom floor, drink a glass of water, and crawl back underneath the covers before backing out of the room. The gentle smile on his face as he closes the door is the last thing she sees before she drifts off again.

--

She wakes to the smell of chicken soup.

It’s wafting through her bedroom door, so she gets up and opens it, noting with some relief that the pain in her throat has lessened somewhat. Taylor Swift’s New Year’s Day plays softly as she walks down the hallway, and as she emerges into her kitchen, she sees Jake bent over the sink, his jacket lying on her couch.

“Hi,” she says softly, ignoring the way her heart skips at the sight of him washing dishes in her kitchen.

“Hi,” he smiles, pausing the music and turning to look at her. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” she says honestly, noting that a mini pharmacy now sits next to a glass of water on her kitchen counter. “You—um, you’re still here?”

“Oh—uh, yeah, I hope that’s okay—I was going to leave, but you seemed really sick, and I just—”

“No, I’m glad,” she mumbles, and he grins. Her stomach flips a little, and she clears her throat. “Is that soup I smell?”

“Oh, yeah.” He gestures at the pot on the stove. “It’s an old family recipe—my mom used to make it for me whenever I got sick, so I figured—”

Her eyes land on a bag on the counter and she freezes, her hand in the utensil drawer. “And those potato pancakes?”

“Um, I bought them,” he says, and he’s definitely blushing. “Just in case you didn’t like the soup.”

She can hear Kylie laughing at her as she makes her way over to the stove, trying to hide her smile. “I can like two things.”

He laughs, then grins at the noise she makes as the soup hits her taste buds. “Good?”

“This is incredible,” she says, pouring herself a hefty serving. “I can’t believe you can cook.”

“Well, I can’t, really. But I made my mom teach me that recipe after I moved out. Just feels like home, you know?”

She smiles as she brings the bowl to her lips. “Yeah.”

Jake puts the plate he was washing in her dish rack, and as he wipes his hands on her dish towel she feels a sudden surge of completely unwelcome affection. “So,” he says, wiggling his eyebrow at her, “feeling up to a game of Go Fish?”

She rolls her eyes as she brushes past him, grabbing the glass of water as she goes. “I’m sick, not an eight-year-old child.”

He snorts, but produces a deck of cards anyway, and as they settle onto Amy’s living room rug she tries her best not to get comfortable.

It doesn’t work, even as he has a girlfriend he has a girlfriend he has a girlfriend keeps parading through her thoughts, and she completely loses track of time as they laugh their way through every card game in the books and multiple rematches.

She has just triumphantly laid her final cards down in their game of Speed when something explodes outside, sending Jake shooting to his feet.

“Fireworks!”

She takes his offered hand and stands up. “It’s already midnight?”

“Guess so.” Jake pulls the curtains back as a shower of green bursts spectacularly through the sky. “Sorry you did all that work for a party that didn’t happen.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says, and she finds that she means it. “There’ll always be more chances. There are plenty of holidays for me to torture people.”

He chuckles. “Still—it sucks that you got sick today, of all days. It’s kind of a shitty way to start the year.”

She gazes through her window, her eye catching his reflection in the glass. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says softly. “It’s not so bad.”

Amy can feel his eyes on her, and for some reason she turns to meet his gaze. She thinks there are flecks of gold in the brown of his eyes, and as the fireworks continue to explode the gold morphs into blues, then greens, then reds and yellows. She feels no desire to tear herself away from the kaleidoscope of color in front of her, and she swallows as a massive cheer arises from the ground beneath her window.

Jake clears his throat and looks away, his fingers playing at the hem of his shirt. She follows his lead, turning to watch the crowd beneath her building dance drunkenly down the street. A slight disappointment works its way into her gut, but there is a sliver of hope along with it—misplaced optimism, maybe, but a brief glimpse of something that could be.

And despite all the planning, all the agonizing and dress-buying for a party that imploded so suddenly, Amy feels mostly at peace. Her therapist would be proud, she thinks. She wonders how much of it is thanks to the presence of the man standing next to her, gazing at the explosions of color outside with an almost childlike wonder in his eyes.

There are times she thinks she missed her chance, but today is the first day of a new year. And what are new years for if they’re not for second chances, anyway?

Her voice is soft when she speaks. “Happy New Year, Jake.”

It had been a long night at the Santiago household, with all of the family together under the one roof to celebrate the upcoming year.  Earlier in the evening Amy had been lumped with the task of entertaining her multiple nieces and nephews (a number which appeared to keep growing, year by year), and she had been so relieved when her fellow siblings had finally decided to pretend that 9pm was midnight, in the hopes that the children would crash right after.  The result was a house littered with scattered remnants of party poppers and banners, but all Santiagos under the age of eighteen were now safely tucked into their beds, and Amy could finally toast to the end of 2014.  

And in all honesty, she was glad to see the year was finally over.  It had been a confusing one, to say the least.  Helped in no way at all by her trusted partner dropping a Romantic Stylez shaped bomb on her before going undercover for six months without another word.  

Extending his own drink out, Chris taps the edge of his glass against Amy’s, the tiny clink so soft that the sound is barely audible.  “Are we drinking to remember, or drinking to forget?”

Amy scrunches up her face, weighing out the options.  She can still recall the moment with perfect clarity, all these months later.  Standing outside the precinct, feeling the cool breeze against her skin as she stopped to wish her partner good luck on his assignment.  The look on Jake’s face - oddly clear of all facades, with only a mixture of fear and hope remaining - as he told her how he felt.  Her hand gripping the strap of her purse just that little bit tighter as he spoke, eyebrows bent with confusion as her overactive (and sometimes frustrating) partner said the last thing she’d expected him to say.  The way her world seemed to shift from it’s comfortably slow and steady spin as he walked away, tilting onto an entirely new axis that pulled her into a stunned silence for god knows how long - breaking free only after a fellow officer passed her and wished her goodnight.  

And then there was Teddy.  Sweet, safe, reliable Teddy.  Who probably would have made an excellent (if not a little boring) long term boyfriend, if said partner hadn’t reappeared from undercover; denying then readmitting the truth behind his confession all within a day.  Reminding her - without even trying - of a night not so long ago, conducting surveillance on a rooftop that had played on her mind for days afterwards, and the strange little skip her heart would sometimes do when Jake smiled at her like she was the only one in the room.  

So they’d broken up, in a spectacularly awkward evening far too far from home, and now she was single and he was dating the kind of woman you’d expect to see on a billboard somewhere.  Jake was happy - happy without Amy - and no matter how hard she tried, Amy just could not get him out of her mind.

“Forget” she replies, draining her glass in one final gulp.  “Definitely to forget.”

Chris nods, reaching for the pitcher on a nearby table and refilling Amy’s glass.  “Drinking to forget it is.”

But try as she might, Amy can’t forget.  And as her phone buzzes against her thigh, from it’s position safely tucked into the front pocket of her jeans, she knows all the reasons why.

The texts between them had started out so simple earlier in the evening - Jake texting to double check that Amy hadn’t been called in to cover ‘some stupid assignment’ because ‘working two new years in a row would be a crappy move on Holt’s part but not unlikely’.  It had been sweet of him to do so, and Amy hadn’t been able to stop smiling for a good ten minutes after she had responded, confirming that she was in fact nowhere near work this evening.   

And then he had kept texting her, because it’s been close to four years working together now and somewhere along the way they had become friends as well as partners, and friends texted each other on New Years Eve.  And maybe she should stop replying, so that he stops texting her - because she really needs to get over him and moments like these really weren’t helping - but also maybe she doesn’t want to stop at all.  

Pulling out her phone, Amy unlocks her screen and grins at the latest text: a gif, of a drunk woman dancing - obviously supposed to be her after three drinks.  Completely ridiculous but also kind of hilarious and exactly what she’d expect to get from Jake after sending him a picture of her sangria.  

“Oh, I see - ” Chris’s insinuating voice breaks through the comfortable silence as he looks over Amy’s shoulder, sneaking a peak at her phone.  “You’re trying to forget someone, not something.”  He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head.  “You’re gonna need a lot more drinks then, chiquita.”

“I’m older than you, tonto.” Amy mutters, tapping out a quick reply and shoving her phone away before her brother can tease her any further.  “And besides, there’s nothing to ‘get over’.  That was Jake.  He’s my partner, and we’re friends.  It’s perfectly normal for friends to text each other.”

“Yep, sure.”  Her brother nods, giving her that totally disbelieving look that he’s thrown at her a thousand times before, and Amy rolls her eyes in preparation for his inevitable comeback.  “And friends totally get goopy-schmooey eyes whenever they see texts from each other.  Blush and bite their lip and do all those other totally normal things that you’ve been doing all night.”  He points with the hand still wrapped around his glass, one finger sticking out in accusation.  “You’re not as sly as you think you are, detective.”

“I so have NOT done any of tha- okay fine, I like him.”  Maybe it was the wine swimming around her belly, or maybe she was just so damn tired of hiding the reality of all of this even from herself.  Whatever it is, Amy finds herself twisting in place, leaning towards her brother and divulging it all:  from Jake’s admittance of feelings and Amy’s decision to keep dating Teddy; right down to the inevitably horrible breakup in front of Jake and his stupidly hot girlfriend.  She ends it all with a sigh, finishing her drink in a single gulp and dumping the glass onto the table with a thud, dropping her head into her hands.  “I like him SO much, Chris.  It’s just the worst right now.  We keep saying to each other that it’s in the past, but it isn’t really.  Not for me, anyway.”

Her brother leans back in his chair, not speaking, and the silence is so deafening that Amy lifts her head to look over at him.  With one hand resting against the armrest and the other stroking his chin, he appears deep in thought and (after what feels like forever) he clears his throat.  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk this way about a guy before.”

Flickering her eyes back to the glass, Amy shrugs in defeat.  It would appear that Seven Drink Amy makes alcohol turn into truth serum.   “In vino veritas, I guess.”

Chris nods, eyes trailing over to the game of cups that Tony and Ricardo are playing in the distance before returning back to Amy.  “Maybe.  Or maybe … there’s more on the line this time.  He’s your partner, right?  Once the two of you ring that bell, there wouldn’t be any turning back.  And I think that scares the hell out of you.”

Amy nods, suddenly not trusting herself to respond.  It does scare the hell out of her.  She’s seen it all fall apart so many times before - colleagues transferring departments when things turn sour; holiday parties with both sides avoiding each other.  Not to mention the awkward distance she put between herself and Teddy whenever they were forced to cross paths.  The thought of having to go through any of that with Jake … even if she took all of the Feels out of the equation, he is still one of her closest friends, and one of the few people who understand her for who she is.  The thought of having to spend her day avoiding his smile, or to change precincts and move away from the people that have become her second family, made her feel physically ill.   

She’s never been one to back down from a challenge.  But maybe this time, the risks were too high to ignore.  

Looking over at Chris, Amy gives him what she hopes is a convincingly carefree smile.  “Never thought I’d hear such wisdom from you, manito.”

A steady hand reaches out, shoving Amy’s shoulder gently, and she laughs.  “Whatever, Amy.”  Chris mumbles, standing up to join their brothers.  “Seriously, though.  If this guy doesn’t come to his senses soon, it is absolutely his loss.  We Santiagos are good people, and you’re the best sister I’ve ever known”

Type A Amy wants to pipe up with a correction, and remind her brother that she is, in fact, the ONLY sister he’s ever known.  But the sentiment is sweet, and her phone is buzzing in her pocket again, and so she smiles at her brother’s parting figure, digging into her pocket with an eagerness she doesn’t even try to hide.  

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe this time, she was in over her head.  

*

Jake slides a palm against his face as he walks towards the bar, leaning against the granite top as he repeats his order and settles on a stool to wait.  Tonight was dragging a little more than he had anticipated, and right now he needed a moment away from the crowd.

He knows, for all intent and purposes, that he should be out there mingling with the crowd.  Making small talk with the relatively familiar faces of the people that made up Sophia’s office, and put on his best Perfect Boyfriend face.  But as the night wears on, and he’s needed to encounter so many Ghosts of Courtrooms Past, it was getting increasingly difficult for him to pretend that he isn’t an island surrounded by a sea of monsters.  

(He’d texted something similar to Amy earlier in the evening, and she quoted some sort of poem about no men not being islands and oh how she’s a dork.)

The material of the tuxedo that Sophia made him rent rubs up against his wrist uncomfortably, and he fiddles with the inside seam as he waits.  There was only ten minutes until 2015 would begin, and he wants to get these glasses of champagne over to Sophia before the clock ticks over.  But there is one thing playing on his mind, and his fingers are itching to pull out his phone again and text Amy real quick - so under the guise of checking the time, he slides his phone from his pocket and begins typing rapidly.  

JP:  Do you know what I could really go for right now?

Her reply is swift, and briefly Jake wonders why she isn’t busy this close to midnight.

AS:  No? 

A soft smile crosses over his face at the memory.

JP:  One of those firework cupcakes we had last year. 

AS:  !!! The firework cupcakes! Honestly, those cupcakes were the best I’ve ever had.

JP:  The best I’ve ever had, title of my sextape.

AS:  🙄

His grin is bright as the bartender places two glasses of champagne in front of him, and Jake nods his thanks as he tucks his phone away again, grabbing the drinks and heading back into the fray.

Searching through the crowd, his eyes finally land on Sophia, her dark hair falling seamlessly down her back as she chats with her boss.  She’d chosen a simple blue dress for the occasion, hugging her figure in a complimentary way, and Jake tries his best to forget that the first time he saw it on the hanger in her apartment his mind had flashed back to the plastic-polyester blended monstrosity that he’d forced Amy to wear when he’d won the bet.  

There were a lot of reasons why a detective of the NYPD dating a defence attorney wouldn’t work, but Jake is glad that the two of them are doing their best to prove it all wrong.  Rosa had been right - the only way to move on from Amy was to move on, and Sophia had arrived into his life at just the right time.  Sure, it wasn’t ideal that  - despite their best efforts - they cannot seem to form a shared social group.  And that conversations about work never ended amicably, or that sometimes the resulting silence stretched out for a little too long until one of them (usually Sophia) initiated sex.  The point was, things were Totally Fine and he was definitely over Amy.

Sophia smiles at Jake as he hands her a glass of champagne, using her free hand to tuck the edge of his tuxedo collar down.  “Thanks, Jake.  Ready to count in 2015?”

Jake ignores the vibration of his phone in his pocket, smiling excitedly at his girlfriend as the band on stage begins to countdown.  Sophia’s palm remains flat against his chest as they share a chaste kiss at the stroke of midnight, whispering happy new year in that soft voice he’s grown so fond of, and when she steps away to wish her colleagues the same sentiment Jake begins to wonder if this could be the beginning of love.  That maybe love was about compromise: about changing to fit into the other’s world.  She seems to really like him, and he definitely likes her, and when they’re not avoiding certain topics they get on really well.  It’s possible that this whole time, his impression of what love should be has been completely wrong … and it was time to try again.

There’s more buzzing in his pocket as an additional text comes through, and with a quick glance towards Sophia, Jake retrieves his phone again.  It’s from Amy; this time accompanied with a selfie with her and several of her brothers, and Jake’s heart does a tiny backflip as he studies the photo of his partner.  She looks so relaxed and happy, holding up a tiny sparkler to the camera, and briefly he’s taken back a year - to a moment in an unmarked police car with surprise cupcakes and absolutely no bad guys.  A time before unsolicited admissions of affection and ‘maybe, yes, a little’s.  He scrolls ahead, reading the text below:

AS: Happy New Year, Jake.  Here’s to new beginnings. 

And he’s definitely over it all, but Jake’s heart still beats just that little bit faster when he scrolls back up to her photo.  Be that as it may, he’s here with Sophia; and the idea of the two of them together deserve a fighting chance, and so he sends Amy a quick reply before shoving his phone back into his pocket, distracting himself for the rest of the evening from the fact that he doesn’t hear from Amy again.

Meanwhile, on the other side of New York at her parent’s holiday house in The Hamptons, Amy switches her phone off - joining her brothers in a toast to the future, holding a single resolution in her head.  One simple rule, that will avoid all the potential for mess and force her to get over her ridiculous crush because no rule was made to be broken: no dating cops.