#I've got like 20 prompts in my inbox and I've not done any of em

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Hey, I had a random idea that could work as a prompt: AU meet-cute (because I'm a sucker for these) - Jake and Amy are seated next to each other on a flight and Amy is super uncomfortable/ close to freaking out (maybe because of her claustrophobia?) and Jake helps her calm down and they spend the rest of the flight talking? I dunno; random idea is random ^^;

I’MHYPERVENTILATIGN This prompt didn’t just… kill me it leapt off my screen andpunched me in the face!! In the best way possible ofcalso I’m lowkey in the mood for thisbc I’m travelling so much over thenext couple weeks!! I loooovvvveeeee it ok I won’t wastetime let’s just jump into it:

 It’s ataround 7:18pm, sat in the airport lounge waiting for her flight, that AmySantiago figures out that she is most likely receiving a death glare from thewoman sat opposite because she hasn’tstopped tapping her fingernails against her passport for the last ten minutes.

As soon as this realisation hits her she snaps out of it,immediately feeling the odd hollowness created by the absence of her nervoustick.

It’s nother fault. Flying is and always has been one of her worst fears- thoughnowadays, she’s mostly been able to subduethe anxiety for the sake of adult life, childhood nightmares of falling fromthe sky long behind her, sometimes it simply gets the better of her.

This, by all accounts, would be one of those times.

Her fingers itch to keep tapping. A light sheen of sweatglistens uncomfortably over her forehead. Her stomach churns, nausea pulsatingunder every centimetre of her skin at the thought what’s essentially a large tin can propelling itself throughthe air until she’s back home in New York.

Focused on the huge plane outside the window, she can’t help the feeling of completehelplessness that fills her.

“Will passengers for the American Airlines flight 481 to JFK pleasebegin boarding…”

A cool, calm female voice echoes through the atrium, andeveryone around Amy begins to move, standing up and organising their thingsbefore rushing over to the gate.

Perhaps she stands up too quickly, but a wave of dizzinessslams into her like she’s beenhit by a car.

Despite the collected, sweet voice that instructs her andeveryone around her, she can’t helpthe bitter irritation that brews within her at the thought of this flight. Whenit’s bad, it’s really bad;claustrophobia, social anxiety, the works. A complete tapestry of anxiety.

With a sigh, she picks up her bag and heads towards theboarding gate, waiting patiently in line with everyone else.

Inwardly, as she pats away the sweat on her forehead, sheprays she’s not sitting next to a totalasshole.

    ***

    As luck would have it, she is, in fact, sat next to a totalasshole.

“Hey, Angie?! Could I get,like, a whole bunch more of these nuts? I’m supersnacky.”

Sat up on his seat like a little kid, the man sat next toher, in the window seat, beams toothily at the flight attendant- who, to Amy’s disgust, giggles softly at him witha nod, before heading towards the back of the cabin. He’s tall, dressed in a leather jacket with a hoodieunderneath- like he can’tdecide whether he wants to be an adult or a teenager, she thinks. Annoyancestirs within her at the entire image of him, and only partially because she hasa select and precise loathing for men who speak to female employees as if they’re friends.

Since he’sarrived, squeezing past her into his seat, he’sfiddled loudly with his little TV screen, chatted to the cabin crew like they’re his college buds, and hummed theentirety of what she’sfairly certain was a Coldplay song. She’s neverseen someone so unapologetically cheerful and friendly.

He must catch the side-eye she’sgiving him, because after he’s sathimself back down, his attention keeps coming back to her, looking at heroddly, a combination of interest and confusion in his expression.

She tries to ignore it, the way he’s unabashedly observing her in public, watching her gothrough each of her electronic devices and turn them off. His gaze burns intoher, completely unashamed, until she actually finds herself becomingfrustrated. He must be used to this, being able to look at and speak to whoeverhe wants- he’s pretty good-looking, andclearly a confident guy. Somehow, this only makes her want to scold him more.

“Can I help you?” She asks him sweetly.

“Y’know, you don’t actually need to do that,” he says matter-of-factly, noddingdown at her lap, in which sits her laptop, her phone, and her iPod, all now shutoff or on airplane mode.

“What? Yes, you do,” she says, “otherwise why would they ask you to?”

“Because it’s not actually dangerous, it justmakes an annoying noise over the radar when they’retrying to fly.”

“Well, then,” she says, smiling coolly, “I guess I just have a shred of commoncourtesy.”

He doesn’t replyto this, instead raising his eyebrows indignantly and sitting back in his seat.She glances over at him, just once, to see if he’sreacted- but all that remains on his face is a slight expression of amusement.It’s just on the brink of irritating, asthough her speaking back to him is funny somehow.

Quietly, she opens her bag in her lap, and begins to dig forher Ambien and a bottle of water. Her fingers find the bottle, pulling it outof the bag- but, to her horror, the pills are nowhere in sight.

“No, c’mon…” shemutters to herself as she begins to dig through her bag more urgently.

Annoyance and another dollop of anxiety smacks her gutharshly as she realises she’s aboutto sit here, for six hours, next to this dude,without anything to calm her down. She could always soothe the nerves with somewine, but right now she’drather do anything than bring that flight attendant back to her.

A soft dingsignifies the seatbelt sign coming on for the first time- Amy’s stomach twinges with nerves, eventhough this fits the order of things, the bustle and hubbub of people settlinginto their seats having died down. The little screen in front of her lights upand begins to play a safety video, and several flight attendants file into theaisles to begin their demonstration.

“I’m Jake,” theman next to her says quietly as she watches the hostess in front of them.

She smiles politely at him then looks back towards thehostess. It’s not that he seems genuinelyawful, or anything- even if he has been mildly irritating in the half an houror so they’ve spent together- but shejust could not be in less of a mindset to make a friend; even chatting feels alittle too much of an effort to push her head into right now. Judging by theway he was talking to that attendant, there’s alsothe chance that he’s about to start flirtingwith her, which she really can’t deal with right now. So, as far asshe’s concerned, the best option issilence.

“Okay, I’m sorry for picking on you when youput all of your electronics into airplane mode. I have a reflex where I can’t help but pick on dorky littlethings like that.”

“Are you sure that was anapology?” She narrows her eyes andturns to him. He looks at her candidly, like he’sgenuinely undecided. It’s atthis exact moment that she realises he’sharmless, going from one goofy expression to the next like a teenager.

“I guess I’m a little out of practice,” he admits, a small chuckle risingfrom his throat.

“Right.”

Though she’slooking forward at the air hostess, she allows herself a small smile now, as itbecomes clearer and clearer that, immature as he could be, his main issue as aperson seems to be being overfriendly.

“I’m Amy,” sheoffers.

“Amy,” he repeats, smiling. “Nice tomeet you.” He offers his hand, whichshe shakes firmly. “Good shake,” he comments.

“I’m well-practiced,” shesays proudly. Momentarily, she spots confusion dart over his face, but sheignores it- she doesn’t owehim the wild stories of her handshake seminars, not yet.

“So what’s bringing you to New York?” He asks quietly, after a moment.

“Sorry, I just-” she cuts in over him awkwardly, “I want to listen to this,” she says, looking between him andthe safety demonstration.

“Right,” he says, and she turns back to watch. Only a couple ofseconds pass before he’stalking again. “I can only assume this isyour first ever flight, because there’sliterally no other reason to be that invested in an airline’s safety guidelines.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” shereplies, “but do you ever stop talking?”

“I guess not,” he says, throwing a peanut in theair and catching it in his mouth. “Nut?”

“I’m good.”

“Your loss.” He throws another in the air.

“Oh! You’re not wearing your seatbelt,” she realises out loud, the concernin her tone immediately making her a little self-conscious.

“Oh, right,” he mutters, clicking it into place. “Forgot.”

Forgot? Shewatches him fiddle with it, then go into his hand luggage, pulling out a bottleof Gatorade, from which he takes a hefty swig. She can’t help but feel a little sick at this- it’s 8:30 in the morning, and thethought of any beverage other than coffee is too much for her.

He’sunlike anyone she’s ever met before- adecent-looking man, likely around her age, with the habits and chatter of afive-year-old.

Distracted by him, she almost jumps when the plane’s engines begin to rumble, graspingfirmly onto the arm rests of her seat as they do.

“Woah,” Jake murmurs, and Amy’s notsure whether it’s a genuine reaction or beingsaid in a bid to reassure her somehow. Either way, she doesn’t care. “Y’okay?”

“Yeah, just took me bysurprise a little,” she admits.

“Sir,” that flight hostess’s voicereturns again, directed towards Jake, “if Icould request that you close your tray table.”

“Sure, smort,” he replies hastily, smiling up ather.

“Smort? Very smooth,” Amyjibes as soon as the hostess is out of earshot. He narrows his eyes. “Y’knowshe’s essentially paid to flirt with you, right?”

“For the record, I find itvery hurtful and presumptuous that you’reassuming I’m trying to flirt with her.”

“Please, it’s all you’ve done since you stepped onto this plane.”

“How d’you know that?”

“I don’t, obviously, I just mean… y’know, you’re-” Shestammers, irritated by the small smile this evokes from him.

The plane jumps as something kickstarts in the engine, and,startled, Amy’s grip on the arm reststightens- she looks out of the window, and notices that they’re at the start of the runway. Atonce, both fear and gratitude seeps into her system- fear, in response to thefact that she’s about to be launched 35,000feet into the air, and gratitude in response to the fact that, by some miracle,Jake has kept her distracted from it all for the last ten minutes or so.

“Cabin crew, please take yourseats for takeoff…” A low voice comes throughthe ceiling, raspy as though playing through a radio. Panic strikes into Amy’s chest.

“Talk to me,” she hears herself saying to Jake,before she’s even thought about it. “Please.”

She’sexpecting a joke, a look of confusion, or at least a smartass reply back- butinstead, his nonchalant expression changes immediately into one of concern.

“Sure, sure,” he starts, “Uh. You never said why you’regoing to New York.”

“I’m going home,” shesays quickly, as the plane starts to move. “I livein Brooklyn.”

“Nice,” he replies, “I livein Williamsburg.”

“Hipster-ville,” she says, without hesitation. To hersurprise, he laughs.

“I was about to argue back,but someone opened a cronut store opposite my apartment the other week.”

“A cronut store? As in, just cronuts?”

“Yeah. They’re not even that great. And I’d know- I once ate nothing but pastryfor three days”

There’s apause, and Amy’s eyes find the window, wherethe plane is now picking up speed along the runway. Jake must notice this too,because he tries to pick up conversation again rather hurriedly-

“Roommates?”

“What?”

“D’you have ‘em?” He smiles, in what must be at leastpartial disbelief, at the sudden, high-paced conversation they’re having.

“Yeah, three!”

“Three?!”

“Yeah,” she laughs nervously, “I’m kind of low on cash. I’m training at the Academy right now-I want to be a cop, so I’mcommuting, and training, and working, and… what?” She stops at the only slightly gorgeous grin he’s giving her right now.

“You’re at the Academy?”

“Yeah,” she says slowly.

“No way. I’m a cop! I finished my training acouple years back.”

“Are you kidding?” She asks seriously, completelyunable to picture this man-child in uniform.

He starts to answer, but the plane leaves the ground, andshe can’t help the small gasp thatescapes her.

“It’s okay, don’tworry.” His voice is calm, natural,quiet- just for her. By some miracle, it works, even if only by a little, herbody settling into an out-of-place calmness. “We’re good.”

“Keep talking,” she pleads, only slightlyembarrassed now by her evident vulnerability with this man, a total stranger. Nevertheless,she smiles over at him, thankful for his reassurance.

“Oh, right- so, yeah, I’m working at the 90.”

“Beat cop?”

“Yeah. Hopefully a detectivein a few years.”

“That’s exciting,” shesays, but she’s got her eyes closed, tryingto quell the dizziness caused by the rapid ascent of the plane. He chucklessoftly- she presumes at her attempt to hold a conversation with her eyesclosed- and though normally she’d feela little put out by this, she can’t helpbut laugh along with him.

Of all the things she thought she’d be doing on her flight, feeling her lungs fill withlaughter as she took off was not on the list.

The plane lifts, and lifts, and lifts- and then it doesn’t, gliding through the cloudsseamlessly.

A small dingalerts her to the seatbelt sign, which has just turned off.

“So, you’re not big on flying, huh.”

The remark comes a little while after they’re in the air. She’s breathing slowly- the conversationwith Jake died down a few minutes ago, after the plane became more stable inthe air.

She glances over at him, feeling sarcasm brim in her throat-but his expression is soft, of genuine concern.

“No,” she half-laughs. “I’m not.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“It’s just so…annoying. I know, logically, that I’m fine,but it just creeps up on me, I guess.”

“It happens. Sometimes youjust need a distraction.”

He looks over at her, smiling.

“Right,” she says, meeting his gaze.

A pause lingers between them for just a moment.

“So,” he begins, eventually, cutting the tension. “How’s theAcademy?”

“Intense,” she offers quickly, “but I like it.”

“Some of those old drillsstill haunt me,” he shudders. She laughs,relaxing a little. “What do you want to do?”

“Ideally? Captain of my ownprecinct.”

“Woah.”

“Yeah,” she replies proudly, smiling lowly.

“For the record, youdefinitely seem like a Captain.”

“Really?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“You’ve known me for like, half an hour.”

He smiles, but just as his lips part and he begins to speak again,the plane jolts harshly, the first knock of turbulence.

Amy’s handsshoot straight back to the armrests on either side of her chair, one firmlygrabbing Jake’s arm. She lets go quickly,looking over at him apologetically. He looks as though he’s about to start talking again,reassure her- but he gives up, and only smiles.

Nerves spill into her system like electricity.

This time, it’s notthe plane.

  ***

   “Such a good movie,” Jake murmurs as Die Hard’scredits begin to roll in front of them.

His voice is almost too close- after a couple hours ofconversation, spanning from everything from her seven brothers to his absentpilot father to the best cop movies of all time, they’d decided to watch DieHard, Jake’s favourite and bid for thenumber one spot. However, this had meant picking whose screen to use. She’d suggested hers for two reasons: sothat she’d not have to lean againsthim, and so that she’d nothave to lean any closer to the window, and risk seeing that stomach-churningheight outside. So now, as he speaks, he’spractically in her ear.

“Are you… crying?”

“No, duh,” he replies, sitting back, buthis voice has cracked slightly, exposing him. She can’t help but chuckle. “It’s a deeply personal film to me.”

“I can see that,” she says, unable to keep her smileoff her face.

“Hey, you don’t get to tease me about gettingemotional.”

“What? Why?”

“Earlier? When I mentioned theorange soda thing? You freaked out.”

“Putting it in your cereal isobjectively disgusting!”

“Oh god, I shouldn’t have brought this up again.”

“You should not be as fit as you are.”

“I’m fit?” Hegrins.

“Not… I didn’t mean…”

“Kidding.”

She nudges his shoulder and sits back in her seat. Heatrises in her cheeks- she can feel him looking at her even though she’s turned away, and suddenly she’s wishing she’d worn literally anymakeup, or perhaps something more form-flattering than a giant sweater and apair of leggings.

“How’re you feeling?” Heasks after a moment.

“Better,” she says slowly, and she means it-she’s tired, certainly, from the stressof the morning, but otherwise, she’sfeeling pretty good. Plus, she’s madea friend. “How long left?”

“Uh…” He flicks on his screen. “Woah.An hour and a half.”

“Seriously?!” She looks over in amazement. “That’sincredible. Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“For keeping me distracted.”

“Oh, right. Don’t worry about it. For the record, it’s been pretty enjoyable.”

She smiles gently. He’s notbad. Not at all.

“Excuse me,” an older voice comes from the seatin front of them. An elderly woman, easily in her seventies or eighties, hasher head poking through the gap between her seat and the one next to her. “Excuse me.”

“Hi,” Amy says slowly, in some disbelief, sharing a brief lookof confusion with Jake. “Can wehelp?”

“It’s just, I’ve beenlistening to the two of you, for the last couple hours,” she admits easily, prompting another shared look betweenJake and Amy. “And I was wondering if Icould ask you something.”

There’s abrief pause as they wait for her to ask- at which point it becomes clear thatshe’s genuinely asking for permission.

“Go ahead,” Jake says, after a second.

“When in the hell are yougoing to ask her out?”

  ***

  As the plane plummets to the ground, swooping so fast Amy’s ears pop, her hand is claspedfirmly over the warm arm of one Jake Peralta, a man she has known for sixhours.

Her eyes are closed, and every thought in her head centres onthe feeling of where she holds him. For the first time in her life, she’s finding her flight’s landing remarkably tolerable.

Eventually, a bump tells her they’re on the ground- then, gradually, bit by bit, they slowdown.

With a deep breath, she begins to completely calm down,opening her eyes and turning to the kind, friendly, attractive man sat next toher- for a moment, she wonders how, today, she got so lucky.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to New York. The current local time is5:30pm…”

“Okay, so I guess this is it.”

“I guess so,” she agrees.

They watch each other quietly for a second- then,simultaneously, break out into huge grins, mirroring each other giddily.

“So…”

“See you at eight?”

“Sounds good.”