Chapter Text
Sorry for the constant pov changes, it just worked.
Amy felt several things on her average workday.
Normally, she felt pride as she put on her badge. Other times, she felt shame. When she’d walk into the bullpen and see her colleagues and friends, she’d feel proud. The team she worked with 6 days out of 7 always worked incredibly hard, catching perps every day. Rosa, normally worked on drug related cases, Terry was normally doing paperwork, Gina would be on her phone, Scully and Hitchcock would be eating, Charles would be either filling something out, or working with Jake, and the latter would be solving the seemingly impossible.
Lots of things were different on the Saturday when she walked in. She’d woken up, proud. Her badge shined as she pulled on her black and teal pantsuit. She was 20 minutes early, her coffee was warm, and the Captain was in a fabulous (?) mood.
1 difference was Rosa was also there. Rosa was almost never in on a Saturday. For a second thing, Charles was in as well. A third? Jake’s bag was there, but he was no where to be seen. “Hey, Boyle? Where’s Peralta?” She asked, dropping her bag by her desk, then kicking it under the table. Charles shrugged. “I don’t know. He came in, dropped his bag, then left again.” Charles continued to type away on his computer, leaving Amy to her thoughts. She decided to try and ignore it, and focus on the missing child statements she had to file in.
She was on her 4th statement when the elevator doors popped open, revealing Jake in all his glory…. ish
Jake’s head pounded with every step he took, his hangover raging painfully in his skull. God, he shouldn’t have drunk so much. His stomach churned, his head pounded, his muscles ached and everything hurt. He stumbled across the bullpen, ignoring the stares his way. Charles was saying something, Jake could tell that much. But aside from that, no idea. He dropped into his chair, instantly thankful for how cold it was. He dropped his head into his hands, and began rubbing his temples.
“Peralta!” Holt barked from across the room. His eyes burned as he looked up to his superior. “Yes, cap-i-tan?” He asked, trying to keep his voice chipper. He took a sip from his cup, then gaged. It wasn’t his normal coffee… his stomach bubbled and burned. He could feel the alcohol burning in the back of his throat. “You good to do that?” His mind tuned in to Holt. Jake nodded, more concerned without puking right there and then. “Good. You and Santiago can take the undercover Mercedes. I expect results,” Holt said, glaring. Jake kept his mouth shut, but raised his hands up. Holt left.
Jake bolted.
He could hear Amy shouting, but his concern was not throwing up on the floor. Jake made it into the disabled bathroom, (screw ethics, he wasn’t gonna puke in the same place people dumped everyday) just about making it. His stomach contracted painfully. He retched, booze coming from the night before. He wasn’t even supposed to be in on Saturdays, those were his days off… but Holt asked him in. Jake downed some toast and an anti-nausea tablet, then stumbled into work.
Jake slid down the wall, dropping to a pitiful heap on the ground. His head hurt so badly, and god he was never drinking again. He leant over to belch over the clean toilet, bile only dripping out. He squeezed his stomach tightly, hoping the pain would abate. “Jake?” someone called.
Amy followed Jake as he ran out of the bullpen, towards the bathrooms. Amy grew up with 7 brothers, so she was no stranger to grossness. She shouted his name, a little worried. He ignored her, continuing forwards. Amy sighed, then turned to Charles. “What did he do last night?” She snapped. Charles paused. “He went out with that author guy, remember? I left, but I think he continued drinking."
So he was hungover.
Great.
Amy sighed loudly, then growled. “Irresponsible,” She growled, stalking towards the bathroom. Just as she passed the disabled one, she heard clattering around. “Jake?” She called. A toilet flushed, the sink ran, then the door unlocked. Jake stumbled out, catching himself on the door. Amy frowned, “Are you ok?” She asked. Jake flapped a hand, blowing through his lips. “Fine… just got a killer migraine. Nothin I ain’t used to Santiago.” She frowned. “Sure?” She asked when his face paled almost comically. “Yup.” He smiled, eyes darting around. Amy frowned. “100%?” She asked again. Jake nodded. She raised an eyebrow. “Ok… then I’m gonna go grab my jacket and we’ll go, yeah?” She said. Jake nodded again, not speaking. Then she caught his eyes.
Whenever her brothers had that wild look in their eyes, they were gonna boke everywhere. She looked around, trying to find something he could puke into. If it had to be her shoes, so be it… but she’d rather it not be. There wasn’t much around, save for a few boxes… and the cleaning bucket! She quickly darted to the left, grabbed the bucket, then thrusted it into his arms.
He clutched it tightly, then vomited horrifically into it. Amy hesitated before reaching out to pat his shoulder, keeping a hand under the bucket just in case he dropped it. She didn’t like the sound of people vomiting, it was mank. “Ugh, I’m never drinking again,” Jake groaned from the bucket. Amy continued patting his shoulder as he retched again. “Uh huh.” She replied.
He finally pulled his head out, wiped his mouth, then slid down the wall. Amy held the bucket at arms length as she poured whatever alcohol had been expelled from his system down the toilet, flushed it, then washed the bucket.
(Amy never told anyone this, but she washed her hands 3 times, then sanitised 4 times afterwards)
“C’mon Peralta, lets get you home,” She quietly said, helping him up. “But the case,” He mumbled. “I’ll tell Holt that you aren’t well. It happens,” She replied, smiling. “Even though I’m not?” He asked, stumbling a little. Amy held his shoulder tightly. “Yep. You’ve covered for me so many times before. I can return the favour,"
“Title of your sex tape,” He mumbled. Amy swatted his shoulder. “Watch it,”
He grinned.