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When Holt first saw Peralta sitting there in his prison clothes, he looked so fragile. He'd never admit it out loud, of course, but seeing Peralta so far out of his element was disconcerting. Usually so full of life, seeing him sitting there at that table was almost surreal. He still seemed alert, of course, there was nothing visibly wrong with him, but Holt could tell something had changed.
“Hello, Peralta,” he said. He felt the urge to approach slowly, hands raised, like one might take on a skittish animal.
“Captain!” Peralta lit up, beaming. It was good to see that prison hadn't taken his smile. “How was your trip?”
“It was adequate. The plan took slightly under the estimated amount of time to get here, and the cabs were quick.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“It's good to see you,” Holt said. He hadn't expected to remain stoic upon seeing Peralta in prison, he'd been to see Diaz and knew it was hard, but that it struck him so quickly was startling.
“You too. I've been losing my mind without the rest of the 99.” Peralta said it jokingly, but Holt worried it may not be that far from the truth. “How is everyone?”
“The team is working slower without you and Diaz.”
“Well, that's good to hear. I always knew you'd be nothing without me.”
“You and Diaz.”
Peralta scowled at him, but there was no real anger to it. Holt had forgotten just how well he knew him, not having seen him for a few weeks. It was the first time he'd been able to get down to see him.
“Your mother spoke to me,” he said.
“What? Why?”
“She visited the precinct. She assumed one of us was going to see you and upon finding out it was me, asked me to bring you a message, since she cannot come visit herself.”
“Oh.” A complicated emotion passed across Peralta’s face. It was gone before Holt could try to parse it. “What was the message?”
“She wanted me to say that she loves you, and doesn't believe you did it.”
“I know that. She sent me letters.”
“She's spoken with your father, apparently. She asked him to come see you. The message was rather confused, I got lost very quickly. But she's spoken with most of your family and neighbors and they all agree you must be innocent.”
“My— my dad, did she say if he was going to come?”
“No.”
“No, she didn't say?” Peralta looked so hopeful, Holt wished he had better news to deliver, but recounting banalities from the precinct wasn't what he did, he'd been sent to deliver a long, confusing message and that is what he was going to do.
“No, he won't be coming,” Holt said. Peralta briefly looked crushed, before hiding it quickly.
“I didn't really expect him to,” he said. His voice was bitter, and Holt wondered when he'd lost the absolute adoration he'd held for his father. “But you're here!”
“A passable substitute, I should hope.”
“Oh much more than that! It's really good to see you.” His smile had somehow survived everything, still as genuine and warm as ever.
“My mom, she… how is she?” Peralta asked after a moment of silence.
“She misses you,” Holt said. He knew he had to be gentle now, though it didn't come naturally to him. “But she seems alright. She's coping.”
“That's good to hear.”
“We all miss you,” he said.
“You need to get me out of here,” Jake groaned a little playfully, a little too honest to be a joke. He stretched out across the table dramatically and Holt caught sight of a few bruises as his shirt shifted.
“Peralta, are you alright?” he asked.
“Well I'm in prison, but other than that…”
“You have bruises.”
Peralta fell silent, retreating back to his side of the table. “It's nothing.”
“What happened?” How could I not worry about you? Holt thought. He'd worried about Peralta since they first met. Before he'd gotten to know him, it was worry that he'd do something stupid to jeopardize the precinct’s credibility, but soon enough his concern became almost familial. Not that he wasn't still worried about Peralta’s antics, but he understood he would never purposefully hurt the precinct and it was more of a fond annoyance than genuine nervousness.
“Do you know what resources are available to you if you are injured?” he asked.
“I know, I know. I’m fine.”
“Right. Make sure to stay safe.”
“Of course, I'll get help if anything goes wrong,” Peralta said, and they both knew it was a lie. “It's all under control.”
Holt only realised later, when he was bringing Peralta back from prison, just how untrue that had been. Holt had simply left him to fend for himself despite knowing he was hurt, and as good as he was at sorting and filing things in his mind, that would always linger. It came back to him every time Peralta mentioned his time in prison. He'd been mere minutes from death when Holt had gotten him out of there. If he'd stalled a moment more, there would be no Peralta to try and keep an eye on. If he hadn't stalled at all, both he and Diaz wouldn't look so haunted when they thought no one was watching.
As it was, Peralta promised he'd keep himself safe and Holt had run through his list of things to speak about before standing up to leave.
Peralta stood too. Holt didn't really understand they were going to hug until he'd wrapped his arms awkwardly around Peralta’s shoulders, and then he only had a moment to register it before they'd separated and he was leaving the prison, on his way back to New York. The knowledge that he could put an end to Peralta’s imprisonment weighed heavy on his shoulders.