#i just can’t stand that paralysing feeling that creeps within my chest and spreads through me

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you might kill me with desire - chapter 2

read chapter 1 here ao3 link

CHAP 2 OF ANGST CITY BITCH IT’S HERE 

ENJOY

Numbingly cold air flies through Amy’s hair, forcing a shiver down her spine as her stomach violently contracts.

Crouched on her knees in the gardens of the late Kristoff Clare’s estate, the vomit escaping her into the bushes is practically constant, her body haunted by the poison of last night’s alcohol and the anxious horror of her morning so far.

Already two hours late having read the Vulture’s text, her and Jake had dressed and left his apartment so fast that she’d not even realised she was in last night’s clothes until they’d arrived- after a nauseating, completely silent hour’s drive to Westchester. What’s worse, she’d been at Major Crimes yesterday in these exact clothes- the worry of her and Jake being found out, then, piles up on top of everything other anxiety

“Oh, god,” she mutters to herself weakly, spitting up the residual fluid in her mouth in an attempt to rid herself of the burning bile in the back of her throat. She heaves a little, coughing the rest away; there’s nothing left in her body to go. A hungover, cold, anxious shell.

She’s vaguely aware of people walking around behind her, which only makes her want to shrivel up and die with humiliation- of course, she couldn’t be sick inside and potentially tamper with a crime scene, so she’s on her knees out in the sub-zero temperatures of New York in January, uncomfortable on the gravel and desperately trying to cling close to her coat (a huge NYPD jacket Jake’s lent her) and hold her own hair back at the same time.

It’s safe to say this case isn’t off to a great start.

This isn’t what’s meant to happen. It was meant to be open-and-shut. Simple. And yet, somehow, she’s had a feeling since the start that it’s been more.

The entire morning, her and Jake have been completely speechless. It’s the loudest silence she’s ever heard, every question heavy in the air. Why would someone want to kill Kristoff Clare? Why would Kristoff Clare kill himself? What about the threats?

Are we going to talk about what happened last night?

They’d arrived to cameras and reporters, crowded invasively outside the gate. Well-dressed women speaking into cameras, pointing at the house. It had hit her there and then, the actual magnitude of this case; one of the most famous businessmen in the world, dead, and all eyes on her and Jake.

The sight of the body was too much for her- the sickness thrumming in her body from driving for an hour on an empty, hungover stomach was already clashing with the guilt, confusion, and questions twisting over in her mind from the night before. Then there was blood, and vomit, and a dead man on the kitchen floor- violently poisoned, by the looks of it. And like that, she was out here, on the ground, being sick.

She shudders, a tremor of cold creeping down her back. Another officer walks past, staring her down, and rolls his eyes. She’s got to pull herself back together, get back in there- despite the fact that she feels like she’s been hit by a car and she’d literally rather be anywhere else. As quickly as she can, she stands up, pressing the red-cold skin of the back of her hand to her forehead in a last attempt to subdue the pounding of her headache. After a deep breath, watching it appear like smoke in the freezing air, she begins back up the stone steps back into the house.

Despite everything happening- or everything that’s happened, she supposes- Amy can’t help but take in how beautiful this place really is; the house is at least three or four floors, filled wall-to-wall with deep-coloured woods and lush reds and golds- about as stereotypically demonstrative of insane wealth as she could imagine.

As she comes back onto the main scene, she catches Jake’s eye across the room. Immediately, he’s walking over towards her, and her stomach wobbles threateningly again. He’s worried for her, she can tell. Part of her wishes he’d just leave her alone, stop being so good to her, as he always is, so she could focus on the task at hand.

“Ames. Are you okay?” He asks quietly as he approaches her.

Amy looks up at him simply and smiles weakly, only giving him a small nod.

“Jake…” she can’t help the strain in her voice. “I think… last night…”

“Oh, we don’t have to talk about that now,” Jake offers. “I know it’s all a lot, especially now-”

“We can’t…I don’t think we should do that again.”

She says it quickly, and just getting it off her chest alleviates the panic slightly; maybe it’s cowardly, on her part, but it’s relief, from something she knows neither of them can explain. They can’t be starting a romantic relationship- or even a sexual one- in the middle of something like this.

“What?” His voice is quiet, but he looks at her sincerely.

“I think we… miscalculated. We were drunk, and overwhelmed,” she shakes her head, “and it was a mistake.”

With a dose of courage, she looks to Jake, and instantly, guilt courses though her, tight in her chest. He’s crestfallen, she can tell, but he’s trying to disguise it with a tense face, with the face of someone who’s thinking hard- his brow’s furrowed, his lips pursed, but his eyes can’t leave her, wide and dark and childlike.

“If that’s how you feel then you’re right,” he says after a second, “we shouldn’t do it again.”

Somehow, this hurts her more, that he’s as willing to dismiss it as she’s forcing herself to be.

“It’s just,” she stumbles, trying desperately to fix it, “you mean too much to me, as my friend… to complicate things.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees quickly.

“Good,” she smiles a little awkwardly, trying to ignore how utterly hollow this is making her feel.

“But I do think we should talk about it.”

He looks at her like this is obvious, and another pang of guilt strikes her system; he doesn’t just look confused, he looks disappointed, confused, like he was expecting her to at least explain her view of the evening. In all honesty, she knows she owes him that much; but it’s not that simple, not with all of this.

“We will,” she says simply, trying to act as though she can shrug it off. “But… I think it should be after this case.” She’s almost taken back by how blunt she’s managing to be, after a night that in any other circumstance might have the potential to be the start of something incredible, but right now feels like just another thing on the Anxiety Plate.

Jake looks completely lost.

“After the case,” he replies casually, as if he’s trying to convince himself that she’s telling the truth.

“You two. Ding-dongs.” Pembroke’s voice comes, stern, and Amy actually finds herself relieved for the interruption- certainly the first time she’s ever been grateful to hear him. He walks over, watching them angrily. “Where were you?”

“We went out last night with the nine-nine,” Jake says simply when Amy can’t reply, paralysed with the anxiety of getting into trouble, “and we overslept.”

“You were three hours late to your crime scene. It’s pathetic. I could have you kicked off the case.”

“Sir, no,” Amy manages, but he’s already cutting in again-

“In fact, I actually tried to, but it was pointed out to me that it could be a little ‘insensitive’ to the family if I kicked out the one detective Kristoff asked for by name.” He mimics air quotes at this, rolling his eyes.

“It won’t happen again,” Amy says firmly.

“Amy’s right,” Jake agrees. “It was one slip-up. It doesn’t mean we’re going to make the same mistakes again,” he explains, looking knowingly at Amy. She squirms a little in her spot, trying not to think about the double meaning of this.  

“Get to work,” he replies brusquely, turning to leave. For just a moment, Amy breathes a sigh of relief- until he turns around again, his eyes going straight to her shirt. She can’t help but assume he’s about to make an inappropriate comment, until – “Hey. Santiago. Am I correct in thinking you were wearing that yesterday afternoon?”

Her heart sinks even further, if that’s possible. Getting into trouble with a superior after messing up on the first day of a huge opportunity, and now being ratted out as some kind of crazy drunk.

“Uh, yes. I slept on Jake’s couch last night,” she responds quietly, knowing it’s entirely obvious she’s lying through her teeth.

There’s a short pause. Pembroke looks between them, and a small smirk creeps onto his face.

He knows.

“Right,” he says, rolling his eyes, his smile not faltering.

“Yeah. That seems about right.” Jake mutters.

“C’mon,” she nudges his shoulder wearily. “We have a murder to investigate.”

   ***

    It’s not until she’s back in her apartment, stepping out of her shower, tightening a towel over hot, wet, clean skin, that Amy begins to feel even slightly normal again.

The day’s been exhaustingly long. The estate, nothing short of completely eerie, became a kind of trap for the day, huge hallways and rooms filled with shadows, aching and creaking as though the old building was somehow aware that its owner had been killed. Entirely isolated within just over 90 acres of land, there was something about that place, something that keeps her slightly tense even now, the bare trees and complete silence that enveloped the home haunting her.

Clinging to her towel, Amy wanders into the kitchen, lazily turning on her oven and heading over to her freezer. She pulls out her one and only frozen pizza and has it in the oven as quickly as she can, hunger nagging at her.

With her bedroom’s heating still busted, she has no choice but to use her living-room as a kind of all-purpose area; she towels off the residual water on her skin and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a jersey, curling her fingers around the wool of the sleeves in a bid to calm some of the nerves leftover from the day.

On her coffee table sits all the information Jake’s scored so far running background checks on Kristoff’s family and staff- anyone who would have had access to the house- in a large stack of paper. Carefully, she begins to organise it, spreading it out into different piles for each person.

Straight away the normality of thinking through a case begins to work its charm on her, momentarily putting everything with Jake to the back of her mind. Not only that, but the oven must be warming up- the smell of pizza fills the living area, and for a moment, snuggled up in her favourite clothes in the warmth of her apartment and focused only on her casework, she feels at home.

Ten minutes later, with her files organised and a mostly-cooked pizza, she decides to sit down and acquaint herself more thoroughly with the information, so she can arrive at Major Crimes tomorrow completely equipped. Already, a small boost of confidence creeps into her system, propped up on the hope that tomorrow won’t- can’t- be as bad as today.

On one piece of paper, the first she picks up, are printed copies of the threats Kristoff had received, typed out on ripped up pieces of paper, apparently found on his desk almost every morning for a week. This adds a layer of confusion; how the hell did this person manage to get these notes into Kristoff’s home? It would easily place heavy suspicion on the few people working there- Kristoff’s assistant, the maid, the visiting chef. Or, of course, a member of the family; somebody who would have had access to the house whenever they wanted.

Worryingly, this would make more sense; the motive would obviously lie in the insane amount of money up for inheritance as part of his estate. Though, of course, it’s not unheard of, Amy shifts uncomfortably at the fleeting thought of killing one of her own family members for money.

“Oliver,” she says out loud, picking up the first actual stack of papers. “Oliver Clare.”

Kristoff’s first son. Twenty-seven years old. Living in Manhattan. A degree in Computer Science from MIT, she notes, impressed- he certainly wouldn’t have needed a degree, with his family name.

Jake’s attached several articles to the back of Oliver’s records, all of which appear to be from page-six style websites. His almost-illegible writing is scrawled over the edges- unwanted media attention.

In every single article, every photograph, spread out over whole years, Oliver is with his sister-

Angelica Clare.

Amy grabs the second stack of paper and begins to flick through her file. Eighteen years old. Smart, like her brother- graduated from an elite Upper East Side high school a year early- but not headed to college. At the back of her files Jake’s attached screencaps of her Instagram and her Twitter pages, as well as what appears to be some online shopping pages.

She has millions of followers, Amy realises immediately, her eyes skimming over the impressive, exultant pictures of cars, exotic islands, and Angelica all dressed up- and the online shopping pages are hers, her clothing line. She’s a beautiful young woman, Amy thinks to herself, and she’s making it into her career. Part of her feels resentful of this, after seeing how amazingly Angelica performed in high school, but she tells herself off internally- it’s her choice if this is the life she wants to lead.

She can hardly blame her; her life looks like something out of a movie, luxurious, and youthful, and stupidly happy.

Until now.

So it only makes sense that Oliver’s only ever been photographed with her, always looking uncomfortable- this is her path, not his.

Amy decides to move on, picking up the last stack of papers- the last family member. The ID picture displays a strikingly attractive older woman named Emilia Clare.

“Kristoff’s wife,” she finds herself saying under her breath- AKA the first in-line to the estate.

Emilia’s stack of papers is easily the smallest in Amy’s fingers, held together with a small pinch. She’s kept quiet, Amy thinks, looking through her career history- always existed on the sidelines. They’ll have to wait until they meet her.

Amy places Emilia’s papers back on her coffee table, as the lack of sleep and hunger for the pizza in her oven begins to overwhelm her.

Cold, and emotionless, three ID pictures of members of the Clare family stare up at Amy’s ceiling, entirely unaware of what’s to come.

    ***

    An ache in Jake’s forehead, so familiar it’s almost numb, pulsates angrily under his temples at the sight of bright light.

The rooms in the Major Crimes offices are, in comparison with the nine-nine, livelier, bigger, and more modern- and Jake can’t help but hate it. There’s something horribly artificial about it all, the sense that nobody’s ever truly here; there’s no smell of burnt coffee, no bustling sounds of movement and voices, no personality.

He looks around the room he’s just entered; small, completely minimalistic- white walls, a slightly tired-looking carpet, a couple of plants, and no other furniture save a table with a few chairs surrounding it in the centre of the room.

It’s a hell of an interview room, Jake thinks to himself, glancing between the two officers standing on either side of the room, waiting for Kristoff’s family to arrive.

Quietly, he sits himself down at the table, sighing awkwardly just to make some noise, fill the dead air, if only briefly, with sound.

He checks his phone. 12:55pm. They’re due at 1, and Amy’s late. In comparison to her normal fifteen-minutes-early rule, anyway. He’s almost anxious for her, after years dealing with her insistence on arriving to appointments so soon, but he has an inkling that she’s fine, probably already here. Most likely? She’s avoiding him.

That sharp ache pierces in his head again at the thought of her, so painful he has to take a moment to let it pass, closing his eyes and pressing his fingers over the bridge of his nose. When he looks back up again one of the officers is giving him a slightly odd look. He ignores him.

It’s been a few days since it happened.

This, of course, he realises grimly, could refer to either of the huge events that took place that night- him and Amy sleeping together, or the murder of Kristoff Clare. He hasn’t mentioned this to Amy, though he’s sure she’s already realised that these events must have taken place around the same time. Even if he wanted to mention it to her, he reminds himself, it would be difficult- what with them not speaking properly.

For the millionth time since that morning at the crime scene, Jake’s mind starts to taunt him again. Why did you say yes to her in that state, knowing the damage it would cause? Why did you kiss her back? Do you have any good reason?

There’s something so cruel about it all. Being able to touch her, and hold her, and smile and laugh and sleep with a woman, the woman that he’s cared about for so long, and for it to result in this.

The door clicks open, making him jump.

It’s Amy, carrying a small blue binder under her arm.

“Hey,” she says, smiling oddly, still avoiding his eye contact.

“Hi,” he replies, a little too enthusiastically, and immediately wants to slap himself.

“I think they’re outside, with Pembroke. We just need to set up,” she says, dropping her binder onto the table. “Are you okay? You look kinda pale,” she asks, but her tone’s brisk. She’s asking just to make conversation, Jake thinks, and he doesn’t blame her.

“Uh, yeah, just a headache.”

“Those gummy bears you keep in your desk drawer are catching up with you,” she smiles, and they both force a laugh. “Either that, or this stupidly high-end room. I feel like I’m in a hotel.”

“Right?” He sighs. “I miss the grungy, slightly damp interrogation rooms at the precinct.”

“They had more personality.”

“As would any room that’s dealt with as many spillages, accidents, and Hitchcock and Scully farts as that one has,” Jake says wistfully, and Amy laughs, for real this time. His chest tightens.

“Okay,” she says after a moment. “You ready?”

“Yup.”

“Remember-”

“They’re not suspects, not yet. I know.” Jake smiles reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I know we’re being watched.”

Amy nods worriedly and glances back at the door, evidently anticipating the entrance of the Vulture.

There’s a brief knock on the door, which then clicks open. They both stand quickly- Amy brushes down the blazer of her pantsuit nervously, a tick Jake’s used to. It’s almost comforting, being in an unfamiliar environment, and seeing her acting precisely the same. For a second, he’s feels the urge to whisper something teasing in her ear, but quickly stops himself, something sour hissing in his mind- that’s not what your relationship is now.

The Vulture comes into the room first, holding the door open as Emilia, Oliver, and Angelica follow him.

They’re beautiful, Jake thinks, as they walk in, almost doing a double take at the sight of them, even though he was only aware of Kristoff leading up to this case. Angelica’s huge fan following instantly makes sense; waves of perfect blonde hair fall from her head, flawlessly framing her impossibly symmetrical face and flattering her piercing blue eyes. Emilia is simply a more mature version of her daughter- slightly taller, modestly dressed, age lines accentuating parts of her face. Oliver is the spitting image of his father, a classic blonde hunk- though much more brooding than his mother and his sister, refusing to look anywhere other than the far wall.

“Detective Peralta, Detective Santiago, I’d like to introduce you to the Clare family. Angelica, Oliver, Emilia, these are the detectives working your father’s case. Two of New York’s finest,” he says, quickly shooting a curt smile at Jake.

“We’re so sorry for your loss,” Amy says sincerely as Pembroke brings them over to the table. Jake nods solemnly in affirmation.

“We’re going to do everything we can to have this solved so you can grieve peacefully,” Jake says earnestly, feeling a little like it’s the too-obvious thing to say- but what else can he offer?

At first, there’s no response, each of them looking as distant as the next, until Emilia smiles sadly.

“Thank you.” She nods once, a gesture that Jake and Amy immediately return.

As simply as that, they’re all sitting down. Jake picks up the paper in front of him, more to occupy his hands than anything else, trying to make the room feel a little more professional, anything to help these people feel secure- out of the corner of his eye he sees Amy do the same, straightening her back and sitting in the most poised position she can manage.

His eyes go to the Vulture, curious to see how he’s going to kick this all off- it’s a reflex, he supposes, after years of putting up with him taking over. To his shock, he does the absolute opposite.

“I’ll leave you with Peralta and Santiago,” he says casually. Amy looks at Jake quickly, questioningly, though she manages to keep her expression calm, so as not to alarm any of the Clare clan. “Please remember you can take a break at any time,” he continues, “anything you need.” He’s plastering on a smile that actually makes Jake even more discomfited; his politeness couldn’t be more obviously false. “I’ll just be outside.”

Emilia and Angelica give him a small smile as he leaves. Oliver doesn’t move.

Like that, the Vulture is gone, and they’re all left alone.

“Okay,” Amy says eventually, “so… as you know, this interview is just to help us gather some initial information from and about you as a family. You’re under no obligation to answer all of our questions, but you should know that anything you tell us may be followed up or used in court.”

Emilia and Angelica nod silently. Oliver doesn’t shift whatsoever, stirring an uneasiness in Jake’s centre. He wants to brush it off; the kid’s grieving, after all. But even as Amy sets up the interview’s recording, his gaze doesn’t move. The longer he stays unmoving, the freakier Jake finds it. Eventually, he has to look away. This is no help- Angelica’s already looking at him, an element of curiosity in her unhappy eyes.

“We’re going to start by discussing the estate,” Amy explains politely. “Am I right in understanding that Oliver was the only one living away from the house?”

Everyone looks at Oliver, whose expression only seems to worsen, if anything, his shoulders tightening.

“Uh… actually,” Angelica steps in after a moment, her voice small, “I live in my parents’ apartment in Manhattan for a couple months at a time, so I’m not always home.” Amy pens this into her notebook, and suddenly Angelica’s expression changes, as if she’s messed up. “Sorry, I don’t know if that counts, y’know, ‘cause it’s not technically my place…”

“No, no, that’s good.” Amy reassures her with a soft smile. Jake watches the two of them, heartened for a moment by the slight relief on Angelica’s face.

“Before Kristoff died, he was receiving death threats, left on his desk each morning. Can any of you can think of anyone who has access to the home who might leave these threats, or even carry them in for someone else?” Jake picks up where Amy left off, consulting the planned-out list of interview topics she’s left out for him.

There’s an odd quiet as they consider this.

“Nobody was ever in that house apart from dad,” Oliver speaks up for the first time, looking at Jake coldly. “So nobody would have noticed if someone had somehow snuck in. The threats could have been from anyone.” He says it matter-of-factly, a hint of anger in his voice.

“Right now we know nobody who was actually in the house the night your father died,” Amy responds slowly, looking quickly at her binder. “Aside from his assistant, Daniel, who found the body.” Jake recognises this fast glance at her work- she’s checking that she’s completely right. “Emilia, you were on a spa retreat, Angelica, you were at a party, and Oliver, you were… uh…”

“At home,” Oliver finishes her sentence, staring at her.

“Right,” Amy replies, but immediately Jake senses something off in her voice- and he doesn’t blame her. Oliver ultimately has no alibi- but they’re not ten minutes into this interview and can’t afford to piss him off, which doesn’t seem to be a hard task. “Emilia, I’d like to ask about Kristoff’s meds…” Amy continues swiftly, taking Oliver out of the hot-seat.

More than once, Jake looks up to see Oliver already staring at him, tired, angry eyes burning into him.

Whether or not he was involved in the murder of his father, Jake can’t tell- but his gut tells him there’s something wrong with this family, something under the surface. There’s something about them.

There’s something about Oliver.

    ***

   “You two were real weird in there.”

Jake looks up at Amy over their desks, shooting her a look of sheer exasperation. Pembroke’s voice is jeeringly casual. One of the huge disadvantages of working here is, of course, being under constant threat of interruption from him. Not that there’s much to interrupt, Jake thinks bitterly- the two of them have been sat in total, awful silence, unless they’ve been sharing details about the case.

The office is small, almost a box room, with a tall window at the end looking out into Manhattan. It seems to be an extension of the Vulture’s office, more like a copy room than anything else.

“I guess we were a little thrown off,” Jake replies under his breath, “what with you leaving the interview before it even started.”

“Okay. If you wanna talk back, maybe you should head back to Brooklyn,” Pembroke smiles tartly, leaning lazily against the side of Jake’s desk.

“Uh, sir,” Amy cuts in- to Jake’s relief- clearly looking to alleviate the tension in the air. “About half an hour ago I found Oliver Clare’s name on the system, but his record was completely clean. It didn’t make sense, so I contacted the DA, and they said you’d already requested his record a couple days ago- could I have the copy?”

“He’s on the system?” Jake asks, surprised that Amy would keep this from him. Sure, things are awkward, but they’re supposed to be working as a team. She doesn’t reply, only glancing at him for a second.

“Oh, sure,” the Vulture replies coolly, “yeah, he’s done a load of crap.” He half-laughs this, as if it’s somehow amusing.

Amy shoots Jake a look.

“Like what?”

“I dunno, like, a couple cases of assault, something about harassment at work, all that fun stuff. Nothing you wouldn’t expect from a rich kid.”

“That information is literally critical to our progress in this case,” Amy says incredulously, looking between Jake and the Vulture in complete disbelief. Pembroke, wide-eyed, gives her a small shrug.

“I’ve been busy. I lift now,” he looks at Jake smugly, “even got the weights in my office.”

“Oh,” Jake says sarcastically, feigning interest, widening his eyes irritably.

“I guess I’ll go and get it from your office. Is it on your desk?” She stands up, rolling her eyes. When Pembroke nods in reply it’s only seconds before she’s left. Jake’s almost jealous of her; he can tell she’s angry- as is he- but being in this room is suffocating, after everything that’s happened, and the Vulture definitely isn’t helping.

“Hey, Vulture, buddy, quick question,” Jake smiles sardonically.

“’Sup?” He replies, seemingly unbothered by what’s become a constant use of his nickname.

“Any reason you’re making us do all the work here? Oh- and withholding information pertinent to our police work?”

“I wasn’t withholding anything, dummy, I just thought you were good enough detectives that you could find that crap on your own.”

“There’s a fault on the system, we would have had to ask the DA anyway-”

“As for the work,” the Vulture cuts in, “here’s the thing. Whether or not I actually do anything, I’m the one getting most of the credit for this case, ‘cause I’m leading it. Why bother if I don’t have to?” He takes a nut from the open packet next to Jake’s computer and throws it into his mouth.

As simply as that, Jake’s blood is boiling.

He watches Pembroke as he stands up and heads out of the office, almost bumping into Amy as she walks back in.

“Hey, watch it, Ma.”

Amy rolls her eyes and waits for him to pass into the corridor.

“I’m going to kill him,” she mutters under her breath as she walks back in and sits at her desk, a small table in the corner facing Jake.

“Honestly? I don’t blame you,” Jake agrees, stretching back in his chair in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension in his shoulders. “Y’know he basically just told me he’s not going to work this case at all just because he’ll get all the credit from PR once it’s done?”

“He’s such a…” Amy shakes her head, conflicted, as she starts to busy herself with work again, clearly unwilling to call her senior officer a name when he’s in the next room.

“A butthead.” Jake fills in for her.

She smiles to herself, her dark eyelashes falling down against her face as she chuckles quietly. Sitting across from her, watching her try not to laugh at one of his dumb jokes, it’s almost like they’re back in the precinct.

“Yeah. A butthead.”

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better,” Jake stands up, grabbing a piece of paper from the printer behind him, “I might have a lead.”

“What?!” Amy perks up instantly.

“Well, I know we’re still waiting for the DNA from the scene, so it could be worthless, but…” he hands her the piece of paper, an article from almost seven years back. “I give you- Julian Moretti, Emilia’s first husband and the proud owner of a restraining order from the Clare family!”

“Huh,” Amy smiles a little as she takes it in. “Angry ex-husband.” Jake watches her dark eyes skim the article. “Oh my god, he broke into the estate? That would mean-”

“He knows how to get in,” Jake grins.

“We’ve got to find him.”

   ***

   Amy shifts uneasily into the passenger seat of Jake’s car as a chill creeps into the vehicle, sending a small shiver over her shoulders. It’s a harsh reminder of the weather, but a sweet reminder that the heating in her apartment is being fixed this evening. Something to look forward to.

Outside the street is a cold, dark blue, daylight coming in just a little too late, typical of this time of year. There’s something beautiful about it, though, she thinks, if a little melancholic; the bare trees, the cool light cast over the tall buildings. Perhaps it’s not the weather but merely the Upper East Side- or more specifically, East and 83rd, where they’re parked. Julian Moretti’s building.

A small rap on the window startles her. It’s Jake, holding a small coffee, whose label matches the sign above the place across the street. He flashes that goofy smile quickly, and she can’t help but smile back, rolling down her window.

“Thanks,” she says, taking it from him. He’s already making his way round the back of the car.

It’s in moments like these, over the last three or four days, that things have felt marginally normal, like they didn’t sleep with eachother at the totally wrong time and mess everything up. Like she didn’t completely cast it off and potentially make things even worse by not talking it through with him.

“God, it’s cold out there,” he mutters, shutting the door to the driver’s seat and taking a sip of his coffee. “And you’re the queen of being disproportionately freezing, so who knows how you feel.”

“Better, now I’ve got something hot to hold.”

“Title of your sex tape.”

She looks at him oddly.

“Not your best.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “clearly this case is messing with me.”

“Mm,” she mumbles in agreement through her coffee. “It’s been a crazy few days.”

She glances over at him. He seems hesitant to look back at her- but then he does, and for a moment, in total silence, it’s the most connected Amy’s felt to him since they slept together. It’s just eye contact- but it’s knowing, and kind of sad, and it seems to confirm the one thing she knows she’s been unconsciously trying to convince herself of: things are never going to go back to normal.

With a small smile she breaks this moment between them and clears her throat softly. She sees him immediately look away, understanding her signal. It’s hard not to feel bad; clearly there’s something between them that isn’t going away, and she’s completely destroyed any chance of resolving it. And for what? Because she’s scared?

Jake’s fiddling awkwardly in his pocket, pulling out his phone. Amy can’t help but feel like it’s just so he has something to do. Guilt shifts nastily inside her- he’s not going to push it by bringing up their relationship purely because she’s asked him not to.

“Jake,” she says quietly, before she knows what she’s doing.

“Mm?” He responds too quickly, trying to play it off casually and completely failing- he pretends to relax back into his seat, something she’s never seen him do even in his laziest moments.

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“I shouldn’t have… uh,” she stammers, completely uncertain of what it is she needs to say. “I know we need to talk about what happened. You were right.”

He looks at her, eyes wide, and exhales deeply, almost laughing. As far as she can tell, it’s relief- it must be, because the sight of him relaxing instantly relaxes her, the small smile briefly darting across his lips sending a flutter of warmth through her.

“I’m sorry too. I’m super bad at emotions and this has been… like…” he widens his eyes, attempting to gesture something big with his hands. A genuine laugh ripples through her- this is the Jake she knows and loves.

“I know. I think that’s why I wanted to leave it until after this case, because it’s all been so unexpected…”

“Exactly.”

“And I know things aren’t going to be normal again…” she looks at him sincerely, “and honestly? I don’t want them to be. I do like you. A lot.”

He smiles lowly, looking down for a second.

“I like you too,” he says quietly. “But I understand that it’s a kinda messed up time to try anything.”

“Right, yes,” she agrees relievedly, “and we’re really good friends. And colleagues,” she adds, watching him nodding eagerly. “So there’s no reason things have to be this awkward until we have time to figure things out.”

“I’m completely with you,” he agrees reassuringly. “Now, want to go and interview Moretti and go back to our awesome work dynamic?” He smiles promisingly.

“You mean the one where I kick ass and you wish you could catch up with me?” Amy grins, a boost of confidence returning as quickly as it left.

“You wish,” he scowls teasingly, opening his door.

With that, they’re both making their way into Julian Moretti’s building, and for a second Amy could swear everything’s okay. Except now, when she makes Jake laugh, she doesn’t try to push down the heated, excited swelling in her chest.

When he’s talking about the case in the elevator and his expression shifts into one of concentration, she doesn’t ignore the way it makes her want him.

It’s like something new has been opened, as though she’s granting herself permission to enjoy him. To feel like she needs him.  

And yet, she realises, as they approach Moretti’s apartment, she can’t have him. Not yet.

But for the sake of the way they’re talking and joking and teasing, like they always have, she knows she’ll have to live with it.

Jake knocks on the door three times, firmly. There’s some shuffling inside- Amy looks at Jake oddly. He mirrors her expression, a little confused, as the hurried noises continue from the inside of the apartment.

Eventually the door opens, only partway at first- it’s still on the latch.

“Hey, who’s there?” A heavy, deep male voice comes from the other side of the door.

“Sir, this is the NYPD. We’re looking for Julian Moretti.”

“Oh.” In this one word, the voice changes entirely. The man unlocks the door and pulls it open. “Speaking,” he laughs awkwardly.

Amy can’t help but be surprised by his appearance- he’s remarkably average, in every sense; not too tall, not unfit but not in shape, dark-haired and in need of a shave.

Most notably, though, is the red blush in his cheeks, his ruffled hair, and the robe he’s wearing.

She looks over at Jake quickly. His expression matches hers.

They’ve just interrupted Julian having sex.

“We’re sorry for the disruption,” she cuts in quickly, trying not to wonder how this man is getting laid first thing in the morning- “we were hoping to ask you some questions in relation to the Clare family.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” Julian shrugs casually, “what with the restraining order, and everything.”

“Yeeaaaah,” Jake agrees bluntly.

“Break into a house once to try and get the love of your life back, and that’s what you get,” Julian drawls casually, as if it’s nothing. “Please, come in, sit down,” he ushers them in, and Amy can’t help but feel like he’s used to being visited like this, knows the etiquette. For the most part, though, he seems pretty chilled out. “Can I get you guys anything? Coffee?”

“That’s fine, thanks,” Amy smiles as they sit themselves down, “We’ll be quick.”

“We haven’t had any specific matches on the scene yet, but we have been told that unidentified samples of DNA were found on the scene at Kristoff’s murder,” Jake explains the call they received from the lab this morning calmly. “No matches to anyone in the home- not Kristoff’s assistant, not the maid, none of the family members- long story short, we have a stranger on our crime scene.”

“So we have to investigate any and every lead,” Amy continues. “I hope you understand.”

“Sure,” Julian replies rather dismissively, as if he couldn’t care less.

“Kristoff was murdered on the twentieth of January at around two in the morning. Where were you around that time?”

“Shouldn’t I have a lawyer with me for this kind of stuff?”

“It’s your call.”

“Whatever,” Julian sighs. This alerts Amy for a moment- this guy has nothing to hide. “I was at home, asleep.”

“Alone?” Amy asks.

Julian opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates. Amy can feel herself narrowing her eyes a little as she watches him, and she’s sure Jake’s responding in the same way.

“Not exactly,” Julian admits.

Before Jake or Amy can speak, another voice cuts in.

“Julian, it’s okay, they ought to know.”

In a similar-looking robe, the unmistakable figure of Emilia Clare steps out from the hallway. Arms folded, she looks a little put out rather than sheepish, her cold eyes looking directly at Amy and Jake with a clear feeling of resentment.

“I was here that night,” she says calmly.

“Heeeeeeeeeeey, Emilia,” Jake practically sings.

   ***

   “So,” Amy kicks up her feet on her coffee table, relaxing into her couch. “Emilia and Kristoff were secretly separated as of about two weeks ago, and she’s been seeing Julian for almost a year.”

“Yup,” Jake replies from behind her as he bustles around her kitchen, the sounds of her fridge door opening and closing travelling through the room before he appears next to her with a bottle of beer.

“Thanks,” she says, taking it from his hand. “This means Emilia lied about her alibi to cover her ass.”

“You’d think she’d care more about seeming innocent in the murder of her ex-husband a little more than people finding out she was sleeping with her… first ex-husband,” Jake says, turning the words over carefully as he fiddles with the sleeves of his button-down so they’re both rolled around his elbows. “Actually, now I say it out loud, it does sound pretty bad.”

“As a general rule, I think rich people have the most scandalous issues.”

“Very true. Ever seen Gossip Girl?”

“No, Jake,” Amy says slowly, trying not to laugh, “I’ve not seen Gossip Girl.”

“Your loss,” he shrugs.

“Emilia didn’t care about the money- she wanted nothing from the divorce,” she continues, reading over the papers in her hand.

“And she was already going back to Julian. I don’t think she had any reason to kill Kristoff. Wasn’t angry about the split, didn’t want the money…”

“Worst part is that the affair could explain the Stranger-DNA,” Amy sighs. “Julian would have been in that house.”

Taking a sip of her beer, Amy rolls her shoulders back in an attempt to relieve some of the tension that’s built up over the day.

“I just feel like we’re getting nowhere.”

“It’s been less than a week. We don’t have any useful information from the lab and there was little to no evidence on the scene,” Jake says calmly, “it’s not our fault.”

“Whoever did this did a damn good job at covering themselves.”

“What if someone made him do it to himself?” Jake says quietly.

“What, like they forced him?”

“No, I mean… what if they weren’t there? All it would have taken was swapping out those pills. We could be looking at the wrong time frame.”

“That medication was daily, and he’d been up to date taking the pills, so it would have had to have been swapped that day. And everyone we’ve spoken to has an alibi for almost the whole day,” Amy reminds him gently.

Jake’s face twists as he tries to think. Amy watches him quietly as she drinks her beer; he looks tired, his hair a little messy, a 5 o’clock shadow formed over his jawline, and the plaid blue shirt wrapped over his firm figure beginning to crease.

“Hey,” Amy says quietly, “let’s just call it a day. We’re both exhausted.”

Jake looks uneasy as he surveys the notes they’ve made that currently cover Amy’s coffee table, but after a moment of consideration he seems to give in, rubbing his face tiredly.

“Sure. I’ll finish my beer and head home.”

“Jake.” She looks at him. “It’s almost one in the morning, you’re not going home. Stay here.”

“Are you sure?” He asks carefully.

“Yeah.” She looks around, trying to think of a way to reasonably justify it. “We still have some Chinese food left.”

“And what better reason to keep me here than to eat our leftovers?” He teases, smiling stupidly. Amy shoves his shoulder playfully.

“Shut up. You know I want you here for reasons other than eating my Chinese food.” She rolls her eyes.

He pauses, looking at her quietly.

“Do I?” His voice is low, a small smile still on his face. Amy rolls her eyes.

“Well, you’re my friend.”

“Sure,” he says quietly- immediately, Amy finds herself aware of how near he is, the murmur of his voice intimately close and the warmth of his body only centimetres from her.

“And this case has been very… draining. It’s good to have you here, is all I’m saying,” she tries to say this as casually as she can, but her heart is pounding in her chest; they’re both just a bit too close, and neither of them are doing anything to stop it.

He nods, the small smile on his lips fading as they move closer.

Maybe it’s the time of night, or the exhausted haziness from almost a week of constant work- but when Amy finds herself kissing Jake again it feels like coming home, or falling into bed at the end of a long day. It’s not just want, not anymore. It’s need.

In a swirl of calm, every inch of her skin fizzes with butterflies; his lips are soft, supple, and his whole body radiates warmth. Her fingers find the top of his shirt, pulling him towards her. He moans from the very back of his throat when her fingers skirt over his skin, dipping under the fabric and over his collarbones; in appreciation he pulls her closer by her waist, a hand slipping up over the planes of her shoulders.

There’s something sweet, something careful, about the way they’re handling each other, completely contrasting the night they spent at Jake’s. Each kiss is long, and tender, savouring each second. In small gaps Jake’s pressing kisses along her jawline, along her collarbone, and she’s returning the favour. Fingers in his hair, securing her leg over his hip so she’s sat on his lap, resting her head against his in each fleeting break of contact.

“Amy.”

As quickly as that, it’s over.

His body has gone stiff. Something’s not right.

She sits up. He’s looking at her with an expression she can’t describe; something caught between hurt, confusion, and even a little anger. Immediately, she realises what they’ve both just done, after finally getting over the awkwardness of last week.

“This isn’t… this isn’t our deal.”

“I know, you’re right, I’m…” the word sorry dies on her lips as she clambers off his lap awkwardly. “That was a mistake, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, neither of us should have,” Jake says firmly, avoiding her eye contact. The insistence in his voice startles her a little, wholly contradicting the sweetness and closeness of the last few minutes. Even though she knows it’s right, the rejection stings, a numbness in her chest beginning to spread over her. “Let’s just-”

“I’m… I’ll go to bed,” she murmurs quietly, and although she thinks she can hear Jake calling after her, she’s racing out down the hall and into her bedroom.

As soon as the door closes, she’s sinking down against it, tired and confused and guilty and yet somehow completely hollow.

In the dark, the only remaining sensation is the soft tingling from where Jake’s lips touched her own.

#SORRY THIS TOOK ME FOREVER TO UPDATE #i rly hope you enjoy it ! #my writing #jake x amy #b99 fic #jake x amy fic