#formatting might be weird bc im on mobile so just read on ao3 lmao

[peraltasames]

a million dreams for the world we’re gonna make

post jimmy jabs II plotless domestic fluff, title from a million dreams from the greatest showman bc it’s what charles boyle would’ve wanted 💞

read on ao3

Under normal circumstances, Jake going to great lengths to win a bet in order to spend more time with their future child and saving their brand new car in the process would mean he gets rewarded with lots of baby-making (and a few added bonuses) as soon as they got home.

But by the time they get home and they’ve ensured that the epi-pen won’t have any lasting negative effects on his health as he doesn’t have any preexisting heart condition (they don’t go to the hospital, but they text Rosa and they figure that’s good enough), the adrenaline from the epi-pen has also worn off and Jake once again feels like he’s been run over by a semi.

Instead of their regular nightly (at least when Amy’s ovulating) sexy times, Amy shows her great love and appreciation for her husband (and maybe a slight amount of guilt that she injected him with drugs) by getting him comfy in their bed with half a dozen pillows and a couple of ice packs for his various injuries. She also put on Die Hard 2 even though it’s her night to pick and they’re halfway through a killer docuseries about home organization that Jake found for her on Amazon after she burned through all the Netflix ones.

“Feeling any better, champ?” Amy asks softly as she curls up next to him with the raspberry fertility tea Charles brought over the day Pimento spilled the beans.

Jake smiles softly and turns his head to face her, only slightly wincing as he leans in. She’s definitely making him see a doctor tomorrow, but she checked him over a few times and she’s pretty sure nothing’s broken, so she gave into his pleas to simply go home go to bed. She meets him halfway and gently cups his cheek while he kisses her.

“Am now.”

She can probably chalk his cheesiness up to the fading adrenaline, exhaustion, and the Extra-Strength Tylenol he took a few minutes ago, but either way she welcomes it and leans in for another quick peck, letting her fingers slide into his curls and gently stroke his scalp.

When he pulls away she lowers her hand from his face to his forearm, letting her fingers rest on his wrist for a few moments.

As soon as Jake snaps out of the daze of the kiss, he raises an eyebrow. “Babe, are you checking my pulse?”

“Rosa said to make sure your heart rate is normal.” She grabs his hand with her free one to keep him still. “Hold on - nineteen beats per fifteen seconds-“

“We checked back at the precinct and it was fine then, I’m sure it’s fine now.”

“Seventy-six beats per minute,” she finishes. “That’s still a few above your average - which is actually not bad all things considered - but it’s lower than it was earlier, so that’s good.”

He smiles for a moment, as if he’s smug with himself for being a relatively healthy person despite rarely going to the gym, but the look quickly fades. “Wait, do you measure my heart rate?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“When you’re sleeping, when we’re watching TV, whenever.” She shrugs, slightly confused by his tone of surprise. “I’m surprised you never noticed.”

“That you’re collecting data on me?”

She rolls her eyes at his incredulous tone. “Jake, you’re in your late thirties, you don’t get enough exercise, and your maternal grandfather had two heart attacks before he was sixty.”

He furrows his brow again, but she cuts him off as soon as he opens his mouth to question her.

“Your mom told me,” she explains. “Look, it’s no big deal, I’m just making sure everything’s okay in there because I need you to stick around for a really long time, okay?”

Jake’s face instantly melts, and he reaches to squeeze her hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I had a kale smoothie with my bagel this morning, so I’ll probably live to be like a hundred and twenty now.”

She can’t help but feel warmth bubble in her chest that the only thing that’s successfully made him change his diet is the list of foods that boost sperm count, which she emailed him a few weeks ago.

“Good,” she grins. “‘Cause it’s not just gonna be you and me anymore. Everything could totally change at any time now.”

“I know,” he brings her hand to his lips and lays a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither.”

She interlocks their fingers and leans into his side a little bit, wanting to hold him closer but also to avoid aggravating his many bumps and bruises, and uses her other hand to idly stroke his arm.

“So,” Jake murmurs sometime later, right when she’s starting to suspect he’s falling asleep due to the lack of film commentary he’s made in the last ten minutes and his new position with his head on her shoulder. “How does it feel to no longer be the reigning Jimmy Jabs champion of our household?”

“Only because I let you win,” Amy points out. “I would’ve won if I didn’t value our car more than the bragging rights.”

“Well, technically you only won last time because I let you, so we’re even.”

Jake told her the truth about him letting her win when they were finalists, during the first Jimmy Jabs of their relationship. Apparently, to quote him exactly, “the satisfaction of you knowing that I actually should have won is worth the embarrassment of me pining for you for a year while you had a boyfriend.”

“We should have a rematch,” she suggests as the end credits begin to roll and she shuts off the TV. “Next time we have the Games, no outside bets. I know I can beat you fair and square.”

“Oh, as soon as I can move without feeling like my muscles are on fire you are on, Santiago.”

They climb under the covers and Amy nuzzles her face into his shoulder, dropping a soft kiss to his collarbone and a few more up his neck.

“What do you think, winner gets to pick the baby’s name?” Jake proposes, closing his eyes as the acetaminophen begins to make him incredibly drowsy.

“Hmm, I think that should be a joint decision,” says the rational part of Amy that is fairly confident in her ability to win the Jimmy Jabs again but also really doesn’t want her baby named after Bruce Willis. After a moment, though, her competitive side can’t resist making things a little interesting. “Maybe the middle name.”

Jake reaches for her face in the dark to pull her in for a quick goodnight kiss.

“Deal.”