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< It’s 10 p.m. on a Friday evening. The precinct is quiet except for some muffled beeping and the tapping of Amy’s foot on the ground. Amy looks at her watch: 10:07 p.m.
“Man, I know Jake’s not great with time management, but he’s never been an hour late,” Amy whispers to herself.
The door of Captain Holt’s office opens, and he walks out.
“Santiago? What are you still doing here?” he asks sincerely.
“Jake was supposed to drive me back to his place, but he left a few hours ago—maybe to work on a case—and he’s not back yet,” Amy responds.
“I am sure he will return safely—and soon. Best of luck.” Holt enters the elevator and makes his exit.
Amy checks her watch again: 10:11 p.m. She sighs and continues tapping her foot. Her eyes widen as the elevator dings and slowly glides open.
“Jake!” she exclaims, stepping forward.
“Ames! I’m so sorry I’m late. Charles and I got caught up in a chase and we didn’t end up catching him,” Jake explains.
They hug, and Jake pecks Amy on the cheek.
“I was worried something happened to you,” Amy says. Displaying genuine emotion was something she and Jake had yet to master, so this was… a little odd—but not at all unwelcome.
“If we go now, we can make it back to my apartment for the last half of Property Brothers,” Jake says, walking toward the elevator.
“Sounds good,” Amy replies, yawning.
They enter the elevator, and Jake presses the button. The elevator is quiet. They stand close. Jake’s breath hitches as his hand inches toward Amy’s. She feels his finger brush against her own. Slowly, their hands intertwine.
Jake swallows—the motion almost audible in the quiet elevator. Amy glances sideways at him, their fingers now fully laced. Neither of them says anything, but the silence feels different—charged.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to the lobby. They step out slowly, still holding hands. Jake clears his throat, his voice a little softer than usual.
“Sore throat?” Amy asks. “I have a cough drop in my purse,” she adds.
“Of course you do. I’ll take one.”
Amy digs into her purse as they approach Jake’s car.
“Lemon or cherry?” she asks.
“Cherry. If you pick lemon, you’re a psychopath.”
Jake takes the cherry cough drop from Amy’s palm—clearly sweaty—before sliding into the driver’s seat.
Amy settles into the passenger seat, buckling in with a soft click.
“You know,” she says, brushing a stray hair behind her ear, “statistically, lemon is actually the more popular flavor.”
Jake pulls out of the parking lot, glancing at her.
“Statistically, most people haven’t been personally victimized by a lemon drop mid-sore throat.”
Amy smirks, resting her elbow on the window ledge. “You’re really going through something tonight, huh?”
Jake pops the cough drop into his mouth. “It’s been an emotional rollercoaster. High-speed chases. Near-death. Going home with a beautiful detective.” He says it like a joke, but there’s a flicker of sincerity under the surface.
Amy pretends to look out the window, but the corners of her mouth turn up anyway.
Jake taps the steering wheel lightly, his eyes flicking between the road and Amy.
“You’re really not gonna let go of my hand now, huh?”
Amy holds up her hands dramatically. “Your life is in my hands, Peralta. I’m just making sure you make it home safely.”
He snorts. “We’re literally in my car.”
Amy leans a little closer, her voice lower. “Exactly. Your car. Your place. Your turn to impress me.”
Jake pulls into the parking garage of his apartment.
Amy steps out into the dim glow of the overhead lights, the cool air brushing against her skin. She smooths her hands over her coat and waits for Jake to catch up.
He follows, locking the car with a chirp as they walk toward the building. Their hands brush again, then link naturally, like muscle memory.
The elevator ride up is quiet, but not awkward—just filled with that soft tension that comes from knowing what might come next.
When they reach his door, Jake unlocks it and holds it open with a little bow.
“Mi casa es su casa,” he says, voice low and teasing.
Amy steps inside, tossing her purse on the couch. “You always this charming when you’ve just risked your life and ruined my night of scheduled relaxation?”
Jake kicks the door shut gently, stepping closer. “Only for you, Ames.”
When she turns to face him—close enough now that their bodies nearly touch—she doesn’t back away. Neither does he.
The corners of Amy’s mouth start to rise, but she fights the smile back. Jake reaches her in two quick steps, and before either of them can second-guess it, he leans in and kisses her—soft at first, but sure, like he’d been waiting all night for it to feel just like this.
Jake hesitates, then says, “I’ve been waiting all day for this moment.”
Amy smiles and nods, as if in agreement.
“I knew that would pay off eventually,” Jake murmurs before kissing her again—deeper this time, his hands gently sliding her coat off her shoulders.
She lets him, shrugging it off as she toes off her shoes and steps further into the apartment.
They sit together on the couch. Jake turns the TV on—not really planning to watch, but the room doesn’t have any smaller lights, and he doesn’t want to turn on the big one. The TV hums as Jake and Amy kiss, deeper each time.
Jake kisses her again, softer now, like he’s thanking her. The world narrows down to the warm slide of hands, the hush of fabric, and the kind of closeness that says more than words ever could. The television hums. The couch creaks faintly. Outside, the city keeps moving—but in here, everything slows down.