#irrational and makes rude statements out of gut feeling even if they hold that they have Justified Opinions (lmao. on occasion. lolll)

[lucabyte]

Happy halloween from Purrgatorio!! This year's costume theme is: things that have been distracting me from writing Purrgatorio

[johnny-and-dora]

tell me you can’t bear a room that i’m not in

“I came to see what was taking so long - did you tidy up in here?” He’s wearing her blanket like a superhero cape and he’s got that stupid little smirk on his face and strictly platonic thoughts are few and far between.

or, the one where amy decides showing up unannounced at her flu-ridden best friend's/totally platonic co-worker's apartment to take care of him is a totally platonic activity to do. (late s2 pining)

for the wonderful erica @startofamoment <3

-

Amy can’t help it. She’s worried.

She’s been trying her best to fill in her paperwork with her usual diligence, even making rare use of her favourite fountain pen in the hopes it would set her back on track – but, frustratingly, her head is completely somewhere else today. No matter how hard she tries, the unsolved arson case sitting in front of her can’t captivate her attention like the unbearable abnormality of the desk opposite her can.

She glances at Jake’s empty seat and feels a twinge of nerves flutter in her stomach.

Amy’s been worrying about him a lot, lately. She’s barely seen him in these last few weeks, and between him getting his heart broken, being kidnapped and then being run over by a car (in that order), she’s had more than a lot to be worried about.

That being said, she also knows that she’s being irrational. Not everyone has an aversion to using up their sick days like she does – it would probably take a direct order from a superior officer to send her home even if she was on her deathbed. She’s immune to diseases most people haven’t even heard of, and she has a stronger immune system than everyone she knows.

But Jake’s not “everyone”. She goes through the facts she knows like she’s trying to solve a case - He loves his job as much, maybe even more than she does, and he hobbled into work with three cracked ribs and three broken toes a few weeks ago like it was nothing. He’s as ridiculously stubborn as she is so he usually needs to be forced to go home. He never takes time off.

The point is, his absence is just weird, and not because there’s no one around  to make fun of her or throw paper aeroplanes at her or send her that stupid video of a screaming sheep. She hasn’t seen him in a while now, and she’s worried. She’s allowed to be worried.

It’s a normal thing for a friend to be worried about another friend and their wellbeing. Completely platonically. As a friend.

Amy frowns.

“Is something the matter, Santiago?”

“Captain!” She says, practically jumping out of her seat to greet him. Holt’s face is, as usual, unreadable, though she could swear she detects a hint of concern. That or he just won a radio contest.

“No, Sir. Everything is tip-top. Ship-shape. A-Okay.” As usual, her mouth keeps going without her brain’s approval - she inwardly curses herself, glad that Jake isn’t actually around if only because he can’t see her embarrassing herself in front of the Captain again.

“I was just wondering, do you know where Jake…Detective Peralta is today?” - She asks, trying to sound as professional and nonchalant as possible – “We’re meant to be working the Mulligan arson together, and I…” Amy trails off, not sure how that sentence was supposed to end. Luckily Holt just nods slightly, which she assumes is her cue to stop letting words fall aimlessly out of her mouth.

“Detective Peralta called in sick this morning. I am sure he will be joining us again tomorrow. I assume you can continue your work in his absence?”

“Great. I mean, yes. Good. Thank you, Captain.” She sits back down as he returns to his office, sighing deeply, dismissing her anxieties the best she can. Her beloved paperwork is a welcome distraction, especially as she can actually fill it in without distraction from her desk partner for once.

Somewhat inevitably, though, the worry still lingers that he might actually be on his deathbed or something. She glances at her phone, wondering whether she should make sure he’s okay.

She dismisses the thought after a quiet moment of deliberation – smiling slightly despite herself, feeling her face flush a little. He can never know how worried she gets about him sometimes – Jake’s unbearable enough without any more ego boosts. She’d never hear the end of it.

Amy gets on with her work – but she’s still worried, and she’s still trying to deal with how much she misses him and how weird she should feel about that.

As if on cue, it can only be a few minutes later when her phone buzzes, like he was thinking the exact same thing. Maybe he can hear her thoughts.

God, she really hopes he can’t read her thoughts.

From: Jake Peralta, 11:24am [photo attached] i think i might actually be dying. bet ur gonna miss this beautiful face when i’m tragically struck down in the prime of life

Amy smiles at the photo of him - hair adorably chaotic and floofy, wrapped in a pitiful thin grey blanket, looking both very sorry for himself and slightly like ET. Something flutters in her chest again, but she doesn’t think it’s worry.

She bites her lip, sternly chiding herself for the feelings she doesn’t want suddenly weighing heavy in her gut, guilt and dread saturating the seemingly inevitable rush of endorphins she gets whenever he does something cute (which, recently, has been frustratingly frequently).

It’s not going to happen. Dating a cop ended pretty disastrously for her the last time, and she & Teddy didn’t have a share a desk. They’d be putting their professional relationship – even worse, their friendship – at risk, and it’s just not a risk she’s willing to take, especially as she can take Sophia as shiny, irritatingly beautiful proof that whatever feelings Jake had for her are now in the past.

Whatever might have happened between them has to stay as just that – a hypothetical. Some kind of alternate reality Amy finds herself wondering into far too regularly for the logical part of her brain’s liking.

They’re in such a good place right now. The last thing she wants is for that – or anything, really – to change. Even if she does stupid things like worry about him when he misses one day of work and laugh at his stupid jokes and smile whenever she sees his stupid face, like right now. She’s had these feelings before and they always go away after a little while.

To: Jake Peralta, 11:27am You look rough, pineapples. It’s weird without you here. It’s almost like work is actually getting done.

From: Jake Peralta, 11:28am rude santiago  i feel like a corpse that someone murdered, reanimated n then murdered again  my body is a temple how could it betray me like this??!

She exhales a little laugh, and, by instinct, tucks her hair behind her ears.

Of course, those feelings also have a tendency to come back, which makes her wonder if they ever really went away in the first place.

***

Amy exhales, knocks firmly on his door, and starts to wonder how - of all the places she could and should be on a Thursday night after a long shift - she ended up here.

It just sort of happens – the day slowly passes without any real incident, except the funky smells that permeate the bullpen after Charles’s failed attempts at a normal human lunch. She gets nowhere looking at old bank statements and scanning CCTV footage trying to track down this perp, and continues to glance at his empty seat every once in a while, wondering what kind of joke he’d crack.

It’s weird to think that last year he spent six months not sitting in that seat and now one day of absence feels almost as jarring. Apparently, it’s so jarring that it’s enough for her to make an unannounced house call, because she’s still worried about him and she still misses him and, if nothing else, he at least deserves a better quality blanket than that grey thin rag, for god’s sake. He deserves to be taken care of.

Of course, she’d spent twenty minutes at home trying to talk herself out of it whilst simultaneously raiding her cupboards for the thickest blanket she owns and putting her stovetop kettle on to boil. She’d spent the whole time driving to his apartment sternly muttering to herself that this was a bad idea - and now she’d spent a good five minutes just standing outside his door before knocking, trying to think of what to say.

She’d like the record to show that when it comes to Jake Peralta, she can average a total of about thirty-five minutes of self-restraint. Maybe it’s a good thing that she hasn’t seen him in a while.

She doesn’t have much time to dwell on that thought, however, as a clearly sleep deprived Jake opens the door and stares at her like he’s not convinced she’s actually real. It’s kind of adorable.

He’s a few shades paler that usual, his hair is a gloriously disastrous mess, and his grey t-shirt and sweatpants are a museum of stains of all different shapes and sizes - but he’s alive, and healthy enough, and visual conformation of those two facts takes a world of weight off her shoulders. He’s also genuinely surprised to see her judging from that cute dopey expression on his face.

The logical part of her instantly switches off like she’s blown her rational fuse. She also, somehow, seems to forget how to talk.

“…Ames? What are you-“

“I, um, brought tea. And an actual blanket. I thought…you might be cold.” She interrupts, hyperaware of the heat creeping up her body, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. Amy feels a sudden overwhelming urge to just throw the teapot she’s been cradling down at his feet and run for it, but she holds her ground.

“You…you brought tea?”

“It’s my abeula’s recipe – it’s really calming. I thought it might help.” There’s a pause, agonisingly long enough to make her certain that this was a mistake. “I can, um, go if you don’t-“

“No! No. It’s okay, come in.” Jake finally smiles, and she relaxes, stepping in to his apartment. It’s messier than usual, plaid scattered everywhere, various bowls and plates and cups in places where bowls and plates and cups shouldn’t be – but she lets it go, for now.

He stands a little awkwardly, a little self-consciously, as if he’s waiting for her to judge him on how he or his apartment looks - but she just smiles, diligently busying herself with making space to set the teapot down carefully on his coffee table. He’s uncharacteristically quiet until she looks up at him and clocks the way his hands seem to practically shake with nervous energy.

“Did you come here just to…take care of me?” He says it with this cute kind of half disbelief, half amusement, and she almost blushes. It’s the hesitation that gets her, the way he can’t quite believe it that moves to unearth her from the solid platonic ground she’s firmly rooted herself in.

This was definitely a mistake.

“Maybe.” Amy says, trying not to sound as self-conscious and/or as ridiculously obviously obsessed with him as she feels. “Do you want the blanket or not?”

There’s a beat of uncertainty before he nods - she takes her neatly folded blanket out of her bag and throws it at him.

“It’s my warmest one. If you spill anything on it, I will murder you.” Jake stares at the blanket, sniffs slightly, and stares back at her again before breaking out into a real, proper actual genuine smile that may as well set her on fire.

“Am I hallucinating you?” His voice is groggy, a little deeper than usual, she’s noticed. It makes her laugh.

“Nope. Lucky for you. Do you have mugs?” He gestures to the kitchen and she nods, weaving between his massage chairs, using all her willpower not to look back over her shoulder to see if he’s still watching her.

Jake’s kitchen is just about as chaotic as the rest of his day to day life seems to be – she throws open almost every cupboard she can find looking for what she needs. When that fails, she instinctively starts tidying things away, putting plates where she thinks his plates should go and putting his ridiculously large collection of empty orange soda cans in a separate bag for recycling. It’s a nice challenge, and she gets so into it that she barely notices him come in.

“I came to see what was taking so long - did you tidy up in here?” He’s wearing her blanket like a superhero cape and he’s got that stupid little smirk on his face and strictly platonic thoughts are few and far between.

“I’m doing you a favour.” She says, defensive; he just shrugs, opening a cupboard Amy didn’t even know existed and grabbing two mugs – one with a very large print of Charles’s beaming face that she recognises as an old Secret Santa gift, and a handmade one that looks like his mom’s ceramic work.

She takes them gladly, walking back to the coffee table while he follows her, clearly curious in a way that she loves. Amy pulls the tea cozy off and pours the tea out, softly exhaling, highly conscious of the quiet intense look he’s giving her that she can’t quite read.

There’s still this underlying awkwardness that undercuts everything she does, like they’re both not really sure why she’s doing it. It’s a familiar awkwardness – it’s been fizzling, on and off, between them since the Maple Inn - it hangs in the air, a question unspoken and unanswered by both of them. 

Neither dare acknowledge the tension, the infinite potential of more that so often permeates their interactions, made worse by shameless flirting and the ease in which they work together – and they do, work so well together, and that’s what makes it so hard to not at least give it a shot.

But they won’t, or at least Amy won’t. Because now would probably be the least romantic time for a first kiss possible, and because if it didn’t work, the loss of what they already have might just split her heart in two.

So she doesn’t acknowledge the way he’s staring at her like he’s trying to solve her, and interprets it another way. Any other way is something she’s woefully unprepared to talk about.

“If you say anything mean about my tea cozy you’re not getting any tea.” Amy glares at him pointedly and he holds up his hands in mock surrender. It’s normal and easy and familiar and she can breathe again as some of the tension dissipates.

“I don’t even know what a tea cozy is. Did you handknit that?”

“Maybe. Yes - I like knitting. I have actual interests outside of work.”

“Hey, I have cool other interests!”

“Die Hard doesn’t count.” She shakes her head – he’s about to challenge her but he’s interrupted by a abrupt coughing fit that goes on for slightly too long. She feels her own chest constrict with anxiety as he winces.

“Are you really dying?” She says, careful to be softer than she’s been since she got here - It’s hard not to be defensive when she feels like she’s defending her entire heart from just beating out of her chest. He sits down on the couch and smiles, if a little weakly.

“Nah. It’s just flu, but my ribs are still sore from my epic incredible car chase, so, y’know. I’m in agonising pain every time I breathe, I’m a martyr, it’s no biggie.” She rolls her eyes but her concern still aches in the pit of her stomach, and she thinks he can tell.

He gestures for her to hand him a mug and they take one in unison. Jake raises his like he’s proposing a toast.

“To health or whatever, and to Amy’s old lady tea.”

They clink the mugs together and both take a sip – it’s warm, comfortingly so, and does wonders to calm nerves that she’s not even sure why she has in the first place. She cautiously glances at him for approval and the small content smile on his face is more than enough. Amy wants to do everything she can to earn that smile forever.

The two of them exchange quiet small talk in-between sips, like the few updates she has on the arson case in his absence and how bored he’s been holed up in his apartment for the past two days like he’s carrying some kind of zombie plague, like what’s happening on that crime drama Amy got him into and how they think Holt & Wuntch’s rivalry might escalate.

It’s so wonderfully normal, after a while - Amy curled up in a motionless massage chair laughing into her tea while Jake lies underneath her blanket on his couch, recounting old crazy stories from his beat cop days amid a few minor coughing fits. They fit together – it fits, her coming around unannounced just because she missed him and she wanted to check if he was okay, like it’s a totally normally thing for a platonic co-worker to do.  

He finishes the story with a grand flourish, grinning as she laughs, his hands collapsing back down to rest on his stomach – but when there’s a lull in their conversation for the first time that night, he just looks at her. It’s warm, and a little intense but not in a way she minds, and in a way she’s half-conscious she’s probably returning. It’s almost happy and sad at the same time, if that’s even a thing, and it takes all the willpower she has not to just completely and utterly melt.

“You’re staring again.” She says, never breaking eye contact for a second. He shrugs.

“So are you.”

It’s almost enough to undo her completely. Almost.

“I should, um, go. You need to get some rest.” She says, biting her lip, eyes quickly darting down to her feet so she doesn’t have to see how his face falls. They stand in tandem, Amy quickly gathering her things.

“Right. Yeah. Can I…”

“You can keep the blanket.” Amy smiles, waves a hand when he tries to protest – “Jake, I’ve got loads, it’s fine. You need it more than I do.” And, just like that, just for the sweet way he looks at her, it’s worth it. Tension and awkwardness, mistake or not - it’s all worth it.

“Thanks, Ames. For everything – for the miracle old lady tea, and the blanket, and just…being you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The ache is only intensified when the door closes and she feels like sliding on to the ground and never moving again. But it dulls by the elevator - and, by the time she gets home, it’s only relief that lingers as she puts her teapot in the correct place in her perfectly neat and organised kitchen, a small smile never leaving her face. It definitely wasn’t a mistake.

Amy doesn’t know what’s in their future. She doesn’t know whether the tension between them will eventually fizzle completely or keep mounting and mounting up until it’s a unbearable weight that makes the air so thick they’ll both choke. Maybe she’ll continue to affirm that it’s just not worth the risk, and maybe, just maybe, some chain of events she has no control over will lead to them giving it a try, if there’s anything to try at all.

The thought of having no control over their future is almost enough to give her an aneurysm – but, behind all the anxiety, behind all the uncertainty and the awkwardness and the bad ideas, there’s a tiny, shining, glimmer of hope.

Whatever ends up happening between them – Amy’s not so worried anymore.