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He’s wearing that green olive shirt. Amy loves him in that shirt. The first time she told him how handsome she thinks he looks in it, he’d given her this stupid dopey smile that not so subtly tried to conceal how proud of himself he was for picking it out. Ever since then, it’s made frequent appearances on date night.
Date nights such as tonight, in which Jake had surprised her with a booking at a fancy restaurant she’s been wanting to try for ages to try and cheer her up at the end of a particularly hard week at work. He’s so unbelievably sweet like that, knowing that she regards going out for a nice meal, chatting with him, flirting with him, as a simple heaven. He also knows that Amy hates not being in control of her own emotions, which doesn’t marry well with the fact that when you’re fifteen weeks pregnant, hormones have this annoying tendency to conspire against happiness without a moment’s notice.
Yet he’s wearing that green olive shirt and he’s kissing her, crowding her against her side of the bed with one hand firmly on her back and the other feeling her ass that he loves so much. Both of them are a bit tipsy on love (and nothing else; alcohol’s been out of the question since she found out she was pregnant and Jake refuses to drink in front of her) as she lies back on the bed, tugging Jake down with her. It’s so intoxicating, the feeling of his mouth against her collar bone, her neck, and her hand holding the back of his head; the nausea, headaches and tiredness of the first trimester hadn’t exactly been the perfect pre-conditions for their sex life in the past month or so, and she’ll be the first to admit she’s missed this. Amy could tell from his eagerness the minute they got in the door that Jake’s missed this too - with his pants long discarded on the floor she can feel his enthusiasm against her thigh - and he makes her smirk as he blindly feels her side for the zipper to her dress.
She has truly missed this, so she reaches to unzip it for him, but she can’t ignore the slight nervousness in the pit of her stomach, the self-consciousness she felt when she looked at herself in the mirror while getting ready for tonight. She’s not exactly sure what she’s worried about - this her husband for god’s sake, this is Jake - but before he can go any further, she reaches up to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt, her way of taking back a little control.
As he hovers above her, her hand gently traces his chest, his stomach and suddenly it hits her that it’s so not fair that he still looks exactly the same as he did fifteen weeks ago. She pulls the shirt off him and throws it to the floor and she doesn’t want to cry, she really doesn’t – she’s had enough of crying randomly – she just wants to show him how much she loves him. Yet when she looks up at his slightly confused face, the tears are already forming and so crying it is.
“Hey, hey, Ames, what’s the matter?” Jake’s voice is soft and his tone a million miles away from his dirty whispers in her ear during the cab ride home. He brings one hand to caress her cheek.
“It’s nothing, let’s just-“ Amy tries to shake his hand off and pull him back down for a kiss, but he relents, forcing her to make eye contact.
“No, we don’t have to, we can stop.” It doesn’t help that she’s kind of still turned on by the love and concern in his eyes. He strokes her thigh, “What’s wrong?”
She laughs through tears, “You just look stupid hot.”
“Well duh, Santiago,” he retorts with a grin. That grin could make her feel at ease in any situation.
“And…I don’t know,” she cautiously tries to word what she’s feeling. Screw it, she could do with a little bit of sympathy. “You’re going to say this is dumb, but I, uh, I don’t think I look sexy at all, I certainly don’t feel it.”
“Babe, that has got to be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.” Jake wordlessly shifts so that he’s propped himself on his side of the bed, opening both arms so that she can cuddle up to him properly.
The tears falling against his chest, she ignores his comment, unable to stop the tide of emotions she’s been holding in all week, every thought she’s had recently tumbling out of her mouth unfiltered as possibly the unsexiest foreplay known to man. “I’m just not used to looking like this and when I’m not throwing up half the time, I’m exhausted and feel gross and bloated and fat. I could barely do up my dress tonight! And I know my body’s making this perfect home for our little baby or whatever, and I really do love that idea, but that doesn’t mean the reality of it still kind of sucks.” Her left hand comes to nervously traces abstract patterns on his chest, her sudden outburst a surprise even to herself.
Jake just holds her close, briefly navigating in his mind the right thing to say. “Ames, first of all, you know I think you’re the sexiest woman on the entire planet. Like I’m pretty sure you make throwing up sexy and I don’t think even Sandra Bullock could do that.”
“Don’t you dare mention another, non-pregnant woman, Peralta.”
“Noted. Point is, you are stupid hot and beautiful and I am always going to think that. I love absolutely all of you, forever no take backs, and I wish I could take all the sucky things away. If I could take on all the morning sickness and tiredness, I would. Just like that.”
Amy’s heart melts a little at that. “I know you would, baby,” she kisses his collarbone in gratitude for his hypothetical sweetness. “Just, everyone told me - like Sharon, Gina, my sisters-in-law, the internet - that the second trimester is amazing and wonderful; I wouldn’t feel sick and I’d be glowing and horny all the time, y’know?” She looks up at him and he nods sympathetically, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But so far, it’s not all that. It seems like all I’m doing is getting bigger and falling asleep at my desk, and I love this baby so much but my body’s already changing so much I can’t help but think what else is going to change about me after its born.” A stubborn frown forms on her face. “I don’t like it.”
“I know you don’t.” Through separations and promotions, she’s always been anxious of change and the unknown and he’s always been there to comfort her. “But that’s okay, Ames. Whatever happens, however tired we’re going to be or how our work schedules change or how you change, we’re going to be a little family and everything else will figure itself out, right?”
Amy nods while wiping tears from her cheeks, because she supposes he is right; they’ve survived everything else the universe has thrown at them so far.
He continues, “And remember the doctor said that every pregnancy is different and it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Like you’re growing a freaking human; that’s all kinds of amazing.”
“Yeah,” she laughs a little at how extraordinary the idea is when said out loud. “I have no idea how my mom had eight babies.”
“I cannot believe you would mention your mom while we’re lying here half-naked.”
“Shut up, Jake,” she nudges his shoulder gently, and he dramatically yelps in mock pain.
Luckily, he seems to recover pretty quickly. “For what it’s worth, you’re always glowing to me, babe, and I promise you it’ll get better. That’s a Peralta Guarantee.”
“Wow, pregnancy has made you an even bigger cornball than usual,” she teases, although his words genuinely do touch her. Funnily enough, they always do, the awkward days of ‘noice, smort’ a million worlds away.
Jake assures her, “As your husband I only speak the truth.”
“I guess I have the best husband, then,” Amy snuggles up to him closer, even though her small bump prevents her from fully lying on top of him.
“Mm, and I have the bestest wife,” he declares in turn, kissing the top of her head and comfortingly rubbing her arm.
She chooses to let his grammar slide, because that’s what bestest wives do. “So you really don’t mind that the date with your wife ended in her crying again instead of us having sex?”
“Ames, I had so much fun tonight; like, I don’t know about you but I think we’re really good at dating. And as long as you’re okay and baby is okay, I’m happy.” He puts his hand on her belly, gently caressing it with a certain amount of awe that still hasn’t worn off (Amy’s not sure it ever will). “That’s literally all I care about.”
“I love you.” She leans up to kiss him softly on the lips, a simple gesture that means so much. She never ever wants him to forget that she loves him truly, madly, deeply.
“I love you too.” Jake says reverently, stealing a kiss back. “And, hey, we have tomorrow off. We can lie in and you can catch up on sleep, and we don’t have to change out of pyjamas all day.”
“A complete slug day? Takeout, sex and movies?”
He grins at her. “The Santiago Peralta special.”
Amy kisses him again just because, letting their foreheads touch and the kiss to linger just a little longer. As much as she could snuggle with her husband for all of eternity – a lot of the time she wishes she could - the idea of his smart pants and green shirt festering on the floor crawls into her mind and she peels herself away from him to fold his clothes neatly over their armchair. She finally shimmies out of her dress and unstraps her bra in order to don a far more comfortable, less belly-highlighting sleepshirt, an action which invites Jake to get up from the bed himself and wrap his arms behind her.
“Also, your boobs have gotten bigger already. That’s definitely a plus of pregnancy.” He comments, kissing the side of neck as his hand roams under her shirt to feel her breast.
Amy turns around in his arms, instinctively reaching to run her hand through his gorgeous curls while trying and definitely failing to suppress a smile. “You’re such a dork.”
“Mhm,” he pecks her lips, the bump ever so gently nudging into his stomach. “You want a hot chocolate?”
Hot chocolates usually manifest themselves on date night in some way, and the vague sense of routine and the fact that Jake has an uncanny ability to predict her needs, fuels the newfound reassurance within her that everything in the next five months and beyond is going to be okay. She’ll be enough. She nods up at him with a smile.
“Then two hot chocolates as hot as my hot wife and my even hotter baby-mama coming right up!” He enthusiastically takes her hand and drags her to the kitchen clad in only his boxers.
Yeah, with Jake, everything is always okay.