Chapter Text
Charles’s head rested on his palm, supported by the armrest of his chair. “Do you guys remember that commercial where the mom and the daughter are fighting, so when the mom slaps her, she falls and cuts herself, then the mom bandages her up, and it’s all forgiven just like that?”
The cluster of detectives had been stood around Charles’s desk for the past fifteen minutes, talking about nothing in particular. Jake had found himself the first beside his best friend’s desk to chat (or argue, really), about their lunch plans, which soon turned into a group discussion about the worst seafood places in Brooklyn (to which Jake provided his two cents, all of them), eventually leading them to reminisce on a Bandaid commercial, for some reason. They were great at their jobs.
“It’s a dumb message,” Terry commented with a small, disapproving shake his head. “I can’t believe they let it air.”
“For a good while, too,” Rosa said with a smirk, “It was on almost everyday when I came home from school.”
“I swear I saw it play during the Superbowl one year,” Amy added.
Charles snapped his fingers. “That’s where I remember it from!”
“I think it was a partnership with CPS, if I’m remembering correctly.” Amy stated, opening a tab on the Charles’ computer to fact-check herself in real time.
Terry rubbed his temples. “Then why was the mom just… forgiven, in the commercial? How is that a CPS ad?”
Jake chuckled. “Oh, come on man! Getting slapped around a little isn’t child abuse.”
Terry turned to him, now seemingly puzzled. “What? Dude, yes, it is. That’s like… the textbook definition of child abuse.”
Jake’s smile was ever so slightly fainter than before. “Nuh uh, no way. That’s the parent hitting the child in a way that matters, you know, or when the kid, like… didn’t even do anything to deserve it.”
The conversations attention had now shifted onto Jake’s reply, half a dozen eyes locked onto him. Amy pulled her infamous I’m-going-to-argue-with-you-so-prepare-to-be-defeated face. Rosa’s eyes were narrowed. Terry’s eyebrows betrayed his concern. The Captain was apparently in on this too- Jake could spot him out of the corner of his eye, gazing upon the group from the door of his office.
Charles doubtfully tilted his head to one side. “…I don’t think that’s policy, Jakey. You also had a CPS unit in your academy, right?”
Jake felt his face grow warmer. He normally loved capturing their attention, but not this. He didn’t like this.
For the love of God, Jake, pull it together!
“You know I never listened to any of those lectures,” He rushed, ushering his signature playfulness back into his tone. “I didn’t even open the textbooks, I just cheated off Rosa whenever she’d let me. Had to keep up my reputation of being the top rookie slacker somehow.”
Rosa snorted in response. “Yeah. Can attest to that, the cheating and the God-awful rep. None of the instructors would speak to him for weeks on end.”
A bit of the tension seemed to ease with this, everyone forgetting or simply shrugging off his comment as another Jake-ism, which he was more than fine with. Class clown privileges, he supposed. You can get away with any slip up.
That was, until a few hours later, whenever Holt summoned Jake into his office.
Jake slipped inside, shutting the door behind him as instructed. “Yes, sir? What’s up? Hey, do you need any redecoration ideas for this place? I’ve already got the wallpaper picked out and everything. Bright neon green and orange, really suits you. I’ve actually been watching way too many home renovation shows lately, the guys are always brothers or cousins or-“
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Holt suggested, effectively cutting Jake off with a quick gesture to the chair in front of him.
It felt a little… off. A little weird. It was something in his composure, the stiffness, maybe- something strange was definitely afoot. Nevertheless, Jake sat down, leaning back in his chair as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“So… no renovations?” He asked innocently, offering the Captain his ever reliable goofy smile.
Holt met his eyes. “Sadly not. Jake, how often were you… slapped around, as a child?”
Jake froze. What? What?
He swallowed, his answer instinctive- as it always had been. “I wasn’t. Why do you ask?”
Holt folded his hands in front of him, as you would a fancy napkin or tablecloth. He was precise like that. “The nature of which you responded to Sargent Jeffords this morning would suggest so. I was simply curious.”
“Well,” Jake sniffed, “It was just a comment, that’s all. I wasn’t. So thiis is awkward.” He shifted his gaze to the side, attempting to keep his face as neutral as humanly possible.
This was met with several seconds of silence, until Holt spoke once more.
“Are you lying?”
Jake suddenly realized his mistake, and regretted having this conversation with a well seasoned detective. But if there was one thing he had proved the morning of he was good at, it was playing off uncomfortable situations as jokes.
“I think you’re just jealous you werent there to reprimand me during my childhood. Lecture after lecture, I’m sure. I mean, can you imagine giving tiny me a talking to?” He laughed.
“Jake,” Holt asked calmly, “Did your father ever hit you?”
The abruptness of the question caught Jake off guard once again. The school therapists had always pried in gentle ways, trying to coax an answer out of him in with their flimsy methods and vague inquiries. Jake could respect Holt’s brashness, if anything.
He waved a hand dismissively, his tone exaggerated. “Pshaw, no. My dad was definitely a jerk in lots of ways, as you guys know, but not like that. Is that all?”
He really didn’t like this conversation. He felt a stifling heat crawling beneath his skin, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted out of here. This wasn’t a conversation Jake had intended to have with anyone ever again.
Holt stared him down evenly, blinking. Thinking. Processing.
After several seconds that seemed to stretch into years, he gave a brief nod to Jake. “Yes. That’s all. You’re dismissed, detective.”
“Thanks.” Jake huffed, standing up and exiting in a few, swift movements. He supposed his reply had been a good enough save to get him off the hook, perhaps it was that he had acknowledged the obvious- that his dad was awful in any way whatsoever. Still… the whole time they were talking, Holt’s naturally imposing demeanor had made it feel like he saw right through Jake’s excuses. He usually could. Maybe he just didn’t want to get into the whole dad thing with him, Jake wouldn’t blame him. It wasn’t exactly in the job description.
But it was one less thing he had to worry about, so he really didn’t mind.
Still lost in thought, Jake had barely taken two steps out of the office before Amy seemed to suddenly appear in front of him.
“Hey! Oh…” She paused, seized him up, then grimaced. “Ew, Jake- you’re all sweaty!”
“I am?” Jake glanced down to his hands, finding them clammy. Huh. “You just reminded me to buy some deodorant when we get off. Thanks, Ames.”
“How long have you not…? Actually, I don’t even want to know. You’re so gross, Jake, blergh!” She shook her head. “What did you two talk about in there, anyways?”
“Someone’s nosey,” Jake teased, walking past her.
“Come on! A… hint, or something, at least!” She complained, trailing behind him. “Anything?”
Jake turned back to her, unable to stop himself from indulging in a little fun. It was almost impossible not to, whenever he had something so easy to dangle over her head.
Jake sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid it’s me and the Captain’s little secret, dearest Ames. I wish I could tell you. Woe is me.”
Her eyes lit up instantly. “A secret?”
Wait, no. Bad foresight, Jake. This was stupid. He had definitely made a stupid choice. Baiting Amy with important information was like swinging your arm out in front of a starving piranha. And Jake didn’t mind whenever the bait was other people’s arms, but this was his own secret, he was the one swinging haphazardly...
Jake suddenly clutched his arm with one hand. Completely unrelated, of course.
Jake tried to backpedal, putting up his other hand defensively. “Well- secrets as in I can’t say… yet. But it really wasn’t important at all. Pretty much nothing from nothing-town, true nothing-burger style.”
It was too late. The promise of a fierce competition shone in Amy’s eyes, and Jake knew she wasn’t backing down now.
“I’m gonna figure it out, then you’ll be sorry you didn’t tell me.” She poked at finger at his chest, “Just you wait!”
Knots begun twisting in Jake’s stomach, but he forced a wry smile onto his face. “Would you believe me if I told you it was about precinct renovations?”
“Nope!” She answered cheerfully, moving around him to make her way to the elevator.
“Better get used to green and orange!” He called after her. Jake listened for the slight ding! signifying the elevator’s descent, and only then allowed himself a reserved sigh. No one to blame but himself, he supposed. Technically, he could still blame Amy, she really was too nosey for her own good. Regardless, his saving grace was the hope that Holt would have enough decency to not get into it with her if she asked.
Whatever- whatever. It didn’t matter, anyways. No one had any proof of anything. He was overreacting, no one else had even approached him. The Captain simply had a suspicion, which Jake efficiently and effectively squashed. No biggie. What’s done was done, and Jake had handled it like a pro. Minus the apparent sweating.
It was fine. It was, really. This was fine. He was fine.
He swallowed.
He was fine.