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At first, after Jake threatens his dad not to hurt his mom, he feels satisfied.
Not good. Being around his dad made him sick. He was too big now to get hit around, but that didn’t mean the feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw his dad ever went away.
His dad agrees readily, promising to never raise a hand against his mom.
“After all, I never hurt her!” His dad had said, as if that made everything perfectly fine. As if that would assuage all of his fears.
Jake had told Amy about Sheila, had been prepared to tell his mom about her. He wondered, sometimes, if he should tell her the truth. About the bruises not being from roughhousing with Gina - part of why his mom still didn’t care for her - but rather from the fist of the man she claimed to love.
He told himself he wouldn’t because it would hurt her too much.
And that was true. It would devastate her.
But he was also, just a little bit, afraid that she wouldn’t believe him.
It wasn’t often. It wasn’t like the house was a nightmare, or his dad would get wasted every night and beat him until he screamed.
It wasn’t that bad.
Jake knew that phrase was an unhealthy coping mechanism, and he hated it when people used it when they were hurting, but it was different when it came to him.
He couldn’t excuse his father’s behavior.
But maybe, just maybe, if he made it insignificant enough in his own eyes, it wouldn’t matter anymore.
No, it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t constant. It was just every now and then… Jake would be a little bit too loud, a little bit too annoying, and his dad would just. Slap him across the face. And then kick him in the chest when he fell to the floor. And then sometimes slam him into the walls or against a table or something.
It didn’t leave a lot of scars - not any cool ones, anyway - and the few that remained were relatively inconspicuous. He usually made up some obscenely fake story about a perp until people got frustrated and stopped asking.
Jake had felt satisfied after warning his dad.
But the longer he waited, the worse he felt. The satisfaction slipped into a feeling of uneasiness.
What if his dad was mad at him for threatening him? What if he took it out on his mom? What if she was already hurt?
Jake’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. He was going 80 in a 55, driving towards he wasn’t even sure what.
His dad was back in his life.
For realz.
Jake wanted nothing to do with him, wanted to never have to see him again.
But then, how could he make sure his mom was okay?
Jake didn’t know what he was going to do. And, whenever he didn’t know what to do, he always found himself at Amy’s apartment. Amy, wonderful Amy, who had tried so hard to prepare to impress his mom, to do a good job, to win her approval. And Jake had gone and turned the whole thing into a mess.
No, Jake corrected himself, as he turned off the car, his dad did.
For once, Jake didn’t think he was responsible for the fuck-up he was currently in.
Of course, Amy would have the final say in that.
Jake could feel some of the tension leaking out of his muscles as he thought about her. She was truly incredible.
And he was not looking forward to trying to explain to her what was wrong without having to actually say what the problem was.
She was a detective - the best in their precinct. Not that he’d ever admit that to her face, of course.
Jake knocked on her door - they hadn’t gotten to the key-exchanging level yet, and according to Amy there were actual levels, she had a chart for it and everything - and after a moment, she opened it.
She was clearly dressed to chill, not expecting guests, and her eyes widened when she saw him. “Oh, Jake, hey! Uh, come on in.”
“Thanks.” Jake walked past her inside.
He’d been in here before, but he looked around it, trying to delay the inevitable conversation.
“So, what brings you here?” Amy asked.
There it was. One of the things he loved about her - Amy never beat around the bush.
“Uh, well, I talked to my dad. Made him promise not to hurt my mom.”
“Oh. That’s… good.” Amy nodded, closing the door and padding to the kitchen.
“Mmm not really.” Jake frowned. “I don’t trust him. He doesn’t have a good track record.”
“You think he’s going to cheat again?” Amy poured some water into a mug, sitting down on the couch, patting the spot next to her.
Jake sat down, letting her rest her head on his shoulder and facing to look at him.
“Probably. I’m worried about her safety, too.”
“Oh, like STDs? He can get tested.”
“No. I mean… I’m worried that he might… you know…” Looking at Amy’s confused, blank expression, Jake cleared his throat, “You know, hurt her.” He finished lamely.
Amy sat up, turning to face him head-on. When she speaks, it’s with an edge of Detective Santiago in her voice.
“Has he hurt her before?”
“No.” Jake shook his head vehemently, “Not her.”
“Then why would you worry that-?” Amy stopped. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she sat back a bit, staring at Jake with a look of dawning realization. “He never hurt her.” She repeated slowly.
Jake couldn’t bring himself to keep looking at her face, gaze dropping down to her hands, which were clasped so tightly around the mug she was holding that it was shaking.
“It’s not a big deal. It was only once in a while, and, besides, I barely have any scars or-”
“Wait, is that where that weird scar on your side comes from?” Amy interrupted suddenly, eyebrow twitching.
“Uh, no, that was from being knifed by Mercury Thunder, an ex-jewel thief who is… um,” Jake trailed off. Without looking up, Jake knew Amy was watching him with big, sad eyes, and he hated to make her upset. He couldn’t even really appreciate the little thrum of she believes me that raced through his chest, because she sounded so absolutely crushed.
“Um, yeah. And a few other ones.” Jake swallowed, then turned his head. “That’s not the point right now. What matters is that he’s back with my mom and I need to protect her. And I can’t tell her about… what happened.”
“You said you gave him a warning, though?” Amy reached out, squeezing Jake’s hand with hers. Her hands were always cold, but it was comforting just the same.
“Yeah, but, what if that just made him mad?” Jake asked, the worry he was trying to keep down beginning to color his voice.
“Jake,” Amy sounded sad, but Jake kept his eyes locked on their now-intertwined hands, afraid of what he might see if he looked up.
“Jake.” Amy set down her mug, reaching out with her hand to cup his chin, lifting his gaze up to hers. She wasn’t crying, but she looked about as upset as she had sounded, which broke Jake's heart a little.
“Jake,” She said again, softly, “I can’t pretend this is easy for you. We can keep tabs on her, visit them or call, or even put a few beat cops on to discreetly monitor for a while.”
Her eyes were so earnest, so hopeful to be able to help.
It made Jake’s heart ache how much he loved her.
“Okay,” He replied, “Why don’t you start putting together an outline, and I’ll ramble about how much my mom liked you.”
Amy had already pulled out a binder at the word “outline” from under the coffee table, but she promptly dropped it with a squeal.
“Your mom likes me?”
“Yep, she said she thought you were ‘sweet’.”
“Yes!” Amy fistpumped, grin spreading across her face, before it melted away as she remembered the reason for his visit.
Jake tried to cling onto the excited Amy, avoid the somber, serious Amy that came with Jake talking about this stuff. Hopefully the binder and upcoming scheme to protect his mom would be enough to distract her from his many, many issues.
Amy picked the binder back up, dusting it off. “We should sit at the table. It’ll make my handwriting more professional.”
Jake went to stand, but Amy’s hand shot out, catching his wrist.
“Jake,” She hesitated, mouth twitching like she was trying to say something but wasn’t sure how. Finally, she simply said, “Thank you for telling me. And… can we talk about this later, too?”
Jake laughed nervously. “What else is there to say? My dad slapped me around, now I’m afraid he’s gonna do it to my mom. Let’s go and… use that binder!”
The binder didn’t distract Amy. She knew what he was doing.
“Okay, Jake. We don’t have to talk about this until you’re ready.” She said patiently, letting go of his arm.
Four hours later, they had come up with a cohesive plan on how to run Operation: Spirit Airlines. Amy had suggested it because of how Spirit Airlines was inferior to all other airlines, and Jake had agreed to the sentiment wholeheartedly.
He was a bit too anxious to really enjoy the naming process, but as time went on and the plan began to come together, he felt himself relaxing. Engaging in banter with Amy, adding fun tidbits here and there - he was not allowed to touch the binder while she was writing in it, but he was allowed to make suggestions.
But now it was done. A rotating cast of the 99 precinct’s detectives, and Gina because of course Gina knew - although that did mean Jake would have to explain it to the others. He wasn’t looking forward to that, but Amy had pointed out that none of them liked Roger very much in the first place, so they would all be happy to watch him just because he was a dick. No personal info needed.
Although, of course, Amy still recommended he tell them all, because she didn’t understand Jake’s crushing fear of losing their respect. That was a lie. She completely understood that part, she just didn’t get that Jake didn’t care if they would never think that of him - they totally would, and they’d hate him forever, because the nervous little voice in the back of his head told him so.
Instead, Jake pointed out that Charles would probably strangle his dad with a goat’s intestine or something if he told them the truth.
Amy had looked simultaneously disgusted and appeased, and they’d both decidedly moved on from that topic.
This cycle would be supplemented by Jake visiting his mother regularly - which he already did because “It’s important to respect your elders, Santiago”, as if she didn’t call her mother every week - and discreetly checking her for injuries. When Roger wasn't there, of course.
His mom was sweet, but not exactly observant, so she would literally never notice - even if he pulled out a magnifying glass on her arms, she’d probably just smile and wave or something.
But now, all the planning was over, and Jake and Amy had migrated into her bed.
All of the planning and binder-work had definitely made Amy eager, and she was straddled on top of Jake’s waist, one hand on his chest, other bracing herself up so she could kiss him hungrily.
Their shirts had come off somewhere between the door and now, although Amy made sure to fold them so they wouldn’t get wrinkled before dropping them on the floor.
Jake’s hands were roaming across her back, but as Amy ran one hand down his side, she tensed.
Jake stopped, breaking off their kiss. “Ames, you okay?”
She sniffled.
Jake immediately removed his hands, concern drowning out all possible upcoming sexy times. Amy shifted so that she was next to, rather than on top of, him. One hand went up to wipe at her face, embarrassed.
“Sorry, I’m being stupid.” She said thickly, sniffling again.
“No, you’re not.” Jake replied automatically, voice soft. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing.” Amy shook her head, “It’s just…” She reached out, hand ghosting over the raised scar on Jake’s side. Her voice cracked, “How many of them are his?”
Jake looked away. He couldn’t help it, just one of the many little mechanisms he had to get through the day.
“Ames, it’s okay. We get hurt in the line of duty, does it matter which ones are which?”
“Yes!” Amy cried, smacking him lightly on the arm, “You said you were seven when he left you guys, Jake. Seven!”
Oh. Jake turned back around, hand catching hers as she shook her head.
“Do you really want to know?” He asked carefully.
Amy nodded, wiping her eyes again and then clearing her throat, pulling herself together.
Jake guided her hand to his side, the one that had made her upset. It was arguably the worst one he had - it was one of his first, when he thought scars were cool. It was from catching on the edge of a table, after his dad had shoved him into it.
Slowly, he let her trace each one made by Roger Peralta’s hand. Or boot, or whatever.
The one on his stomach, that almost looks like a thin appendectomy line, except it was from Roger’s wedding band. The one on his upper arm, that he would always joke was from taking down a crazed knifeman on a plane stuck in the sky, a la Air Force One, but was actually from being grabbed. The ones on his back, three that blended in with his vertebrae, except that Amy could always feel them when she ran her hands over them. Those were from hitting into a wall. The one at the edge of his hairline on his temple, that was from a fist. There were a couple on his calves, defensive wounds from being kicked in the stomach, but they had thankfully faded into nonexistence at this point.
It really wasn’t that bad.
Amy had never been bothered by them before.
But she was most definitely bothered now.
Her shaking hands traced each and every one, as if it would magically make them better. It kind of tickled, but he wasn’t going to tell her to stop.
Because, in a way, it worked.
It wasn’t like Jake’s problems were solved. His mom was still possibly in danger, his dad was still around, and Jake’s scars were still there, no matter how much Amy wished otherwise.
But in this moment, it was just Jake and Amy, existing in the space between being done with the day and being asleep, both just coexisting in their own little shared world. In the morning, life would start back up, they would have more cases, they would have to explain the situation to the precinct, they would have to start watching out for Karen Peralta’s safety.
But for right now, it was just them.
And that wasn’t 'satisfying'.
It was good.