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The night of the sting, Amy refuses to go home. She can’t go - she’s so closely linked to both Jake and Holt that if anything goes wrong she’ll be a prime target - but she can’t leave. Not until she knows. She stays at her desk, trying to work but mostly staring at an empty screen, drinking mug after mug of coffee to stay awake. She’s the only one there apart from Hitchcock and Scully, and she doesn’t really understand why they’re still at work. They normally leave at five regardless of what they’re supposed to be in the middle of doing, so seeing them still in their chairs, awake, at past 11pm is unsettling. They don’t speak, to her or to each other, but they refill her cup and she’s grateful for their presence. She wonders if they’re as nervous about the operation as she is, but she doesn’t ask. The silence is comforting; no news is good news.
It’s almost two when the silence breaks. Heavy, thudding footfall, rapid and nearing, and for a moment Amy is terrified. Then Rosa turns the corner, motorcycle boots loud on the hard floor, and she leaps over the bullpen gate and runs straight to Amy’s desk. She’s windswept and breathless and smiling. She’s smiling. And before Amy can process it there are arms hooking underneath hers, pulling her to her feet and into a bone-crushing hug. Rosa’s laugh is uneven and beside Amy’s ear, her voice cracks.
“They’re coming home.”
It takes two long, anxious days to get them home. Jake and Holt have identities to wrap up and the Commissioner’s office arranges them a private airplane back to New York. It means they can decompress without being surrounded by strangers, but also that they have to work with the pilot’s schedule. While Rosa and Charles work on tracking Adrian down, giving him the all-clear to come out of hiding, Amy is finally allowed contact. She cries the first time she speaks to Jake on the phone, and she’s pretty sure he cries too. But hearing his voice is nothing, not a thing in comparison to seeing him at the airport.
There’s a small group of them gathered, waiting for the flight to land at a tiny airport way out of the city. A couple of representatives from the Commissioner and the FBI. Kevin, recently back from Paris to meet his husband. And Amy, pacing and twisting her hands and checking the time every few seconds. The rest of the group sits quiet, stoic, and their inaction makes Amy appear manic. It takes forever - it feels like forever - but when Jake and Holt walk through the doors, flanked by two agents, she runs, full speed, into Jake’s arms. His bags drop to the floor and he catches her, the impact forcing him backwards a few steps. Jake is warm and soft and real, and everything that felt fuzzy and unclear while he was away snaps into sharp focus as his tight arms around her waist momentarily lift Amy off the ground.
“I missed you,” is all Amy can manage to croak out before she’s overcome entirely, burying her face into the crook of Jake’s neck. She feels Jake turn his head to press a kiss to her jaw and one of his hands moves up her back until his fingers curl in her hair. Amy’s aware of her chest heaving, of her tears making Jake’s shirt wet, but she feels his breath ragged, hot against her and she knows she’s not alone any more.
They part, eventually, tear-stained and smiling. The officials have been patient but they have to leave eventually. There’s more to do today than cry. Amy carries one of Jake’s bags and he carries the other, their free hands holding each other tightly, and they follow the group through the building and out. In front of them, Holt and Kevin have their arms around each other as they walk and it’s the strongest display of affection Amy has ever seen between the pair. It’s been even longer for them, she realizes, and the thought of Kevin alone in Paris while his husband was in real danger turns Amy’s stomach. She should’ve emailed him more often.
There’s paperwork and briefings and too many uncomfortable waiting room chairs to get through but after it all, as the sun is setting, they’re home. Amy kept herself busy in Jake’s absence by regenerating her apartment; touching up the paintwork, clearing out some old knick-knacks, making space in the drawers and the closets. It’s not just hers, now, it’s theirs. Tomorrow they’ll clear out the storage unit that’s been keeping the entire existence of Jake Peralta safe but tonight, there’s pizza and wine and each other, pressed together on the couch in old sweatpants and faded academy t-shirts and later in their bed, with the mattress Jake bought for them and fresh sheets and so, so much missed time to make up.