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While undercover, Detective Jake Peralta suffered more than a few injuries. The Iannouchis were temperamental at best, and gruesomely violent at worst.
Like the time he accidentally insulted one of their wives, or the time he fumbled an operation. He could go on and on, he’s a clumsy guy.
So maybe he has a few cracked ribs. So maybe he dislocated his shoulder. So maybe all his injuries healed wrong. So what? Nothing a little TLC can’t help. He’d be fine!
Except for the fact that he’s been pushing all of his friends away since he got back from his six month long mission. While he was undercover, he’d learned to rely on nobody but himself. It was really quite difficult on Peralta to adjust back to leaning back on the squad. He found himself refusing Diaz’s and Santiago’s help, Boyle’s friendship, the Sarge’s and the Captain’s wisdom, and Hitchcock and Scully altogether (though that wasn’t new). He knew Amy and Rosa, or, at the very least, Amy, had noticed. Rosa pretends not to have emotions, but Jake knows she cares. And Amy, well, she’d been more in tune with him since they confessed their mutual, yet out of synch, like for each other.
He’d gotten back to the precinct to a heartwarming chorus of “Jakey’s back!” but all he could offer in return was a half-hearted grin. He was sure he’d gotten away with it, until two weeks later, during what he likes to call, The Incident. Above all, he didn’t want to worry any of his friends-any of his best friends. Sometimes, he still went on cases with some of the squad. He’d been seeing more of Santiago lately, especially.
It happened when he was chasing another bad guy. Jake was on his way to cut him off in an alleyway, with Santiago following close behind. Reaching the alley, the criminal barrelled full speed ahead into Jake, knocking the wind right out of him. He tried not to think about the crack he could’ve sworn he heard. Not his ribs, not again, for the love of God. Receiving a punch to the face did not help, but Santiago rolling the large man off of Jake did, in fact, help. He groaned, finding himself unable to move, the sky swirling above him. He heard the distant click of handcuffs and of Amy reading the perp his rights. All he could focus on right now was breathing in and out, and trying not to pass out. He vaguely heard Santiago telling him to come on, Jake, get up, Jake, what’s wrong with you, Jake? He wasn’t paying attention, though. The adrenaline had worn off by now, and he was focusing more on keeping his eyes shut tight, trying not to cry out due to the lightning sharp pain in his abdomen.
He heard a scuffle as Amy no doubt brought the perp to the car, footsteps fading. He couldn’t help but view it as an abandonment. He had issues, okay? Jake felt her feather-light touch on his chest and hissed in pain, which prompted her to lift his shirt and in turn gasp at the mottled bruises covering his abdomen. He’d had the same reaction. He lay there wincing in pain as she walked a ways away.
She then whispered to him, “Jake, I’m getting help. I have to take this perp in, but someone will be on their way asap.” Pain blocked these words, erasing them from his memory nearly immediately. Moments after she had left, he slightly came to his senses. He was able to make himself sit up against a wall and not yell out by holding his stomach tight and biting his lip so hard the taste of iron flooded his mouth. He cracked his eyes open, the alley in front of him spinning. Using the dumpster next to him for leverage, he managed to stand. He trudged forward, slowly. His energy depleted, he made it a record four steps before collapsing.
Moments later, Sergeant Jeffords and Detective Diaz arrived with Detective Santiago in tow. Only to find Detective Peralta collapsed in the alleyway he was left in.
“Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have left him alone..” Santiago berated herself.
“C’mon. We gotta get him somewhere safe. He’s filthy and injured,” Diaz said quickly.
Terry picked Jake up like a couple of grapes, Jake cracked his eyes open then.
“Hey, Terry,” he said deliriously, “N-no, I-I can walk, don’t you worry,” Peralta insisted, patting Terry’s chest fondly. Leaning up against Diaz and Jeffords, with Amy flitting around behind them, they made their way to the squad car. Rosa helped Jake into the back with Santiago, before hopping into the front as Jeffords turned the siren on and sped to the hospital.
“Hey, Ames? I can’t feel my tummy,” Jake whispered to Amy as if it was a hilarious secret. SHe grabbed his hand and he held on tight.
They arrived at the emergency entrance soon enough, and Jake was ripped from Amy’s side. She winced as she heard him yell her name, no doubt panicking.
Hours later, the squad was still sitting in the waiting room. At approximately 3:40 in the morning, the doctor gave them the all clear, her face solemn, informing them that Jake had been in surgery. He had been treated for cracked and shattered ribs, improperly healed ribs, internal bleeding, and an improperly healed shoulder. The shoulder had not been yet treated, however, and would have to wait until Peralta awoke.
The squad filed in to Jake’s hospital room. Peralta was unconsious, moaning i n his sleep. They sat down to settle in for the night.
Mere hours later, Jake awoke to Amy holding his hand, Terry reading a book, Holt asleep, Diaz texting Marcus, Gina examining her nails, and Boyle gone to the vending machine. They all filed out, Jeffords waking Holt, to give Santiago some alone time with Peralta.
“Hey, Ames,” Peralta grinned. Amy knew it was the pain meds talking but she didn’t mind, “my-this-hurts,” he said, motioning to his ribs.
“Yeah, no shit, dumbass. Why didn’t you tell us you were hurt?”
The pain medication was basically a truth serum, and Peralta calmly said, “Because I was alone. When I was undercover, I learned to be alone. Then I couldn’t adjust. And plus, I thought I was healed.”
She smacked his good shoulder lightly. He coughed, and it sent ripples of pain throughout his body. He sighed and closed his eyes, never letting go of Amy’s hand.
A day later, Jake was released from the hospital, armed with wrapped ribs and a sling for his arm.
Earlier, when the doctor had arrived to dislocate and relocate his shoulder, Peralta was shaking and sweating in pain and also in anxiety at the pain to come. He held Amy’s hand tighter than ever, not even yelling as the doctor dislocated his shoulder, only grunting in pain. Nearly breaking her fingers, however, he squeezed and let out a shout as the doctor relocated it. Everybody in the room winced.
He was sent home with pain meds galore and one Amy Santiago to drive him home. She helped him to the door of his apartment and into his messy bedroom. He laid down, about to fall asleep, but first calling Amy over.
“Hey, Ames?”
“Yeah, Jake?”
“Thanks.” She smiled. He looked uneasy.
“What is it?”
“I know I’m a detective and I’m on the NYPD and all that but,” he sighed, “will you stay with me?” Amy grinned,
“Of course.”