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“Amy? Amy.”
The double vodka cranberry on the table has long since diluted down, and Amy stares at the slim panes of ice left floating on the top. Her head snaps up to meet the eyes of five of her colleagues, all cramped round the tiny table on bar stools.
“You alright, Santiago?”
Rosa's tone is low, soft, and exudes a touch of warmth Amy has gotten used to in the past few months. She feels her cheeks pinken and nods a little too fervently.
“I was just thinking... maybe we should send Holt something,” she mumbles, unsure. “I mean, we were his first squad. And... his last, I guess.”
“You mean, like flowers?” Jake suggests.
“No,” she replies, a little abruptly; she's formulated reasoning for and against every kind of conventional gift over the past twenty minutes. She feels him shift on his stool beside her, and relaxes her tone. “No, flowers say... congratulations.”
The word feels metallic and revolting on her tongue, and the squad hums in agreement. Holt's promotion is anything but commendatory, and certainly not wanted.
“I could put together a gorgeous hamper?” Charles offers, his usual chipper tone somewhat forced. He hesitates, then his face falls. “Forget it - if there was one person that wouldn't appreciate a gift of food, it's the Captain.”
“Something more personal than flowers, or food,” the Sergeant muses, hunched over and uncomfortable on his small seat. “Terry'll think on it.”
Amy nods, and the group dissolves into a contemplative silence.
The noise of the bar seems dulled somehow, like Amy's listening through earmuffs. It's been the most whirlwind day she's had in a while; she's exhausted, but too wired to go home to bed. The group starts talking again about Holt's replacement, but Amy just half-listens.
There had been no desperation to please, no flutter of her heart, no eager smile spreading her lips when she shook the firm hand of the new captain. She introduced herself modestly, a few brief seconds face-to-face which almost gave away more about the CO than Holt's first month of conversations with Amy; intelligent brown eyes, a thinly lipped mouth, and a slightly nervous energy that shifted the muscles beneath a spattering of freckles.
“I'm Captain Celeste Martin. I'm aware that this change in leadership is all very sudden and unexpected, but during the transition I expect your full co-operation in maintaining the excellent reputation your last captain, and yourselves, worked hard to build. I'm excited to be a part of such a successful precinct in a thriving area of Brooklyn. I would like all detectives to be present in your briefing room at eight-thirty a.m sharp tomorrow morning, ready to present information on your open cases to me. Thank you.”
A lot had changed in two years. Amy held a begrudging respect for the woman taking charge of the Nine-Nine - she was far younger than Holt, yet had an aura of being strong, kind and fair – but she no longer instantly craved her superior's attention, approval or instruction. Perhaps it was the shock of the afternoon's events setting in, or that she was becoming more like the others: secure in herself, confident in her abilities.
She thinks about the Thanksgiving speech she'd prepared some eighteen months ago, and her fingers clutch imaginary paper. She feels once more the cold hand that tugged on her throat when her mentor had looked at her during his farewell, and remembers the way his back was stiff and head was high when he walked out of the bullpen. She finds herself grasping at her glass and gulping the pale, bitter concoction inside. Every one of you gave me everything you had.
It feels strange to be saying goodbye to Holt, especially when he isn't even here.
Something warm touches the hand that's dangling from her lap. She breaks from her reverie as if shocked by an electric charge and looks to her right, realising that the something is Jake's knuckle. He stops nudging her when she looks up at him.
“You sure you're okay?”
The others don't pay them any mind; his voice carries under the rest for once, meant only for her ears. She sees that same man that came to find her in the evidence lock-up, and suddenly can't breathe.
“I... I need some fresh air.”
She seizes her purse with shaking hands and high-tails it out of the door, pausing in the fresh night outside the bar. The brick is rough and scratchy through her thin shirt, but she welcomes sensation as she leans against it. Her fingers scrabble for the old, beat-up packet at the bottom of her bag, and she already feels tension lifting from her shoulders as she pulls out the last forgotten cigarette and places it between her lips. Patches, gum and hypnosis tapes be damned. Sorry, Captain.
The burn of the flint on her thumb is soothing, and she listens to the crackle of tobacco igniting as she inhales, leaning her head back against the building and squeezing her eyes shut to her surroundings. She hadn't allowed herself to think about Jake since Martin rolled in, not even when he'd pressed the much-needed double measure into her hand and silently pulled up the stool next to hers.
Amy people-watches for a few minutes while she smokes, and tucks a trembling hand into the crease of her elbow. A few cops and other precinct employees walk down from the subway station for the late shift, unaware of the drastic change that awaits them. A guy in a checked shirt laughs loudly outside a bar down the street, and Amy's eyes stick to him for a while. She tries to push away the ghosts of warm hands on her back, uncertain as to what is going to happen next.
She stubs her cigarette out on the wall and turns to go back inside, almost jumping out of her skin when she sees a figure leaning in the doorway, playing with a small rectangular object.
“I thought you'd quit,” Jake comments, holding out the packet of gum and walking towards her.
Amy takes a stick and rolls her shoulders. “I did. I was just finishing out the pack.”
“Right, because you're an economical ex-smoker.”
“There's no sense in waste.”
Jake grins, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall next to her.
“I used to smoke. Briefly.”
Amy blinks at him. He's by far not the most health-conscious person she's ever met, but she never pegged Jake for a smoker. “What? When?”
“Twice, actually. The most recent stint was when I was in the Mafia, although it was more of a... cover, than anything else. It was useful as an excuse to escape outside, if there was anything I ever needed to call in or if stuff was getting too heated.”
“I didn't know that.”
He shrugs. “I quit before I came back to the precinct. This guy I did a few jobs with, Derek -”
“There was a mobster called Derek?”
“- he wanted to quit because his brother had just gotten diagnosed with lung cancer. It was coming up to my six-month mark, so I said I'd do it with him.”
“So, you quit. Just like that?”
She knows it's stupid, but she feels herself getting agitated at the thought of Jake just dropping the habit with ease, compared to the many times she had tried and failed to quit. He smirks, and it fans the flames in her gut.
“You're pissed, aren't you?”
“No.”
He laughs, then, genuine and warm in the dark street. “It wasn't hard. I hadn't been smoking long, and I only did it socially. Don't feel bad for slipping. It's... your coping mechanism. It wasn't mine.”
Amy realises she's still holding the stick of gum between two fingers and hastily puts it in her mouth. She rifles through her bag for perfume, not wanting to smell of smoke when they go back inside.
“What was the other time?”
“What?”
“You said there were two times that you took up smoking.”
“Oh, right.” He scratches his neck. “It was... after I graduated from the academy. I hadn't heard from my dad in years, but I sent him an invitation to the ceremony anyway. He never showed. My mom hosted a party in our back yard and I spent the first half of it feeling hollow, y'know. Angry at myself for actually thinking he would come. But then Gina arrived, and we both got hella drunk with a few of my cousins. I had a few drags from someone's cigarette, and it started from there. But then I bought my car and got into debt, so I gave up after a few months just because it was added expense I couldn't afford.”
Amy looks down at her shoes. “That sounds like a coping mechanism to me.”
“Nuh-uh.”
A smile tugs at her lips, and she sighs. “Sorry, Jake.”
He tilts his head as if to say it's all in the past .
“If it's making you feel better about Holt, then... smoke all you want.”
Amy raises her eyebrows, her tongue closing round that fake peppermint flavour. She suddenly remembers the irksome talk – no, lecture – she'd received from Teddy about how smoking was going to kill her one day, and how she'd bitten back in a nicotine-deficient ire, I'm a cop, I could get killed tomorrow . Maybe her difficulty in giving up had come from the reason behind it – she had been doing it because Teddy had disapproved, not because she had really wanted to. It was only when Holt, Terry and Gina had gotten involved that she'd really felt motivated to stop.
She looks across at Jake's unworried expression, and sees faith. Trust.
“It doesn't really help,” she eventually replies, “Even with the rush, whatever's bothering me is still there. It doesn't make it go away.”
They stand in silence for a while, strands of Amy's hair floating on the light wind. She finds it unnerving for him to be so quiet and still – she almost wants to start prodding at him to elicit some reaction, because his odd behaviour makes the day's events weigh even heavier on her shoulders.
“Has it sunk in, yet?”
His question startles her. It's hesitant, reserved, and his eyes are wide and kind. She desperately wants another cigarette as she revisits the terrifying rush of Holt's speech, and her hands start to fidget.
“Not really,” she mumbles. “Sorry, I...”
“It's okay.”
Before she knows what she's doing, Amy finds her breath steaming against Jake's warm skin as her hands close round him, burying her head into his neck. She knocks him a little with the force of wanting physical comfort and he softly pulls her close as he steadies himself, returning the hug.
“This is so stupid; I'm not a child who's lost a parent,” Amy half-laughs. Jake doesn't say anything and for an alarming second she wonders if she hit Jake a little too close to home, but a second later his palm bends to fit the slope of her neck and he dips his head into her. Amy's body is thrumming, fingernails digging into his shirt.
She feels his lips brush the top of her head, so light it could be the breeze. She inhales, breath stuttering, and feels the powerful craving she's been suppressing all afternoon bubbling up inside of her again.
“Let's leave,” she whispers, to occupy her tongue. Jake pulls back a touch, and Amy curses the wonder blooming on his face and how much it transforms him. Beautiful. It really isn't fair.
“You want to talk?” he asks. “About... what happened in the evidence lock-up?”
“No, not... not tonight,” she breathes. His face falters a little and it makes her stomach lurch, but she smiles in what she hopes is a comforting manner.
She's finished denying, done pretending. If the third kiss – the real kiss – they shared told Amy anything, it was that he's serious about his feelings for her, and she isn't going to let the moment slip by again.
She takes a deep breath, and continues.
“Jake, I just want to get out of here. I need space to breathe, away from Charles' sad eyes and Rosa's angry shots of tequila. I need to stop thinking about Holt, about Gina, about what tomorrow's going to bring, I-”
Their fourth kiss is equally as much of a shock to Amy as their first, when it cuts off her sentence and she's back up against the bricks. Jake's lips are warm and a little more forceful this time, his hand wavering on her arm. Amy squeaks breathlessly, but she can't hear over the blood whirling in her ears, and after a long second she kisses him back.
This, this is my therapy, she thinks, desperately pulling him closer and sliding a cold hand under his untucked shirt; this time, his breath hitches in surprise. She's dizzy already from the power of his kiss, stripping her of self-control with each movement and smoothing her worry away with a thumb on her cheek. She tugs his hair and clutches his belt and he moves insistently up against her, naked desire and reassurance fuelling every urgent touch, each hard press of their lips. He smells like cheap aftershave and cheaper coffee and as he shifts against her the sensation is almost unbearably good.
This afternoon's events had been them finally caving in to mutual attraction, to give each other comfort – but this? This is foundation building, it's affection, it's saying everything Amy's brain is too frazzled to put into words. It's the high and the fear of standing on top of a skyscraper, and never wanting to come down.
“I think that probably did it,” Amy whispers, when their kiss-rouged lips finally break contact and Jake rests his forehead against hers. He's trying and failing to regulate his breathing,
He chuckles, and gives a jovial shrug. “Pretty good, aren't I?”
“I was going to say something... complimentary, but I don't think your ego needs any encouragement,” Amy rolls her eyes, but then rolls her head back as Jake descends on her neck. He murmurs something between soft kisses, his fingers brushing her hipbone. “Mm, Jake. You... you need... to stop that.”
He mouths his way back up along her jawline, darting and pausing teasingly at her lips. “Are you sure?”
He shifts against her and she can't help but to whimper, heat pooling between her legs as he gazes at her through lazy, captivated eyes. “I'm sure that if you keep doing that right here, right now, we're going to end up breaking several public decency laws.”
Amy watches Jake's throat bob, then his momentarily slack mouth twist into a smile. “Rules were made -”
“If you finish that sentence, I swear to god, Jake. You are a law enforcement officer.”
“Don't act like you're not tempted,” he grins, taking her bottom lip between his teeth and pulling gently, before releasing it with a soft pop. “Besides, what about your 'no cops' rule?”
She sighs, smirking despite herself, and he steps back a little so she's not as squashed against the wall. “We'd technically been on a date before I made that rule, so... it's just continuing what was already started. Doesn't count.”
Jake scoffs. “Pfft, Amy, that's a flimsy argument and you know it. The bet-date wasn't a real date.” He pauses, smile getting wider and wider, until Amy can't help but to laugh. “Admit it, you're a little rule-breaker, and you love it. I love it.”
“No.”
“Admit it!”
“Shut up.”
“No.”
He kisses her again, light and chaste this time, one hand on the small of her back and the other finding hers and clasping it tight.
“It'll be okay,” he says sincerely, and she believes him. “Holt's going to be fine. We're going to be fine.”
She doesn't know if we refers to the whole squad or just the two of them, Jake and Amy, together. She chooses to think he means both.
“And your tall butt is going to be fine, too. Don't worry, I don't think anybody except me has noticed.”
She squeezes his hand tight, then, and laughs at the stars.