Work Text:
I’m never drinking again. Jake Peralta thinks as he comes to consciousness, his mouth full of cotton swabs and sandpaper and his head pounding like a sledgehammer on concrete. Or maybe 50 million sledgehammers, a freight train and another 24 elephants. Ugh. His eyeballs feel as if they’ve been plucked from his head, shaken up in a blender, and poured back into their sockets. But, don’t forget that garnish of eye crust gluing his eyelids closed. Ugh. And his whole body… is just so, so, warm. And sweaty. It’s like he’s woken up in a swamp. Ugh.
His alarm hasn’t gone off yet, although Jake isn’t sure if his drunk self would have been sensible enough to actually set one. The fact that Holt is probably watching the clock right now, waiting to give Jake desk duty for the next week for being tardy – whatever that means – is enough to convince Jake to just concede defeat, call in sick, and crawl back into bed. But first, more sleep – if only his stomach would stop lurching and bubbling.
Jake rolls over, and pulls his crinkly and hot duvet closer, relaxing his aching and hungover body into the cool embrace of… sand? Oh God! It’s everywhere! He can feel it in between his toes, up his nose and in his teeth, where it crunches uncomfortably and frankly, tastes awful. When Jake opens his eyes, after a few moments of trying to convince himself that maybe he just fallen asleep in some kid’s sandbox, his stomach drops, as he realises, he has no clue where he is.
He’s in the desert, that much is clear. Mostly from the sand, the few arid bushes and rocky outcroppings, and probably the fact that it’s as hot as Scully’s roller chair seat, and as dry as the precinct’s microwave grime.
And that’s not all. The duvet? A ratty and disgusting plastic tarp. And on his head? An honest to god cowboy hat. Yeehaw? But it’s not just any old cowboy hat – it’s baby pink, with a fuzzy white trim and a garish faux diamante tiara on the front. He takes it off to have a closer look. It’s worse on the back. The words ‘Hot Stuff’ feature prominently in yet more faux crystals. Jake has no idea where the hat came from – and if only that were the biggest mystery here.
“What the hell happened?”
Before Jake can start to panic, he sets his brain to cop mode, which takes a couple seconds longer than usual, and it’s not due to the shock of waking up in the middle of nowhere, it’s because he’s still ridiculously hungover – and apparently the baking hot sun isn’t enough to fix that. Huh, go figure. He checks his pockets but doesn’t find his phone. His wallet is still there, but emptied of his cards, and the little cash he had the start of the evening – all he has is his driver’s licence, oh, and his keys. That would save him 30 bucks and a call to his landlord, when he eventually gets back to civilization. Also, but not unexpectedly, he has no water. Which really sucks, since Jake throat is as dry as, well, a desert.
As much as Jake is aloof and carefree (or as Holt says, careless and irresponsible), he really doesn’t believe that he’d be stupid enough to lose almost all his belongings and wander out into the desert. (In fact, Jake didn’t even know where the nearest desert to Brooklyn would be). Or at least, Charles or Terry wouldn’t have let that happen. Plus, it’s very unlikely he actually paid his tab. So, odds are, he had all his stuff and cash stolen, and was somehow put here?
Jake takes a long look around and heaves a sigh before slowly, very slowly, working his way to his feet and placing the pink monstrosity back on his head to offer a little respite from the sun.
Well, guess it’s time to start walking. Maybe he could find a road somewhere. Or maybe some cowboys – Do they still exist?
Walking through, what Jake has come to call the hell pit, is almost the worst experience of his life. The sun is too hot, and he can feel his skin burning as he walks, but at least the cowboy hat is helping a bit. The brightness really isn’t doing wonders for the thrashing in his head. The sand? Well it’s still in every crack and crevice. Yes. Even his ass. It makes him want to die. Jake has no clue how long it’s been, and he’s sure that’s cliché, but everything about this situation is just crazy – and would make a great movie. But really, Jake could be walking in circles and he wouldn’t know any better. Maybe that cactus does look a little familiar. And he really needed some water.
Okay, this is the worst experience of his life.
But all this wandering does leave him time to think – and to solve the case of his own disappearance.
The 99 had gone out to Shaw’s after a solving a particularly difficult case. A massive cross-country drug operation ran by none-other than Cedric 'Two Tricks' Brandon. And though they’d never managed to figure out why he had that nickname it was still pretty cool. Nevertheless, it had taken them a couple of months of hard-graft and long nights to finally track down his operation and arrest all his men. Brandon was nowhere to be found. That had been a real bummer, but there was an APB out on him, and the crew really needed something to celebrate. They’d played a few rounds of pool, played a couple of drinking games, but he doesn’t really remember much else. Although, apparently the evening must have consisted of more drinking. Since Jake hadn’t got this black out drunk since his academy graduation.
Despite keeping his brain distracted, by trying to remember his drunken escapades, Jake’s really trying not to freak out at this point. All his years of NYPD training, he’s never been prepared for a situation like this.
Suddenly, a gust of wind whips around Jake, bringing forth a burst of sand, once again, burning his eyes and choking his throat. Stupid jerk sand.
“Oh my god I’m going to die in this desert!” Jake groans as a flush of heat courses through his body again – that was definitely the hangover. It’s enough to make him sit down in a slump and bury his face in his hands. “And some desert lizard is going to eat my face off, and my beautiful body will never be found,” he wails. “Poor Charles, he’ll be lost without me.” Jake knows that he should probably keep going, but he feels so defeated and tired, and evening seemed to be drawing in.
Jake would never be this dumb – someone must’ve done this to him. And as soon as he gets back to the precinct – he’s determined to find out who. But he has strong bets on Brandon.
But only if he could find his way out of this damned desert.
The sun was starting to set now, its orange haze transforming the cloudless sky into a concoction of oranges, pinks and purples. Even the stars were slowly starting to show their faces, peeping through and lighting up the sky like little pinpricks. The sand continued to stretch out before him, whispers of sand billowing up in the evening gusts.
As the sun inched closer to the horizon, a small figure appeared in its glow. He strained his eyes against the light, but Jake still didn’t know what to make of it, as the figure was too large to be a person, and too slow and tall to be a vehicle. It continued to approach, the silhouette growing closer with every moment. Getting to his feet from his pile in the sand, Jake waves his arms exuberantly and yells – because either a wild animal was coming to eat him or someone was coming to rescue him, and frankly, either of those sound better than starving to death in the desert. He really hopes it’s the latter though. His heart is in his mouth. And the nervousness in his stomach buzzes, spreading to his hands and knees, making them feel weak and shaky.
He calls out again.
The figure stops.
And then speeds up.
Jake groans in desperation and calls out once again. He really hopes that he’s about to be rescued.
The figure continues to approach, a train of sand billowing behind them like tiny clouds. Soon, the rhythmic thumping of hooves on sand reaches Jake, like music to his ears, and he realised that the figure was not some rabid monster intent on destroying his guts (title of its sex tape?), but a real person riding a horse – like some avenging knight coming to rescue his damsel in distress. Had you asked Jake if he believed such a scene yesterday, he would have laughed – but boy, waking up with a pink cowboy hat on, in the middle of the desert, does wonders at broadening your horizons. And he supposed that being a princess was probably a nice thing to do, once in a while.
As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, leaving the desert in the cool, dusky glow of twilight, the horse and rider come to a halt just before Jake. And Christ, if the fairy-tale couldn’t get any better – the officer on the horse was the most beautiful women he’d ever seem. And he really didn’t think that that was the dehydration talking.
The officer looked remarkable in her uniform, even if it was an horrible tan colour, (although, almost every officer he knew looked amazing in full dress), and her thick dark hair, although tied in a low ponytail, was sleek and perfect despite the hot ride through the desert. She had sunglasses on, but when she took them off, she had beautiful round eyes of deep chocolate brown. God, Jake knew he sounded like a besotted teenager, but she really was stunning.
But most of all, she looked smug – like rescuing Jake was about to get her some serious praise and brownie points.
“Are you Detective Jake Peralta?” Her voice friendly, but clear and authoritative.
He nods, still in awe that someone actually managed to find him, and even more so since she seems to know his name.
“I’m Deputy Santiago. I’m glad I found you Peralta. We had a tip-off you’d been dumped here by Cedric Brandon.” Jake tried not to feel so inflated by the fact that he’s basically solved the case. “Your colleagues across in Brooklyn have been looking for you for five days. You’re in Black Rock Desert.”
“Oh! Five days? Cool. Black Rock, Nevada. Also cool. Cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool coolcoolcoolcoolcool…