Chapter Text
— March —
It's not fair.
But then again, when is anything that ever happens to them fair? Was it fair when Jake was sent away to Florida to start an entirely new life under the Witness Protection Scheme? Was it fair when he was wrongfully accused of armed robbery and sentenced to fifteen years in prison? No. None of it was fair. But stuff like this just kept happening to them, again and again, and will they ever get to settle down and have the happy, peaceful, married life she's always wanted?
Probably not, it seems.
He'll be okay. She knows he will. He always is, and this time will be no exception. He is intelligent, brave and, most importantly, this is his job. This is what he does, as he keeps reminding her, and she has to accept that he's capable of doing this, just like he's been capable so many times before.
But still, as she sits on the edge of the bed, bouncing her right leg up and down nervously and watching her husband dig his passport out of their bedside drawer, she can't help but worry. Worry that today will be the last time she sees him, that he'll die out there, without her, and she'll be left alone, forever wondering if there was something she could have done. And she knows this is standard police business, and she knows the roles could very well be flipped one day, and she knows there's nothing she can do about it, but she's angry anyway. Angry at the NYPD for asking him to go, and angry at him for agreeing. Angry at herself for not trying harder to stop him.
He looks up and his soft eyes meets hers. She knows he can see how frustrated she is, how sad and worried, because his lips curve into a frown and he stands up straighter. "Ames," he says gently, like he's frightened she might break, and she is too. Frightened she might crumble, might fall apart right in front of his eyes. "It's only four months. I'll be back before you know it."
"Could be longer." She mumbles, looking down at the ground as she says it. Could be five months, could be six. Could be forever if they find out he's an impostor and kill him. She shudders at the thought and pushes it to the back of her mind, shoves it into a box and locks it, and she stands up and walks into his outstretched arms.
“Ames,” he says again, his voice catching as she lays her head on his chest and he wraps his arms around her.
“Shh,” she says, squeezing her eyes closed. There are tears rolling down her cheeks now and she doesn’t want to think about this, doesn't want him to talk about it, wants to forget all of this is happening, that Jake is going away again. She wants to freeze time so they can live in this moment forever, his arms wrapped around her and the warmth of his body pressed up against hers. She wants to stay right here, in his embrace, for the rest of time. She desperately wishes that life worked that way. But it doesn't. And sooner or later he has to leave.
They stand there, together, in each others arms, for what feels like hours, but is probably only a few minutes. Amy tries to breathe him in, to memorise his smell and the way his body curves, to remember the way his lips feel on her head when he presses a kiss there and pulls away from her. He offers her a small, sad smile, and she tries to smile back through the tears.
He isn't really allowed to take anything with him, which Amy is partly happy about because it means she gets to wear his clothes when she misses him and needs to remember how he feels. But this also means leaving behind his wedding ring, which she tries not to resent him for, but deep down, she hates the idea of him being out there without that thin, golden band on the fourth finger of his left hand. He looks at it for a moment too long before sliding it off and placing it next to the lamp of their windowsill, and Amy winces inwardly, the sight almost physically hurting her.
She swallows and tries to push through the lump in her throat, offering Jake a slight smile as he looks up at her sheepishly. "Well," she says, and has to clear her throat because her voice is almost completely gone. "We should go."
"I guess we should," Jake replies, but he doesn't move, so Amy walks towards him and takes his hand in hers, pulling him out of their bedroom. They have to be strong, she knows that, and if one of them can't be, the other has to support them. That's how marriage works, or at least that's how their marriage works.
The cab ride to the airport is silent, but Jake's hand never leaves Amy's, which she finds comforting. She traces her thumb over his palm, trying to remember every line, every crevice. She doesn't want to forget anything while he's gone, not even the feel of his hand in hers. The little things are important to Amy, always, but right now more than ever. She tries to imagine how many times he's held her hand, how many times she's felt him rub over her knuckles in a gentle massage, reassuring her during the bad times and wordlessly communicating his love through the good ones.
Captain Holt is waiting at the airport for them, with Madeline Wuntch standing just behind him, her arms behind her back and her lips pursed. Holt looks okay, like his emotions aren't taking over his body as much as Amy's are, but the slight twitch under his left eye and the tilt in his mouth tell her he is having just as hard a time as she is. Boyle, Diaz and Jefford's aren't here, and neither is Gina. They had to say goodbye to Jake yesterday, so Amy supposes she is quite lucky to be here today, to be allowed to kiss Jake for the last time in at least four months and to watch his private plane take off.
"Peralta," Captain Holt says with a nod, and Jake nods back.
Amy stays quiet, wrapping her arm around Jake's and holding onto him tightly.
"Detective Peralta, good morning," Wuntch says, stepping forward and holding out a hand which Jake shakes without a word. She holds her hand out to Amy, and greets her with, "Sergeant Santiago," and Amy wants nothing more than to slap her hand away and ask her why? Why Jake? Why her husband? But she doesn't of course. Instead, she shakes her hand and nods at the acting Commissioner politely.
Jake wordlessly reaches into his pocket with his free hand and pulls out his passport, passing it over to Wuntch. She swaps it for his new, fake passport and Jake doesn’t open it before stuffing it in his pocket, which Amy is thankful for because she’s not sure she can cope with seeing his face next to another name. A name she doesn’t know, a name unfamiliar to her. Madeleine Wuntch is looking at him, raising an eyebrow expectantly, and Amy knows she is urging him to say goodbye, telling him they have to leave.
So she takes it upon her self to turn around and bury her face in Jake’s chest. His arms don’t hesitate before wrapping around her, pulling her close, and she tries to hold the tears back, tries to be strong for him.
“I love you,” she mumbles, pressing her cheek right above where his heart sits, hard enough that she can feel it beating, can count his heart rate as it thumps into her ear.
“Ames,” he says, holding her outwards and using his hands to cup her face. He forces her to look at him, and she hates him for a second because the more she looks at him the more she wants to cry. “I love you. And I promise, whatever it takes, I’ll come home to you.”
Amy nods, wanting desperately to believe him one-hundred-percent but unable to push past ninety. She know he’ll try, knows he’ll fight, but drug rings are nasty places, and she’s not sure he’s thought properly about the dangers he will face. “I know,” she lies, and she leans in to capture his lips in a kiss.
She doesn’t care that Holt, her Captain, is here. Hell, she doesn’t care that the acting Commissioner is standing right beside her. All she can think about is that this is the last time she will see Jake, the last time she will hug him or kiss him, for the next four months. And she can’t stop telling herself that maybe it will be longer. Maybe it will be six months, or a year. Or maybe it will be forever. So she kisses him with all the passion and might she can muster, tries to convey all her feelings for him in one kiss, and she feels his tears, wet on her cheeks and her lips and her nose, and now she is crying too.
It’s a while, Amy thinks, before they pull away from one another, and it almost hurts physically, burns, when they do. Jake holds her head in his hands, his fingers in her hair, and he presses a kiss to her forehead. A long, lingering kiss, and she can feel all the love he has for her, how much he cares and how much he wishes this wasn’t happening.
And then Amy is ripping herself away from him, and Holt is embracing him, and they hug for at least ten seconds, and Amy is happy that they are saying goodbye but she’s also jealous, angry at Holt for taking up so much time with Jake. She watches as they hug, watches as Holt says he’ll miss Jake and that he’ll see him soon. Jake thanks him and Holt pats him on the back, and then her eyes meet with Jake’s again and he is smiling sadly.
“It’s time to go, detective,” Wuntch says, and Amy is wondering if she can still become Captain with a charge of assault on her record.
Jake is walking towards the plane now, Madeleine by his side, and Amy can’t help it. “I love you, Jake!” She hollers, and he turns round to look at her. “Please be safe,” she murmurs, quiet this time, but Holt hears her and his large hand finds her back in an extremely-un-Holt-like attempt to comfort her.
Jake mouths the words back, says, “I love you,” one last time before he disappears onto the private plane, and Amy can’t see him anymore.
She waits to see if he takes a seat near one of the windows, but he doesn’t, so she waits until the plane takes off, and waves at it anyway, just in case he can see her, tears pooling in her eyes once again. When she turns around, Holt is standing next to his car. It seems he has waited on her, and she appreciates it.
“Let me take you home, Santiago,” he says, and Amy notes that his usually monotone voice seems to have a sparkle of empathy and kindness mixed in.
She says nothing but offers him the best smile she can find before climbing in the passengers side of his car.
They’re silent the entire half-hour-drive back to her apartment (their apartment. It’s their apartment), but she knows that’s how Captain Holt likes it anyway. It feels like life without Jake hasn’t quite sunk in yet, but somehow it also feels like it has sunk in all too much already. She notices how painfully empty her hand is without Jake’s intertwined with hers, how painfully quiet the car is without Jake cracking jokes, and how painfully empty her heart feels now that he is gone.
“Santiago,” Holt says as she climbs out of the car. “You know where Kevin and I are, should you need anything.”
“Thank you, sir,” Amy squeaks out with a nod, simultaneously thanking him for his support at the airport, the ride home and his offer of help if she needs anything.
He nods once in return before slowly driving away, but Amy sees him glancing back, checking on her, a few times. Eventually, he turns a corner and he is gone, and she is alone.
She stares up at the building for a few minutes, hundreds of people passing her, but everything feels like it’s in slow-motion. Her eyes focus on the window of their apartment, and the lights are out, just how they left them. Nothing has changed here, but everything has changed within her.
Amy forces herself inside the apartment building and decides to take the elevator, which is against the rules of her claustrophobia but her legs feel like they’re about to give out so it seems like the safest option. The elevator ride feels infinite, but some thirty-seconds later she is on the third floor, standing in front of their apartment and staring at the door, her hand grasping the key in the lock. She twists it slowly, hears the bolts click, and pushes the door open.
The apartment feels cold, colder than the spring-night-air had felt when it nipped at her face outside. She steps inside, takes her shoes off at the door like always, and locks the door behind her.
She sits down on the couch, but she isn’t really sure where to start. Should she watch a movie? No, she decides, looking at their collection of DVD’s, because they are all badass cop movies that Jake loves and it doesn’t seem okay to watch them without him. Should she tidy the apartment? No, because it still smells of Jake and he is still here (or at least his things are) and she can’t take that away from herself. At least not yet.
It’s only seven-thirty-PM, but she makes her way through to the bedroom and strips off. The bed is unmade, just like it had been when they’d left, and she stares at it for a second, imagines Jake lying, waiting for her. She shudders and pulls one of his checked shirts over her head, flopping down onto the edge of the bed.
This isn’t fair.
“It’s not fair!” She screams, and she doesn’t realise she’s saying it really but somewhere deep inside her it registers. Anger is bubbling deep within her and she pulls at her hair, shrieking into the silence of the dark apartment, and then she stands up and punches a hole in the wall adjacent from her.
Blinding pain. She is yelping. She grasps her damaged knuckles with her free hand and squeezes it, trying to make the pain disappear, but it isn’t going anywhere. She stares at the blood on the white wall and the shape of her small knuckles, indented there forever, and she knows Jake will be worried about her when he gets home and sees this.
She mumbles a cuss and wipes the blood off her fist with the sheet as she crawls into bed. She lays on her back and stares up at the ceiling, and her hand hurts, but it’s okay. It distracts her, even if only a little bit, from missing him. And anything that can distract her is okay, anything that can distract her is allowed.
She’s not sure when she falls asleep, but at some point she does.
When she wakes again, light is streaming through the window because she forgot to pull the curtains closed. For a moment, she is blinded and, in that moment, she forgets. She forgets everything, and her hand reaches out, her finger splaying across the empty side of the bed where Jake should be. But Jake isn't there, and so she remembers.
She drags herself out of bed, and it takes all the strength she has within her. The time is five-forty-two-AM, and as much as she wants to lay around and wallow in her own self-pity for the rest of the day, she has to get ready for work. Captain Holt had told her weeks ago that if she needed time off, she could have it, but Amy wasn't the type to take holidays from work. Now, though, she really wished she was, or that she could at least be that type for the rest of the day.
She stares at herself in the full-length bathroom mirror while the shower runs in the background. Her hair is knotted and tangled, so she guesses she mustn't have had a great sleep last night, and her eyes are tired and puffy from crying with huge dark circles beneath them. Her frame looks more petite than ever and she notices that her arms and legs seem to be trembling. She looks so weak, and she hates it. Her entire life she has been strong, muscular, able to stand up for herself, but today she looks thin, frail and afraid.
She imagines Jake approaching her from behind and wrapping his arms around her bare waist, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck and kissing her there, and the room seems to light up, warmth spreading throughout her. But it's not real, he's not here, and she has to get that through her stupid head.
She doesn't eat breakfast, instead opting for a coffee, simply because she needs it to stay awake. It makes her gag because her stomach is so empty and it aches from crying.
Work is a welcome distraction. Her squad don't seem to know about her situation, but thankfully no high-jinks ensue, so the day is quiet for her. She is thankful when her friends don't bring it up, don't bring him up, when she takes her lunch break upstairs with them. They talk about Terry's girls and Rosa's girlfriend and it feels almost normal. Normal, that is, until she feels herself laughing and looks to her right to see if Jake is laughing too, but he isn't there and he won't be for a while now. Nothing is the same without him. The world has gone dark.
No one asks about her hand, but Rosa stares at it long enough for Amy to hide it in her pocket in the hopes that no one else will see it. It stings and there are large, dark bruises scattered all over it already, but it will be okay. She'll be okay.
On her walk home, Amy tells herself she is being silly. Some people have lost their partners, really lost them. To terrible accidents or to horrible diseases. And she can't even cope with Jake being gone for work for a few months. What is wrong with her? Has she really lost her touch? Isn't she cold and independent anymore?
No, she decides. No she isn't. Because life can't ever seem to let them be happy. As soon as things are getting back to normal, life swoops in and ruins it all, takes him away from her yet again. And for however-many-months he is gone for (because she won't let herself settle on a number, won't get her hopes up) she can't see him, she can't contact him. He is virtually a stranger. She is to behave as though he is, and she would endanger him and herself if she broke that rule.
She understands why she was chosen. Of course she does. For one, he's an amazing cop and a brilliant detective. If anyone can bring down the biggest drug ring in the entire East Cost, it's her husband. And since he's been investigating one of the many smaller drug gangs involved, Amy understands why he was seen as a perfect choice. But, now? Now when they had just settled into marriage? With their second wedding anniversary coming up?
She ponders what her life would be like without him, really without him, if he never came back home, and she doesn't like it. Not one bit.
The apartment feels even more empty tonight, and it just gets worse and worse from there. Work helps, at least a little, but Amy knows as she makes her way through the week that she has the weekend off, and that means two days all alone, in an empty apartment without Jake. She tries not to think about, tries to keep going, full steam ahead, but she is thankful when Holt calls her into his office three days after Jake leaves to ask her to help with a case.
"If you have the time, Santiago, I'm sure Diaz would wholeheartedly appreciate your help with the potential homacide case she is working on. She has found it... quite tricky."
Amy knows he's lying for her benefit. She knows Rosa is a more than capable detective and that she doesn't routinely struggle on cases. But she doesn't say anything. She nods and says thank you and goes along with it, finding Rosa at her desk and informing her that Holt has asked her to help out.
"Dope," Rosa says, and Amy knows she's in on it. She feels a little embarrassed, a little frustrated that they so clearly haven't been believing her when she tells them that she's fine, but she doesn't say anything again. Instead, she pulls up a chair and watches as Diaz opens the case files on her computer. She sort of appreciates it and, anyways, murders have always been her favourite. "Alright. This is the victim. Mr Carlos Rodriguez, ninety-two."
"Ninety-two?" Amy exclaims, shocked, and almost sure they've made this cage up just to occupy her. "Are you sure it isn't just death due to natural causes?"
Rosa nods, a small smirk taking up residence on her face. "That's exactly what I said. But for some reason, something felt wrong to the funeral home and they demanded a post-mortem, which showed traces of poison in his system."
"Suicide?" Amy asks with a shrug.
"Again, exactly what I said, but the guy was so old he was basically incapable of standing up. His daughter cared for him full time and the only time she wasn't there was during the night. He couldn't get out of bed, so when exactly did he get the opportunity to poison himself?"
Despite herself, Amy feels a small smile growing on her face. "Alright," she says slowly. "I like it. I'm in."
"Awesome," Rosa deadpans, standing up and shrugging her leather jacket on. "I was planning to go talk to the family. You up for it?"
"You bet." Amy nods, following Rosa out of the bullpen and into the elevator. And she knows for the one-millionth time in her life that this is the right job for her, because helping solve a case can make her forget everything, can make everything in her life feel okay, no matter the circumstances.
Amy’s stomach churns uncomfortably as Rosa drives them towards the family home of Mr Rodriguez’s daughter. She hasn’t really eaten much since Jake left, doesn’t feel up to it, so maybe that’s why. Or maybe it’s because she’s a little nervous. This is her first time out on the field since Jake went away and it’s a potential homicide so there are obviously some dangerous people involved. She’s not so sure she wants to do it now, help Rosa. What if something happens to her and no one can tell Jake till he gets home? What if she dies and he doesn’t know? Or what if she’s injured and he isn’t there to help her? She feels like she might vomit and asks Rosa to turn the radio on to distract her. Rosa looks at her with an eyebrow raised questioningly and must see how uncomfortable she is because she obliges almost immediately.
Mr Rodriguez’s daughter’s home is just outside of Brooklyn which isn’t that long a drive from the precinct. Amy reads over her notes before they approach the home and learns that her name is Anna, she is thirty-seven and she is a single mother to two boys.
Amy straightens out her Sergeants badge as they approach the door. Rosa knocks, and they wait silently side by side. Amy can hear kids playing and footsteps, and then the door swings open and Anna is standing there. She looks tired, with sleep-deprived looking eyes and a messily braided hair, but she offers them a smile none the less.
“Ma’am, my name is Detective Rosa Diaz. This Sergeant Amy Santiago.” Rosa says in her usual emotionless voice. “We’re here to discuss your father with you.”
“Oh, yes, come in,” Anna says in a sickly sweet voice that for some reason just doesn’t sit right with Amy. She’s sure she’s probably just imagining it, just frustrated with the world around her, and she follows Rosa inside the home. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. My boys don’t tidy up behind themselves.”
“It’s no problem, Miss Rodriguez,” Amy says without really thinking about it, smiling.
Amy can hear the boys playing down the hall in what she supposes is a bedroom, but Anna leads them into the family room so she never actually sees them. She sits down on the sofa and Rosa sits next to her, and she looks around her at all the kids toys. There’s a kids movie playing on TV, too. It gets her thinking. Thinking about kids. Kids with Jake. She wonders whether he’s changed his mind, he seemed to have been coming round to the idea before he left. But Amy doesn’t suppose that really matters now that he’s gone.
“Would you like something to drink? Tea?”
Amy looks up at Anna and shakes her head quickly. Rosa looks at her, as if waiting for her to say something else, then turns back to Anna and answers for the both of them. “No thank you, Miss Rodriguez. We’re fine.”
Anna nods and sits down, and Amy glances down at her notes and proceeds to talk. “We just have a few questions for you today, ma’am. I appreciate this is a difficult time but your answers may really help us with our investigation into what happened to your father.” She pauses and waits to see if Anna objects, but she doesn’t, so Amy continues. “What was your relationship like with your father?”
“It was great,” Anna answers, almost too quickly for Amy’s liking, but she tries to shrug that off. “We were really close. I was his primary care giver towards the end. You know, when he developed Parkinson’s and, well, everything else.”
Amy and Rosa spend about a half-hour at Anna Rodriguez’s home, asking questions until they feel satisfied. They show themselves out, and Amy can’t shake the feeling that there’s something not quite right with Anna, something she can’t put her finger on. There’s pain in her eyes, but that can easily be explained away by the fact that she has just lost her father. No, it’s something else, and Amy is determined to figure out what it is.
“There’s something weird about her,” Amy mutters to Rosa as they climb in the car.
Rosa nods. “I agree. She did.”
“What? How do you figure that?” Amy asks, partly shocked but in agreement with her colleague.
Rosa shrugs, starting the car. “Just a feeling.”
“I feel the same way,” Amy nods. “But we have no evidence.”
“We’ll find some,” Rosa says, sounding sure of herself.
Amy feels somewhat excited as they head back to the precinct, and it is a much welcomed feeling. It distracts her from Jake. Just a little bit, but she’s thankful for whatever she can get.
Back at the precinct, she and Rosa have missed lunch, so she runs through what she missed with her squad downstairs and gives them instructions for the afternoon before she heads back up to work on the case.
Amy and Rosa work on the case for the rest of the afternoon, looking over potential suspects and evidence. Their main person of interest is Anna. She’s the only person who had around the clock access to her father, and as it turns out, she is working as a part-time nurse at a local hospital, making it totally plausible that she gained access to some kind of poisonous substance from her workplace. Rosa orders a further inquest into which kind of poison was found in Mr Rodriguez’s system, and Amy skims the case files, looking for some kind of evidence that could be used against Anna.
“We’ve totally got her.” Rosa says, crossing her arms over her chest and looking completely confident in her claim.
“Yeah,” Amy agrees, unsure at first, but then becoming more certain of herself. “Yeah. Yeah, we do!” She pauses and places the case notes down, turning to look at Rosa awkwardly. “Hey, thanks for doing this. You know, distracting me.”
“I got your back,” Rosa says simply. “Besides, I really do need your help on this one.”
Amy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right.”
“Seriously, Santiago,” Rosa says firmly, looking Amy straight in the eye. “I mean it. You’re a great detective. You’re the first person I come to when I need help on a case.”
“Besides Jake,” Amy says quietly, but she’s not jealous, she’s simply reminiscing, thinking of the times when Rosa and Jake would work as an amazing team to solve any case handed to them.
“Besides Jake.” Rosa confirms with a small smile, staring ahead, before she shakes herself back to reality. “Anyways, looks like we’re done for the day. Thanks, Santiago.”
Amy forces a smile onto her face and nods at Rosa as they both stand up. “No, thank you.” She picks up the case files so she can store them away safely and swings her bag over her shoulder. “Pick up where we left off next week?”
“Sure thing.” Rosa says, and they go their separate ways.
Amy returns the case files to the evidence lock up, and on her way out of the bullpen she stops by Jake’s desk. She traces her hands over it gently, and dust has already started to collect. It stings her eyes but does nothing to clear the lump forming in her throat.
She realises on the walk home (she’s started to walk home everyday now. The cold air distracts her and anyways, exercise is good for her) that Jake has been gone for three days. Three whole days. The realisation stops her, knocks the air out of her lungs, and she isn’t sure what to do. She thinks about stopping by Gina’s. It’s nearby, and Amy knows Gina would understand how she’s feeling. She might tease her at first but, at the end of the day, Jake is Gina’s oldest friend. She’s bound to be almost just as worried as Amy is. Almost. But she doesn’t go to Gina’s, and she doesn’t go to Boyle’s. She just keeps walking, walking, walking, until she ends up on the roof of her building, staring out at New York City.
She sits down at the edge and imagines how romantic it would be if Jake were here right now. The sun is just beginning to set and she’s had a long day, but she knows if she were with Jake they’d talk for hours. Maybe they’d even have a glass of wine and some food. They’d stay up here until darkness fell on the city, and then he’d lean in and kiss her, and then maybe they’d fall into bed, wrapped around one another, and it would be heaven.
But he’s not here, and all Amy can resolve to do is to make that night happen. One day. Hopefully soon. Maybe in the far future. Maybe never. But she hangs onto the thought, onto the hope, and it makes her feel a lot better. Okay, a little. But it’s something.
And something will have to do for now.
Amy tucks herself into bed that night with the realisation that she doesn’t have work tomorrow, or the day after that for that matter. She’s always hated days off, but she’s dreading this non-working weekend more than she ever has before.
She reaches for the nightstand and finds Jake’s wedding ring still sitting there, a minute layer of dust forming on it. She wipes it clean on her tee-shirt and holds it to her heart, wondering where he is, if he’s okay, trying to communicate with him. She wishes he still had the ring on him, with him. She knows it’s silly, but their weddings rings have always made her feel like there’s a connection between them at all times, and to know he isn’t wearing his hurts her a little.
“Hey babe,” she says, lighting her phone up and talking gently to the picture of Jake on her lock screen. Her voice catches in her throat so she clears it and begins talking again. “I hope that you’re okay, that you’re safe. I just want you to know that I... I love you. And I m-miss you s-so much.”
She descends into tears, clutching her phone and Jake’s wedding ring close to her chest. She feels weak and she thinks for a few seconds that Jake would be so ashamed of her if he could see her now, that this isn’t the strong woman he chose to marry and that she’s embarrassing him. It only takes her a moment to realise that this is a stupid thought, that Jake loves her and crying will never make a different to that fact.
Her heart hurts as she lays down, placing the ring back where he left it, on the table next to the lamp. She lays down and buries her head in his pillow and, miraculously, it still smells of him. She snuggles further into it and imagines he is holding her tight as she weeps, and it is this thought that allows her to drift off into what she would regard as a semi-peaceful sleep.
In the morning, she wakes up later than usual, which she decides is okay because it means she has to spend less of the day conscious.
She decides to make pancakes and bacon, and she turns on the news while she whips them up. They’re not very good, and that’s not all that unusual for Amy because everyone knows she’s not an amazing cook, but she’s never vomited from eating something she’s made. But she gets through half a pancake when she has to shoot out of her seat and run to the sink, barely making it before she spews the food up. There isn’t much in her stomach, so it doesn’t take long before she is dry gagging, and she takes a sip of water to stop herself.
That was weird, she thinks.
But it’s not like it’s unknown for her to get a nervous stomach when she’s upset, and she did cry herself to sleep last night, and her stomach was pretty empty, and the pancakes were pretty bad.
She shrugs it off and cleans up the sink, then throws the food in the trash where it obviously belongs.
Her parents call. They know Jake is gone, but they don’t know any of the details. They invite her round for dinner, and she politely declines. She doesn’t really feel like being around people, let alone her strict, Latina parents, and anyways, she still feels a little queasy from this morning.
She thinks about calling Karen, seeing how she is, but she decides against it. She’s not sure she can stomach it, and she’s pretty convinced Karen will cry (Karen always cry’s), and then she’s pretty convinced that will make her cry too. Instead, she calls Kylie, and they chat for a couple hours about her new boyfriend and the apartment she has just moved into.
“So, Amy,” Kylie says in a nervous voice, and Amy knows she is about to broach the subject. “How are you holding up?”
Amy swallows nervously. “I’m... okay.” She picks her words carefully, careful not to say anything she will regret.
“Are you sure?”
Amy sighs. “Yeah.” She pauses. “I have to be, don’t I? I mean, I have no choice, right?”
“I guess. But... it still sucks,” Kylie says.
“Yeah,” Amy murmurs quietly. “Sucks. Sucks a lot.”
She spends the rest of the day watching the news. She doesn’t eat much, doesn’t eat at all really. She is waiting with bated breath, half expecting a news report to pop up on the screen and tell her that her husband, Jake Peralta, has been shot dead by a drug dealer. She waits all day, not fully realising how long she’s been there, but Jake’s name never pops up on the screen and he’s not dead. At least not that she knows of.
Her eyes focus on a picture on their bookshelf. A picture from their wedding, where Amy is wrapped in Jake’s arms, and he’s looking at the camera with this huge, goofy, Jake-like grin on his face and she’s kissing his cheek. She smiles at it and walks over to it, touching Jake’s cheek with her fingertips.
“I love you, Jake. I’ll wait for you. Forever if I have to. I’ll wait.”
And wait she will.