#takes place immediately after the guilty verdict in case that wasn't clear from the A/N

[hulahoopingholt]

a promise lives within you now

ANYWAY I told myself I’d start writing some happy B99 fic post-finale and then the finale happened so this happened instead. Title taken from Enya's May It Be because of course we need some Enya and this one has always been one of my faves. Also on AO3.

Everything is happening so fast.

There’s the guilty verdict, and then Jake knows he’s speaking, saying something, although he can’t be sure what it is, if the words are even English (well, they probably are, it’s the only language he knows; Amy has pretty much failed teaching him any useful Spanish whatsoever), or if they’re even words at all. But he knows his lips are moving, and sounds are coming out of them, and as rapidly as it’s all happening, they can’t possibly be spilling forth as quickly as all the thoughts are dashing about in his brain because there’s no way, there’s just no way…

He keeps talking, doesn’t even pause for a breath, because if he does, it’ll mean it’s stopped. If he does, it means this is the end. If it does, it means they’ll snap the cuffs around his wrists with a soft clink and he’ll be lead out of the courtroom and then stuffed into the back of a squad car and then to jail to jail to…

Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool --

The sound of the cuffs closing around his wrists echoes like a gunshot in his mind.

And if things had been moving in hyperspeed before, now it was hyperspeed on speed and cocaine and whatever other drugs Hawkins was hawking, all strapped into a rogue car on a sky high roller coaster, hurdling through twists and turns before crashing into a runaway train.

He feels like he’s about to throw up.

It’s loud, so loud, deafening, even. He knows there are people talking to him, shouting his name, some voices he recognizes, others that are probably reporters or Hawkins’ cronies. But his skin is burning so hot, and everything’s jumbling together in a crazy rush, and it’s like being trapped in a madhouse, or a fun house, or --

He blinks, and for a split second he’s back at the Fun Zone, gun drawn, waiting, ready, prepared. The operation is dangerous, and could go wrong at any second, but Jake’s got this, he knows his game, and he has the Nine-Nine at his back. No matter what.

The vision, along with its accompanying sense of complete confidence even in the face of death and disaster, vanishes before his eyelids can manage their second descent.

There’s pressure at his back, and somehow he’s moving forward. He catches a brief glimpse of Rosa’s face, her expression even more closed off than he’s ever seen, before a guard turns her around and marches her away from him. If he could stretch out his arm, she’d be close enough to touch (not that he would, of course, no touchy), but at the moment she might as well be on another planet.

And there’s nothing he can do. Nothing. He’ll be behind bars for fifteen years, fifteen years, powerless, helpless, forced to wait as time ticks on by, leaving him behind and ripping him away from everything and everyone he loves. Fifteen years sitting in a six by eight foot cell while his friends go on without him. Amy becoming captain, Gina having her baby, Terry marketing his own brand of yogurt… the world may jolt to a stop for him, but it wouldn’t stop for any of them. And who even knows what would happen to Rosa? She’ll probably take the farthest flight out of New York she can find the second she gets out, start a new identity where she lets even fewer people into her life. Probably nobody at all.

No. This is it. This is the end. It’s fine. He’ll pick up a hobby. Maybe running. Running could be good. It would also come in handy when he inevitably runs into one of the murderers he put away for life. Cool. Cool cool cool cool coolcoolcoolcool...

He doesn’t know how, but somehow, even though he was just at the front of the courtroom, he’s now standing by the door.

Like Usain Bolt.

Amy.

Her name cuts through all the noise in his head, and as if right on cue (and honestly, it probably was; Amy is always right on time, even when the world is falling apart without warning), there she is, waiting for him. He can see her lips moving, and he tries so hard to make out what she’s saying, but it’s still loud, it’s so loud, there’s pandemonium all around him and it’s forcing its way back inside his head too, and --

She presses her hand on his, and then that’s all there is.

It’s cold, of course. Amy’s hands are always cold, even on sticky, sweltering days in the middle of summer. Right now, he’s never been more grateful. He focuses everything he has on that spot where their skin touches, her cool hand on his burning one, and, finally, time begins to slow down. The chaos boiling inside his head falls down to a low simmer, and as he forces himself to draw a long, controlled breath, the rest of the courtroom fades away. There’s no longer shouting all around him, but the unmistakable otherworldly harmonies of Enya and her choir of angels.

“Jake,” Amy says. “Jake.”

They’re not in the courtroom anymore. They’re sitting on the roof, looking down at the cars driving by down the street below. And even though they’re in one of the most populated cities in the world, right now, they’re the only two people on this earth. Jake nudges Amy’s shoulder with his own, drawing forth a laugh from her that makes him fall just a little bit more in love with her.

He looks down at her hand, at her bare ring finger, and then he finds himself down on one knee, holding out the ring he’s been saving up for ever since he saw Amy’s eyes linger on it just a touch too long at the jewelry store by their apartment. His hands are shaking as he slips it onto her finger, and when he looks up he realizes that she’s smiling through her tears. Amy pulls him up and he holds her hand over his heart. In that moment he knows he can stay here like this forever, kissing her, loving her, content.

When they part, there’s a loud cheer, and Jake’s smiling so hard it’s almost painful, but he doesn’t care. He holds Amy’s hand in the air in triumph, and the cheering grows even louder. She’s beaming, and in that moment Jake finally understands what it means to call someone radiant. Radiant, in her white gown and veil as she looks over at him, quite literally glowing with love. They walk down the aisle, still hand-in-hand, stopping to accept their friends’ well wishes along the way. Terry pulls them both into a hug so tight Jake’s briefly afraid he’ll lose consciousness. Charles is weeping, of course, but Jake is surprised (and delighted!) to see that even Holt has a stray tear in his eye. Gina attempts to ambush them with a handful of rose petals, but it’s hard to do when also attempting to wrangle a wriggly toddler who is determined to wrestle Amy’s veil off her head. Amy only laughs and presses a kiss to one chubby cheek.

Chubby cheeks and tiny feet and little hands that reach up to curl around his finger. Jake carefully adjusts his daughter in his arms so he can join Amy where she’s resting on the couch. She immediately curls up next to him, covering his hand with hers so they can hold their child's hand together, and he drops a kiss on the top of her head. This perfect world they’ve built together is growing, and will only grow fuller with time.

One moment cascades into another, and then another. In their home, at the precinct, on a plane to Paris. Amy in evening gowns, Amy in one of Jake’s plaid shirts, Amy in her captain’s uniform. Years upon years of memories not yet born flowing into each other, washing over him, of all those perfect days of loving Amy, basking in the pleasure that comes from knowing you have all the time in the world.

“Jake! Listen to me.”

No. Not this time. He can’t. He tries to focus on Enya, wills the steady, soothing sounds to grow louder. Because if they do, he can still live in that moment. He can still see a future for them, he can still feel Amy’s hand on his, he can --

“Jake!”

Amy shakes his hand, hard, and Jake is thrust back into reality.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years. None of this can happen. Not with fifteen years between them. Fifteen years. Fiftenyears. Fifteenyearsfifteenyearsfifteenyearsfifteenfifteenfifteen.

“Look at me.”

Nobody in their right mind would say no to that voice, so he does. He was afraid she’d look devastated, and she does. There are tears in her eyes, and her nose is red, and Jake’s aching to break out of his handcuffs so he can hold her and promise her it’ll be okay, even if he can’t believe it himself right now.

But more than that, she looks strong. And determined.

And unbelievably pissed off.

“This isn’t over. We’re going to get you out of there.”

“Amy, you saw her. We punch once, she punches back twice.”

“And we punch back again,” Amy says. “No matter what. We won’t give up on you.”

“I wish there was something I could do,” Jake mutters. “I should have dug deeper while I was still out. I could've found something.”

“We’ll figure it out."

“It’s fifteen years,” Jake says. “That’s a long time to wait if --”

“I don’t plan on just waiting,” Amy says. “I plan on fighting. Those fifteen years belong to you, and to Rosa.” She juts her chin out. “And to us. I’m not letting her just rip them away.”

Jake’s vision grows blurry. “Ames.”

“And you have to keep fighting, too.” Amy’s tears, which so far had managed to stay safely contained, were now threatening to spill forth. “Promise me. You have to keep fighting.”

“How am I supposed to --”

“Just trust me,” Amy says. “Trust me. That’s all I ask.”

Jake forces a weak smile. “Never had trouble with that before.”

Amy laughs -- it’s a weak laugh, and she sounds exhausted, but goddamnit, if there’s one thing Jake Peralta can do, it’s make Amy laugh, no matter what, and that small victory in the face of this minor apocalypse is enough to make think maybe it would be okay after all.

“Move along, Peralta. You can talk to your girlfriend during visiting hours.”

He draws a deep breath, and as he exhales, Amy is there, covering his mouth with her own. The kiss is all too brief, but it’s sweet and perfect and seals their promise to each other.

“Move, Peralta!”

“I love you,” he says. “So much.”

“I love you so much, too,” Amy whispers.

She doesn’t release his hand until the guard has pulled them far enough apart that they can no longer touch.

But Jake can still feel the lingering coolness of her hand on his skin, and Enya’s voice is once again echoing throughout his mind.

If all it takes is believing in Amy, they’ve got this covered.

This time is theirs.

#B99 #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #Jake x Amy #B99 spoilers #my fic #my B99 fic #takes place immediately after the guilty verdict in case that wasn't clear from the A/N #okay but I was aiming for a hopeful ending to help soothe my anxiety so there's that? #otp: I just care about being with you