Chapter Text
Jake and Gina had been inseparable as kids. DDC, they’d named themselves, in high school when they practically looked like twins. They’d spent every afternoon after school at Nana’s, watching House Party 2 in their pajamas and drinking orange Fanta. Now, as adults, they were still inseparable. Jake got her the secretary job for Captain Holt, so they got to see each other every day, make fun of Amy together, go on little adventures to meddle into their Captain’s love life together, like nothing had ever changed.
Being Gina’s best friend, Jake knew her like the back of his hand. He was fluent in Ginanese, as their precinct so lovingly called it–he knew when to diffuse a situation because of something Gina said, knew when to play into it, knew what she was really feeling behind her sarcastic quips. Gina did, although begrudgingly, love the Nine Nine, and while everyone understood that at surface level, nobody really understood Gina like Jake did.
So when Gina sat at her desk, phone abandoned under a pile of paperwork she diligently worked on, Jake knew something had to be wrong. Gina was a hard worker, just not in front of others. She had a reputation for upkeep. She fudged her report cards in high school to seem ditzy to her peers–something about it being harder to manipulate when people know just how smart you are. Needless to say, Gina demonstrating this side of herself, the one most people would deem normal for any other secretary, was a giant sign in flashing neon lights: SOMETHING’S WRONG.
It was still early in their shift, and no one seemed to notice her odd behavior just yet. Jake got up, abandoning his own messy stack of paperwork, and perched himself on the edge of her desk. She looked up warily. “Jake,” she started, in that bored drawl she always had, “You’re sitting on my hard work.” She complained half-heartedly, gesturing to the now smudged inked forms. He scooted over, as far as he could to avoid any more ink stains on his pants. “What’s going on, Gina?” he asked teasingly, trying to bury the worry that twinged in his chest beneath the playful tone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m being a good detective, like I always am.” she said, smirking.
“You’re a secretary, Gina.” he said, tilting his head to the side.
“I’m just saying, I have the potential to be a detective. I’d bust those perps way faster than you.” She said, and Jake knew she was changing the topic on purpose, trying to hide whatever was going on in her special Gina way. Gina doesn’t get vulnerable, no, but he was Jake Peralta, Gina Linetti’s best friend since diapers, and she couldn’t hide from him like she did with everyone else.
“Gina.” he said, and she sighed, scowling only slightly.
“Fine. You got me,” she started, rolling her eyes. “I’m having a bad day. Rare for the queen that is Gina Linetti, but it does happen, believe it or not.”
“Like, bad day in a ‘you ran out of retries for Kwazy Cupcakes' way, or in a ‘Jay-Z died and took my soul with him’ way?” he asked, propping his chin on his fist like some philosopher Captain Holt would know.
“‘Channing Tatum roofied a girl and is being canceled online’ way.” She said, turning fully toward him in his chair. “Metaphorically. Channing Tatum is fine.”
At least Jake knew what he was dealing with now. She’d said their codeword, the one they came up with when they’d played spies, then when Gina had gone to a party and needed a ride home, then when the stress of the world had been too much, even for Gina Linetti, who wrote the book on ignoring and rising above conflict. Channing Tatum, the code was, and though Gina’s intense love for the actor led to a few false alarms, the word mostly worked as their own secret method of asking for help.
He nodded, and it all started to click into place. “Cool, cool, cool. I’ll get on it.” He said, leaving her with a pat on her desk, and striding into Captain Holt’s office.
“Peralta,” the captain droned. “Is there something you need?”
“I need to head home for the day, sir. I’m taking Gina with me.” He said, twisting his hands together where they hung near his navel.
Captain Holt, the only other person that could read Gina even sort-of accurately, nodded. “Make sure she is okay.” he said, and then gestured to the door. “I will ask Detective Santiago to keep an eye on your cases. Dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jake said, relieved he hadn’t put up more resistance or pried into Gina’s odd behavior. He left, rapping his knuckles on Gina’s desk as he walked by. He nodded his head toward the elevator.
“We’re leaving. Captain Holt gave us the day off. Pack up!” he said, grinning like everything was going to be okay because it was, he would make sure it was. Gina didn’t resist much either–weird, maybe there was something in the air today–and gathered her stuff, waiting like a lost puppy at Jake’s desk while he stuffed his jacket into his bag. Gina’s subdued spunk never ceased to surprise him when she was like this. He zipped up his bag, leading the way to the elevator. “Let’s hit it!”
Soon enough, they were standing at the door of Gina’s old apartment, now Jake’s. He unlocked the door, pushed it open for her. “Home sweet home.”
She went inside, flopping down on his old, tattered couch. He followed her in, beelining to the small kitchen to make her a sandwich, her favorite: Italian style, salami and ham and oil and vinegar. He didn’t know why everyone was always so surprised he could cook. His Nana had taught him, because what kind of wimpy man would he be if he didn’t know how to feed a guest? Emphasis on guest, because although he could cook, he chose to have his unhealthy lunch experiments. That’s just who he was, okay?
He brought it to her, setting it on the coffee table and flopping down beside her. He took a deep breath. “Okay, Gines. Did I read this right?”
She looked at him dryly. “I wouldn’t have let you take me home if you were wrong.” she said.
“Okay, okay,” he raised his hands placatingly. “How do you wanna do this?”
Letting her make the choice was an important part of the process. Gina was high maintenance, and Jake never once backed down from giving her what she needed. Shrugging, Gina sat back against the couch, put her head on his shoulder, and Jake knew what this meant in Ginanese. She wanted him to take over. “Okay,” he said, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “I’ve got you. It’s just you and me. Gina and Jakey.”
He could feel her start to release the tension in her shoulders. He was thankful she let him see this part of her, take care of her like this. Who would, if he didn’t? WHo would take care of him, when he needed it? That’s why they were best friends, needed each other to lean on. No one else would understand like they would.
“Feeling okay?” he asked, peering down at her as best he could with her nuzzled into his shoulder. She nodded, making a little affirmative noise. “How old?” he asked, quietly, just in case he’d misunderstood all this.
“Five, six?” she said back, in that same whisper tone, seeming anxious to be wrong, like he’d been. He shushed her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “That’s okay, sweetie.” He assured her. He spoke in a tone neither of them had experienced much as kids, when it was pretty much just them at home, moms working to provide for them, dads somewhere fucking else.
“Gines,” he said, stroking her hair. “Do you wanna stay like this? Or maybe watch a movie, and eat our lunch? And then maybe we could take a nap? Little girls need their beauty sleep.” She giggled, and once again he felt assured she was deep in headspace. Big Gina would kill him for saying that. Little Gina was a goof.
“Yeah,” he said, talking more to himself than to her, unsure if she wanted to speak. If she didn’t, that was fine. He had this covered. “I think that’s what we’ll do.” He reached for the remote, careful not to jostle Gina too much. “How do we feel about An American Tail? You love that one.” He asked. Gina just nodded gingerly. Luckily for them, Jake had the movie recorded, due to Little Gina’s love for it. When they were little kids, this was all she’d watch. Even now, it was still a hit. He turned it on, wrapping his arms around Gina for a moment, squeezing her lightly, and then untangling them. “Let’s eat, hm? We can eat and watch. I’m sure your tummy is rumbling!” he said, guiding her hands to take the sandwich and holding one hand underneath hers to prevent any of it falling on her. Gina hated getting messy.
“There we go, Gines. Good girl.” He said gently when she finished, relaxing back into his chest. He held her, while that shittily animated mouse adventured on the screen, and her breathing slowed. He sighed, resting his chin on top of her head, and closed his eyes, knowing that when Gina woke, she’d feel so much better, and he’d made that happen for her.