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In all his years, Jake’s never known a love like the bond he cherishes and nurtures with his children; through stakeouts and sleepless nights in prison, he’s never known exhaustion like having two kids under five. He wouldn’t change their boundless energy, the tantrums, the dirty diapers for anything - he wouldn’t change anything in his life right now, period - but he’ll admit that sometimes what he looks forward to most in a day is winding down with his wife on the couch, glass of wine in hand and the promise of a Netflix marathon where the words “paw” and “patrol” will categorically not be heard in sequence.
“Monsieur, pinot gris,” Amy announces in the worst French accent possible, passing him the glass she just poured from the half-open bottle of wine in their fridge. They both decided a long time ago that while their palettes for wine tasting are non-existent, they’ll take anything that makes them feel like sophisticated adults rather than the obedient servants, housekeepers and on-call bottom wipers of two tiny (and also ridiculously, stupidly cute) tyrants.
“Ah oui, merci madame,” Jake puts on an equally atrocious accent, swirling it and pretending to sniff it because what he lacks in speaking another language and being able to tell the difference between expensive and shitty wine, he makes up for in being able to make Amy Santiago laugh. Over the years, it’s proven to be a far more useful talent.
She giggles, setting her own glass down on a coaster that he once painted for her in a ceramics class with Charles before collapsing on the couch next to him. He places his glass on the table too so that he can wrap his arms around her and revel in holding her close.
“Thanks for cleaning up dinner and all the craft stuff, babe,” she sighs against him.
“Thanks for taking care of bathtime tonight,” he counters. “We make a pretty good team, huh?”
“Always have done, always will,” she smiles, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re my favourite husband.”
His face lights up. “Does that mean it’s my turn to choose what we watch?”
“Jake, we’re not watching another Bourne film again,” she says, affectionately pressing a finger to his chin dimple as if it’s a button to turn his frown around. “We could just make out?”
He feigns thinking about it for a second, before dramatically pulling her down on the couch so she’s pretty much lying on top of him. “You always have the best ideas, Ames.”
She laughs at that and her smile is the brightest, most beautiful thing in the world, and then her legs are slotting in between his and she’s about to lean down and kiss him when-
The all-too familiar sound of their four-year-old daughter crying from down the hall. Little people tend to cry a lot, that much Jake has figured out since becoming a father, but it never gets any less heart-breaking. He looks up at his wife as the same concern he’s feeling floods her face and, just like that, a switch is flipped from Jake & Amy to Mommy & Daddy mode.
“I’ll go,” she confirms, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to his lips to punctuate her statement.
A minute later, his two favourite girls in the world return to the living room, Maya in her Spiderman pajamas on Amy’s hip with her face buried in the crook of her neck, still in tears.
“Oh, honey,” Jake says when his daughter immediately reaches her arms out for him when she sees him on the couch. “What’s the matter?”
“Scary dream,” Maya gulps through tears, wrapping her arms around his neck. “The monsters were chasing me.”
“It’s not real, sweetheart,” Amy chimes in, rubbing comforting circles on her back as she shares a helpless look with Jake.
“Yeah, and lucky for you, Monkey, Mommy and I can protect you from all the monsters, remember?” he soothes. It’s not entirely true - the real world sucks - but he wishes it was. Little does she know, four years ago on the day she was born, he held her close much like he is now and promised her that he’d protect her as best he could and love her for the rest of their lives.
Maya nods as her tears calm into intermittent sobs. She pulls away from his neck to sit on his lap. “Even the slimy ones?”
“Especially the slimy ones,” he confirms with a smile; he’s obsessed with the way his kids’ brains work. “We’d pour salt on them so they dry up, right, Mommy?”
“Monsters aren’t real,” Amy reminds their daughter, giving Jake a pointed look. “But hypothetically, yes, salt would be the way to go in that scenario.”
“See? We have it all planned out,” he hugs her tiny frame against his chest. “Nothing’s going to get you so why don’t we tuck you back into bed?”
“No, stay here,” Maya orders, because she’s as stubborn as both of her parents when she wants to be and there’s nowhere more comforting than her dad’s arms.
Jake looks up at Amy, and she raises her brow as they telepathically weigh up their options. When their daughter snuggles into him again, however, a decision is easily made and they both know it’s game over for a quiet wine and movie night. Hanging out with a sleepy and cried-out Maya is too cute for either of them to resist and they’d do anything to ensure she feels safe.
“You want some hot milk, baby?” Amy runs her hand through her curls, leaning in to kiss her cheek sweetly when she nods.
Later, Jake will carry a milk-drunk Maya back to her room and double-check her closet and under the bed for any monsters, slimy or not. He’ll set her nightlight to pink because that’s her favourite colour right now and his heart will grow two sizes when she sleepily mumbles, “Love you, daddy” as he tucks her in.
Later, Amy will put the glasses of wine she poured back in the fridge and promise him that they can have their movie night tomorrow - and maybe they can even watch The Bourne Identity. She’ll mumble that she’s too drained to do anything more than cuddle, and he completely gets it and will mention while he’s spooning her in bed that maybe they can ask his mom to take the kids for the night at the weekend so that they can have some proper alone time, no interruptions.
But right now, with Maya finally smiling in his lap, he doesn’t mind in the slightest that parenting is never a job that he can clock out of. That little smile makes absolutely everything worth it - all the mess, the exhaustion, the tragic deprivation of making out with his wife after a long day.
And, at 11pm, the bundle in his arms hasn’t requested to watch Paw Patrol, so he’s still winning.