Work Text:
MONDAY
INT. THE BULLPEN - NIGHT
EVERYONE HAD GONE home for the day. The office was unusually quiet, and the only noise that came from the bullpen was the occasional clicking of keys on Jake’s computer. Before him were two piles of paperwork, the result of a failed bet between him and Hitchcock. They had bet a whole week’s worth of paperwork on who could escape from handcuffs the quickest, with Gina playing the referee. Jake had lost terribly: the irony of losing to the Nine-Nine’s worst detective not lost on him. But fair was fair, so here Jake was: sleep-deprived, antsy, and with two more mountains of paperwork balancing atop his desk to keep him company throughout the night.
God, he was bored.
Every noise bothered him. He could tune out the noises of his keyboard usually, but tonight it was especially hard for him to ignore the sound of the air conditioning kicking in. The occasional cough of someone outside the bullpen. The most infuriating of them all: the constant tick-tick-tick of the clock nearby, a painful reminder of every second that he couldn’t focus on these stupid papers. It was simple, really. Hitchcock already did the work: he solved the elementary cases, he wrote everything in the tiny little squares, he made sure that there were no donut crumbs left behind. So, at least there was that.
All Jake had to do was put the information from paper into the data system on the computer. It was so easy and yet Jake could never focus long enough to get it done properly. He was always thinking ahead to the next thing, always wanting the next exciting thing to happen for the precinct. He could hardly think of anything more boring than spending the night entering data into the computer. It was like high school detention all over again, except Gina wasn't around to pass notes or laugh at his jokes.
He clicked away from his current tab and pulled up Reddit, mindlessly scrolling for a few minutes. Sometimes he visited the r/RBI subreddit, where people posted about their own little mysteries for strangers to solve. It was fun to be an Internet detective sometimes. That is, when he wasn’t being a super awesome real-life detective, putting away bad guys with style. He scrolled through the posts until he saw one that caught his eye: a cold case entitled: “My Step-dad Went Missing Two Years Ago, And I Think My Mom Is Behind It All. She is dead now. What can I do next?” He clicked on it and settled into his chair, propping his legs up on the small space of his desk that wasn’t super cluttered. If there was anything Jake was good at, it was solving cold cases. He reached for his thermos of coffee and took a long sip. This case looked promising.
“Peralta.”
Holt’s voice cut through the still air, making Jake nearly jump out of his own skin, sending some stray papers fluttering to the floor.
“Captain! I didn’t hear you come in. Uh, what are you doing here?” Jake asked, composing himself. He wiped some coffee drops off of his shirt with his tie. He smiled broadly. “I was just catching up on some work. You know me, Employee of the Month. I never stop chugging." He pretended to blow a train's whistle, and stopped mid-air, instead electing to stretch out a muscle or something. "Anyway," he continued, his mouth moving faster than his brain, "I am going to stop talking now because the polite thing is to ask how you are doing. How are you, Captain? Anything exciting?"
Holt stared at him, unamused. “I come here sometimes to practice my soap carving skills. Kevin and I have joined a class. The squeaking of the soap as I whittle away annoys Kevin while he sleeps, so I prefer the quietness of the bullpen at night.”
Jake furrowed his brow. “Okay, weird. We’ll talk about that later.”
“It is nearly midnight, Jake. What are you doing here?”
Had he really been there that long? And nothing to show for it...
Holt stepped closer to the desk, taking in the copious amounts of files and files stacked on top of each other. “These are Hitchcock’s cases, Peralta. I assume you lost another bet?”
Jake smiled sheepishly. “You assume correctly. Hitchcock bet me that he could escape from Rosa’s handcuffs before me, and I can’t resist a bet, you know that-”
“I see.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. It was me. I'm the one who bet Hitchcock, but-”
“Peralta, go home. You are off duty.”
“What? No, I’m still working on this cold case! I’m almost done.”
Holt sighed. “I was going to save this conversation for a more opportune time, but you just reminded me. Seeing as we are alone now, I want to bring something up with you.” He looked away for a moment. “...As your friend.”
Jake gasped. His eyes lit up with joy. “Woah, woah, woah. Okay.” He leaned back in his chair, fainting dramatically. “Captain Holt! Did you just say we’re friends?”
Holt pursed his lips. “Take a moment to compose yourself, Peralta. I will wait.”
Jake sobered up. “Okay, Captain. What did you want to talk about?” He clasped his hands. “No, wait! Let me guess. You’re promoting me. You’re firing Amy. You’re going to let us do whatever we want now?” He searched the Captain’s eyes for any sign of amusement, and found none.
Holt sighed. “No. Jake, I need to talk to you about your behavior.”
Jake flinched. “Oh, okay then. Permission to leave now, sir?”
Holt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Permission denied. I would like you to make an appointment for a psychological evaluation through the Department. You can arrange for Wednesday morning, and you can return on Thursday.”
Jake frowned. “Wait, what? Why? I’m the best detective here, Captain. Can you really afford to lose me for a day?” He gestured to the heap of work in front of them. “I mean, who is going to complete all of this work while I’m gone?”
Holt grabbed a stack of papers and plopped it down at Hitchcock and Scully’s work area.
“Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.”
Holt looked back at Jake, his expression softening. Which, to the untrained eye, was not a stark contrast to his usual self. “I suppose I might...owe you an explanation.”
“Uh, yeah. That’d be very much appreciated. Sir.” Jake raked his hand through his messy hair. What had happened? Jake’s mind raced through the last week. He had caught seven perps in the last five days alone, and solved one murder with the help of Amy. He hadn’t been the best with paperwork the last week - or ever, really - but the important thing was that Jake had handled the important stuff. The bad guys were off the streets thanks to him. And yeah, okay, sometimes he didn’t focus on things happening around him, but that’s only because he was always several steps ahead of everyone else. That’s how he solved the cases. So what’s the problem?
“Jake,” Holt started carefully, “I would like you to consider receiving treatment for your ADHD.”
Jake made a face. “Pfft, what? Me, ADHD? No. What? Me? No.”
“With all due respect, Jake, the symptoms are all there. Forgive me if it is not my place, but it is not exactly hard to detect.”
"Right, because you can detect something like that," Jake retorted. "Which software update did that come in? I wasn't aware you could do that, Mr. Robot." As soon the words left Jake's mouth, he cringed. Not his best comeback, but he felt hurt. Who was Holt to say whether Jake had ADHD, and to say that it's obvious is just rude.
Holt frowned. “We can provide psychological help for you if you wish, Jake. It might be best to get evaluated, and investigate what is going on inside that brilliant head of yours.”
“Sir, with all due respect, I think you should just give this little ‘investigation’ a rest. It’s clearly a cold case.” Jake started packing up his belongings to leave.
Okay, so maybe he wasn't going the best way about it, but it was starting to click. What if the Captain was right? What if the reason he was the way he was is because he has ADHD? It would certainly explain his inability to focus on things that are boring or time-consuming, or why he was constantly fidgeting, or why he always had a disorganized desk. But everybody did those things, right? Everybody struggles with that stuff. Except for Amy, but she doesn’t count because she’s, well, Amy.
Holt cleared his throat, regaining Jake’s attention. “I believe I have created an internal conflict for you. I apologize. I assumed you had been diagnosed due to your chronic inability to show up on time, your hazardous working conditions, e.g. your desk” --Holt pointedly looks to the mounds of case files threatening to cause an avalanche-- “and your ever-present propensity for disobeying my authority.”
“Wow, okay. Yep. I’m leaving now. Bye, Captain! It really was great catching up with you, but I do have places to be now, so I will, er, see you later.” Jake grabbed his leather jacket from the back of his chair and logged off his work computer. “Thanks again, really. Yep. This is fine. Cool. Okay, bye!” He left the room, slamming the gate behind him. Oops. He hadn’t meant to do that.
Holt paused, closing his eyes. Then: “Peralta.”
Jake backtracked. “Yep, I know. Forgot my phone.” He did a little backwards, tip-toed half-jog back to his desk. He grabbed his phone and shoved it in his pocket. “Thanks, Captain.” He turned to leave again, but Holt stopped him.
“Jake, I am...grateful for all that you do for the precinct. With Wuntch around now, breathing down our necks, I really need you to be on your best behavior. She has already been in talks about firing people for petty misbehavior.” His voice softened once more, and Jake could tell it likely physically hurt him. Sidenote, can robots emote? And if they can, which update was that added in?
“I want you to consider all possibilities in order to make sure that does not happen to you. Your work depends on it.”
Jake sighed, defeated. “Fine. What do I need to do?”
“I will make your appointment for you tomorrow morning for Wednesday. You will go to the sixth floor of this building where Psychological Services is located. They will ask you a myriad of questions about your work and personal life. If necessary, they will make a diagnosis from there.”
“Sounds easy enough. Is that all? Are we done here?”
“There is...one more thing.” Holt's mouth contorted into something resembling a knowing smile, or maybe a grimace. It was hard to tell.
“Sir?” Jake raised his eyebrows.
“I will handle half of this week’s paper work for you, so long as you follow through with this appointment." He stared pointedly at the desk. "...And no more silly bets.”
Jake perked up. “Wait, really? Thanks, Captain, you’re the best!” He gave Holt a hug, which Holt did not reciprocate back.
“Now, now. That is enough of that."
Jake pulled away. “Thank you for all your concern, Captain, even though it is rooted in fear of your superior. I will take all the love from you I can get, and I will not disappoint you any more than I already have."
“You are a great detective, Peralta. I hate to see you performing below your potential.”
“Title of your sex tape!" (Wait, was that a self-burn?)
Holt looked at him sternly. “We care about you, Jake. Take this seriously.”
"When am I ever not serious, Captain?"
"Dismissed, Peralta."
And they were back.