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Amy had been able to tell that there was something off with Jake for the past couple of days. He hadn’t been his usual self.
Well — he hadn’t been his usual self for a while now. Not since he’d been released from prison a few months ago. But he had been getting back to being comfortable with his newfound freedom — back to the smiley, optimistic detective she’d fallen in love with.
For the past couple of days, though, he had been quieter; more withdrawn. Less like how he had been lately, and more like how he had been on the flight out of prison from South Carolina to New York — when he had clung tightly to her hand and lay his head on her shoulder, and whispered about how bad prison had been and how much he had missed her.
It had hurt her, to see him like that. And it was hurting her now.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t had any time to ask him about it. She was too swamped with field work, wedding planning, and studying for her upcoming lieutenant’s exam; meanwhile, Jake was still on desk duty. That meant that she left in the mornings before he did, and he got back at night before she did, and they hardly ever saw each other except for in passing at the office, and she didn’t exactly want to air their business out for the whole precinct (i.e., Charles) to hear.
Amy could only hope that whatever was eating at him, he would tell her about it eventually — or, it would come to light on its own, like most things with Jake did, because he was allergic to three things: bees, wasps, and talking about what was wrong.
When Amy got home that night — late, as usual; she was working a double homicide with Rosa, and it was leading to a lot of late nights — Jake was already asleep.
That would be unusual if it was before he had gone to prison. The old Jake had stayed up late and watched whatever was in his Netflix recommended (his watch history was a mess). The new Jake, though, went to sleep early, and woke up in a cold sweat every other night, some memory or other chasing good dreams away.
Amy regarded him with concern as she got into bed beside him, gazing over his sleeping form. She reached out a hand and brushed his hair from his forehead, frowning at how warm he felt. Maybe he was coming down with something and didn’t feel well, and that was why he had been so withdrawn?
Resolving herself to wake him up in the morning before she left for work and talk to him, Amy sighed and closed her eyes, falling asleep quickly despite her unrest.
She was woken up, however — around 4 AM, according to their bedside clock — to the sound of retching.
Jake was gone, the spot on their bed beside her cold, and the light was on in the bathroom. Amy hurried to get out of bed, and as she pushed open the bathroom door, her heart ached at what she saw.
Jake was kneeling on the tile floor, hunched over the toilet. He was wearing only sweatpants, and his hair was messy and sticking up, face flushed. One arm was curled around his middle, the other gripping to the edge of the toilet for support, as though he could barely hold himself up.
“Oh, babe,” Amy said sadly, and Jake looked up at her with bleary eyes.
“I don’t feel great,” he mumbled — as if that wasn’t obvious.
Amy dropped down beside him, rubbing his bare back comfortingly. He was trembling, gooseflesh prickling over his skin. She could hear his teeth chattering, but he was hot with obvious fever — a lot hotter than his forehead had been last night.
I knew something was wrong, she thought but didn’t say, frustrated with herself for not doing something about it.
“I’m here,” is what she said. She continued rubbing his back, and he gave her a trembling little smile before his expression dropped. He let out a shuddering breath, then lurched forward to throw up again, coughing and wheezing his way through it.
Eventually, he was breathing normally again, and curled back in on himself in a ball of misery. Amy flushed the toilet, drawing Jake into her arms.
“You wanna come back to bed, babe?” She coaxed, kissing the back of his hand as she pulled him up. He nodded tiredly, letting her help him wash his hands and then get back to bed. She pulled the covers over him, and he blinked up at her with exhaustion, face shadowed by the half-light of their bedroom.
“I don’t feel great,” he whispered again, voice hoarse.
“I know,” she said softly, sighing. “I’m sorry. But, hey — I’m gonna get you some medicine, and something to drink, okay? You need to stay hydrated.”
“Somethin’ blue,” Jake mumbled, and she laughed despite herself.
“Gatorade will actually help you right now, so, sure,” she conceded, touching his cheek gently, her heart aching when he gave her another little smile.
Amy went to grab a Gatorade from the fridge, as promised. She also grabbed a thermometer and some cold medicine — and a damp rag to press against his forehead, because he was way too hot. Which was something she knew he’d joke about, if he was in any state to, but the thought still made her feel a little better about the situation.
When she got back to their room, Jake had already fallen back asleep, snoring raspily. Amy shook him awake gently.
“I gotta take your temperature, babe — and you have to drink something,” she whispered to him. Jake groaned, but complied, drinking the cold medicine with some Gatorade and letting her take his temperature.
“101.3,” Amy said worriedly, more to herself than him. She sighed, biting her lip and crossing her arms over her chest tightly. “How long have you been feeling this shitty, Jake?”
“A few days,” Jake mumbled into his pillow. He glanced up at her, expression guilty. “Didn’t wanna worry you . . . I thought it’d go away.”
Amy sighed again, shaking her head sadly. I wish you would’ve told me, she thought, but that wasn’t what he needed to hear right now.
“Just get some more sleep,” she told him. She glanced back at the clock — it was almost 5 AM. “I’ll call Holt,” she told him (the captain was sure to be awake by now), “and tell him we won’t be in tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Jake protested, echoing what he had just said. “You have important stuff to do.”
“You are ‘important stuff,’” Amy replied fiercely, brushing a hand over his sweaty forehead, pushing back damp locks of hair as he blinked up at her with what almost looked like surprise — something that just made her heart ache. “I want to take care of you, Jake. And you need to take care of yourself, too — so get some more sleep, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled with a little smile.
Amy went out into the hallway to call Captain Holt, who expressed his concern and understanding in his usual monotone way. He reassured her that he himself would ensure that Rosa was not overwhelmed with work, and she reassured him that Jake would be fine, after a little rest and TLC.
Afterwards, she moved quietly back into their bedroom, laying upright in bed beside Jake, who had thankfully fallen asleep quickly. She watched over him, running her hands through his hair. He subconsciously snuggled closer to her as he slept until his head was in her lap, his arms curled around her middle.
It made her almost want to cry.
After a little while, she put the TV on low volume, turning on a Netflix documentary that she only half paid attention to as she pressed the cool, damp rag against Jake’s forehead. He was shivering, but still sweating profusely; she would have to clean the sheets once he was better, she thought to herself, already planning ahead
At lunchtime, she coaxed him back awake. She couldn’t get him to eat anything, but she did manage to get him to drink some more — hydration was important, especially if he started throwing up again — which was good enough for now.
Jake slept through most of the day, while Amy got through a couple of documentaries that had been sitting in her watchlist. She took preventative medicine and some vitamin C for herself, too, just in case.
Around 3 PM, Jake began to sweat and squirm beside her, his fever visibly starting to break. His expression was pinched in discomfort, his body tense. Amy bit her lip worriedly when he started to make noise in his sleep, mumbling sluggishly. She couldn’t fully make out what he was saying, but his distress was obvious — from his frantic tone, and from how he had begun to tremble.
“Jake,” Amy whispered. She shook him gently, continuing to run her hands through his hair, hoping that it would soothe him. “Jake, honey. You’re okay. Wake up, you’re dreaming.”
Slowly, she brought Jake out of his uneasy sleep. He blinked up at her, eyes watery, expression pained.
“Ames?” He rasped. She nodded gratefully.
“How are you feeling, Jake?”
Jake made a face. “Bad.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Amy sighed, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You’re a little less warm, at least,” she said encouragingly. “I think your fever broke. And you haven’t thrown up since this morning. Those are good signs.”
“I still feel bad, though,” Jake complained.
“I think you probably have the flu,” Amy told him. “Or you just got sick from going stir-crazy in the bullpen.”
“Could be,” Jake agreed, and Amy was relieved to see that he was smiling a little. “Thanks for taking care of me, Ames.”
“Hardly,” Amy retorted, not unkindly. “Babe, you should’ve told me when you started feeling sick. I hate thinking that you felt this bad and just weren’t telling me.”
This wasn’t the first time they were having this conversation, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last — but right now, there was a lot more pain to it, because Jake had struggled alone in prison for weeks, and even now that he was home, he was still struggling alone.
Jake shrugged, averting his gaze. “I know,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry. I just . . .”
“Didn’t want to worry me. I know, Jake.” Amy leaned over to kiss his forehead, stroking his cheek. He looked back up at her, with that same little smile.
“I love you,” she murmured to him, “even if you’re an idiot sometimes.”
“Thanks,” he said sincerely. “Love you too, Ames.”
Amy laid with him for a little while longer before getting up and getting them both some food (canned soup, because when she had asked him if he wanted her to make him anything, he had turned a little green), and Jake some more medicine and Gatorade.
She put the soups out on bed trays and they ate and watched TV together — one of Jake’s favorite, extremely unrealistic cop shows that she rarely indulged because of the amount of rule violations in them, but that she would, in fact, indulge right now. He deserved it.
Jake eventually wound up with his head in her lap again as Amy ran her fingers through his hair. The simplicity of it all was almost enough to make her cry, as she thought about the nights she had spent alone in this bed, wondering whether she would ever have Jake beside her again — and now, here he was. Right here.
Evidently, it was a shared thought.
“I’m glad I’m home with you,” Jake murmured out of the blue, rolling onto his back to look up at her. “Sometimes, I dream that I’m — that I’m back in prison. And I think I am.”
Amy thought back to only a few hours ago — how he had looked so pained as he had slept, and how, when she had woken him up, he had looked at her with what had almost looked like wide-eyed surprise. She had seen that look before — it wasn’t uncommon for him to wake up with nightmares, after prison, and her heart ached for him and his honesty.
“You’re home now,” she reassured him, and Jake smiled.
“I know,” he said, earnest as anything. “With you.”
“With me,” Amy echoed. And I have you, she thought, fierce with love.
“Both of us, together,” Jake said solemnly. “In bed.” His smile turned to a grin, and Amy shook her head fondly.
“Sounds like the beginning of a great sex tape.”
“There he is.”