Archive of Our Own ^beta

(all I wanna do) is grow old with you

Amy’s breath fogs up the glass of the mirror she’s facing as she lets out a heavy sigh, eyes taking one more scrutinising look over her appearance.  Same olive coloured skin, same dark brown hair.  Same smile, same shrug of her shoulders.  Once again, nothing had changed.

She had been five years old when her mother had explained the Rule of Life as they knew it - that once you reached your 30th birthday, your body simply stopped ageing, and the only way to kick it back into gear, was to meet your soulmate.  

To a young and idealistic Amy, it had seemed like the Ultimate Romantic Notion - that you couldn’t possibly grow old until you’d found the right person to grow old with.  And in her early twenties, when appearances and vanities paid more value than they should, she had been in no hurry to find The One.  Until she’d reached her Age Limit of 30, and realised that beauty lay within those who had found their other half.  Wrinkles and streaks of grey in heads of hair were enviable, not feared.  The lucky ones would walk the streets with pride, unable to bridle their joy as they gripped their partner’s hand with their own.  

Watching her family and friends grow older while she remained stagnant never seemed to get easier for Amy.  Standing in the sidelines as the next phase of their life would begin, she couldn’t deny that it stung a little when her youngest of brothers, Luis, had salt and pepper flecks of colour in his previously jet black hair at the last Santiago family gathering.  Or that her best friend Kylie now tried her best to conceal the crows feet that had begun to appear around her eyes, sunglasses framing her face whenever she and Amy met up for lunch.  

Try as they might to hide the changes in their appearance - which she knew was out of love for her, to not rub in that they had found what she hadn’t - the only thing that the people surrounding her couldn’t conceal was the overwhelming exuberance that radiated from each and every one of them.  That sense of completion - the elation that finally, the rest of their life can begin.

Amy turns her head in profile one last time, a discerning eye tracing her hairline before giving up with a shake of her head.  Last night she had been on a date with a man named Gabe (a match from an online dating app that she’s definitely going to delete), and at the end of the night she honestly had felt as though things could be … kind of promising.  He was handsome, with similar interests to her, and while he spoke about investment banking maybe a little more than Amy would have liked, he certainly seemed like a worthy option when it came to her soulmate.  And so, with the freshly risen daylight’s sunbeams streaking through the windows of her apartment, and her alarm buzzing incessantly beside her, Amy had jumped out of bed, making a beeline for the mirror.

However, it would appear Gabe was not a match.  Her appearance had not changed in the slightest.  And today was just going to be another day, like all the others, without Amy knowing her soulmate.  

She gets ready for work with the clocklike precision that only a life uninterrupted can bring, casting one last downcast glance at her reflection as she turns to leave.  Perhaps the universe had a point - Gabe was definitely not the one for her.  But … he had to be out there, somewhere. 

It’s another ten hours before Amy is shuffling into her apartment again, finally home after what can only be described as a less than mediocre day.  

As a detective for the 99th precinct, she and her partner Rosa had developed a finely tuned friendship that had resulted in an impressively high arrest rate.  And today, they had been given the case of a jewellery store robbery - a robbery that had unfortunately turned rather high profile, as one of Brooklyn’s most well known residents, a celebrity chef named Cadi Nicholls, had been robbed in broad daylight, from the inside of a jewellery store.

Ms Nicholls had, despite several requests from various officers, been overly vocal about her ‘traumatic’ experience on social media, and in an effort to have the case closed before things turned ridiculous, Captain Holt had put his best two detectives on the case.

They had been so confident they would catch the thief.  Until they watched the security footage.

The perp appeared as if from nowhere, sliding Nicholls' diamond tennis bracelet right off her wrist without her even knowing, before yanking the sapphire ring she had just purchased out of her hand and running like hell.

Frustratingly (or conveniently, depending on who’s perspective you looked at it from), the security cameras outside had been out of order for days leading up to the robbery, so when it came to the getaway car the two women had absolutely no clues.  

Instead, they had spent the entire day interviewing countless witnesses, knocking on apartment door after apartment door until they tracked them all down.  All of which felt like a reprieve after finally escaping their interview with the chef herself; an hour long ordeal that she had insisted on live-streaming to her ‘concerned followers’.  

By late afternoon they had returned to the precinct, feet throbbing in protest, spreading out the case file over Amy’s desk as they re-examined all of the information.  The witness statements had been vague at best, and until they found a different camera that might have caught the getaway car they were officially out of leads.  

Exhausted, she had been on her way to Rosa’s desk to see if her partner wanted to get a drink of commiseration after their shift ended, when she noticed something that stopped her in her tracks.  Rosa Diaz was not a vain woman by any means, but right at that moment she had ducked her head down on the monitor, carefully shifting the strands of her hair into a specific position.  And as she moved them into place, Amy saw what Rosa had been trying to hide.

She had greys.  Only a few, and still ashy enough that it wasn’t immediately noticeable.

But she had greys.  Which meant that she was ageing.  Which also meant that she had found her soulmate.  

Her partner had looked up, eyes turning apologetic as she noticed Amy watching her, and began to explain.  “Her name is Jocelyn.  I didn’t expect to - ”  Amy raised her hand, halting the conversation as she plastered a smile onto her face.  

“It’s fine, Rosa.  Great, actually.  I’m really happy for you.”  

And she was happy.  Honestly.  Detective Diaz was a hard nut to crack, but underneath the leather-bound exterior was a kind, caring soul who genuinely deserved the best.  And obviously, this Jocelyn was it for her.  So Amy was happy for her partner.  

And also a little bit jealous.  Kinda defeated.  And almost certain that her soulmate simply didn’t exist.    

But mainly, happy.  

Now that she is home, Amy dumps her bag onto its respective hook, kicking off her shoes near the doorway and shedding her blazer before heading towards the kitchen.  She’s desperate for a glass of wine to take the edge off her less than average day, and had a Bordeaux stashed away in her cupboard laying in wait for the night that she could finally raise a toast to the person she is meant to spend the rest of her life with.  Clearly, that was never going to happen to her (and tonight was as good a night as any to enjoy a glass of red), and once she finally yanks out the cork with her cheap corkscrew, she abandons the tool on the counter, sauntering over to her couch with the bottle in one, and a glass in the other.

Less than an hour later, Amy has changed into her cosiest clothes and is perched on the couch, tipping the bottle upside down and frowning as no more wine seems to come out.  

Damnit.  Somebody’s been drinking my wine.  She cranes her neck, surveying the room with narrowed eyes as she searches for suspects, only to come up dry.  

Clearly, the perp has already fled the scene.

Her stomach growls as it protests at the lack of food - and abundance of wine - it had been given.  With only a slightly steady hand, Amy pulls out her phone from it’s position amongst the couch cushions, opening up a webpage to search for delicious food near me + quick delivery.  She had only moved into this apartment three months ago, after saving her hard earned money for far too long, and was still slightly unfamiliar (and yes, perhaps a little too drunk) to know what takeout options were nearby.  

The swirling symbol of a loading webpage disappears in a blink, the flashing logo of Sal’s Pizza taking its place.  She nods enthusiastically, because pizza is great and she doesn’t eat it enough, scrolling her way through the options before settling on the perfect combination and adding to cart.  

When this story gets told in the years to come, Amy will blame the empty bottle of wine for making her do this, but in the comment section of the order, she remembers a meme that her niece had recently shown her and types: send your cutest delivery boy.  Giggling loudly, she presses send before another thought could be made, and as the digital countdown comes onto her screen she stumbles into the kitchen, in search of another bottle.  

Jake Peralta rolls his shoulders against the stainless steel panels attached to the kitchen wall, legs feeling heavy as they dangle off the counter he’s perched on.  

It was nearly at the end of his shift at Sal’s Pizza, and the later hours of the evening always seemed to drag, but he’s thankful for a moment of peace.  

Sharing the delivery role with two other guys that he only knew as Scully and Hitchcock, he had spent the better part of the dinner rush covering their jobs as well as his own, both men claiming that they had gotten lost in the supposedly complicated streets of Brooklyn before returning to the restaurant several hours later, the pizza sauce stains still obvious on their chins.  Jake’s responding eye roll had been poorly concealed, and he had retreated to the familiar company of his buddy Charles, the chef, in the kitchen before he ended up saying something regretful.

That in itself had turned out to be a risky move, having to instead listen to Charles talk on and on (and on) about his recently discovered soulmate, Genevieve.  

And he’s happy for his best friend - really, he is.  But every single mention of their chance encounter, sparked by mixing up their specially ordered local delicacies at their nearby deli (his octopus ring pâté, hers rare eyeball soup, both horrifying) was just another reminder that Jake himself was no step closer to finding his.  Not that he’s even sure he wants to find his, but … still.

(Also, he was one more TMI conversation about their subsequent love making from taking the handle of both spatulas in the utensil jar and jamming them into his ears.)

The computer in the corner lets out an obnoxious ding! as an online order comes through, the attached printer grunting as it spits out a faded version for the chef.  Jake shuffles along the counter, butt squeaking against the steel as he rips the paper free, sneakers hitting the tiled floor with a slap as he slides it into place.  “Chet’s up, Charles.”

“It’s a chit, Jake.”  Charles looks up from his position on the counter opposite, hands concealed as he kneads out a heavy pile of dough.  “Do me a favour, read it out for me?  I’m a little tied up here.  Not as much as Genevieve was tied up last night, but still - ”

“One large deep pan, extra cheese, extra salsa!”  Jake cries out quickly, desperate to drown out the sound of whatever Charles was about to describe.  His friend nods in response, dusting off the extra flour from his hands as he heads over to another bench, the process of putting together a Sals Pizza so familiar it has become second nature.  

He glances back up at Jake, right hand mixing in the hot sauce.  “Any special requests on it?”

Right.  The special requests option, a relatively new addition, had been the catalyst for some truly strange demands.  After the horrifying command last week for the delivery boy to sing out the ingredients like a show tune upon arrival, Jake had been doing his best to avoid ‘special requests’ altogether.  With a hesitant glance, he narrows his eyes at the bottom of the receipt before letting out a laugh.  “Charles my good man, I believe I have been summoned.”

“Huh?”

Jake pulls the receipt off it’s holder with a flick of his wrist, brandishing it high in the air as he turns towards his friend with a smile.  “Says so right here.  Send your cutest delivery boy.  Clearly, that’s me.  I’m adorable.”

His friend gasps, spinning around to read the chit himself before turning to Jake in glee.  “Jakey!  This isn’t just any order.  This is fate!”

Tipping his head to the side, Jake scratches the side of his cheek as he studies Charles’ reaction.  “Fate has come in the form of a deep pan pizza?  Honestly, I’m not surprised … but I think I always imagined it would be meat supreme?”

Charles’ hands freeze on top of the pie, a few shards of grated cheese slipping from his fingers as he shakes his head at Jake.  “No, silly.  The person who’s ordered the pizza is your fate.  Not the pizza itself.  Your soulmate is on the other end of this delivery.  I’m sure of it.”

“Oh come on.  That’s ridiculous.  You don’t even know if this is for a person, or a company, or even some kind of robot that’s managed to gain sentience ..”

The chef’s head appears suddenly over Jake’s shoulder, peering at the details printed along the bottom of the receipt before giving him a solid side-eye.  “Says right here, Amy Santiago.  Sounds like a pretty great name for a soulmate, if you ask me.”

Rolling his eyes, Jake walks towards the oven, picking up the pizza peel from it’s holding place and lifting the next order into the grill.  “I keep telling you, Charles.  Not everybody is going to end up with their soulmate.  The whole thing is flawed.  It didn’t exactly work out for my parents, did it?”

“You’ve just gotta have faith, Jake!  The universe has greater plans than you or I could ever imagine, and sometimes you just have to let the signs guide the way.”  Charles countered, ripping the receipt from the order holder and shoving it into Jake’s shirt pocket, pointing towards the oven once his hand is free.  “Order will be up in eight minutes, Mr. Cutest Delivery Boy.  Don’t be late, destiny is waiting.”

It’s close to twenty minutes later before Jake is standing in the hallway of an unfamiliar apartment building, double checking the address on the receipt before raising his hand to knock (people are very willing to accept pizza when it is delivered, even if they haven’t ordered any - a fact he had to learn the hard way).  The pizza box in his hand keeps sending wafts of deliciousness in his direction, reminding himself that he’d unintentionally skipped dinner this evening, and he makes a deal with his stomach to fill up after this delivery. 

There’s a muffled sound of the Jeopardy theme song playing through the doorway when Jake knocks, and he hears the clank of glass against a surface before the door begins to swing open.  Twenty bucks says this is some nerdy professor, Jake thinks to himself, drawing on his biggest smile, ready to play the role of Cutest Delivery Boy to a tee.  

And then, his heart stops in his chest.

The woman that answers the door is crazy beautiful.  Beautifully warm toned skin with the most expressive eyes, her dark hair scraping her shoulders as she opens the door a little wider.  

“Heyyyyy, the pizza guy is here!”  The mystery woman smiles, leaning heavily against her doorframe as she gasps, pointing.  “And he brought PIZZA!”

If this was what nerdy professors looked like, I DEFINITELY would have paid more attention in class, Jake thinks to himself as he continues to smile, handing over the pizza to the woman’s outstretched hands.  “One deep pan, extra cheese, extra salsa.”  His voice switches into automatic pilot, reciting the line that had been forced into his memory, hands landing on his hips in the signature pose as he forces a too-wide smile onto his face.  “I hope we managed to fulfil your special request, ma’am, and it’s a good evening now that you’ve got a Sal’s Pizza.”

Her dark eyes blink dazedly for a moment before a deep blush rushes over her cheeks.  “Oh right, my uh … special request.”  They travel down Jake’s frame before heading upwards again, holding his gaze until she bites her lip.  “Yeah, I’d say you did, Pizza Guy.”

Now it’s Jake’s turn to blush, sweaty hands dropping from his waist and dangling uselessly by his side.  He’s always been a connoisseur of the Art of Flirtation, but tonight he finds himself more than a little tongue tied.  Inconveniently, Charles’ voice creeps into Jake’s mind.  Your soulmate is on the other end of this delivery.  She giggles at his obviously embarrassed reaction, shoulders bouncing as a squeaky hiccup escapes. 

Shuffling his feet, Jake’s brain switches into overdrive as he frantically tries to think of the perfect pickup line to make, but before anything incredible can be formed he begins to really take in his client’s appearance.  Her glazed over eyes, the vice like grip of her hand on the doorframe …. “Uhh, I’m always up for a bit of flattery, but … I think you might be a little intoxicated.  Do you know how much you’ve had to drink?” he asks, brows furrowing slightly as he watches the woman sway.

She shrugs, turning the movement into a dorky little side-to-side boogie as the ads begin playing on the TV in the background, an annoyingly catchy song about paper towels taking centre stage.  “Only a couple of glasses.”

Jake looks past her, taking in the incriminating evidence of two empty wine bottles sitting on the table next to the couch.  “Just a couple, huh?”

She follows his gaze, swinging her head back to him as a giggle escapes.  “Well, I mean … the bottles are made of glass, right?”

He can’t help but laugh, nodding at her observation.  “Yes.  Yes, they are.”

“See?” She laughs along with him, holding onto the pizza box with one hand as she begins stepping backwards, moving her feet into what he thinks is an attempt at the moonwalk.  Her feet, which may actually both be left, are dangerously close to tripping over each other, and just as he reaches out a hand in warning the two lefts connect - pizza box flying out of her hands as her arms begin to flail about, desperately searching for something to grab onto as she begins to fall.

Jake’s feet can’t move fast enough, and she hits her head on a small side table, landing on the ground with a thud before he can get to her.  She stays still, head twisted to the side and moaning loudly as he kneels down on the ground, paying special attention to her extremities in case she’s actually hurt herself.  “Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks.  Her receipt is still in his pocket, and he really wants to grab it out right now to remember her name, but it’s way too late for that now.  Damn my goldfish memory!  

“I’m … I’m fine.”  She swings out an arm, letting it slap against the hardwood floor near Jake’s crouched position as she turns to look at him.  “The floor is just a little spinny, that’s all.”

He stifles a grin as he looks at her determined face, already knowing that there was no point in explaining to this woman that the floor was, in fact, not spinning (or ‘spinny’, as it were).  Instead, he responds with “Yeah, spinny floors are the worst.”

She smiles at him, and his heart skips a beat just like the first time, and he kinda really wants to know her name.  “He gets it!  Thisguygetsit.” She slurs, pointing an intoxicated finger at Jake.  And he knows that she’s drunk … and he knows that she probably doesn’t have any idea what she’s saying … but tiny little butterflies begin to flutter in Jake’s stomach, gaining traction the longer she lays there, pointing her finger at him.  She’s adorable, he thinks to himself.

But, she might also be injured, and so he offers her a hand up, pretending not to notice the tingling sensation when her palm meets his.  She groans as he helps her up, right hand clapping onto her scalp, wrinkling her face and looking at him accusingly.  “How did I end up on the floor, anyway?” 

Jake grins at the woman, pointing with his free hand towards the discarded pizza box, explaining - “You were dancing away with the pizza, and tripped over your two left feet.”

Her eyes look at the box warily, looking to Jake, then back to the pizza.  “That makes sense.  I am left handed, after all.”  She nods, a movement quickly thwarted as her head obviously throbs in protest.  

Jake’s eyebrows knit together as he watches her clutch her hand to her head, and as she moves towards the couch, he clears his throat.  “Uhh, listen - I’m no expert, but I think you might be in danger of having a concussion.  Is there somebody else here, who can watch over you tonight?”

The woman’s head drops as she shakes her head slightly.  “No.  I live alone.  All alone.”  Realising the gravity of what she’s just said to this stranger, her head shoots up quickly, and Jake pretends not to notice her reactive wince.  “But I’m a cop.  A badass cop, in fact.  And I could kick your butt from here to next Sunday, Pizza Guy, so don’t you go trying anything.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender.  “Whoa there, officer.  My intentions are honourable, I swear.  I just think you might have hurt yourself a little bit, and you shouldn’t go to sleep until someone has made sure you’re okay.”  Pausing, Jake lowers his hands a little as the woman’s gaze turns less accusing.  “Is there somebody you can call?”

She shrugs.  “Rosa, I guess.”  Picking up an empty bottle, she shakes it, willing more wine to appear.  “Yeah.  Call Rosa.  Tell her to bring booze.”  She giggles, her face dropping just as quickly.  “Probably won’t come, though.  Too busy with her soulmate or whatever.”

There’s an odd mix of sadness and hope that comes from this woman speaking of her friend’s soulmate.  It was hard not to hear her bitterness, and Jake could feel himself beginning to reconsider his own opinions.  If someone as sweet as this woman is hasn’t found her match, maybe this whole soulmate thing wasn’t as ridiculous as it seems.  Clearing his throat, he twists his mouth to the side slightly before speaking.  “I’m sure if she knows you’re hurt, she’ll come over.”

Another shrug, the light from a nearby lamp catching onto her hair and making it shimmer a little.  You’re falling, Peralta.  “Maybe.”

He waits for a pause, and she looks up at him expectantly.  “Um, I … I don’t have Rosa’s number.” His tone is apologetic, which is crazy, because if anything it would’ve been weirder if he had known this Rosa’s number.  He wipes a hand across his face, trying to push some sense into his brain, and as he rubs his eyes the woman begins fishing around her couch cushions, pulling up throw pillows until she thrusts her phone into the air in triumph.  

“I do!  I have Rosa’s number.”  She unlocks the screen, handing the device over to Jake without hesitation.  He takes grip of it, watching with confused eyes as the woman shouts an answer to the game show host still on her screen before grabbing the remote control on the coffee table, fumbling at buttons until the TV switches to mute.  Turning her attention back to Jake, the woman’s eyes light up when she realises he’s still holding her phone in his hand.  “Hey!  I’ve got a great idea.  Let’s call Rosa!”  

If this had been anybody else, Jake is pretty sure by now he would have given up and left this crazy client to their own devices.  But there was something so wholesome about her vulnerability, so open to the complete stranger that he was, that he really wanted to make sure she had someone take watch over her tonight.  So with a grin taking over his face, he scrolls through her contacts until he finds (thankfully, only one) titled Rosa, pressing the call button before handing the phone back to the giggling beauty covered in crumpled sweats on the couch. 

She takes it from him with a smile, a surprised gasp escaping when the line connects and she calls out “Heyyyyy, Rosa!”

His heart squeezes a little as her face crumples into confusion, shaking her head in a futile response to the voice on the other end of the phone.  This woman is adorable.

“Whaaat? Noooo I’m not mad I’m not - I just got pizza and hit my head with it and now Pizza Guy thinks I shouldn’t go to bed and I know you can fix it so canyoufixitRosa?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jake takes a quick glance around the room while the conversation continues.  It was a stark contrast to his own hole in the wall apartment, to say the least.  But oddly, he felt comfortable here, with the warm coloured tone painted on the walls, plush couches with ample throw pillows and the sweet smell of vanilla coming from … well, coming from somewhere. 

“Honestly, I’m fone - I mean, I’m fine.  It’s just … this pizza has stars on it and the couch won’t stop spinning and okay maybe I hurt myself?”  Jake watches as she drops her head into her free hand, voice lowering slightly as she mumbles, “Bring Joss .. Joz … Jocelyn over too if you want.  You totally should.  I’m fine.  Really.”

As though suddenly remembering Jake’s presence, the woman looks up and gives him a thumbs up, smiling in victory.  “You’re the besssst, Rosa!  I totally owe yo-” stopping abruptly, she looks at the phone in her hand with another giggle.  “She hung up.”

He laughs along with her, watching as she flips open the lid to the pizza box and digs out a slice, taking a step back towards the doorway, suddenly very aware that he’s been standing in a relative strangers living room for longer than normal.  “Well, as long as somebody is coming, I should leave you to enjoy your pizza ma’am.”  

Her hand pauses mid-way from her mouth, several ropes of cheese forming a bridge between pie and human as she turns her attention towards Jake.  The words are masked by a mouth full of pizza, but he makes out the words thank you, Pizza Guy! as he turns to leave.

And even though there is still a part of Jake that thinks this whole ‘waiting for your soulmate before your life can begin’ is a little ridiculous, he still sits in his car near the front of the woman’s apartment, waiting until a leather clad figure with dark curly hair appears, stomping up the staircase and slamming her finger on the same apartment number that he had half an hour ago before being buzzed into the building.  He tells himself that he’s just being a good person, making sure that a patron of his employer was safe, but there’s a tiny part of him that already knows that he cares more for this mysterious woman than he should.  

Amy’s hair hurts.  

It was the first clear thought that came to her head as her eyes began to flutter open, squeezing shut immediately after as the harsh light of day threatens to interrupt her comfortable darkness.  

Her hair hurts.  Which she knew wasn’t possible, because hair didn’t have nerve endings, and therefore couldn’t possibly be hurting.  But her head definitely did, and it hurt.  Her feet as well, actually.

What the hell happened last night?

Pushing her head further into the pillow, Amy lets out a groan as the rest of her body begins to wake up.  Suddenly, it wasn’t just her head or her feet.  Everything hurt.  And the memories from last night seem to be sliding further from her grasp.

Rolling over (an action that she immediately regrets), she pulls the comforter closer to her neck before fumbling blindly for her bedside table, fingers eventually curling around her watch in triumph.  Her blurry eyes squint at the small face, trying to make sense of the mixture of moving lines, and when her brain finally wakes up, she lets out a choked gasp.

It was 08:43.  Not only was Amy not going to be early for work, if she didn’t get moving NOW, she was actually going to be late.  

Her figure turns into a blur of tangled sheets, messy hair and wet towels being thrown in the direction of her hamper, and she’s beyond grateful for her type A organisational skills of pre-prepared pantsuit combinations because in less than five minutes Amy is running out the door, hands frantically twisting her hair into a bun as her front door slams behind her.

The precinct is a ten minute walk from her place, but she makes it in seven, and she doesn’t allow herself the chance to relax until she’s sitting at her assigned desk in the bullpen, the pounding in her head echoing like the rumble of the timpani from her high school band as the scars of god only knows what begin to dig into her conscious mind.  And while the exact events from last night still seem a little too vague, there are a few things that Amy is certain of.  

1. She definitely had some wine last night.  The empty bottles, stacked neatly on her kitchen counter, had not gone unnoticed as she’d run out of her apartment this morning.
2. There is a growing, angry lump on the back of her head, so at some point she’s hurt herself. 
3. She is never drinking again.

A familiar blue takeaway coffee cup is plonked down on her desk, the scent of coffee wafting up towards Amy as she hurries to grab the precious drink in her hands.  It burns her throat as she swallows, but there’s something about the strength of the caffeine that begins to reset her fuzzy mind.  Blinking, she looks up at the deliverer with gratitude, smiling when she realises it’s Rosa.

“How did you know I would need this today?”

Her partner scoffs, lifting her own cup up for a sip before resting her leather covered sleeve on Amy’s desk.  “I’m guessing you don’t remember last night?”

Oh god.

Amy’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head slowly, slightly terrified at what might be coming next.  

Rosa’s mouth is set into a thin line, but her tone is soft as she leans a little closer to Amy.  “You got drunk and hit your head.  You called me over to make sure you weren’t going to end up with a concussion.  I fell asleep in the armchair in your bedroom and left earlier this morning when your alarm went off.”

“My alarm went off?  I never heard it.”

“Yeah, you were pretty out of it.  But you were mumbling something when I left, so I figured you were getting up.”  Her eyes take in Amy’s appearance, one eyebrow lifting slightly in amusement.  “But maybe not.”

Amy's face heats up with embarrassment and she lifts her coffee cup in an attempt to hide behind it.  “I’m a mess.”

“Yeah, you are.   But we don’t need to talk about that.”  With a scrape of her chair against the linoleum, Rosa stands, pointing down at Amy’s cup.  “I’m gonna give that coffee twenty minutes to kick in, then you and I are meeting in the briefing room to go over yesterday’s case.  We’re gonna get this guy, hungover or not.”

Two hours later, Amy drops her head into her folded arms in defeat, letting out a frustrated groan.  

Her and Rosa had gone over the details of the jewellery robbery so many times it was committed to memory.  But no matter how they looked at it, neither of them could figure out how the perp never seemed to walk into the jewellery store, but definitely walked (okay, ran) out.

Raising her heavy self onto her elbows, Amy reaches back to tug her hair out of it’s messy bun, using the freedom to rake her fingernails against her scalp in comfort.  Despite the magical healing properties of her earlier cup of coffee, her head is still pounding, and not solving this case was not helping at all.  “It’s useless, Rosa.  The guy appears as if from nowhere, then jumps into a getaway car that we’ll never get to see.  We’re never going to get to the bottom of this.”

She waits for her partner’s counter-response, knowing that if there’s anything Rosa hates, it’s giving up, but the room is silent - and after a minute, Amy hesitates a glance in the other woman’s direction.

Rosa is standing next to the whiteboard, marker still in her hand, blatantly staring at Amy.  Her shoulders curl in response to the gaze, head stooping slightly as she looks away and back again, only to find her partner still eyeballing her.

“Look, I know I don’t look my greatest this morning, and I’m definitely wearing the same jacket as yesterday, but could you try to make the staring a little less obvious, Rosa?”

Rosa’s head cocks to the side.  “So … you haven’t noticed it yet.”

“Noticed what?”

The marker clicks back into its holder as Rosa takes a step towards Amy, raising a finger to point in her direction.  “Your hair.  There’s only a couple of strands, but it’s there.”

“What’s there?  Wait, am I bleeding or something?”

Sighing, Rosa grabs Amy by the arm, pulling her over to the mirror fixed to a nearby wall.  Still confused, Amy shrugs at her partner, shaking her head until finally Rosa rolls her eyes and points at Amy’s reflection.  “Right there in your hair, dumb dumb.  Greys.  You’ve got greys.”

Well that’s just ridiculous.  Amy’s head is already shaking, mind churning up a clever denial when she looks in the mirror at where Rosa is pointing, doing a double take as she notices the obvious change in colour of a few strands of her hair.  

I’ll be damned.  I have greys.

She leans closer to the mirror, eyes widening in shock as her hands dive towards her hair, watching the rest it cascade from her fingertips as the lighter colour remains.  Rosa is right.  Amy had greys.  Her body had started ageing.   

Wait a minute.

When the heck did I meet my soulmate?!

Jake adjusts his sunglasses over his face as he walks into Sal’s Pizza, keeping his head low as he walks towards the staff door at the back of the restaurant.  Sal, the owner, calls out a greeting as he passes, and Jake lifts his hand in silent salutation without breaking his stride.

This morning, he had woken up with wrinkles around his eyes.  The same wrinkles that he had seen appear on countless friends and families faces, and a surefire sign that he had recently met his soulmate.  

He had only been four years old when his parents had explained the soulmate rule to him, finally explaining why Aunt Linda looked so much older than Aunt Barbara even though the two women kept telling him they were similar in age.  His mother had kept her hand on his father’s knee the entire time, the contented smile on her face only growing wider as she explained it all.  That once the ageing gene kicked in, it would show rapid signs for the first week before returning to its regular rhythm, allowing each couple to age gracefully and live a long and happy life together.  It’s the body’s way of letting you know when you’ve found The One, she had explained, pointing to the streaks of grey in her own hair with a wink.  

He had been seven years old when his mother had sat down with him again, makeup still smudged with tears as she explained that his father had decided to move out.  That even though Roger was Karen’s soulmate, he hadn’t been quite ready to believe in the idea himself, and that one day soon he would return and things would get back on track.  She was insistent that Jake still believe in the existence of a soulmate; that this was only a bump in the road, and even at seven Jake desperately wanted to believe her, but he already didn’t.  

In the years that followed Jake watched with ever-growing disapproval as Roger faded in and out of the Peralta household.  He was sixteen before he asked his mother again about this fantastical notion of soulmates, his mind already leaning towards a life of eternal youth if the alternative was anything like what he’d seen.  Karen’s eyes fell, the wrinkles around them having grown more pronounced as the years wore on, and she did a terrible job of hiding her sadness before telling Jake that he was now her soulmate - that her time with Roger was worth everything, because it had brought Jake into her life.  

And oh, how he loved his mother for trying, but when it came to finding a soulmate, Jake had simply given up on believing.

Only now, his stupid face has begun creasing into tiny wrinkles around his eyes every time he blinks, and it seems as though the universe had other plans in store for him.

His shoulders remain hunched as he passes Charles on the way to the staff lockers, studying the cracks in the tiles a little too closely to pass off as casual as he brushes off his friend’s greeting with a grunt, cursing his bright idea earlier in the week to pick up a double shift.  He knows that once he was inside the kitchen and back on the clock, there would be no sane reason to keep his sunglasses on.  And that meant it was only a matter of time before Charles would pick up on the traitorous signs of ageing that had begun to appear on his face. 

There was one other thing that Jake knew - and this fact terrified him more than all other things put together.  Signs of ageing meant that he had met his soulmate yesterday, and he was 98% certain that his soulmate was Drunk Pizza Woman.  His last delivery of the night, and the one person that refused to leave his mind ever since.

In hindsight, he should have noticed the signs when they met.  The stopping of his heart, before it kicked into overdrive and started slamming against his ribcage.  His sudden and intense need to make sure that she was okay, a characteristic he’s never known himself to possess when it came to literal strangers.  And lastly, his obsessive mind replaying her incredible smile to him on loop, various moments of their meeting last night playing out like a trailer for Summer’s Next Big Hit Movie in his head.  

As far as he was concerned though, this morning’s change in his appearance simply acted as more proof that the entire soulmate system was flawed.  There was no way that he, Jake Peralta, a dropkick screw up from a broken family that spent his days studying terribly for the police academy and his nights delivering pizzas to stoners could possibly be destined to be with someone as put together and insanely gorgeous as the woman he’d met last night.  

Because if they were, and he ended up walking out the same way his dad had done so many times, Jake would be ruining her life as well as his own.  And there was no way he was willing to live with that.  Even if the thought of having someone to grow old with made his heart soar just a little bit.

He recognises the squelch of Charles’ khaki coloured sneakers before his friend has even made his way into the staffroom, and frantically Jake picks up a random magazine, opening it and holding it up against his face as Charles walks in.

“Jake?  What’s going on?  You’re being really weird this morning.  And since when have you been into Deep Sea Diving?”

Huh?  Glancing down at the pages still covering his face, Jake grimaces at the far too close photograph of a … pacific viperfish? No thank you!  He drops the magazine in disgust, looking in Charles’ direction briefly before brushing past him and heading towards the kitchen.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, buddy.  It’s nothing.  Everything’s fine.”

Charles is hot on his heels as Jake makes his way through the kitchen, eyes still trained to the tiles, and with an exasperated sigh he stops, turning quickly and without warning, grunting when his friend crashes into him.  “Oof!”

“Sorry, Jake.  But there’s something off about you, and I just wish you would tell -” Charles’ words fade into silence, hands reaching up to cover his mouth, and with a furrowed brow Jake hesitates before looking at his best friend.  And bless him, he’s trying so hard to keep his glee contained, but it’s too late, and with a resigned shrug of his shoulders, Jake nods in admittance at his friend.

“You did it!  You FOUND your SOULMATE!” 

Jake winces, raising one finger to his lips in a silent shh.  “I’m going to need you to be a little cooler about this, buddy.”

The older gentleman bounces slightly on the spot, clearly unable to restrain his glee completely as he nods quickly.  “Right, right.  Workplace and all that.  Right you are.  I’m cool, Jake.  This is totally cool.  You’ve met the person you’re destined to be with.  That’s totally … cool.”

Rolling his eyes in response, Jake shrugs off his friend’s excitement, turning back towards the kitchen under the guise of helping set it all up for the afternoon rush.  “Like I said, Charles.  It’s nothing.  This whole soulmate thing is ridiculous, and me suddenly having wrinkles doesn’t mean anything.”

“Uh, it means everything, Jake!”  Charles counters, before gasping.  “It was her!  Wasn’t it?  The last customer with the special request?  Oh my gosh, Jake, she literally summoned you!  What more could you ask for?”

Jake stiffens slightly at the question, because even though this soulmate of his is literally still a stranger, he’s also pretty sure that when it came to her, there is nothing more that he could possibly ask for.  Not that it mattered, anyway.

Beside him, Charles starts lifting up items, stubby fingers grasping onto pots and pans and anything else he could get his hands on.  “There’s got to be a copy of the receipt somewhere around here!”

Jake blinks, suddenly remembering that the crumpled receipt with all of the order’s information  had still been in his shirt’s front pocket when he finally arrived home last night, exhausted and starving and trying not to be completely distracted by a person he didn’t really know but really wanted to.  The same shirt that he’d thrown into the laundry this morning when he’d woken up early to the hurricane path that was his apartment, remembering that his mother was visiting the following weekend and that he really should be wearing clean clothes for the occasion.  And now that he thinks of it, was probably the source of the tiny bits of paper he’d found stuck to his clothes when he’d pulled them out of the dryer.

His face folds into a grimace, and after quickly checking that Charles is still distracted, Jake pulls out the container of cheese that sat towards the back of the preparation bench, tossing the contents into the garbage before kicking the vessel out of sight, brandishing the empty container at his friend.  “Hey Charles, look!  We’re out of cheese.  Pizza places can’t be out of cheese, right?  It’s like, against the bible or something.  Anyways, I’m going to run down to the bodega real quick and get us some more, okay buddy?”

Charles’ head rears back in confusion, and if Jake thinks about it just a little, it’s very possible that his friend had been in the process of filling that very container with cheese when he’d skulked into the kitchen a mere ten minutes ago.  Such details were irrelevant, however, when there is a slim chance he could escape the third degree, and before Charles can vocalise his scepticism Jake is running out the door, waving goodbye as his sneakers squeak against the tiles.  

Amy’s left hand grips her neck as she supports her weight against it, head bowed in focus of the case file spread out in front of her.  She doesn’t want to sound like a pessimist, but today was running a pretty tight race with yesterday for the title of Completely Sucking.

“I don’t get it, Rosa.  They’ve gotta be here somewhere, right?”

Her partner glances up from her phone, thumb pausing in mid-text.  “Yeah, I guess.”

Their already high profile case for Cadi Nicholls had grown in popularity overnight (thanks, Instagram), and under the guise of re-interviewing all of their key witnesses in the hopes of jogging their memories of the robbery, Amy and Rosa had called in every person they had met on their walk arounds yesterday.  The added bonus to this, of course, being that Amy also had the chance to reacquaint herself with the elusive stranger who had obviously turned out to be her soulmate.  

Three hours had passed by, occupying interview rooms and briefing rooms and even eventually a corner of the break room as they’d run down the list, listening to the same stories they’d heard the previous day until it all sounded like a broken record.  Which it was, because nothing new came to light.  Worst of all, Amy hadn’t felt a spark with a single person.

“Maybe we’re missing something?  Should we watch the security footage again?”

Rosa groans, shifting in her seat as she pockets her phone while shaking her head.  “I feel like I’ve seen that thing so many times I could do a live action role play.”  Amy’s eyes brighten at the suggestion, and her partner is quick to shoot the idea down.  “Which we are not doing.”

Amy’s eyes fall to the table, and she nods her head.  “Yeah.  That does seem extreme.”

Her partner’s heavy boots thud against the floor as she closes the distance between them, pulling out a closer chair and straddling it as she studies Amy.  “And what about your soulmate?  Which one of them do you think they are?”

Trying to keep her responding shrug nonchalant, an act that she knows Rosa can see straight through, Amy simply shakes her head before looking up.  “Can I ask you something?”

“You can try.”

“What happened when you met Jocelyn?  I mean … did you feel anything?”

Rosa’s dark curls bounce as she turns away, averting her eyes, and inwardly Amy cringes at her partner’s response.  She knows that Rosa has never been big on the emotional side of things, and that her expressions of affection often came in the form of a well timed punch to Amy’s shoulder.  But the stakes on this were sky high, and as much as asking Rosa about touchy-feely things terrified her, the idea of letting her soulmate slip through her fingers scared her all the more.

“Look, Amy … this is going to sound stupid, and if you tell anyone I said this I’m going to deny it ever happened, but … I felt it everywhere.  My heart was pounding, my stomach fell down to my butt, my hands got all sweaty.  I didn’t know her, but instantly I knew that I wanted to.”  Carefully manicured fingers run through the curls surrounding her face, and she rests the tips of her fingers against her forehead.  “And then she started talking to me, and … I don’t know.  It was like coming home, after being away for the longest time.  Like suddenly, everything around me made sense.” 

Amy can’t contain the smile that stretches across her face.  “Well, that sounds kinda nice.”

“Yeah.  It kinda was.”

Amy’s face falls, looking back over the witness statements scattered over the surface.  “I don’t remember that happening with any of these guys, though.  Is … I mean, I’ve never asked anybody, but - is what you felt how everybody feels?”  She’s talking to herself by this stage, mind already tuning in to the horrifying possibility that she had met the person she was destined to grow old with and had completely blanked them out.  

Still, Rosa responds.  “No, actually.  Jocelyn called it an abundance of happiness.  Like she looked at me, and just wanted to start dancing with joy.”

Screwing her nose up, Amy narrows her eyes in confusion.  “Well that’s even worse.  I definitely don’t remember dancing yesterday.  Do I?  Wait, when did I -”

“Diaz.  Santiago.”  Terry’s voice intrudes, and the two women look up at their sergeant.  “There’s been a robbery at the bodega on 73rd.  Holt wants you two to head down and grab statements.”  Hesitating a glance at the paperwork strewn across the table, he continues.  “Might be good to get out of the office for a little while, anyway.  Clear your head or whatever.”

Amy nods, already reaching for her hair tie and twisting her hair back into it’s work appropriate bun, hiding away the greys before her superior notices them and starts asking questions.  Terry loves love, and she knows he wouldn’t be able to resist.  “We’re on it, Sarge.”

She’s shrugging on her blazer (that despite already been worn yesterday, still had managed to remain relatively wrinkle free) before another word is spoken, and as the two women scoop up the case file Rosa looks over at Amy.  “Were you about to ask me something before Terry walked in?”

“Huh?” Amy’s still slightly hungover brain scrambles to keep up, and quickly she shakes her head.  “Oh.  Ahh … no.  It was nothing.”

“Whatever you say.  C’mon, let’s go look into this bodega.  I hate them, but they’re part of New York and I’ll defend them til my last day.”

Jake rubs his hand along the back of his neck, fingertips digging in as he attempts to relieve the tension he was feeling.  Of course this was happening to him today.  Of course the bodega he didn’t really need to be in would get robbed while he was buying the same cheese he had just thrown into the trash.  

He should have just stayed in the damn kitchen.  Suffered through Charles’ questions and volunteered delivery when the first order came through.  But noooo.  He’d had to run away from his problems.  And now he was stuck waiting outside a bodega on 73rd street that smells oddly like marinara sauce, despite not stocking anything of the sort, under the instruction of the officers who had responded to the robbery.  

“There are some detectives on their way over here that are going to want to ask you questions, sir,” the man in blue had repeated with practiced steadiness, after Jake had asked for the third time if he was free to leave.  And technically, he knew the officer was right.  He’d studied the procedures enough to know that they were only doing their job.  But he was more than a little bit over it, and really just wanted to go home and forget about this entire day.  

Sighing, he leans against the scratchy brick of the neighbouring copy shop, sliding on his sunglasses and shielding his eyes against the intrusive sun.  He could really do with a coffee right about now.  

“Mr … Peralta, is it?”

The voice is oddly familiar, and Jake blinks repeatedly as his eyes come into focus.  It can’t be.  But it was.  The mysterious drunk woman from last night, aka his SOULMATE, is standing in front of him.  

And, look … he doesn’t want to sound paranoid, but it would seem the universe is trying to mess with him.  

She’s even prettier than he remembers her being, hair all tucked up in a bun and a Serious Police Work look on her face.  There was a grey jacket covering her small frame, similar to the one he remembers seeing draped over the back of her couch yesterday, and underneath he can see a neatly put together pantsuit, shiny detective badge proudly clipped to her belt.  She looked tired, which made sense considering the pizza delivery had been kinda late, but her eyes still sparkled - still drew him in and rendered him temporarily speechless.

Her eyes, he also realises a second too late, are still wrinkle free.  And her hair, though pulled back, looks just as dark and shiny as it did the night before.

She hadn’t aged after meeting him.  And therefore, couldn’t possibly be his soulmate.

Yeah.  The universe is definitely messing with him.

Her eyebrows raise expectantly, and he realises with a blush that he’s been standing in front of her, saying absolutely nothing.  “Uh, sorry.  Yup.  I’m Jake Peralta.  And you’re Detective …?”

“Santiago.”  Her right hand thrusts forward, pulling his hand into an alarmingly tight grip.  “Detective Amy Santiago.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

She smiles, a tight but polite ‘let’s get down to business’ smile, and Jake feels a tiny pang in his heart.  It’s not like he believed in this soulmate business anyway, but for a brief period there it did feel kinda nice that someone as wonderful as this Amy Santiago seemed could possibly be matched with him.  

“Okay, Mr. Peralta.  Can you give me an exact account of what happened today, starting from inside the bodega?”

Jake blinks, scratching the side of his jaw and picking up on a prickly patch he had definitely missed when he shaved this morning.  He responds quickly, giving Detective Santiago a brief account of the robbery, pointing out the brand of backpack the thief was carrying and the colour of the baseball cap firmly attached to his head.  The woman seems impressed with the amount of detail Jake has to offer, smiling to herself as she flips over a page when she runs out of space.

Finally, she looks up at him and yawns, clapping one hand over her mouth in shock as it overtakes her.  “I’m so sorry, that was incredibly unprofessional of me.”

He laughs, because the horror on her face is just too endearing, and when she blushes Jake attempts to lighten the mood.  “Hey, I know it wasn’t the most exciting story I’ve ever told, but it wasn’t that boring, was it?”

Amy flips her notebook closed, taking a closer look at the man in front of her.  He’s just that little bit taller than her, with what looked like impossibly soft hair and a cheeky grin that faded into something incredibly inviting when he turned serious.  There was a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses covering his eyes, but she is willing to bet that they were pretty great as well.

Not that it matters, Amy.  You’ve already met your soulmate - remember?

Plus, you just yawned into this guy’s face.  So much for 'Serious Detective Santiago’.

She could feel the remnants of a blush still heating her skin, and quickly she shakes her head at the man in front of her, squashing the suggestion that his account had been too boring.  “No, it’s not you at all.  I really am sorry about that.  I just … had a late night, that’s all.”

He nods, lower lip curling inwards as he bites down gently, turning his head to the left briefly before returning his attention to her.  She notices, in profile, how well defined his jawline his, and briefly she imagines what it would be like to run her fingertips along it.  

Come on, Amy.

Jake clears his throat, thankfully pulling Amy from her train of thought, and she smiles encouragingly.  “Listen, I know you have to interview all those other people about this whole crime scene thing, but I was honestly about to go get a coffee myself, and the cart is literally seven steps from where we’re supposed to be standing, so … how bout I get you one as well?”  He pauses to lick his lips before continuing, as though sensing her impending refusal.  “I mean, how big a deal could it be?  It’s just coffee.  And I don’t know about you, but I could really do with a strong one.  The kind that only street carts manned by guys named Lugash could possibly give us.  Ya never know, it might even help you solve this case faster.”

Amy hesitates.  She can sense an impending distraction.  It isn’t entirely unwelcome, but in the back of her mind she knows that she should be heading back to the precinct and going over the list of people she met yesterday again.  Somewhere in that list was her soulmate, and she literally wasn’t getting any younger waiting for the answer to appear.  

But the man in front of her has this magnetic sense about him.  He’s charming, but not in a smarmy way.  And handsome, with the kind of smile that made a person immediately forget about their worries.  She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was a sense of comfort in his presence that she’d never really known before.  He spoke to her like they were old friends (which she desperately wished that they were) and he was right - she could really use a strong coffee.  This hangover clearly isn’t going to say die quickly.  Besides, the cart was literally just over there.  

Plus, Rosa was working her way through the witnesses with lightning speed (it’s amazing what a clear mind can do), and would be able to get through the others far more efficiently than she would.  And so she nods, unable to contain her smile as he gestures for her to lead the way, stopping with a flourish in front of the coffee cart.  

“Two of your finest lashings of java, my good sir.”

The man behind the cart grunts “Huh?”, and Amy turns her head into her shoulder to conceal her smile.

“So …. What is it you do, when you’re not buying … um, copious amounts of cheese?”

“What?”  Jake looks down at the paper bag by his feet, currently filled with several packets of mozzarella.  “Oh.  Ha.  I work at Sal’s Pizza, actually - they’re right around the corner from here?  Which explains the large amounts of cheese I’m currently holding.  I definitely don’t live in a house made out of cheese or anything.”  He laughs nervously.

The detective nods, joining in on his laughter.  “That’s probably for the best, a house made out of cheese sounds like a nightmare to keep clean.”

“Oh, totally.”  Yep, that had been Jake’s first thought about a cheese house as well.  Not eating the walls at all.  “It’s temporary, though.  I’m saving up enough to get into the police academy, and I normally work nights so that I can study during the day.”

She turns to him, the bright smile on her face so warm and welcoming and excited that he is already prepared to say any other great thing possible just so that he could see it again.   “Hey, that’s awesome!  Consider this your future welcome to the NYPD.  And don’t worry about the pizza job, I get it.  When I was saving up for the academy, I was a photographer’s assistant for a full year.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”

“The kind of photographer you find at the mall for all the big holidays.  I was the lucky one who got to try and keep all the kids smiling.  Turns out, kids do not like me.”  She shudders next to him as the memories wash over her, counting down the costumes on her fingers.  “I’ve had to dress up as an elf, the easter bunny, a pine cone …”

“A pine cone?”

“Fall festivities.  There was a turkey costume, but the previous assistant had yarfed all over the inside, and I drew the line at being stuffed into a vomit suit.  Leaf costumes were too wide, so … pine cone it was.”

“Wow.  I’m truly sorry that I never got to see that.  A giant pine cone trying to cheer up screaming children sounds amazing.”

Amy clears her throat pointedly.  “What I’m saying is, I get working whatever job comes along.  And truthfully, I think you’ll do great at the academy.  You’ve clearly got an attention for detail, and that counts for a lot.”

Oh, how he tries to stop himself, but as soon as the words are out of Amy’s mouth (that’s Detective Santiago to you, Peralta - you’re nowhere near Amy territory yet) he can feel himself sit taller, heart swelling with pride as he notices the support in her gaze.  And it’s crazy, but he feels like she really believes in him - and if he is being honest, it felt kinda great.  

He breaks the mood with a well-timed joke, and her leg brushes against his when she laughs, and Jake doesn’t ever want to leave this bench, drinking cheap coffee with a beautiful woman on 73rd street.  

Today was really beginning to pick up, Amy thinks to herself as she unconsciously shifts a little bit closer to the man beside her.  Jake Peralta.  It was a name she’d never heard before, yet oddly felt so familiar tripping off of her tongue, like she wanted to say it forever.  Their conversation had evolved from work to movies to childhood memories and back again, and she found his voice so calming that she genuinely didn’t want him to stop.  

He makes her laugh again, shoulder rubbing against hers as he lifts his coffee cup up for one last sip, and the movement starts a tingle that runs right through to her toes.  

Distractedly, Amy begins to wonder if maybe she’s gotten this whole ageing process completely wrong.  Maybe, it wasn’t always a result of having met your soulmate.  Maybe, sometimes it was just giving her a heads up (or in her case, a HAIRS up - haha good one Amy!) that she was going to meet her match today, and to keep her eye out for him because he will be hella cute and really hard to resist.

But then the clouds shift, casting a shadow over the two of them as they pass above and he pulls his sunglasses off, tucking him into the open collar of his t-shirt, and an instant all of Amy’s hopes shatter.  He has wrinkles.  Tiny little crows feet, so small they haven’t even begun to nest properly, lined either side of his warm brown eyes, and that meant only one thing - that Jake Peralta has already met his soulmate.  And while she definitely wasn’t certain on every aspect of the rules of ageing, the one thing Amy does know is it isn’t instantaneous.  And that meant it couldn’t possibly be her.

Twisting her wrist until her watch comes into view, Amy glances down at the time and raises her eyebrows in shock.  How have I lost over an hour talking to this guy?  

“Wow, I really need to get back to the precinct - my partner’s going to kill me.”  He moves before she has the chance to, offering her a hand as he stands before her, and Amy tries really hard not to notice how comfortable it feels to have his hand wrapped around hers, even if only for a second or two.

He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, and she really doesn’t want to leave but there are cases to solve, and a mysterious soulmate to uncover.  They part ways with another professional shake of their hands, and maybe there’s a spark when they touch, but she turns in her path before her mind can dwell on it.  Her heart is already falling, spiralling from the reminder she got when he smiled at her, showing off the tiny creases that lined his eyes so attractively - that this Jake Peralta, with all his charms, isn’t her match.  And that somehow yesterday Amy had met hers, and has absolutely no recollection.  

There’s still a confused look covering Jake’s features when he walks back into Sal’s Pizza ten minutes later, the events of the last couple of hours playing heavily on his mind.  He passes Charles, who pointedly ignores Jake as he sets about filling up the ingredient pans with sliced onions and mushrooms.  It’s a fair move, and Jake gently places the bags of cheese up onto the bench beside the other items before turning to his best friend.  “I’m sorry I ran out on you before, Charles.  I just … I didn’t buy into the idea of a soulmate before today, and I really wasn’t ready to hear otherwise when I got to work.”

Reaching for the bag, Charles gives Jake his best withering stare before responding.  “I get it, Jake, but … this is your chance, you have to believe that.  I know that things didn’t work out so well for your parents, but you can’t let the past drag you down.”  Charles pauses, expecting an argument, and when nothing comes he continues.  “Plus, don’t be mad, but while you were gone I kind of looked up last night’s orders.  And your mystery woman’s name is -”

“Amy.”  The two of them say it in unison, and Charles rears back to stare at his best friend, obviously perplexed as to how Jake knew.

Jake shrugs, unable to hide his smile as he repeats what he already knows.  “Her name is Amy.  Santiago, and she’s a detective from the 99th Precinct.  That’s what took me so long.  The bodega I was buying cheese from got robbed, and I had to give a statement.  Turns out, she was the detective put in charge of it.”

A tiny cloud of shredded cheese fills the air between them as Charles’ hands thrust towards the sky in surprise.  “Jake!  This is so perfect!  You’re studying for the academy, and your soulmate is a cop!  You can learn from each other, make sexy flash cards …”

Jake raises a hand in protest, pulling Charles to a pause before he can go too far (because when it came to Charles, too far was often too. far.).  “Charles, you’ve gotta stop.  I’ve gotten it all wrong.  She didn’t have any of the markings.  She’s beautiful, more than I remembered, but she’s not ageing.  Clearly, I’m not her soulmate.”

“No. No, no, no, no!”  His friend shakes his head vehemently, tugging at his apron until the material has bunched into in his hands..  “Jakey, this woman is your match.  I guarantee it.  Nothing else makes sense.”

“I know.  I don’t get it either.”  Backing up a few steps, Jake grips the bench on the opposite wall before hoisting himself up, a move that he definitely isn’t supposed to do before the afternoon rush began, but he was about to pour his wounded little heart out and he needed to be sitting down to do that.  “You should’ve seen her, Charles.  So smart and professional, but funny and kind and all the good things wrapped up in one.”  He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, taking a deep breath before continuing.  “It just doesn’t make any sense, not that any of this soulmate stuff ever did.  The way we talked, it was like we had known each our whole lives.  And sitting there with her, it just …. It felt so right.  And okay, I know this is going to sound stupid because I would be punching WELL above my weight if I was to be with someone like her, but this morning when I woke up and saw my wrinkles, there was a tiny part of me that was ready to accept that maybe sometimes things turn out kinda great, and that maybe it was finally my turn.”

The kitchen falls quiet, the metallic sound of long forgotten 90s pop music infiltrating the silence as it floated down from the too small speakers.  

Finally, Charles lets out a soft sigh.  “Alright.  Let’s just take a step back for a second.  You say she didn’t have any of the markings.  Are you sure you didn’t see anything?”

Jake rolls his eyes, which he knows is a petulant move because Charles was actually being really helpful and supportive right now, but he was definitely in the mood to wallow in his own self pity.  “Yes, Charles.  Her face was a clear as a summer’s day.”

“Excellent description, Jake.  But, no greys in her hair?”

“I mean, it was all twisted up into a bun thing at the back, but none that I could see, no.”

“Well, there you have it!  Not everybody gets a super obvious sign, you know.  I only started out with little specks of grey in my hair, while Genevieve got the wrinkles.  And my Uncle Becca, he woke up with liver spots all up and down his arms.  This Amy Santiago, she could totally have a sign somewhere, and you just couldn’t see it!”

“I appreciate the effort, Charles, but I really doubt it.”

“Jake, I’ve never heard you talk about anybody the way you just spoke about this woman.  And maybe I’m naive but I have total trust in who the universe chooses for us.  Just look at me and Genevieve - I couldn’t have asked for a better person.”  Abandoning the bench completely, he comes to stand in front of Jake, a serious look on his face.  “This is absolutely your chance for happiness and you cannot let this slip through your fingers.  Amy Santiago is your soulmate, I guarantee it.  You need to go to her, and tell her how you feel, before you lose the chance completely.”

The thought of putting it all on the line is terrifying to Jake, but so is the idea of growing old without somebody as amazing as Amy, and he nods at his friend in spite of his fears.  “You’re right.  I’m going to go to her.  Tell her how I feel, even if it makes me sound like a crazy person.”

“A crazy person in love!”  Charles squeals, slapping Jake on the shoulder as he lands his feet back on the floor. 

“Alright.  You gotta calm down a little, buddy.”

“Not a chance, I’m way too amped up.  Watch out love, here comes Jake!”

“Oh my god!”

“Santiago, where have you been?  I’ve been trying to call you for the better part of the last hour.”

Frowning, Amy reaches into her pocket for her phone, tapping the screen only to discover that it was, in fact, completely flat.  Apparently, Drunk Amy doesn’t like to put her phone on charge before she goes to sleep.  Damn it.  “My phone died .. low battery, I guess.   Sorry, Rosa.”

“Doesn’t matter.”  Her partner’s words are curt, but that isn’t necessarily specific to Amy’s mistake.  “I’m pretty sure we’ve got a lead in the Nicholls case.  C’mere, I need you to watch this.”

Her fingers fumble slightly with the charger she always keeps plugged into her computer, hooking her phone up and letting it rest on top of the tower as she makes her way over to Rosa.  It was safe to say that Amy had not been herself today, and right now, all she could think about was the endlessly cute guy that she’d just met, who incidentally couldn’t possibly be her soulmate.  Even though talking to him had made her lose all concept of time.  Despite the fact that he made her feel so home-like in his presence, notwithstanding him being a total stranger, and regardless of the reality that she hadn’t laughed so hard and so freely in the longest time. 

Rosa hands over her own phone when Amy nears, pressing play on a video recently posted to social media by one of Cadi Nicholls’ fans.  Much like all the others they’d watch, it consisted of someone fan-girling hard at being in her presence, failing terribly to conceal the fact that she was definitely filming the entire thing.  

“Okay?”  Amy asks as the video ends, looking up at her partner.  “I feel like we’ve seen a million of these already?”

The other woman nods, before pressing play again.  “Look behind the brunette, and the guy in the baseball cap.”

Well I’ll be damned.  Amy’s eyes widen as she takes in the scene.  Baseball Cap Guy, whom from memory was named James Carr, cowers behind a taller gentleman before reaching up and peeling his moustache from his face, one hand reaching up to adjust his cap as he pulls the remnant of a wig down, donning a pair of shaded glasses.  It’s all done so quickly, nobody really notices the change.  Forty-five seconds later, he’s sliding Cadi Nicholls’ bracelet off her wrist.

Amy blinks, raising one eyebrow as she looks over at Rosa.  “I have to admit, I’m kind of impressed with how swiftly he changed his appearance.  No wonder we never saw the perp enter the store.”

Rosa smirks.  “Exactly.  It was stupid quick, and with way too much precision for somebody who’s doing it just to get away with a jewellery story robbery.  So I ran some facial recognition software over the video.  Turns out, James Carr is the guy’s stage name, his real name is actually Jayson Daniels.  An up and coming actor, who as a teenager used to intern in the costume department of his local studio.  And the owner of a list of priors that makes me think he’s gotten very good at evasion over the years.”

“Hence the speedy change in appearance.”

“Yep.  And get this.  According to all the gossip mags, Daniels - or Carr, I guess, has a love interest.  None other than …”

“Cadi Nicholls?”  Amy grins.  “I knew it was weird that she didn’t notice someone taking a bracelet off her own damn wrist!”

Rosa nods, resting her weight against the edge of her desk and folding her arms.  “When I called some of Nicholls’ former clients, they were pretty quick to tell me that she’s been lying about the whole chef thing.  She can’t cook for shit, and gets the food pre-made and delivered for her to show off as her own.”  Amy shakes her head, staring at the frozen image of Nicholls on the screen.  “There was too much chatter for it not to ring true.  People were getting tired of keeping her secrets, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the jig was up.  But she’d gotten accustomed to a certain kind of lifestyle …”

“And she needed some insurance money to keep the bank balance healthy?”

“Got it in one.  And Carr was so puppy-dog in love with her, that he just went along with it.  Straight up confessed to Terry when we called him in for the third time this afternoon.  As for Nicholls, the warrant is being typed up as we speak, and soon as we get the green light we’ll head straight to her address.”

Amy smiles, trying to give her best enthusiastic nod because truly, this was an excellent breakthrough, and their superiors were going to be very happy to discover that Diaz had solved the case so quickly.  But her mind was still preoccupied, and it was getting harder to contain her thoughts.

Beside her, Rosa lets out a sigh.  That something is wrong with Amy and I don’t want to ask her but if I don’t she’ll just stew on it sigh that Amy knows a little too well.  “What’s wrong, Santiago?”

Pausing for a moment as she tries to push together her muddled thoughts into a cohesive sentence, Amy shrugs at her partner.  “Do you think that maybe the universe got it wrong about my soulmate?”

“No.”

She sighs in exasperation.  “Really, Rosa.  Think about it.  We’ve covered every name on the list.  Twice.  And this is going to sound ridiculous but for a little while there I was toying with the idea  that the man supposedly named James Carr could have been it, that I could make myself be interested in him,  which is horrifying to think about now because clearly he is a criminal, but that’s obviously just a sign of how desperate I am to figure out who this person is, because when I think about what you told me, about how it feels when you finally meet your soulmate, I can’t help but …”  Amy can hear herself rambling, and pulls herself short.  

Rosa waits, then pulls a now silent Amy into the interview chair beside her desk before settling into her own.  “Out with it.”

“I met someone today.  One of the witnesses to the bodega holdup.”

“And?”

Amy smiles at the memory.  “And he was amazing.  Cute and funny and friendly and incredibly  charismatic.  He’s the reason I’m so late getting back from the scene - we ended up getting coffee and I swear Rosa, the time just flew by.” 

“Okay, so?”

“So I keep thinking about what you told me, about how you felt when you met Jocelyn.  Like you were coming home.  That everything just suddenly made sense.”

“And you felt it with this bodega guy?”

“He’s a pizza guy, actually.  Well, he’s studying for the academy, so he’s a temporary pizza guy, but - that’s really not the point.  It was … cosmic.  I literally wanted to know everything about him, and I have no idea why.  Sitting there with him felt like a lock sliding into place, and that’s impossible, because we’ve never met prior to today and he already had wrinkles around his eyes, and I …”

“And you …?”

She tugs at the thick band holding her hair back, sighing as the strands fall, picking up the ends and staring at them blankly.  “And I have this.”

Rosa drums her fingernails against the desk, the steady rhythm a dull sound at the back of Amy’s mind as she loses herself in thought once again.  She has the sense to look up when the noise stops, looking over at her partner with the frail hope that perhaps Rosa has come up with the answer.

“So you kind of wish this guy was your soulmate instead, am I right?”

“Maybe?  Yes?”  She drops her head into her hands.  “A little.  I’m just … confused.”

“Confused is an understatement."

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, Rosa!”  Her voice is a hushed whisper now, hands gripping the edge of her partner’s desk as she leans forward.  “I’m not - I’m supposed to meet my soulmate, and know in an instant, and then we’re supposed to grow older together and live happily ever after.  I’ve seen it happen over and over again.  So why can’t I stop thinking about somebody I’ve met after the fact?”

Rosa’s phone vibrates against her desk as she receives a text, and Amy feels it in her fingernails as they dig into the poorly constructed wood.  Diaz glances down quickly, mouth setting into a thin line as she reads her screen.  “The warrant is in.  We’re good to go.”  Her eyes flit back to Amy.  “But, we could send - ”

Amy’s shaking her head before Rosa can even finish the sentence.  “No.  It doesn’t matter, I’ll figure it out.  We’ve got some fraudsters to arrest, and a whole lot of paperwork to get through.  C’mon, Sleuth Sister.”

“Oh my god.  Don’t ever call me that again.”

“Too late, it’s stuck now!  Besides - you forget I know you, Rosa.  You love it, and it’s staying.”

To say that Amy is thoroughly exhausted by the time she finally walks back through her front door later that evening would be an understatement.  

Arresting Cadi Nicholls had been as dramatic as one could expect, the theatrics of the woman as she was dragged from her McMansion enthusiastically re-enacted by fellow officers well into the later hours while she and Rosa worked their way through the necessary paperwork.  It had been an incredibly satisfying moment for Amy to confiscate the mobile phone that until that moment had appeared to be glued to Nicholls’ hand, giving all of the chef’s followers a rueful smile as she switched off the live feed.  All that had been left on Amy’s desk by the time the two detectives left the precinct were files that required superior’s signatures before submission, and a yellow post-it with a hard to read message about someone named Jay trying to visit her.  There was no number, and when she pressed Deetmore for more information he’d only shrugged.  

The day had been such a plethora of highs and lows, a confusing mixture of hope and disappointment, and while the throbbing in her head had definitely subsided she was craving a hot shower and bedtime with a puzzle she would probably fall asleep trying to solve.  Kicking her shoes off and hanging her purse on it’s designated hook, she takes solace in the comfortable familiarity of her organised home.  Even if her romantic life was an absolute mess, she still had a sense of order within these four walls.  

Her eyes catch the empty wine bottles as she passes her kitchen bench and her path diverts, because she is nothing if not a tidy person.  And it’s not until she’s gotten closer to the bottles that she notices the empty pizza box, folded down to a thin rectangle and waiting patiently for it’s own removal.  Suddenly, she’s wide awake.

Wait - when did I have pizza?

She looks around the room, half praying for yellow evidence markers to be dotted around her furniture to lead her to the clues she needs, because of all the cases Amy has worked on lately, the mystery of What Happened Last Night has been the most frustrating of all - especially because she has a sneaking suspicion that it held the answer to how and when she met her soulmate.  

Walking into the living room, her hand runs over the edges of her couch in an attempt to jog her memory, and stepping closer to the furniture she bumps her leg against a side table.  I hit my head against this last night, she thinks to herself, swivelling around quickly in the futile hope that the rest of the memories will come flooding in just as quickly.  But … how?

This should have been the simplest of puzzles, but it had been a long day and it still took Amy a moment, eyes rotating between the pizza box, the side table and the rest of her apartment, waiting for it all to come together.  

And then, it all became alarmingly clear.  Somebody had delivered pizza to her last night, and she was pretty sure it hadn’t been Rosa.  Hopeful, actually, that it hadn’t been Rosa, because there was one person that she’d met today that had set her heart into overdrive, and she happened to know that he had a night job delivering pizzas.  

Still - just to be sure - Amy pulls out her phone, dialling Rosa’s number and holding the phone to her ear with a shaking hand.

She answers after two rings.  “Santiago, don’t tell me you’ve hit your head again.”

“Didyoubringmepizzalastnight?”  Her words are rushed, so desperate to get to the bottom of it all that little things like proper pronunciation have flown right out the window.

“Huh?”

Amy forces herself to take a breath.  “Last night.  Pizza.  Did you bring me any?”

Rosa’s rolling eyes are audible down the phone line.  “No, but I did steal a slice of what was left when I got there.  You’d demolished most of it.  I figured you’d brought it home?”

Amy’s heart leaps up towards her throat, and she lets out a quick laugh, shaking her head even though her partner can’t see her doing it.  “Someone delivered pizza to me last night.”

The call goes quiet, and after a few seconds Rosa laughs.  “Sounds like maybe you’ve met your pizza guy before today, after all.”

“Yeah, I think maybe I did.”

“Can I ask you something, then?”

“Of course.”

“What the hell are you calling me for?”

She had a fair point, and Amy hangs up before another word can be said, opening up a webpage on her phone and widening her eyes when she discovers the Sal’s Pizza website is still open on her phone from last night’s drunken ordering.  Hands shaking, she quickly places another order and places her phone face down on the kitchen counter when she’s finished, pacing the length of her hallway as her mind scrambles to put together the remaining pieces of the puzzle.

Her order takes twenty-seven minutes, during which Amy changes her outfit three different times, and she almost jumps out of her own skin when at long last there’s a knock on her door.  Quickly she hops up from the edge of the couch where she had been precariously sitting for the last five nanoseconds, smoothing down her strands of hair before tucking them behind her ears completely.

This is it.

Squeezing her eyes shut and sending one last quick prayer to all the powers that be, Amy swings open her door, sagging with relief when she sees Jake Peralta standing on the other side, pizza box in hand.  

Jake’s smile is wide but nervous, and he can’t keep his feet from shuffling side to side.  When Charles had run over to him half an hour ago, squealing about an Ultra Special order, he hadn’t been ready to believe it could be true.  Even now, standing at her front door, part of him thought that maybe she really just liked pizza.  

(Which, of course, would absolutely solidify her as his Dream Girl.)

She’s standing so quietly in front of him, eyes wide and hopeful, unfairly looking beautiful in her yoga pants and NYPD sweatshirt.  Finally she speaks, the tiniest smile creeping onto her face.  “I ordered pizza last night.”

He nods, because his throat has gone dry, and he really doesn’t trust himself not to screw this up.  “Yeah.  You ordered pizza last night.”

“And you delivered it?”

Another nod, heart speeding up just a little at the optimistic look on her face before it falls.  

“I didn’t remember.  I’m sorry.  I should have remembered.” 

Quickly, Jake shakes his head.  “Don’t be sorry.  You were pretty drunk.  And you hit your head, so it’s no wonder things were a little blurry in the morning.”

“I had an instinct that was where this lump had come from!”  The hand that had been gripping her doorknob moves to the sore spot, eyes narrowing.  “Wait.  This is all feeling a little familiar.  The floor was moving, and I could see the ceiling for some reason … Oh!  You were the one that told me to call Rosa!”

He laughs, because she looks so triumphant at figuring out that apparently vital bit of information, and she blushes in response, before cocking her head slightly.

“I just … why didn’t you tell me?”

Jake shrugs.  It all seemed ridiculous now, finding it impossible to explain in just a few words that she deserves better than him, that he’d been pessimistic about the whole soulmate thing, that he’d been certain that the universe had gotten it all wrong …. 

Eventually, he stutters out - “You … you didn’t show any of the signs.”

Her eyebrows jump, and suddenly remembering they were still standing in her open doorway Amy invites him inside, taking the pizza from his outstretched hand and resting it on her dining table.  It’s déjà vu all over again as he stands in her living room, tucking his hands into the pocket of his jeans before she picks up on his shaking hands.  

“I know what you mean, about these signs.  And I don’t mean the ageing thing, although that’s the big thing.  But .. they say your heart starts racing, and that everything in your mind becomes clear.”

Jake swallows nervously, nodding slowly.  “Racing heart, yeah.  I … I’ve heard that.”

She moves quietly through the room, waiting until she’s in front of him before speaking.  “Jake?”

“Yeah, Amy?”

A delicate finger points towards his face.  “When did you get those wrinkles?”

He takes in a deep breath, trying his very best to calm the nerves racing through his system.  This was it.  He could take the chance, right here and now, to tell her something untrue, and watch her walk away.  

Or, he could finally admit that maybe the universe was actually onto something.

“I woke up with them this morning.”

Amy’s eyes widen, and the tiniest, sweetest smile begins to grow on her face.  Without a word, she reaches for the hair tie that was holding her hairstyle in, tugging until her strands are released.  Grabbing the ends, she sweeps them over her shoulder and proudly displays the greys that weaved in and out of her dark hair.

“Same here.”

Jake’s heart leaps up into his throat, the incessant pounding vibrating against his larynx as he blinks repeatedly, a multitude of thoughts racing through his mind.  “Wait … you started ageing as well?”

Amy reaches up to tuck her hair behind both ears, one side of her mouth lifting up into a sheepish smile.  “I did.”

Finally, Amy understands what Jocelyn had described to Rosa.  There was an undeniable sense of glee coursing through her body, and she’s trying so very hard not to bounce on the spot.  Jake is beaming at her, and from the way her cheeks are already starting to hurt she can tell that she’s beaming right back.  “I should probably tell you, I searched everywhere for you today.”

He seems surprised, which is adorable.  “You did?”

Amy nods, lifting her eyes towards the ceiling as she shakes her head ruefully.  “I went through all the witnesses I’d met, the cops who’d written up the reports … I even chased down the same cab driver, just in case.”

“No match, huh?”

She laughs softly, returning her attention back to the man in front of her.  He still looks so bashful, so unsure that he’s supposed to be where he is, and she’s filled with the overwhelming urge to make him understand how she feels.

“Not even close.”  She steps a little bit closer, the need to be in his proximity growing stronger the longer he stood in her living room.  “In fact, the only person who made me feel anything even slightly close to something, was this guy I had to interview outside a bodega this morning.  Who was so wonderful, I was willing to endure random street coffee, just so he would stick around.”

He rubs one hand along the back of his neck, holding it there as he regards her carefully.  “Yeah?”

Amy nods.  “In fact, I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind since then.  And if I hadn’t killed a few brain cells with a few glasses of wine and what was probably a minor concussion, I would have been thinking about him all morning as well.”

“Speaking from experience, there’s a very good chance that is exactly what would have happened.”

She’s so close now, close enough that she can smell his cologne, and objectively Amy knows that this is all a little crazy.  That all of the stories she’d been told about love at first sight and finding your soulmate had always had a faraway feel to them, and instead she’d grown up waiting for tiny butterflies to start building in her stomach whenever she met a potential match.  If only she’d realised that it was closer to a sense of all rational thought flying out the window, replaced only with an uncontrollable need to be wherever they were.  Maybe then, this would feel a little less surreal.  

Her teeth sink into her lower lip, tilting her head upwards to Jake.  “Do you mind if I try something?”  

He shakes his head, eyes wide with curiosity, and before she has a chance to lose her nerve Amy leans in, brushing her lips against his gently before returning with a little more pressure.  Jake sighs against her touch, tilting his head just so and meeting her pressure with his own.  

They pull apart, both unable to contain their smiles for more than a second, and he’s so close, and this is what she’s been waiting her whole life for and without hesitation she grabs him by the collar, drawing him closer until there’s nothing between them, kissing him again with everything she has.  His lips feel so perfect against her own, and she folds so perfectly into his arms, her own wrapping around his neck as though they were finally finding their way back home.  

This was it.  And they’d all been right when they had said - it’s worth waiting for.

Her breath is completely gone by the time they part again, and Amy’s almost certain that if she looked out the window right now, she’d discover that all the stars have finally aligned.    

“Wow.”

“Yeah … wow.”

“So I guess this makes you my soulmate?”

He blushes again, resting his forehead against hers before answering.  “Yeah.”  Closing the distance, Jake presses his lips to hers again for a brief kiss.  “I guess I am.  Because you’re definitely mine.”

She waits until she has his full attention, resting the palm of her hand against his cheek and staring deep into his eyes - those beautiful eyes that she was more than ready to spend forever looking into.  “You don’t know how much I have been wishing it could have been you.  All day long, ever since we had coffee, I’ve been wishing it would be you.”

His thumb traces the edges of her face, the touch so gentle and reverent that Amy can feel tears beginning to pool in her eyes.  She wants to cry, and she wants to sing.  And dance, and kiss her soulmate a little more.  She wants to run to the top of the highest building in Brooklyn and shout out to the world that they’d figured it out, that she’d finally found her soulmate.  That the rest of her life was about to begin, and she was giddy with excitement that Jake was going to be there beside her.

His breath traces across her lips as he leans in, whispering “I know exactly what you mean,” before kissing her again, and suddenly the rest of the world just fades away.

Epilogue 

“Jake, no!  There is no way we are serving pizza as a main course at our wedding.”

“Aw, come on Ames!  It’s what brought us together!  We need to pay our respects.”

She smiles, sliding her hand along Jake’s arm until their fingers are intertwined.  “I get that, and we can do mini pizzas as part of the passed hors d'oeuvres.  But I’m pulling the pin at having it as the main.  Especially not at display temperature.  We’d end up making our guests sick, and our wedding would be memorable for all the wrong reasons.”

Jake nods, and Amy can’t wipe the smile off her face.  It still killed her, after a year of dating, that a guy as smart and funny and adorable as Jake was the person she was destined to spend her life with.  He makes her so endlessly happy, filling her once too-quiet apartment with music and stories and most of all, laughter.  He calls her Ames, and holds her hand in his when they walk down the street, and always leaves a hoodie lying somewhere in the apartment for her to snatch up and claim as her own.  

When destiny has already declared you’re going to grow old with someone, the notion of marriage kind of seems pre-determined, but Jake still managed to stun her into silence when he knelt down on bended knee one evening, telling her all the things he loved about her before asking if she wouldn’t mind being his wife.  She could have flooded the apartment with her tears, and began planning the ultimate wedding the very next day.  

And now it’s only two weeks away, and she is literally counting down the days until she could call Jake Peralta her husband.  He beams at her, as though sensing what Amy is thinking, and she releases his hand so that she can pull him in by the collar of his shirt for a soft kiss.  

His eyes are bright when she pulls away, a surefire sign of a great idea being born.  “Hey!  What if we get Sals to deliver the hors d'oeuvres?  That’d be kinda awesome, right?”

“Totally awesome, babe.”

His tone turns serious as he leans closer.  “Whoa … wait.  Ames.  What if they send their cutest delivery boy?”

Amy laughs at the memory of her own special request, running her hand through his hair in a way that she can’t wait to do forever.   “Oh, I am going to be way too busy kissing my new husband to be worrying about any kind of delivery boy.”

“Wow, this new husband of yours sounds like a lucky guy.”

“He is.  I just hope he knows it.”

Jake leans in for a kiss, the roughness of his five o’clock shadow scratching oh so pleasurably against her skin.  “Oh trust me.   He does.  He definitely does.”

*

“Really, though.  I’d like to meet him sometime.”

“… Jake!”