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Jake knows what anxiety feels like, but it's never felt like this. His heart is hammering in his chest, and his lungs feel like they're rubbing together when he tries to breathe. He bounces his leg up and down at his desk, trying to relieve some of the nervous energy he's built up.
The case he was working on remains unsolved on his desk. Double-homicide. It should be exciting, but he can’t bring himself to focus. The acknowledgment of his lack of productivity heightens his anxiety, and he swipes for the Rubik's Cube on his desk, hoping the rapid turning and clicking of the toy would soothe him. It helps some, but soon his chest begins to ache, and whether it's from the pounding of his heart or the tension in his lungs he's unsure. He feels the ache of hands on his shoulders, his neck, his thighs–
Feeling restless, bordering on panic, Jake stands from his desk, making his way swiftly to the restroom. Once inside, he quickly turns on the tap, running his hands under the cold water and splashing some on his face. It helps. He remains like this for several minutes, allowing himself to regain composure before returning to his desk.
“You all right, Jake?” The Sarge's voice makes the detective jump. “You seem a little out of it today. Do you need to go home?”
Jake winces internally. Of course, Terry wants to send him home. He thinks Jake can't handle things on his own. He may like to be childish sometimes, but he's not a kid. He can take care of himself. He took a week to himself after prison, and he hated every second of it. Hands on his crotch. Burning. It hurts–
His tension spiking, Jake snaps. “I'm fine, Sarge.” His tone is biting, and the instant regret is shown on his face. He didn't mean to snap at Terry, he knows he meant well.
Sarge watches the young detective with exasperation and concern. Jake's hyper-independence with his lack of basic self-care made him difficult in these situations. He knows Jake. He knows the detective refuses to process anything. That’s why he tries to make everything a joke. He raises an eyebrow at Jake, and the detective apologizes immediately.
“Sorry Tear-Bear. I'm good,” Jake attempts at a smile, but his voice is noticeably unsteady. Jake plops back down at his desk, avoiding the gazes of his co-workers.
He attempts to force himself to be productive, but his brain just isn't doing the whole “crime-solving” thing right now. Jake's been on a hot-streak, solving case after case in record time the last few weeks. He'd been so excited to get back to work after Florida, but now he's not so sure. Amy's been on a week-long stakeout with Rosa, and without her to ground him everything else just feels so chaotic.
After another twenty minutes, Jake has barely made any progress. He keeps having to read and reread the files, words blending together and appearing to float off of the page.
“Hey, Jakey!” A pair of hands clamp suddenly on Jake's shoulder, and he instinctively shoots up, grabbing one wrist and twisting it defensively, wrapping the perp's arm around his back and grabbing the other one, kicking his knees out from under him and using his own weight to force the perp to his knees, one of his own pressing forcefully into his back.
“-st friend Charles! From work!”
Jake's ears are ringing but he instantly lets go and scrambles backwards, his back hitting his own desk painfully. His eyes are wide, and his breathing rapid. He can't seem to bring himself to speak. Charles is saying something to him, but he can't hear. His whole body is trembling, and Jake scrambles to his feet, sprinting from the room.
The door to the stairwell slams behind him, and Jake is alone. He lets himself slide to the ground with his back against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. He can’t breathe, and his heart feels like it’s going to explode. His hands feel like they’re buzzing, and it’s all he can do to tuck his face behind his knees and curl into a ball. He tells himself that he’s fine. Nothing’s wrong.
It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts-
Jake slams his hand into the side of his head. This has to stop. He’s fine.
He’s in the prison showers, and Romero is standing behind him, grinning. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts-
He slams his hand into his head several more times, trying to knock the thoughts from his brain.
His whole body aches from where he’s been beaten, and Romero has him forced to the ground, his whole weight on top of him. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts-
Jake laces his fingers through his hair and tugs, desperately trying to ground himself. He doesn’t hear the door to the stairwell open.
Romero enters him, and it fucking burns. He thrusts into him violently, and Jake screams. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts-
The tile is cold underneath him and the water is still running. Jake fights but every time he does Romero slams his head into the floor.
“You’re mine, Bitch Baby.”
Jake screams, but no one comes to help. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts-
“-eralta.”
When he’s done, Romero climbs off of him and walks away, leaving him on the floor.
“Jake.”
Jake stays there, lying on the cold tile. He curls in on himself, letting the water run over him.
There’s a large, gentle hand on his shoulder, and Jake jolts. The hand retracts immediately. He can still feel the tile on his bare skin. The burning. It hurts it hurts it hurts-
“Jake. Come back to me.”
Hands gripping his shoulder. Romero’s smirk. His teeth in his neck. Unwelcome hands on his thigh, his waist, his crotch. It hurts.
Jake’s head is buried under protective hands, and his whole body trembles. His breathing comes in ragged gasps as he curls further in on himself, huddling against the wall. Sergeant Jeffords crouches before him, speaking softly and trying to coax him back to the present. His heart lurches at the sight of his detective like this. He knew something was up from the start, but with the incident with Charles–
“-it hurts. It hurts-”
The detective is mumbling under his breath, fingers tightening in his hair and pulling. Terry gently wraps his hand around Jake’s wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip. Jake immediately tenses, but Terry doesn’t let go this time.
“Jake, please,” Terry’s voice is laced with his heavily concealed panic. Amy and Rosa are out on a case, and the Captain is out of town with his husband this week. He takes his job very seriously, and is known for keeping a level head when he’s in charge. This, this is new.
“-please stop, it hurts-”
Terry pulls Jake’s wrist away from his head, before doing the same to his other one. Jake’s forehead is pressed tightly to his knees, and his eyes are wide, tears streaming freely down his face.
“-it hurts, I’m sorry-”
Terry keeps his firm but gentle grip on Jake’s wrists, rubbing small circles on them with his thumbs. The motion starts to ground Jake, and the Sergeant continues the action.
“Jake. It’s your friend. It’s Terry. You’re at the nine-nine.”
Jake stops mumbling, and his rapid breathing begins to slow. The combination of Terry’s voice and the soothing motions on his wrist are helping to bring him down.
“That’s right. It’s the Sarge. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”
Gently, Terry pulls Jake towards him. When Jake doesn’t pull away, the Sarge wraps his arms around him, taking deep, exaggerated breaths. Jake’s breathing begins to even out, and the trembling eases. Jake’s heart is still beating rapidly, however. After a moment, Terry speaks again.
“Peralta? You with me?”
Jake, still unable to speak, nods slightly against Terry’s chest. Feeling slightly less worried, Terry keeps his arms wrapped tightly around the detective. They stay like this for several minutes, until the remnants of Jake’s panic seem to dissipate. Jake pulls away first, leaning his back against the wall across from Terry.
He flounders, unsure of what to say. He doesn’t know how to make it look like he didn’t absolutely melt down, or let the Sergeant hug him for like, ten minutes. He’s not even fully sure where that came from. Sure, prison sucked, but that’s just what happens in prison. Everybody gets…
He lets his hand ball into a fist, nails digging into the palm of his hand. No need to think about what happened in prison. It doesn’t matter anymore.
“Peralta.” Jake opens his mouth to speak, but Terry’s tone and the lift of his eyebrows warn him not to. “We’re going to talk about this, Jake. But right now, I want you to come with me to my office and take a nap on the sofa. You need rest, but I don’t want you alone right now, alright?”
Jake looks like he wants to object, but Terry beats him to it. “Don’t argue with me, Jake. That’s an order. I know you can take care of yourself, but you’ve been there for me too many times for me to not be here for you now.”
Sarge stands, reaching down and picking up a petulant, now startled looking Jake and hoisting him over his shoulder. Jake closes his eyes, the exhaustion of the day finally settling in his bones. He lets himself relax, knowing that he’s got Terry as a friend.
Maybe Jake's not okay, but at least he knows that he's not alone.