Chapter Text
Naturally, they throw Amy a panda-themed party.
Well, to be more specific, Jake throws Amy a panda-themed party. He shows up in a ridiculous dalmatian bodysuit because they didn’t have any pandas at the store (“ugh, talk about a lack of diversity”) and full-on gasps when Charles walks in wearing the costume of his dreams.
“Really? I went to four different places!”
“You’re talkin’ to a VIP member over at Party City. You never stood a chance.” Boyle shrugs. It’s a little hard to move in his full-body panda suit, patches of black scattered around factory-produced white fur, but he makes it work. It’s Boyle. He lives for this nonsensical, no-stakes-but-I’ll-raise-the-stakes-anyway competition.
“I even checked the one in Long Island!”
“Bitch, I was born at the one in Long Island. You’re not on my level. Not even close.”
Jake scoffs. “You were born in Hoboken.”
“Why don’t you tell that to my face?”
“Yeah, why don’t you?” Gina asks, barging in with a drink in hand. It’s probably a Santiago, a rosé with lime, gin, and something to prove. Its companion, The Boyle, is even fruitier: honey, strawberries, coconut milk, and cointreau.
(The Nine-Nine is nothing if not consistent. What good is a party at Shaw’s without cleverly named drinks? And what good are clever drinks without thematic and overpriced costumes?)
Charles loves all things coconut and, judging from the empty glasses sitting at the bar, tonight is no exception.
So, yeah, Boyle might be a little drunk. Drunk and overconfident and high on nascent freedom now that he’s left Eleanor in the dust. Besides, he deserves a win, Amy contends.
“You look good, Boyle,” Gina purrs. She likes stoking these flames. She’s got a white boa curled around her neck, à la Cruella de Vil. “Better than, I dunno, Sparky the fire station mascot over here.”
“Hey! You said I looked retro in this!” Jake protests.
Amy frowns and sips her drink. “Retro? Really?”
It’s a ridiculous non-fight fight, exactly what you’d expect when you mix a panda, a dalmatian, and a couple ounces of pink alcohol. And, at the same time, Amy feels nostalgic. She’d never have stumbled into this situation before she began tutoring Jake and Charles, not even close. As a CSI, she works cases in a lab. Scan the data. Run it under the scope. Bag the evidence and pass it along to a guy in a crisp uniform who’ll be on the nine o’clock news talking to Jennifer or Robin from Metro News One. She never gets in on the glory. And she’s never been part of a team like this, not even when she and her brothers were growing up.
Well, she was part of this team. Jake, Boyle, and a few other officers have their detective’s exam in a week, and this is also a going-away celebration for Amy.
“We can’t all look like we stepped out of a magazine,” Jake mutters.
She tries not to smile at the fact that he noticed.
Amy’s wearing a white blazer with dark slacks ー she sticks out like a sore thumb, standing like a model on a red carpet next to a couple of a Disney characters, but the dress code was black and white ー and she can’t stop glowing. Thank goodness for the alcohol; it’s an excuse for her blush. She loves them. She loves the way the Nine-Nine treats her like one of their own after, what, two or three months?
Jake clinks his glass against hers. “To Santiago for all her hard work!”
“To my divorce!” Charles interjects. “But also Amy’s help.”
“To the end of marriage everywhere!” Gina decides to say, drawing a stiff turn and an eyebrow-raise from Holt. “Not yours, sir!”
Amy loves them, Amy loves them, Amy loves them, and she feels a knot in her stomach knowing she’s leaving. Starting Monday, she’ll be back at the lab and she won’t see the bullpen again. Her job is, by nature, temporary. Once the case is closed, she’s not allowed back in.
But, casting a glance at Jake and Charles and Rosa and Gina perched over the bar, she wishes this assignment wouldn’t end so soon.
“Why does everyone else get a drink named after them?” Gina whines from the corner.
“Wait your turn, Linetti.” Rosa, to no one’s surprise, has shown up wearing all black. “Maybe you haven’t earned it yet.”
“Maybe I’ll earn it tonight, then.” There’s a beat before Gina turns away and Amy, for the twelfth or thirteenth time, is left completely clueless as to whether they’re actually dating. She’s asked Jake about it once over text, after she heard Rosa whispering about Babylon something. But he doesn’t know either. He said you might as well guess whether Kelly’s a dog or a woman.
(Which, by the way, only made her more confused. Who’s Kelly?)
“Wow.” Jake walks up behind her 一 there’s no such thing as a subtle entrance when you’re wearing a dalmatian onesie, paws as large as baseball mitts 一 and his eyes widen a little. Her dress shirt is crisp, her pants long and just loose enough to make her seem regal. “You look…”
“Yeah?” Amy feels a smile tug at her lips.
“Uh, I was just gonna say-” His hand gestures look like he’s trying to fold a paper crane, or maybe make a rabbit leap out of a hat in front of thirty middle-schoolers.
“Finish your sentence, Peralta. Hasn’t tutoring taught you anything?”
“You look… like every girl at every bar mitzvah I ever had a crush on.”
She’s twenty-eight, and she has a monthly budget, and she’s thinking about buying a tabbycat or a home treadmill at least some knitting needles to keep her company. Yet all Amy can think is crush and !!!!!!!, which is more of a ping noise in her brain than an actual word.
She takes a quick sip of her drink to keep her mouth occupied. If she opens it, she’ll either ask him out or blurt out something about the different designs of treadmills she’s deciding between. And, well, talking about the Peloton and its height-adjustable HD touchscreen is probably a little too off-topic to justify, even to a man in a dog costume.
Alright.
She’s got this.
She’s Amy freaking Santiago. She ran for prom queen! Her slogan was ‘fun, but not too fun’ and she lost to Megan Bradley, but that just proved she can handle rejection! She’s young, she’s ambitious, she shops for treadmills on the weekends, she’s got a frickin’ drink named after her at the bar that she frequents with her friends 一 friends that pick up her coffee tab when she’s had a bad morning, friends that meet her for dinner at restaurants she’s still too shy to visit alone 一 and she can handle a crush on a guy.
“You look pretty good yourself. Although, I dunno, I think I preferred the black wig you had on last time,” Amy says.
“Oh, that worked for you, did it?” Jake wags his eyebrows before flipping off his dalmatian hood with the googly eyes and the fake, stringy whiskers. It’s partly the alcohol and partly the best friend that has her laughing tonight.
“Never change, Peralta.” She shakes her head at him, still holding her drink. It’s nice to have something to do with her hands, now icy from the glass, when all she wants to do is cup his face and pull him in-
Yeah, three-drink-Amy’s starting to shift into that good ol’ four-drink mode. Maybe she ought to lay off.
“Oh, I’ll try not to. I could wear this thing forever. But, I dunno, this costume’s gonna cost a lot to rent for the next year or so-”
“Not what I meant.” He’s such a geek, she might run the risk of falling in love with him before the night’s through.
“And it’s gonna be awfully hard to get people to take me seriously in this dalmatian getup when I’m a detective-”
She’s done with her drink and she’s putting the glass down and her fingers are clammy so she’s clamping them up her neck, running them through her hair, skimming them over her pants pockets, anything to avoid leaning in and pulling him in. She’s professional, she’s Amy, she knows how to prioritize work over her personal life so things don’t get messy-
“Hey, can I ask you a question in, like, fifteen?” He checks his watch. “Out there?”
Gina and Rosa are holding hands under the table, tucked into a corner booth usually reserved for the 30-somethings trying to pick up dates. How lovely, to be secretive in public. How precious that nobody cares about this, not in the way that turns any secret into a weapon.
“You and me-”
“Yeah?” Rosa interrupts, because she’s Rosa and her voice can break up any conversation.
“I like this. I’ve liked it for months now. Y’know, maybe we should move in together.” Gina’s foot has the gall to kick Rosa’s absentmindedly as she speaks.
“I want that.”
They kiss, and then Gina pulls back. “Then I could finally get a drink named after me at our party!”
“That’s the spirit. Two birds, one stone.” Rosa swishes her drink around, watching her reflection swim in the glass. “But for now, you’ll just have to drink this Santiago, won’t you?”
“Nah, dude. This one’s a Boyle. I’m obsessed with strawberry-coconut drinks right now - Oprah recommended them.”
“Really?”
Gina nods. “We’re great friends, Queen Winfrey and I. We even golf together on the weekends.”
He didn’t know he wanted to say anything tonight.
He’s talked to Amy, obviously. Jake’s filled her drinks, he’s complimented her swoopy shirt that makes her look like a really pretty lawyer on some television show, he’s… gotta work on improving his compliments, but he’s here. y’know. He isn’t a fool and he isn’t ‘dancing around anything’, which Terry said just last week. Terry also said that one of the most important parts of love is merely showing up, and Jake has shown up, itching to cross these borderlines and create something concrete with Amy.
He just hasn’t broached the subject of… them, something solid and real.
He’s thought of bringing it up. Now that she’s leaving the Nine-Nine, the stakes are so much higher.
Out where the fireflies trace patterns in the sky, and where the moths only know that flame is addictive and yet so worth it, she meets him.
No one else notices. Charles is busy celebrating with his terrific divorce lawyer (Sofia something?) who just arrived at the bar; he says she deserves a night off. She isn’t off-put by his panda onesie, so either she’s a great lawyer or really in need of clients. Sofia’s doing shots with Gina and Rosa over in the corner, during what can only be described as death rock that hurts Terry’s ears and makes Holt yearn for the days of Mozart. Ah, the 1760s; those were the golden years.
Rosa’s clinking glasses with Gina. The lights buzz, glowing and oily against the background of a bar covered with spilled drinks. Jake changes into his old clothes, slinging a dalmatian costume onto Gina’s arm (“is this your way of telling me to dress in more animal prints or something?”)
And he’s out the door, loosening his tie so it doesn’t cut off his circulation.
She’s beneath a streetlight, looking so pretty it hurts.
He doesn’t really have a chance with her. She’s Amy.
If he never says anything, though, he’ll never know.
“I like you.” If the tie doesn’t strangle him, the words might, so he has to say them now. “A lot. And I know, you’re my tutor and you’re a CSI and if I pass the exam - knock on wood - I’ll be working with you. But I just… I think there’s something here, Amy.”
The moths and crickets are loud when nobody’s talking.
“Oh.”
Amy’s face softens but she doesn’t want it to. She can’t give him false hope, not when she knows the rules. Not when she’s putting all her willpower into not wanting this… this relationship dangling in front of her.
“I like you, Ames. I - I can’t be the only one, can I?”
“Jake, I-” she musters whatever courage she has left. Hopefully the alcohol hasn’t washed it away. “It’s messy. And I don’t know if I’m in the right place to-”
“Amy! Your phone’s going off like crazy!” Gina hollers, swinging the door of the bar wide open while she holds the phone. “I know, I hate to bother you-”
“I am so sorry.” Amy turns to leave. “We - we can talk about this soon. I want to talk about it, get things out in the open.” But the phone’s ringing off the hook, and this night is tempting her badly. She ought to leave before he reads into her demeanor, or else it’ll give her away. “I am so, so sorry, Jake.”
She runs up the steps to Shaw's.
He’s gonna die alone, isn’t he?
Jake balls his hands into fists. Of course. Thanks a lot, universe, he thinks with a jolt, jaw tightening like he’s got something to prove. There’s too much in his system to face alone. He was drinking to get his inhibitions down, drinking to talk to her, and now he’s just drunk and alone.
Fantastic. That’s just fantastic.
“Hey.” Gina steps out of the bar and under a streetlamp determined to give Jake a handful of glare and possibly a sunburn.
“You heard all that?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” It’s half correct, at least. Gina likes eavesdropping the way that Serena Williams “likes” winning tournaments.
“I tried.” Jake sticks his hands in his pockets, his back to the streetlamp. The metal’s hard and the paint’s peeling off. He wonders how many people have leaned against it, and then how many lovesick men have leaned against it. “She’s gonna say no, but I tried, at least. I told her how I feel.”
“She didn’t say no.”
“Yeah, not fully. Not yet. You think I’m excited to stick around? Wait until her - her mom, or her friends or whatever - finish that phone call, or whatever else she’s doing, so she can scamper out the door of Shaw’s and down to Easy Rejection-ville? She’s just gonna give me the same speech. It’s too complicated. Doesn’t wanna ruin our friendship.”
Gina wants to lay a hand on his arm, but he’s dangerous when he’s like this. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.
“You don’t live in Rejection-ville. Don’t say that about yourself.” She shifts to another edge of the lamp so she can stand and talk without making eye contact.
“I’m the mayor of Rejection-ville! I stand and wave to people at the Rejection balloon float every year, and I give out golden keys to the city when new residents are interested in joining our community of sadists. Realizing that they’ll always be ignored, or left out.” He scoffs. “It doesn’t get better. You’re lucky if it doesn’t get worse.”
“Wouldn’t you just… reject the people who ask for a key to the city? It’s in the name. Loud and clear.”
“Oh my gosh, this is so not the time for jokes!”
Gina’s face is limp. “I know.”
His anger burns thinly. It’s getting thinner, though, the way Gina soothes him. Jake laughs, and his chest doesn’t feel lighter. At least it’s not concentrated on this one sadness.
“I like her so much, Gina.”
The crickets chirp.
“I know.”
“I just… I don’t wanna be that guy who’s all I like you so you’re obligated to like me back! But, sooner or later, isn’t it my turn? Can’t I be the romantic one who isn’t too committed, and isn’t coming on too strong?”
Normally, Gina uses her own experiences as advice, but she’s never been the clingy one. The news about moving in with Rosa won’t work either; too optimistic. Gina’ll wager that the mayor of Rejection-ville probably doesn’t look too highly upon relationship moves like sharing keys with your girlfriend and introducing your coffee maker to her kitchen.
(Gina can’t wait to place Mister Bean next to Rosa’s beat-up old coffeepot. Mister Bean can make a French press so good, it could wake the dead. Mister Bean is an invincible, beautiful machine, the stuff of promise.)
“I’m sorry it has to hurt. I wish it didn’t.” Gina looks up. “I really thought she liked you back. She was great. It’s Amy, she’s basically a full-blown member of the squad by now. I had this whole idea that she could be the one for you, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I was gonna walk you down the aisle at your wedding.”
Jake raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that usually the bride’s-”
“Yep.”
“And my dad’s not, like, dead-”
“I know. But he is to me, so… same difference.”
He smiles. Gina’s never hidden her disdain for his dad, not in the least. (Not in the Wiest, as Charles would say.)
“That was a nice idea. And it would’ve been really cool having you at my wedding.”
Come Monday, she’s gone.
Amy pours out her heart in a letter, of all things.
She goes out and buys panda-bear stationery from the Japanese office supply store on 89th street. Jake can tell because Amy writes thank-you letters to the entire squad, and they make a circle and bend over their notes, comparing who Amy likes best. Rosa admits that, yeah, she recognizes the paper from her last trip to KawaiiPenShop for her niece’s birthday 一 they’re the only place with glow-in-the-dark pencils! 一 and she glares at anyone who dares make fun of that.
“What’s your letter look like, Jake?” Terry asks. He’s still holding his own close to his chest (thank you so much, Detective Jeffords, for showing me what it means to be a good leader) and he thinks about that argument over red versus blue police lights. Jake and Amy were on the same side, even then.
“Uh-” Jake tears his eyes away from the envelope, shredded open. He’d stuck the letter back inside after reading the first couple lines. Couldn’t bear to read past that. “It’s personal.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Terry, for once, keeps from prying. Everyone on the squad knows that Jake is taking Amy’s exit particularly hard.
“Gina? Are you crying?” Charles asks.
“No! I just-” she swallows back a gulp, “this letter is really moving. And I also got some glitter in my eye last night at Dancey Reagan.”
“Suuuuure,” Rosa chips in. “We all believe that.”
To Jake, my closest friend on this team,
I’m really sorry I wasn’t able to talk to you that night at Shaw’s. I mean, you’d think that there would be bigger distractions than a ringing cell phone at a panda-themed party 一 do you like this paper, by the way? Here’s a sample. She’d enclosed an empty sheet of the panda paper, having written Jake’s letter on something clean and crisp and white instead. Amy probably thought it was too weird, writing a breakup letter on pink paper with hearts and bamboo shoots.
(Dot your ‘i’s, Jake thinks fondly, and not with hearts.)
Anyways! Enough about the paper. I’m sorry I had to leave the party right when we were about to talk, REALLY talk, and make things official. It was a high-profile case and the lab needed me.
I’m sorry, I’m deflecting.
I like you, I do.
They tell you not to splice a sentence with a comma, Jake smiles at that. Such a geek; at least she’s consistent.
But I can’t help myself. I’m nervous to tell you that I like you.
He can’t read any more of the letter until he’s at home. Not when the stakes are this high and his hopes could be dashed within moments. With a phrase like that, her feelings could go either way. She might just want to be friends. Jake stashes the note in his locker, then in the glove compartment of his car when he fears someone else might find it and open the envelope. After a long day’s work, shoes clattered on the bedroom floor, he finally gets to the next line.
Romantic stylez, with a Z and everything.
Tell me we can work something out. Please.
He’s not ashamed to admit that he shrieks out a ‘YES! yes! fuck yeah!’ and practically leaps off the bed for his phone. He knows there are a few more lines of the letter left but he scans them quickly 一 oh my gosh, Amy signed the note with little hearts at the end 一 and he can’t wait to see her again.
I know it’s complicated because I work for the NYPD too, but I think this is… worth it. Don’t you? It’s not like I’ll be your tutor forever, and other relationships within the department have worked before. I think it’s possible. I’m willing to do the work.
I know what you said the other night at Shaw’s; I actually haven’t stopped thinking about it ever since. I can still see you and me, caught in the lamplight, and I don’t want to walk away from this.
Call me, or text me, or WHATEVER. Just communicate with me so I know we might be on the same page. Pun intended.
❤❤ Amy.
p.s. Will you go out with me? She’d written the last line in smaller text, her words rehearsing their performance on the paper.
She hasn’t stopped thinking about that letter since she left it at his desk.
Jake’s changed his mind, probably, and that’s why he isn’t getting in touch with her. The bullpen opens at 9 AM, he probably rolls in a few minutes late, he’s read her letter within the hour… and yeah, he’s ghosting her. The Nine-Nine’s gonna move on, having forgotten the cute tutor with the flashcards and (once or twice) rhyming songs to help you remember the acronyms.
Jake’s totally changed his mind and he’s probably going to tell stories about the idiot girl who ever thought she might end up with him.
Fuck, why did she choose panda stationery?
Jake needs to run an errand first, but he calls her within the hour. Amy picks up the phone after four rings.
Four Rings, incidentally, is the name of the jewelry store that Charles keeps pestering Jake to check out. Just in case you need to buy her a diamond bracelet, he said. Jake laughed at the time, a false and airy laugh pushing down his feelings, but now it doesn’t feel too far away.
She’s… she’s the reason ambition exists. The way Amy talks about organizing folders or learning Spanish vocabulary with her brothers, Jake wishes everyone could have that sort of enthusiasm.
He closes his eyes and smiles for a second, then jerks them open. This errand isn’t the sort of thing you can do with your eyes shut.
“Where are you right now?” Jake asks over the phone, head tipped back against the leather of the car’s headseat. The steering wheel feels rough in his hands. Earbuds tangle down his chest. He hopes this wasn’t a bad idea.
“In my apartment, why?”
“Look out your window for something loud and bright,” he instructs her over a phone line.
Fingers crossed.
With the press of a button, he runs the siren of the new patrol car. Just for a minute, until he can catch her attention.
“Oh my gosh, you didn’t!” He hears Amy cheer. “We’re still on the same team, huh? Blue lights look far better than red.” There’s some rattling in the background. Five minutes later, she runs up to the curb where he’s parked, a few feet away from him. “You stole the Nine-Nine’s new car and drove it to my place?”
“Eh. Borrowed is more like it.” Jake pulls the keys out of the ignition, tucking them in his jeans pocket. He steps out of the car. His earbuds are still caught everywhere, dripping over the carseat and caught in the cornerlike wedge between the cupholder and his leg.
Amy laughs, watching him trying to extricate his own body from the car. “Hey, stranger. Good to see you again.”
She grabs at his hands for the keys, and their thumbs fumble each other for a moment. This is nice, she wants to say, but this isn’t an indie movie.
“Where are we going?”
Amy drives them to the library where they’d studied for weeks. They sit outside on the bench, in humid air. The mosquitoes’ll have a feast tonight. Jake’s exam is in two days so, naturally, he’s got study materials on his phone (thank you for existing, Quizlet app) and Amy’s stashed highlighters in her purse.
“You keep these around for all your clients?” he asks, nodding at the scattered highlighters.
“I’m just good at my job, that’s all.”
“Oh, really?”
“Well, I’m very prepared. Usually.” Her eyes meet his. “But I never thought I’d meet a cute police officer fighting with his friend over a panini press. And I certainly never imagined I’d do this.”
Amy leans in, kissing him gently, holding the collar of his t-shirt and pretending as if she hasn’t considered doing this before. Jake smiles into the kiss 一 how can he not? 一 and he forgets everything but the taste of her chapstick. His stomach is all nerves, his heart firing on every cylinder. She’s - she’s incomparable.
“Oh my gosh, stop complimenting me!” Amy murmurs. “That’s enough from you.”
“Are you blushing?”
“Maybe.”
“I made you bashful, didn’t I?”
“Well, I’m certainly not un-bashful,” and it’s the garbled nature in her words that makes Jake think he’s finally gotten the best of her. When he kisses her again and she strokes across his cheek with the pad of her thumb, soft like he’s a work of art and she’s scared to break or chip off a piece, he swears it’s even better than before. She thinks he’s sacred. She finds him beautiful.
And, hey, she can have the best of him anytime.
Now, Rosa would never admit it, but Mister Bean makes a pretty heavenly cup of coffee. Waking up next to Gina every morning isn’t half bad, either.
“Hi,” Gina murmurs, planting a kiss on Rosa’s forehead. She sits up in bed and Rosa busts out laughing.
“You have silky gold pajamas?”
“I saw them at Anthropologie and I couldn’t resist. Plus, they were on sale!”
“Discounted down to, what, two hundred bucks?”
Gina scoffs. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.”
Life has been quieter lately, now that Rosa’s made detective and they’ve finally moved in. It took a while arranging everything 一 there may have been a weeklong battle to the death over who got the left side of the bed, and then over whose knives were sharper 一 but things are better now. Plus, Gina finally admitted that Rosa won the knife war.
“It wasn’t a war, it was a disagreement!” Rosa corrects. “Shouldn’t get so hyped up over the little things.”
“Easy for you to say. You were the winner,” Gina murmurs, petulant. She keeps a board of tally-marks inside her desk drawer; Gina’s won thirty-two arguments since they’ve been dating, and Rosa’s only got twenty-seven. Take that, miss ‘my knives are even sharper than my eyeliner.’
“What did you say just now?”
“Nothing!”
“You got this,” Charles affirms. “I just did my detective’s interview and it went pretty well. Yours is gonna be the same! C’mon, we’re gonna sail through this. In an hour we can go celebrate, just you and me.”
“You and me.” Jake nods. He checks his watch again, waiting for something Charles isn’t.
The door creaks behind them. “Am I late?”
Jake grins. “Not at all, babe.”
It’s a good thing Charles already did his interview, because he gasps and his knees genuinely wobble a little bit. ”No. No way! Gina said you two - you - Jake was down on his luck ‘cause he tried to talk to you, and-”
“Gina doesn’t know yet,” Amy tells him, grinning. She turns to Jake then. “Oh, come on now, don’t walk in like this.” Jake never learned to tie a tie (thanks a lot for being absent, dad) so Amy undoes it for him, then fixes it so the tie dimple falls in the right place. Her hands are delicate against his chest. The fabric loops and spins in the air. “There.”
She plants a kiss on Jake’s cheek and Charles’ soul practically leaves his body. “It’s really nice to see you two happy.”
“I know.” Amy’s eyes fall on Jake’s police uniform, so crisp it looks unreal. “I knew a long time ago.”
There isn’t really an obvious way to celebrate, so Jake and Charles’ detective party is a mutual decision.
And, well, when you let two best friends choose two wildly different themes and meet in the middle…
“Welcome to Die Hard cooking class!” Jake hollers.
“I am so confused,” Rosa mutters. “Entranced. But confused.” On one side of Shaw’s there are strobe lights and heist music playing in the background. Terry’s their DJ and he’s been instructed to play the Die Hard soundtrack all night. (Thanks for being real flexible and having a diverse music taste, Jake.)
On the other side, near the kitchen, Charles has set up cooking stations where people can learn how to make Mama Boyle’s famous ravioli and stuffed mushrooms. He’s already handing out aprons and chef’s hats as Rosa speaks.
“Dibs on the sparkly red apron!” Gina says, running to that side of the bar. “Rosie, if you wanna get your Nakatomi on and do trivia, that’s cool with me. Later tonight we’re gonna make Die Hard-themed food. Then we can work on a Gugelhupf together!”
Rosa cocks her head.
“It’s a German cake. ‘Cause of Hans Gruber, duh.”
“This is the best party of my entire life,” Jake adds, grinning. He takes in the room with wonder. “Boyle, you didn’t have to go so hard planning my part.”
“Of course I did.”
“But you like cooking, and you’ve always wanted to work on Food Network. This could’ve been your night!”
“It’s our night,” Charles corrects, already rolling up his sleeves and sprinkling flour on his cutting board. “Wouldn’t feel right unless you got your dream too.”
Jak won’t admit it, but he gets a little teary-eyed. “Dude.”
“Dude.”
“Dude!”
“Jake. You deserve it. You got the promotion,” Charles does a fake little drumbeat on his cutting board, “aaaand you got the girl.”
Amy’s been instructed to stay far, far away from the kitchen 一 “what if you’re such a bad cook that you make everyone else’s food taste weird, too?!” as Jake put it, trying to soften the blow 一 so she’s playing trivia tonight.
“You ready?” she asks Jake, leaning into his side.
He kisses her briefly, yet Terry cheers regardless. He’s three drinks in and killing it as the DJ. “What? Terry loves love! Terry loves ‘the Peralta’, his specialty drink, and Terry loves Gugelhupf marble cake, and Terry loves love most of all.”
“I’m ready,” Jake replies. He kisses her again, just for the hell of it, and she laughs a little bit afterwards.
“If you had told past Amy that I’d be at a Die Hard-themed, cooking-class-themed party with my boyfriend today, I’d have thought you were crazy.”
“I guess I’m crazy, then.”
Gina walks by and smiles at Jake just then. Looks like he got the girl after all. Gina'll have to watch Amy a little carefully to make sure she doesn't break Jake's heart, but this feels different. Special.
Who's the mayor of Rejectionville now, huh? she texts him.
Jake responds with a mishmash of emojis and then, when he's drunk three Peraltas, sends miiiightt be fallalin in lov w/her???
[Six months later]
There’s a picture on the mantel of Amy’s apartment. Charles, Jake, and Sergeant Peanut Butter are dressed up to the nines at the official ceremony where they’d been promoted. Amy is smiling, her arm slung over Jake’s shoulder. Charles was scowling at Peanut Butter that night, she recalls, but in the photo Boyle is smiling too, next to Gina and Rosa and Holt and everyone else they love.
Next to the picture, Amy’s letter is framed.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Jake calls. “Have we met before?” Only a few months into the job and he’s already investigated three art heists. This one makes four. Being a detective is dope.
“Nah, I don’t think so. I would’ve remembered you!” Amy says. She runs over to greet him over a crime scene, which would be odd unless you’re a CSI. With her background in art history, she always gets picked for these museum robberies. Sometimes Amy pretends to groan about it, but everyone in her department knows she loves an extra all-expenses-paid trip to the Met. Or MOMA. Or the Guggenheim. Or the Whitney.
(God, she loves living in New York sometimes.)
“I like your windbreaker,” Jake says. He envelops her in a hug so the wind doesn’t batter her too badly; she can get cold at the drop of a hat.
“Yeah?” Amy kisses him.
“It’s cute. It matches your little Ziploc baggies and those powderless gloves perfectly.”
“Oh, thank you. You know, I assembled this whole outfit so they’d go together. The dark fabric of the jacket is a nice complement to the white gloves.”
“You know what they say about CSI work - fashion comes first.” Jake looks around the scene and nobody really seems to need him yet; they’re still putting up yellow tape and getting a list of everyone who was at the Met yesterday. So he keeps Amy in his arms. He likes her there best, anyways. “D’you think you’ll be stopping by the precinct anytime soon? For Reynolds’ thing?”
Amy signed a tutoring contract with Captain Holt last month. She’ll be tutoring Reynolds and a few other police officers so they can pass their latest certification. Eventually, she might even walk them through the steps of the detective’s exam. Who knows?
“I’ll be there Wednesday. Do you wanna grab lunch?” Amy asks. “We can go to Tony’s.”
“The place Charles says has really great mouth feel?”
Amy laughs. “He says they make the best meatball sub in Brooklyn, too. You wanna go with me?”
Jake smiles, shakes his head. As if she doesn’t know the answer to that.
He would go anywhere with her.