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Raymond was handling his sudden placement into witness protection wonderfully. Not that it was a competition, but if it were, he would be winning.
He got up at six on the dot every morning, prepared the coffee, and reviewed his plans for the day- just as he had in Brooklyn. Raymond functioned more efficiently with a structured, well-planned routine. This not only provided a sense of purpose, but also comfort and familiarity. It was almost like he was home.
Who was he kidding? This was no home.
It was a pathetic excuse for a roof covering his head. Sure, it appeared nice, in a fair, suburban neighborhood- but it was all a disguise for the foundation it was built upon, and what lurks within the houses. Floridians.
Everything about living here revolted Raymond. Of course he could handle it, but that did not mean he wasn’t allowed to complain about it. He missed his coworkers, God, he missed Kevin and Cheddar more than he could ever explain through coherent words. Sometimes, he had half a mind to pick up his phone and-
It didn’t matter. This was the way things were, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
A knock on the front door interrupted Raymond’s train of thought, and he paused momentarily to seethe. If it was that pesky mailman again… Raymond had told him countless times to deliver the mail where it belonged- the mailbox!
Walking over to his door, Raymond turned the handle and was surprised to see the face of Jacob Peralta standing in front of him, who was most certainly not the mailman.
Unless, per usual, he was here to deliver bad news.
Raymond raised an eyebrow. “Larry?”
Jake nodded curtly. “Greg.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Oh, y’know… sports, stuff.” Jake coughed. “The game. Them Gators, am I right?”
“Of course,” Raymond nodded. “Come inside. We must discuss those terrific Gators at once.”
The second Jake stepped inside, Raymond shut the door, locked it with a small click, and narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”
Jake’s eyes instantly went wide, his voice suddenly defensive. “Nothing- nothing! I didn’t do anything-”
Raymond let out a rather undignified chuckle. “I don’t buy it. Did you blow our cover? Who knows about our true identities now?”
“I didn’t blow our cover!” He paused in attempt to read Raymond’s gaze. “Do you always assume something’s wrong when I show up?”
“Yes.” Raymond crossed his arms. “I can’t imagine you’d stop by to simply… exchange pleasantries.”
Jake stared at him for a moment, his face hard and unreadable. “Fine. I don’t come with good news. I was lonely, and-”
“My God,” Raymond took a shot in the dark, “don’t tell me you attempted contact with the nine-nine.”
Jake suddenly stiffened, his mouth unmoving. The implication of his hesitance removed any ounce of normality the conversation had left, leaving a heavy tension in its place.
“Jacob!” Raymond snapped. “You cannot ruin this for us!”
“I’m not- you’re not listening-” He pleaded.
“I’ve heard quite enough to get the picture. Is this a game to you?” Raymond gestured to the house around them. “Some kind of action-movie fantasy of yours, you had failed to realize isn’t actually very fun? Well, welcome to real life, Peralta- it gets incredibly lonely, but we do not put ourselves and those we care about at risk by contacting them!”
Jake stood there, momentarily unresponsive, just blinking at Raymond. He noticed for the first time that the rims of Jake’s eyes were red and agitated, as if he had been rubbing them, or crying. When Jake finally responded, he seemed much more closed off, his face tired.
“I did not contact anyone from the nine-nine,” Jake spoke slowly and deliberately, on an exhale. “I just wanted to sit and… chat.”
Sit and chat? Since when has Peralta just wanted to… sit? Or chat, in a nonchalant fashion?
“…Alright.” Raymond replied, unable to keep at bay the suspicion lacing his tone, “I’ll get us some coffee.”
Raymond made his way to the coffee-maker, grabbed the first two mugs he saw and waited for the machine to do its job. After a few moments, he begun tapping the counter with a finger impatiently.
If Jake hadn’t contacted anyone from their precinct, then what did he do? His demeanor read one of a guilty man. The sharp and sudden defensiveness, that sullen look… it was increasingly obvious something was wrong here. So, if Jake wanted to sit and chat, let them chat.
I’ll get to the bottom of this.
As soon as the coffee was done, Raymond walked back over to Jake and escorted him to the living room, where he sat down on the couch and patted the cushion beside him, indicating for Jake to sit. Jake followed suit with no opposition or witty remark, and the two sat quietly for a couple of minutes.
“I hate this.” Jake muttered, finally breaking the silence. His thumbs traced small circles around the ceramic mug.
“This?” Raymond queried, seeking an elaboration.
“Everything. It’s like being undercover in the Mafia all over again, but this time I can’t do anything.” Jake begun gesturing with a hand, clearly frustrated. “No secrets to uncover. No detective work to take my mind off of it. Just the same old, same old- missing people I care about.”
“It’s unfortunate, but all we can do is distract ourselves and continue onward.” Raymond replied simplistically. It wasn’t like they had any other options.
Jake bit his lip, seemingly repressing what he wanted to say along with it. Raymond recognized that look. If he knew any better, words were about to come spewing out of the detective’s mouth like a faulty faucet.
“My goodbye to Amy was crap,” Jake spoke bitterly while glaring at his mug, “I was still on a rush from completing our mission- and the adrenaline that came from having to assume new identities, Figgis wanting our heads. I wasn’t thinking straight. Didn’t understand the stakes. We just- kissed, I told her I would be okay, and… left. Like an idiot.”
“We weren’t given a lot of time.” Raymond argued. “I didn’t get to say everything I would’ve liked to Kevin, either.”
Jake wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You two have been together so long, you understand each other better than anyone else. I’m sure he got the memo.”
There was a hefty silence amongst them for several moments after his statement, before that signature Jake look showed itself again.
“…You were right, kind of. I was going to call them. Contact the nine-nine. I didn’t, but I wanted to. I came too close to adding their numbers to my phone and-” He cut himself off, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I thought coming here would knock some sense into me.”
Feeling suddenly disheartened, Raymond made the rash decision to humor the detective in attempt to lighten the mood. “Ah, so you sought out your father figure?”
Jake suddenly looked to him with those sad, brown eyes and oh, Raymond realized a little too late, of course this wasn’t a joke to him.
Not that their bond was a joke to Raymond either, but this was different than the usual banter between the two and should’ve been treated as such. Right now, Jake needed a father figure, and looked to him in a time of need. How could he have not seen it before? He called himself a detective, for goodness sake. Jake’s red eyes, his perturbed demeanor upon Raymond’s prodding questions… nerves, yes- but not because he had made a mistake. The generally independent Jacob Peralta was anxious about seeking comfort from Raymond in a way they had never expressly configured before.
Not that Raymond was opposed to it. Not that Raymond didn’t want to try, not that he didn’t want it either. He just hadn’t realized…
Shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, Raymond forced himself back into the moment. “I’m sorry, Jacob- I misjudged the situation. I instantly sought to take the offense without considering how this experience could be impacting you mentally, and that was my fault. I understand it’s difficult.” He sympathized, speaking as honestly and directly as he could.
Jake, on the verge of tears, was seemingly astounded by Raymond’s response. He opened his mouth, and then closed it, fumbling.
“Sir, it’s okay- I get why you assumed.” He mumbled after several moments, breaking the eye contact. “Sometimes I’m just another problem that needs dealing with.”
“Jake,” Raymond couldn’t stop the emotion leaking into his voice, “you are not, and never will be a problem. Regardless if I assumed or not, I shouldn’t have approached the conversation in such a way- with a pointed attack.” He relaxed his shoulders, sinking slightly further into the couch. “You’re struggling, and that’s okay, I would be much more concerned if you weren’t.”
Jake just stared at him for a moment, blinking tears away. He was squeezing the hand not holding his mug, hunched over on himself, appearing nothing like the confident, cocky detective Raymond was familiar with. Nothing like “ Larry Sherbert ” either, but to hell with that pseudo.
“I was trying not to freak out. Tried to pretend that everything is normal” Jake whispered. “I really, really tried.”
“But it’s not,” Raymond replied sadly, “It’s not.”
Jake sniffled. Which then turned into a hic, which led into a sob. Before he could even pause to think about what he was doing, Raymond wrapped a protective arm around the detective, and scooted closer until Jake gripped Raymond’s shirt with a fist and started weeping into the fabric. Raymond pulled him into a hug, and they stayed like that for a while. Because Jake needed it. And that was okay. Maybe Raymond needed it, too.
Their current state could be explained through simple physics- this was inertia. An object in motion will stay in motion, and an object at rest will stay at rest. God knows they had been moving at the same intense, crazy velocity much too long, and they needed to relax. To be themselves for a moment. After this, they could part their separate ways, and continue trying to make this work. Once in motion again, they will remain in motion.
…But it was never that simple.
Repressing his feelings hadn’t worked thus far, they had ended up with him yelling at Jake over a misconception. No matter how he tried to explain or reason with the circumstances, times were difficult, and he had not been processing his feelings correctly. Raymond took a deep breath.
“Jake, I believe I unfairly projected all of my personal feelings of hurt onto you. You are the only individual who could make the exact mistakes I can in this situation, and it was wrong of me to take out my fear and anger by lashing out at you. Just be aware that you aren’t alone, all of your issues are my issues as well.” He paused before continuing, his voice suddenly shifting into a more solemn tone. “Do you know badly I myself have wanted to call Kevin and the precinct? How many times I’ve subconsciously reached for my phone to dial Gina and commence our weekly chats?”
Jake laughed wetly. “You and me both, Captain.”
“This situation is hard, Jake. And it gets harder with each passing moment, but I think we have been going about it the wrong way.” He shifted Jake in his arms, so he could face Raymond. “We’ve both been either undercover or in witness protection before, and we know how terrible it can be to come to terms with. For better or worse, we have been displaced together, and we should be utilizing our companionship to uplift each other during times of need. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.”
Jake was silent for a few moments, until he finally spoke. “‘ And it gets harder with each passing moment, ’ title of your sextape.”
Raymond sighed as Jake leaned forward to giggle into his shirt, but if he were honest, he had never been more content to hear the word “ sextape ” uttered from Jake’s mouth. Despite their covers, under a thin layer of strange Floridian personas they were still just Raymond and Jake. A captain and his detective.
Some kind of father and son.
“Do you want to watch Die Hard?” Raymond asked suddenly, surprising himself.
A grin spread slowly across Jake’s face as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Uhh- I don’t know… is it the greatest movie of all time?”
“No.” Raymond replied flatly. “Seven years ago, I saw this documentary that completely altered my perspective on the button-making industry by describing its lengthy history… it still plays on my mind frequently.”
“You’re supposed to say yes,” Jake insisted, setting his mug on the table in front of them. “It only works if you say yes.”
“Fine. Die Hard is a… slightly above average film. Passable by most standards-”
And then Jake threw a pillow at his head.
One incredibly dignified pillow fight later, the two went over to Jake’s to watch the movie, as according to him it was “ the first thing I had bought after moving into the house ,” and that Raymond “ should’ve known and expected this. ” Raymond found it difficult to fully focus on the dialogue whenever Jake was constantly recalling facts regarding the film’s production, commenting on John Mcclane’s choices and actions, or quoting lines as they were delivered. Nevertheless, it was the most at home Raymond had felt in a month.
After the movie was over, Raymond left for his abode- but not before making plans to meet with Jake one-on-one over ice cream every Thursday for the foreseeable future. Unprofessional hangouts where they could just talk, and be in each other’s company. And Raymond promised to be more open, and Jake promised not to do anything stupid.
And weeks later, while indulging himself in mint chocolate chip ice cream with Jake, Raymond knew he couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. This was inertia, and given the circumstances they had no choice but to keep moving- but the speed didn’t have to be so rapid, the movement so wild. Not whenever he had Jake to ground him.