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the little that i know, i’ll tell to you
october 2020.
Jake is seconds away from calling his dad to cancel their visit to the hospital.
He figures that might make him an asshole, but an air of calm has finally draped over their hospital room, and the selfish part of him can't bear the thought of breaking their precious bubble. Mac is resting against Amy's raised legs in the hospital bed, not quite sleeping but not quite awake either, and the new parents are watching his every movement with utter fascination. Jake never knew seeing someone blink, or yawn, or even cry for food, could be so freaking cute. He's been staring at his son for the whole day, and he has yet to grow tired of it.
He always knew their kid would be perfect, but nearing sixteen hours of his existence out in the world, he's starting to realize he had no idea just how perfect. Jake’s mesmerized by this child, feeling certain that his heart is now resting outside his body and in the hands of this perfect person he’s played a tiny part in creating. Mac's wearing the pajamas with grey stars they bought the first day they knew they were having a baby, and it still baffles Jake to think it was him they bought it for all along, even if they didn't know it yet.
“When did you say your parents were coming?” Amy asks, because even though they've had no sleep and she literally pushed a human out of her not even twenty-four hours ago, she's the most together one between the two of them.
“Too soon,” Jake mumbles, holding one of Mac’s little fists in his. “My mom said they were leaving now.”
“Your first family visit, baby.”Amy bends to kiss her son’s forehead. “Bloodwise. The Nine-Nine was first. You ready? Excited?”
Mac only whimpers in response, scrunching his face together and clenching his fists tighter.
“Mm, I feel like he has doubts.”
“Or he’s hungry again. Can you get me the nursing pillow?”
Jake reaches for it at the foot of the bed, helping Amy with it as she carefully places Mac at her chest, opening her grey cardigan and the clasp of the nursing bra.
“You're totally becoming a pro at this,” he tells her as their son starts eating, and Amy smirks, mouthing a thank you as she leans back against the bed with Mac. “But seriously, Ames, are you sure you're okay for a visit? I could still call them, I’m sure they'd get it.”
She gives him a confused look. “Why wouldn't I be?”
“I don't know, because you just gave birth and have barely slept since? If you’d rather meet your in-laws another day, it’s understandable.”
“That's sweet, babe, but I promise I’m fine. And it's their first grandchild.”
“Yeah, but…”
He trails off, unsure of what he's protesting. His mom has talked his ears off about it every time he's talked to her for the last six or so months, and he's received a complete barrage of enthusiastic texts from her since yesterday. Jake is excited for his mother to meet Mac – his hesitation lies with his father.
Mac makes a funny noise, like a hiccup and a swallow at the same time, and Jake feels his heart fill again with the feeling of overpowering love for his son. He's only known him for a day, and already, he's sure he'd go to the ends of the earth for this kid. Nothing will ever get to hurt him.
Then Jake wonders if his dad felt the same about him when he was born, and there's a sharp sting of anxiety at the thought.
“I’m nervous for my dad to meet him,” he confesses to Amy. She nods, like she was expecting him to say it. “I know I said I’d give him a chance, but if he screws up, I seriously might never forgive him. Not with this,” he says, tickling the palm of Mac’s hand. There’s a bruise on it from where the nurses took his bloods earlier, at which Mac had whimpered slightly and Jake had fully teared up. “Not with him.”
“You don’t have to,” says Amy, as if that, too, was obvious. “But I think you should give him that chance. Especially considering they’ll be here in ten minutes, so it’s a little late now.”
“I know,” he sighs. “I will. I love you.”
“I love you, too. So does Mac,” she adds, adjusting him in her arms when he starts to pull away. “Maybe especially if you help him get out that burp right about now.”
“The mission I was put on this earth for.”
It’s with reluctance that Jake even manages to leave the hospital room when his phone beeps to let him know that his mom and dad are waiting in the hospital lobby, because Mac had just fallen asleep on his chest, and his little squeaky protests when he had to move him to Amy’s arms were almost too much.
He spots his parents the moment he's turned the corner to the entrance hall, barely raising a hand in a lazy wave before he's almost toppled by the force of the hug from his mom. She squeezes him tighter than he remembers being hugged since the day he told her he was going to be a grandmother.
“Sheesh, mom.” Jake blushes. “You know I’m the one who's been through the least, right?”
Karen lets out a snivelling chuckle as she lets him go. “I can't help it. I can't believe I’m a grandmother!”
“Well, you better, because you've got a grandson who's very excited to meet you. I think.”
She smiles. “How is he doing? How's Amy?”
“Mac is perfect, Amy's a hero,” he says, near automatically. He notes that Roger is standing a few steps behind Karen, holding a gift bag in one hand and shifting on his feet. Jake wonders when he last saw his dad actually look nervous. It's a rare sight, he thinks.
“Hey, dad,” he mumbles, and Roger nods.
“Congratulations, son.”
There's a moment of silence between them, as if they're both waiting for the other one to continue the conversation or reach out for a hug. When neither of them do, Karen clasps her hands together, asking in an overly cheerful voice to make up for the awkwardness.
“Should we go up, then?”
Amy's sitting up in bed with Mac still sleeping in her arms when they enter. Jake can tell from the look in her eyes that she's tired, but she still shines up and puts on a smile when she sees Karen and Roger. Jake promises himself that he’s going to make sure this visit doesn’t last a minute longer than necessary.
“Oh, Amy.” Karen gives her a hug that looks almost as intense as the one she gave Jake, only a little more careful as to avoid squishing Mac. He still notices it, blinking at the commotion. “He’s gorgeous. How are you feeling?”
“I know, he's incredible.” Amy grimaces. “I’m – well, you know all about it, I guess.”
“You forget,” Karen laughs. “Thankfully. But we need to hear the story – was there a horse involved?”
Amy recounts the dramatic events of yesterday to them both, and Jake listens with as much focus as his parents. He's trying to learn the entire story by heart, still feeling guilty about his absence for the majority of the events. Karen's a good listener, asking follow-up questions and chiming in with comments, but Roger mostly sits quiet on the guest couch. He still looks nervous, Jake thinks, but when he meets his eyes, Roger gives him a careful smile that Jake makes himself return before looking back at Amy and Mac.
“So Jake really came rushing in at the last minute?” Karen laughs. “Wow.”
“I was there for the most important part,” Jake defends himself, feeling his cheeks heat. “Got my hand bruised and all. Just kidding,” he adds when Amy shoots him a look. “Battle scars.”
“You were still brave for being there,” Roger says. “I almost fainted during yours.”
“Yeah, well,” Jake barely tries to hide the annoyance in his gruff voice. “It was really important to me. I’m just sad I wasn’t there for more.”
Roger looks taken aback, opening his mouth without replying. The awkwardness is almost tangible again, and Jake’s relieved when Amy uses their most effective weapon to break the ice.
“Do you want to hold him, Karen? I’m sure Mac’s very excited to hang out with you.”
Amy must be right, because Mac doesn't let out a single noise of complaint as Jake helps move him to Karen.
“Don't forget to support the head,” he tells her reflexively before realizing who he’s talking to, and she laughs.
“I think I remember how to do it, honey.”
Jake blushes, but backs away, watching from the other end of the guest couch as his mom smiles at Mac in her arms. She tickles his tummy and strokes his cheeks, bending close to really inspect him. He's surprised to find how emotional it makes him to see his son look so at home with one of the most important people in Jake’s life, but when he looks over at Amy, he can see her tearing up, too. Take pictures, she mouths, so he does.
“It really does feel familiar,” Karen says, a tone of nostalgia in her voice. “Takes me back.”
“He's totally got all of the Peralta charm.” Jake grins. “And the Santiago smarts. Lucky dude.”
“For sure,” Roger agrees. “Really lucky.”
Jake has to look down at his shoes for a moment to hide the look of surprise on his face. It's a simple acknowledgement, but the meaning behind it, to hear it from his dad of all people – it moves something within him.
“Can I hold him, too?” Roger asks. Apparently noticing the look of hesitance on Jake’s face, he adds, “I won’t drop him.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Jake warns, but he nods. Then he has to fight the urge to intervene as he watches his mom and dad exchange Mac between them, to make sure they’re really handling this child with all the carefulness in the world, but it all goes well and Mac doesn’t let out as much as a squeak before he’s resting in Roger’s arms.
It’s a weird feeling. Jake is hyper-aware of everything around him, watching for the slightest hint of a protest from his son, but there is none. Mac only opens his eyes for a second to see who this new person is, before closing them again. He seems safe with Roger, and the smile on Roger’s face is one Jake doesn’t think he’s seen before. It’s soft, almost nostalgic, as if he’s reminiscing about a different time. He hears the faint click of a camera, and realizes Karen’s the one taking pictures this time.
“You should have a picture of all three of you,” she says, standing up from the couch. “Three generations Peralta.”
There’s no use arguing with her, so they squeeze close together to fit in the frame. Jake thinks they might both be looking at Mac rather than into the camera, but he figures that makes the pictures genuine.
“He’s really cute,” Roger says once Karen has stopped taking pictures and is showing them to Amy. “Perfect, like you said.”
“I know,” Jake says in a low voice, so that only Roger will hear. “You get one chance, by the way. So you know. One.”
Roger raises an eyebrow. “One chance to…?”
“If you hurt him somehow, if you fuck this up in any way, if you let him get attached to you and then just leave…” He looks from Mac to straight into Roger’s eyes. “You're out. I won't hesitate.”
There's a moment where Jake thinks Roger looks almost scared, but then his expression softens, and he says,
“I wouldn't have expected anything else.”
“Oh, I forgot! We actually brought a gift,” says Karen, picking up the bag that Roger was holding earlier. “Roger picked it out.”
“Huh.” Jake tears through the colorful paper with curiosity. In it, he finds a carton box, and in that carton box is a toy plane. It's hard plastic, red with blue wings and a yellow propeller, and it’s about as big as Mac’s entire upper body. Hardly an age-appropriate baby toy according to the lists in the binder, and yet Jake can’t help but smile.
“He might be a little too young for it for a while,” Roger adds. “But I figured… maybe when he’s older, you could teach him about what his grandpa Roger does. Or something.”
Jake spins the propeller with his finger. “You picked this out?”
“Bought it during one of my landings in Montreal.”
Jake moves the plane slowly a good few inches over his son’s face. Mac must sense something going on, because he opens his eyes, blinking at the strong colors a few times. One of his hands twitch, like he’s about to do a grabby reach for it, but he ends up just sort of punching the air. It’s still the cutest thing Jake has ever seen, watching his son’s uncoordinated movements as he tries to move his hands toward the toy.
“He totally loves it,” says Amy, and Jake meets her eyes only to see her wipe a tear away from them with her thumb.
“It’s perfect,” he agrees. Maybe even the binder’s lists has exceptions.
As much as Jake's heart melts seeing his father actually bond with his son, he's a little bit relieved when Mac begins to whimper again, his face turning bright red.
“He's probably hungry,” he says quickly, lifting his son from Roger's arms. “Amy, you better…”
But Mac has already stopped crying. The moment he's back in Jake's arms, he goes quiet, his face returning to its normal color as he looks up at him. He seems completely at peace, and Jake just watches him, forgetting all about Roger and Karen and even Amy for a moment.
His son is safe with him. It seems like he knows it, and even if it could be by chance that he's calm, Jake wants to believe it's not.
“Hey there.” He runs one hand over Mac’s soft, wispy hair, booping his nose. “You good?”
Mac yawns, sticking out his tiny tongue for a moment, and Jake laughs before imitating him.
“I was right,” Jake can hear Roger say, registering the sound in the background. “He does love you.”
“God, I know,” Amy comments from her bed in mock-annoyance. “Nine months and a freaking precinct birth, and that's the thank you I get.”
Jake sticks out his tongue at her, too.
“Thanks, dad,” he mumbles without looking away from his son.
Then Mac seems to realize he does want to eat after all, because he emits a series of angry cries so loud they must be heard all over the ward before he calms down the second Jake passes him over to Amy. Deciding that the visit has lasted long enough and wanting to give his wife some privacy, Jake practically chases his parents out of the hospital room with promises that they can come and visit again once they’ve gone home. This time, he hugs them both.
“Thanks again for the plane,” he tells his father. “You’ve still got that chance. But it’s one wrong move, and you’re out.”
“Always the hug threats,” he says, but Jake shoots him a warning look, and he nods. “I don’t doubt it, son.”
“Good.”
~
june 2023.
Jake can see the moment Amy first answers her phone that something is wrong.
“Uh-huh,” she says, nodding. “Uh-huh. His arm? Yeah. Yeah, of course, we'll be right there.”
“What's happening?” Jake can feel himself freeze to the spot while the other people in line at the coffee shop are all giving him odd looks. “Did something happen with Mac?”
Amy looks uncomfortable, like she knows he won't be happy about the answer, and it's all Jake needs to have it confirmed.
“He fell in your parent’s garden,” she says, biting her lip the way she always does when she's anxious. “Landed on his arm. He's fine, but he can't really move it, so your dad is taking him to the hospital now. Please don't freak out,” she adds, as if that would solve it. “He's going to be okay.”
“Are you serious? We need to go,” he says, raising his voice loud enough for their daughter to protest from her position in the babybjorn on his chest. He rocks gently on his feet to try and make her fall asleep again, trying to ignore the speed with which his heart is racing. “Now.”
Jake swears to himself as he fastens Lucy in the baby car seat, climbing in from the other side to sit in the middle seat next to her. Of course something like this would happen. He’d felt all along that it was a bad idea to leave their son with Roger while bringing only their two-month-daughter along to today’s house viewings, but after Mac accidentally crashed a delicate vase during their latest one, Amy had insisted it was the wiser option to leave the two-year-old with Jake’s parents. Karen was away visiting friends for the weekend, but it would be fine, Roger had taken care of Mac plenty of times before. Jake had reluctantly agreed, if only because Mac had jumped up and down with joy when Amy asked if he wanted to go play with grandpa Roger today. He’d ignored the bad feeling in his gut, and now here they were on their way to the hospital to see their son, whose arm was probably broken, all because of Roger’s incompetence.
“I’m going to kill him,” Jake says as Amy backs out from the parking lot. “The moment I see him. I’ll break his arm. Oh, he’s going to regret he ever –”
“Jake, please,” Amy wheezes through gritted teeth. “I know you’re angry, but I’d rather focus on Mac right now.”
“Sorry.” He blushes, reaching forward to squeeze her shoulder for a moment. “But he’s going to be okay, Ames. My dad, on the other hand...”
“It probably wasn't his fault, Jake. Please stay calm.”
“But he didn't stop it.”
Amy doesn't seem to have a reply to that, just pursing her lips and staring straight ahead at the road. Lucy whines from her carseat – she's got strong feelings about car rides, and they're not positive ones – and Jake busies himself showing her a colorful butterfly toy to keep her distracted.
It's not that Roger’s not been a good grandfather so far. He has, better than Jake had expected, and it's no exaggeration to say that Mac absolutely loves playing with him. Jake is happy about that, appreciative of how Mac has become their own little peacemaker without even knowing that's what he is, but the intention of his own words in that hospital room two and a half years ago still rings true.
One chance. If you fuck it up, you're out.
He's forgiven his dad for a lot, but this is his kid.
Jake doesn't say anything for the rest of the ride to the emergency room. Amy is silent too, but based on the anxious glances he catches from her in the rearview mirror, he knows they're thinking the same thing.
Please let him be okay. Please, please, let him be okay.
//
Mac is sitting in Roger’s lap when they find him in the waiting room, and Jake can’t tell whether that makes him relieved or upset. He’s pink and swollen under the eyes, looking defeated by what Jake recognizes as a clear case of post-crying exhaustion, and Roger’s holding a cold compress to Mac’s left arm. Jake’s heart pangs with pity for his son – every parent can distinguish between the different types of their kid’s crying, and this is the heart-shattering kind.
“We’re waiting for the doctor,” Roger explains as Mac’s lower lip trembles, the toddler seeming to remember the pain all over again when he sees Amy. “They said just a few minutes.”
“What happened?” Jake asks. He’s staring Roger down like he would a suspect in an interrogation room, earning himself a few confused glances from other patients. He supposes the sleeping baby in the carrier on his chest is a bit of a unique touch to the authoritative energy he's trying to convey.
“I told you, son. He fell.”
“Yeah, but how could you let him fall? Why weren’t you watching him?” He can see Amy’s disapproving look as she carefully lifts Mac onto her own lap, hugging him close while being careful not to touch the arm. Mac seems to relax a little with her, sniffling against her shirt.
“I was watching him. I don’t even know what he fell on – a bump in the ground? He was running around in the garden chasing that airplane toy. It was an accident.”
A gentle-looking nurse comes up to them before Jake can think of a good angry retort.
“McClane Peralta? Right this way.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Amy says, standing up with Mac who now seems to be glued to her hip. “Jake, you stay here with Lucy. I’ll text you any updates, okay?”
“Okay,” he nods, kissing Mac on the cheek and ruffling his hair. “Be nice to the doctors, Mic-Mac.”
He watches Amy and Mac disappear around the corner with the nurse before he turns back to Roger, seething.
“What were you thinking?”
Roger shakes his head. “Son, he just fell. He's two. Are you really telling me that hasn't happened before?”
“He’s never broken a bone with us, if that's what you're asking.”
“Yeah, but he could have, couldn’t he? Come on, it’s not like he’s that aware of the consequences of his actions yet.”
“Oh, so you’re blaming this on a two-year-old? Mature, dad. Really mature.”
“Well, you’re blaming it on me.” Roger gives him a tired look. “Jake, I already told you it was an accident. I called you, I took him to the hospital as soon as I realized it was swollen and he couldn’t move it. What more should I have done?”
Jake’s phone pings, and he digs for it in his jeans pocket so he can read Amy’s text.
They think it’s just a small fracture. Getting an X-ray now and then they’ll probably just give him a cast.
He’s okay, babe.
Jake sends a series of hearts back.
“He’s going to be okay,” he reports to his dad, who nods patiently.
“Of course.”
“No. Nope. Not of course. He could have been hurt for real.”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t, right?”
“He could have been,” Jake wheezes, and an older lady shoots him an angry glance that he assumes is a request for him to lower his volume, but he doesn’t care. “You had one chance. I told you that on day one.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I can tell perfectly well for myself what I mean and don’t mean.”
“Jake…”
Lucy has begun to whimper in the baby carrier, and Jake begins rocking from side to side on his feet again. “Just go,” he tells Roger over the sound of his daughter’s complaints, and when Roger raises an eyebrow as if to be sure he’s being serious, he just stares him down. “I mean it.”
Roger sighs, which only serves to make Jake even angrier, and then he stands up and hands him the little Ninja Turtles backpack they always let Mac bring when he’s going somewhere.
“Text me how everything goes, will you?”
“No I won’t.”
“I’ll just text your wife, then.” Shrugging, Roger walks towards the exit, and Jake feels a mixture of shame and relief flood him as he sits down. He’s not particularly proud of yelling in a hospital emergency waiting room, but he’s happy not to have to look at his dad for a second longer right now.
“You’re being quite rude to your father, you know,” the lady that gave him the angry look earlier notes.
“You wouldn’t get it,” Jake mutters.
//
“So you just sent him out?” Amy asks again, even as Jake has clarified where Roger is for the third time. “Jake, that was unnecessary.”
“He fu – sorry, I mean, I was disappointed in him.” He’s feeding Mac overpriced soft serve ice cream from the hospital cafeteria, because despite the cast only being on one arm, Mac doesn’t seem too convinced he can use either for eating. Jake has a feeling it’s going to be an interesting few weeks coming up. “He failed, right?”
Amy bites her lip. “He did say it was an accident, Jake. And Mac’s okay, right? You did great, baby,” she tells her son, who shines up and points to the frog sticker he insisted be stuck to his forehead. Apparently, the healthy arm can still be used for anything but feeding himself.
“I’m brave,” Mac states simply.
“The bravest,” Jake agrees, feeding him another spoon of the quickly melting ice cream. “Braver than all of the Ninja Turtles together.”
Mac laughs, and Jake thinks that their bad day might finally be turning around a little. Amy's feeding Lucy, they’ve finally gotten the coffee they never had time to buy before, and Mac’s eating ice cream and enjoying everyone's attention. He can think about his dad later; for now, he’s with his family.
//
He doesn’t think about his father again until he’s putting Mac to bed that night. The adventurous day must have tired the kid out, because he doesn’t even protest when Jake helps him change into pajamas after his bath (complete with a plastic bag over the cast), just grimaces a little when they have to thread the hurt arm through the holes of the shirt. There’s not even any requests for more stories after they’ve made it through Guess How Much I Love You, only the cutest yawn from Mac when he snuggles into Jake’s side. He squeezes his head into Jake’s armpit the way Jake will never understand why his son likes to do, resting his hurt left arm on top of Jake’s chest and hugging him with the right one.
“Goodnight, Macaroon,” Jake whispers, sure that his son is seconds from falling asleep. “Sleep tight, baby. I love you.”
“Daddy, where did grandpa go?”
“You mean after the hospital?” He searches desperately for a good explanation. “He, uhm, just went home.”
“Why?”
“He… well, he had something to do.”
“What?”
“I don’t really know, buddy.”
Mac opens his eyes, looking worried. “Coming back?”
For the first time since he sent his father away from the hospital, Jake feels guilty for doing so. He was so busy focusing on his own feelings about his father’s fuck-ups, he forgot about his son’s – and apparently, about just how loving and forgiving toddlers can be.
“Grandpa Roger?” He asks, and Mac nods. “I mean… I guess. We have to ask him first.”
“Coming back,” Mac repeats, insistent.
“You miss him?”
Mac nods another time, and then his eyes flutter shut again.
Amy’s sat on the couch holding a sleeping Lucy when Jake comes out, finally having managed to free himself from the toddler’s grip and tuck him in properly without waking him up.
“How did he go?”
“Out like a light.” Jake decides to give her the short explanation as he sits down at the free end of the couch. “What about Lu?”
“Well, she just ate for a solid thirty minutes, so I think she passed out in some kind of food coma.” Amy laughs and wipes away a few drops from their daughter’s face. She has her mouth still slightly open, visibly milk drunk in the purest way, and Jake can’t stop himself from reaching forward and kissing those baby-round squishy cheeks.
“Wish I looked that cute in a food coma.”
“Like father, like daughter.” Amy winks before getting a serious expression on her face. “Jake, about fathers…”
“I know what you’re going to say, Ames.” Jake sighs. “I need to apologize to him. I know I crossed a line, I just…”
“You don’t want him to hurt Mac, ever,” she finishes for him. “I know. I obviously don’t want that, either. But I think… sometimes you might be a little too harsh on him. I get why,” she adds hastily as Jake opens his mouth to protest. “I really do. But he is a part of our kids’ lives, and sometimes I worry that you let your own feelings about him take priority over that.”
She’s so right, it stings, and Jake has to look down at the floor so he can gather his thoughts.
“Mac asked about him when I was putting him to bed. Where he had gone, and why, and when he could see him again. So that made me feel like shit,” he grimaces. “I know Mac adores him. But he’s two. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be hurt like that, and I really, really, don’t want my father to be the one who teaches him.”
Amy nods slowly. “I know. But he wasn’t leaving him today, Jake. He called us, he took Mac to the hospital. I’d say that’s the opposite of leaving a person.”
“He let him get hurt.”
“You mean the same way I let him get hurt last week, when he almost banged his head on the kitchen cupboards because I was changing a diaper and didn’t realise he’d stopped watching the video pad until I heard the scream?”
“That’s different,” Jake says, instantly defensive. “And he didn’t have to go to the hospital.”
“Not that time, he didn’t. But it might as well have been,” Amy shrugs. “Or one of the millions of other times he’s done something reckless and given me a heart attack, because he’s two years old, and he’s very much like his dad sometimes. For better most of the time, and occasionally for worse. The difference is that you trust me.”
Feeling a little humbled, Jake takes Lucy as Amy hands her over, going to get a glass of water for herself from the kitchen.
“I know you're right,” he mumbles when she comes back, and it makes her smirk. “I also know what I’ve gotta do.”
“Go there and apologize,” he continues, Amy's words echoing in an almost comical manner that makes both of them grin. “You're good with two kids on your own for a while, right?”
“I’ll call you if we need to go to the hospital.”
“Not funny,” he warns, but he kisses her anyway.
//
Jake’s already at his parents’ front door before he realizes he should probably have called before. Maybe Roger's meeting up with someone – or, since Karen's not here – Jake fears for a second that he's invited someone over, and the thought is enough to fill him with anger again.
Neither option seems true, though, because Roger opens the door barely a minute after Jake's rang the doorbell.
“Jake,” he says, looking both surprised and a little hesitant.
“I’m not going to yell at you again,” Jake assures him. “I came to say sorry, actually.”
Roger nods and takes a step back, allowing Jake to enter. He's relieved to find that Roger seems to be home alone, the TV showing a baseball game on low volume in the living room and remnants of a pizza dinner left on the table. The greasy smell makes him hungry.
“You can have the last piece if you want,” Roger says upon seeing the interested look on Jake’s face.
“Treating yourself, huh?”
“Well, I’m not home alone that often.” He gives Jake an apologetic smile. “Gotta make the most out of it.”
Jake takes the pizza to avoid having to return the smile. “Mac's doing fine, by the way. They say it'll just be a couple of weeks until it's healed.”
“I know. Amy texted me. She sent you here, too, didn't she?”
“What makes you think that?”
Roger smiles again. “Just a hunch. You tend to need a bit of a push sometimes.”
“Well,” Jake says, slowly. “I wanted to do it, too.”
Roger nods. “You want to go outside? I’ve got something to show you in the garden.”
The lawn is lit up by a faint glow from the outdoor lamps, and on the edge of the small wooden deck where Jake remembers spending many summer afternoons after school, sneaking ice cream from the freezer and sharing it with Gina, the red and blue airplane toy is lying abandoned. Jake picks it up as Roger points to a small hole in the ground, a pile of dirt next to it.
“That’s where he fell earlier.”
“In the hole?” Jake stares at him, and Roger shakes his head.
“No, no! There was a bump there, remember, so I dug it up, and I’m going to even out the ground tomorrow. Hopefully prevent any further accidents.”
“Oh.” Jake doesn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected this amount of effort from his father, and there’s something so concrete about the work, it stuns him for a moment.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen, son. It all moved so quickly, and I forgot how wild two-year-olds can be. I should have told him to be careful. But I love that kid, Jake. You know I do. And I would never do anything to hurt him.”
“I know.” He nods. “I’m sorry for shouting at you.”
“You were protecting him. It’s what any good dad would have done,” Roger says, and Jake fails to hide a smile.
“Maybe not in front of a whole doctor’s office.”
“No, probably not. But you’re forgiven.”
Jake picks up the toy plane from the deck, spinning the propeller that sits much looser now, having been broken off and glued back several times. “Mac talked about you when I was putting him to bed.”
Roger raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah. He asked where you had gone, and why you weren’t there, and when I asked him about it, he said he misses you. Look, dad…” Jake sighs. “This kid loves you. So much. You better not screw that up.”
The weight of his words seem to come through, because Roger’s silent for a moment, just nodding as he looks from Jake to the dug-up hole in the garden.
“I will try my best not to.”
“Good.”
“You think I can babysit again tomorrow?”
“Maybe not tomorrow,” Jake says, immediately feeling the wariness strike. “But at some point, again.”
“I’ll take that.”
Jake’s phone pings, and he worries for a short second that Amy’s actually had to take one of their kids to the hospital again, but she’s just sent a picture of Mac and Lucy both asleep on top of the bigger bed they upgraded to before having two kids.
Mac woke up and cried so I had to let him fall back asleep here, she writes. I think this might be how we’re sleeping tonight.
Love that, Jake writes back. I’ll be back asap.
“I need to go back home and cuddle my babies,” he says. “Just… one more question.”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you call Amy when Mac fell? And not me?”
“Oh. That. I guess I just had a feeling you were going to scream at me.”
“Guess I can’t blame you for that,” Jake mumbles. “Thanks, by the way. For saying I’m a good dad.”
“I mean it. I’m proud of you, son,” Roger says. “Maybe some room for improvement on the screaming in hospitals, but aside from that, you’re good.”
“There are worse things,” Jake shrugs, and there’s something melancholic over the smile Roger gives him in return.
“Yeah. There are worse things.”
~
october 2027.
At first, Jake thinks his son is reading the lexicon.
It wouldn't be the first time this has happened – Amy has always encouraged her kids to look up things on their own when they come across new concepts – but as he comes closer, Jake sees that the book is far too thin to be the kids lexicon. Also, he sees that it's not a book at all; it's a photo album. One of the few from Jake’s own childhood, to be exact. Mac must have found it in the bookshelf and gotten fascinated by it, because he's sitting on the carpeted floor of the living room with his chin resting on his pulled-up knees, slowly turning the pages.
“What are you doing there, Mac? Trying to pick a goodnight story?” He asks, and Mac blushes a little as he looks up at Jake. He was supposed to be reading to himself in his own room as Jake finished putting Lucy to bed, but clearly, the living room’s giant bookshelf must have seemed that much more exciting.
“I don't wanna go to bed yet,” explains his son, which doesn't surprise Jake in the slightest. “I wanna wait for mom.”
Jake checks the watch on his wrist. “She won't be home for another hour, Mac. That's too late.”
“Just a little bit,” Mac pleads, tilting his head to the side and doing the puppy-eyed expression that Jake is pretty sure Charles taught him. “I’m almost seven, dad. Tomorrow.”
Jake considers arguing that seven-year-olds need sleep, too, particularly in order to celebrate birthdays, but on the other hand, it's kind of cozy to get some time with just Mac. Birthday evenings are almost birthdays, after all.
“Fine,” he relents. “Just a little bit. What are you looking at that for, anyway? Your own albums are much nicer.”
Mac's index finger traces Karen's messy handwriting, squinting as if trying to make out what it says. “I’ve never seen these.”
“Well, I guess I don't show them that often. But we can look at them together if you want,” Jake says, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll tell you all the stories about how incredibly cool and badass I was.”
“Mom says that's a lie,” Mac counters as he climbs up on the couch with the album.
“Pfft. She was no better. We got cool later in life.”
Mac just laughs at that, and Jake has a feeling his son doesn't completely believe him.
They go through the pages slowly. Some of the photos are falling out due to the cheap glue, and Jake has to translate some of Karen’s writing, but Mac listens attentively as Jake tries to give him the backstory to vacations and first grade-graduations. They find some ridiculous pictures of Gina that Jake figures he could probably get a good chunk of money for today; but he would never give them up, and they’re worth enough through the way they make Mac laugh.
His son laughs the hardest at Jake’s school pictures from grade three, though. Jake remembers the occasion clear as day – Karen had given him a truly catastrophical haircut just the day before, and Jake had then had the even more awful idea of trying to even it out himself. He’d begged to hide the mess with his hat, but that was against school policy. On top of that, he’d recently gone through a growth spurt at the same time their washing machine had broken, and so he’d ended up having to wear a too-small pink t-shirt that Gina, of all people, had left at their house. It had glittery rhinestones forming a heart on it, and dope as it was, the other boys had laughed like crazy at it. Still a cutie-pie, Karen has written underneath the pictures.
“Grandma always says I look a lot like you,” Mac stutters at them, trying to hold back more fits of laughter.
Jake ruffles his son’s hair a little. “You're lucky there are better pictures.”
“Uncle Charles says I look like you, too.”
“That tracks. You kind of do, I guess.” Looking from the photo page to his son sitting next to him, it's easy to see the resemblance; there’s the characteristic curls Jake's passed down to both of his children – though none of them quite seems to have inherited the complete mess he rocked for a few years in his early teens, at least not yet – and the face shape and eyes are virtually identical. Jake can understand why it makes Karen sentimental. But he’s always seen so much of Amy in his son, too, from nose and mouth and the faces he makes sometimes that makes Jake feel like he’s staring right at a miniature version of his wife. “But you look like your mom, too. Pretty excellent combo, if you ask me.”
Mac grimaces and turns the page to a spread of vacation pictures from a rare Disneyland trip, where Jake’s hair had mercifully grown out to cover at least the worst of the old hairstyle. “I think I just want to look like me.”
“That’s even better.”
He should be keeping track of time – the later Mac stays up, the more of a struggle they’ll have getting him to bed the next day – but if he’s being honest, Jake doesn’t want this moment to end. The bigger his kids get, the less frequent these moments become, and the more he appreciates any time at all they want to spend with him, because he knows it’s bound to get even more rare with time. Plus, nights before birthdays are special, for kids as well as parents. Seven years ago, Jake had no idea that he was about to meet his son the next day, and he’ll never get how it can feel both like yesterday and another lifetime ago. He’s not even been a parent for a fifth of his life – he tried to do math once – but sometimes, it feels like he’s never lived a life where it wasn’t his most important focus.
“Dad?” Mac wakes him from his daydreaming with his most inquisitive voice, and Jake flinches. Maybe he did actually close his eyes for a second.
“Yeah?” They’ve reached the page with pictures of Jake's high school graduation. The only thing Jake can really remember when he thinks back to that day is how absurdly hot it was in that cape, and how relieved he was not to have tripped on the way back from getting his diploma, but Mac seems to have noticed something else.
“Grandpa Roger’s not in these,” he says, pointing to a picture of Jake with his mom and aunt Linda, who had, for some reason, insisted on being in every single shot. “Did he take the pictures?”
“I think Gina did,” Jake confesses. “Or her mom, maybe. He wasn’t there.”
Mac looks confused. “But why wasn’t he there? Mom and you were both there for my preschool graduation, and mom said parents should never miss one.”
Jake hesitates. Mac’s asked a lot of questions since the day he learned to speak, and they’ve always done their best to answer what they can, but this one hasn’t come up before. His kids know Roger as the playful grandfather who babysits them a few times a month, who teaches them about airplanes and gives them ice cream when Karen says no, and Jake’s never seen the point of teaching them about the other side of him. They’re too young, he’d felt. Maybe when they start asking.
He hadn’t expected the asking to start so early, but maybe he should have. Seven years old does seem to be the age of big questions. Jake's head is still ringing with the painful memory of last month, when Mac asked him and Amy what would happen if they died at work. It's one thing to ease your kid’s fears when you haven't been held at gunpoint both once and twice in your career; it's another when you’ve kept a stack of letters for birthdays, graduations and weddings in case the unmentionable happens and you're not there, because you know the risk exists. It had been two rough weeks of Mac not letting them get out the door without hugging them first. Amy had still insisted they’d be honest with him at a suitable level for his age, because how is he ever going to trust us otherwise, Jake, and he still thinks she’s right – but it doesn't make the conversations easier. The world is so harsh, and his kids are so innocent, and sometimes Jake wishes he could shroud them in that bliss forever.
Mac is looking at him with the same gaze Amy has when she can tell Jake’s withholding the truth, and Jake decides that as much as he wants to lie and protect his son for just a little bit more, he deserves to know the truth.
“Grandpa Roger was away a lot when I was a kid,” he starts, weighing his words carefully. “Some of it was just because he was working. But some of it was because he wasn’t a very good parent.”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t really care about being a dad for a long time. Or he didn’t care enough. You know how you met your auntie Kate once? I have even more sisters and brothers.”
“As many as mom does?”
“Apparently.” Jake chuckles. “But I have only ever met Kate, and I don’t have the same mom as any of them. When I was younger, grandpa Roger left grandma Karen and me on our own. He met other women. I only saw him a few times every year after that, and he never really made an effort to get to know me again.”
Mac thinks. “But didn’t he love you?”
“It’s not always that easy, Mic-Mac. I think he did. I just don’t think he knew how to show it.”
“How old were you?” Mac asks, and somehow that question hurts more to answer than all the previous ones.
“I was seven.” Like you.
Mac nods slowly. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you leave me? And Lucy? Or mom?”
“No,” Jake says, meeting his son’s wide eyes with all the steadfastness he can convey. “There’s not a world in which I would ever, ever do what he did.”
“Never?”
“Never, ever, ever,” he promises, and that seems to calm Mac, because he throws his arms around Jake’s waist and climbs up onto Jake’s lap, squeezing him with all the strength an (almost) seven-year-old can have. He wouldn’t say it to Amy, or Charles, but if there was a prize for the world’s best hugs, Jake would give it to his kids. “Never in my life.”
“I still want to like grandpa Roger,” says Mac after a moment, getting a serious look on his face. “Can I still be nice to him?”
“Of course you can still be nice to him. People make mistakes, and he’s much better now. He’s a good grandpa to you, right?”
“Well,” Mac reflects, leaning his head on Jake’s shoulder and staring up at the ceiling. “One time he said we couldn’t have ice cream because grandma had just made dinner. I don’t think that was so good.”
They look at a few more pages before Mac starts yawning, closing his eyes when he thinks Jake won't see, so Jake decides it’s time to go to bed anyway. Mac accepts the promise that Amy will come in and say goodnight as soon as she gets home, and Jake crawls down under the covers with him to snuggle him goodnight. He knows some might say his kids are getting too big for it, but he thinks he’ll snuggle them until they're teens, or at the very least until they ask him to stop. He's held these kids since they were small enough to sleep on his chest, their little legs only just reaching Jake's waist and their bodies fitting under the hoodie Jake would zip up if he thought they seemed cold. He fears the day he won't get to hold them at all anymore, but until that day arrives, he's going to treasure every moment they want to be close. Mac lays with his back against Jake's chest, always the little spoon like the true Peralta he is, and Jake traces patterns on his upper back until one of them falls asleep; usually Mac, but occasionally Jake too.
“Goodnight, Mac,” he whispers when he thinks he can feel his son drifting off, his breathing evening out and slowing down. “I love you so, so much.”
There’s no reply at first, and Jake figures his son has already gone to sleep, but then he hears a mumble.
“I love you too, dad.”
Jake closes his eyes, but the tears slip out anyway. The stuttered I love you-s have made him emotional since Mac first learnt to say them, but they mean so much more now, and he buries his nose in Mac’s neck and breathes in the scent of kid’s shampoo and promises himself the same thing he must have done a million times before by now in slightly different words.
“I’ll be in all your pictures, bud,” he says, keeping his voice low so he won’t wake him up. “Every single one you let me.”
~