A/N: Part II of the Domesticity Meme! I'm pretty much done with this meme, unless I happen to stumble on anymore domestic prompts that I really like. Then I guess I'll add to this. But for now, this fic is 'finished.' Enjoy!

Who cooks normally?

They both do.

But they're kind of shit at it. Jake only knows the bare minimum. Amy tends to get worked up over how tasty and presentable the food has to be and then everything goes to hell because she obsessed too much and that always leads to disaster. American food and five course meals are out of the question for her, Thanksgiving made that much clear.

However, she still makes a mean ropa vieja and somehow knows exactly long to fry the yucca that goes with it. Amy attributes her Spanish cooking skills to her mother, Maela, who ultimately forced her to memorize the vast number of dishes years ago.

Jake likes watching her cook those meals, because Amy works with a small smile on her face and this far away look in her eyes. Sometimes she'll offer stories to him, about their crowded dinner table and how Maela didn't always eat because her sons were human garbage disposals and her husband and youngest child had only so many leftovers to eat.

Most of the time, however, Amy will simply hum to herself. It strikes him odd, because Amy always seemed too self-conscious to actually hum to herself. Jake will never understand this quirk of hers until the day he's squashed between two beefy Santiago brothers at the same table that Amy reminisces about, and sees Maela singing to in the kitchen.

Amy's so satisfied with herself when she cooks, because she realizes that she can do at least this much to hold onto her childhood memories and her culture. It almost makes Jake envious.

Almost.

See, he's got exactly two dishes down from his mother's Jewish heritage: matzo soup and Gefilte fish.

(Admittedly, he learned how to make the soup from a Food Network recipe, but it taste just like Rebekah's anyway. The Gefilte fish, on the other hand, was totally a mother-son experience; he swears. His mother wasn't super orthodox either, so most of the religious dishes were eaten all year around, much to the horror of his grandmother.)

It's a bit sad because when his parents were still together, his dad used to cook Italian food like it was no one's business. Rebekah still has pictures of Jake's 'fat phase' when every meal was some sort of elaborate pasta or hearty meat. Now most Italian dishes leave a bitter taste in his mouth, even if they are, by some miracle, better than his dad's.

In high school Jake was the king of lasagna-crafting and sub-stacking (he made the perfect chicken parmigiana), but his mother held two full-time jobs by then, so she was never around to tastes his perfect creations. Even when she did get a day off to try them, Jake hated the way she swallowed his food as if she was swallowing her own regrets. Rebekah had tried her best to present Jake's father in a good light after the separation, but eventually Jake forsake every part of his father: the food, culture, and Christmas. The only thing Jake couldn't be rid of was the last name, since it was too expensive to change.

Amy can obviously sense the resentment he holds for his father. Most notably was when Rebekah (with absolute good intentions, Jake knows) attempted to recreate Mr. Peralta's infamous penne alla vodka. Jake swallowed the home cooked meal down with a tight jaw and a glass of water and all Amy and Rebekah could do was divert his attention away from the dish.

(Rebekah spoils him next time with teiglach from his grandmother as an apology.)

(In the end, Amy doesn't mind the fact that none of their dates will ever be in a fancy Italian restaurant. Plus, though she'll never admit it, Amy can practically taste the affection in Jake's matzo when she's sick.)

How often do they fight?

Too often.

Usually their fights are so stupid that the tension dissolves within a couple of hours, but sometimes the two of them just get so fed up with each other they explode.

Boyle, their unofficial couple counselor, suggests they go for a couple's massage or engage in some spicy-food-sex to release this aggression and rage.

No no no, that's weird.

Boyle, stop talking, you're embarrassing yourself buddy.

He'll then advise that they try a new activity they both can enjoy.

We already had sex in the evidence lockup, if that's what you mean.

Jake!

Maybe we could try Holt's office ne-

Jake!

Boyle then tries to get to the root of the problem.

She's too bossy.

He's so irresponsible.

Am not!

Are too!

At this point Terry, at another desk nearby, will settle back into his chair and sigh. He'll ask what started this mess in the first place.

Does it matter?

It was probably Amy's fault.

Jake will then rub his arm from the well-placed punch Amy gives him.

Ow. Okay, fine. It was probably mine.

Rosa will stroll in then, maybe with a little blood on her jacket and a well deserved coffee in in hand, then place herself on the desk front of Jake and Amy and look them in the eyes. They'll shudder under her wild gaze, both of them suddenly remembering exactly what Detective Diaz was capable of.

You two are going to make up. Right now.

R-Rosa, it's not that simple-

Shut up, Amy.

Rosa will hand them two tickets, destination Montreal, and crosses her arms with a no-nonsense look on her face.

Get yourselves together in a week.

Rosa, what the fuck-

Peralta!

At this point Holt will get out of his office and enter the bullpen, finally willing to acknowledge that his precinct's workflow is being severely compromised by his two fraternizing detectives.

Ah, Captain Holt. Nice of you to join us. Welcome to our NOT-departmentally-mandated counseling session. Would you like to place your input?

S-Sir, please ignore him. We can take care of personal matters at home.

Apparently not, Detective Santiago. Your progress on your current cases have been painstakingly slow since your fallout with Detective Peralta.

Oh, burn!

You're no different, Peralta.

Holt will take note of the tickets in their hands, then catch Rosa's smug look before she masks it up with a scowl. He'll then make a split-second decision.

Clearly there is only one solution. Holt will lean over to peer at the destination on Jake's ticket. I'm ordering you to take your vacations. Starting now.

The death glare he'll gives the pair will be all the incentive they need before Jake and Amy run out of the precinct. They'll catch their breaths around the corner, waiting for a cab, and lock eyes with each other.

We're going to fuck in Montreal. That's literally the solution they gave us.

Jake, don't say it like that-

No literally, we are going to bone down in Montreal.

(It takes Jake and Amy a split second to get into a fight. Then an entire team of cops to work out a solution. And now no one in the bull pen is surprised when the couple takes sudden vacations to the prime location for, as Jake so eloquently puts it, stress-relieving-make-up-fucking.)

(The week they come back they make double the arrests together and Rosa has to physically remove herself from the bullpen when she catches the sickeningly tender smile Jake gives Amy.)

What do they do when they're away from each other?

"Call me when you get there," Amy mumbles into her hand, fighting back a yawn and pulling her robe closer to combat the chilly fall morning.

"You already look miserable," Jake answers sarcastically, flicking her nose to get her attention. Amy recoils, giving him a cute, disapproving frown.

"I will miss you," she promises, pouting when Jake ignores her and simply loads his luggage into the trunk of the Mustang. She wants to be mad, but the way his muscles move under his suit jacket is enough to convince her to forgive him. Despite the depressing even he has to attend, Jake looks absolutely delectable in that black number of his.

"Puh-lease," he teases, ruffling her hair. "You practically sang when mom called me." He crosses his arms, pretending to be upset with her. "Did you really not like having me around that much?"

"You're useless for cleaning-purpose," she notes, smirking when he grumbles something incoherent in reply. Amy lets him wallow in guilt over the state of their apartment before relieving him of his stress. "Jake," she says, tugging on his jacket to draw him closer, "I miss you already."

He grins then, all boyish and happy, and kisses her enthusiastically. She melts into him, ignoring the fact at least one of her old people neighbors had to be watching from the window. The morning is too crisp and the sky is too beautiful for her to let him go today. Still, he has to cross the bridge before the morning traffic kicks in, so Amy pulls away, a bit reluctantly if she was being honest with herself.

"I'm really going to fucking miss you," Jake breathes against her cheek.

She chuckles, "Don't go kissing your mother with that mouth."

"It's her fault in the first place," Jake grunts, pulling away to open the driver's door. She watches him slide into the seat and start the car before she replies.

"It's no one's fault, Jake," she corrects sternly. "People pass away, that's what happens when you get old."

"Yeah. But Aunt Miriam was kind of bitch," Jake answers acidly, buckling his seatbelt.

"Jake, that's her sister," Amy stresses, but she knows the meaning is lost to Jake. His relationship with his family, aside from his mother, is strained at best. Amy decides to change her approach, "Your mom needs you, Jake. You're all she has."

"I know," Jake sighs, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. Amy leans in through the window, giving another kiss for good measure. She rests her forehead against his as he curls his fingers into her hair.

"Give Rebekah my condolences," Amy says at last, opening her eyes and backing away from the Mustang. Jake gives her one last smile before pulling into the street.

"Don't have too much fun without me!" Jake yells through the window, speeding down the road. Amy watches his car until it makes a turn into the adjacent street.

She doesn't have too much fun, that's what she'll tell him, anyway.

Amy honestly spend the week blasting the Taylor Swift CDs she's acquired from Jake and ignores the neighbors' complaints as she deep-cleans her apartment. They can deal with a little noise, she figures.

That is until an official complaint comes in from her landlord, with a fifty dollar fine attached.

Jake doesn't find out until one of Amy's old lady neighbors, Mrs. Kenton, catches him on the stairs and tells him how glad she is to have him back.

"Amy wouldn't stop with her country racket, blasted the darn thing until my hearing aids fell out. I felt terrible, really, but the only way to stop her was send in a formal complaint."

Jake teases Amy for weeks.

Amy don't freak out-

"If you start a conversation with that, I'm bound to freak out," Amy snorts into the receiver, bouncing her toddler niece, Emily, on one hip. Emily tries to reach for the phone, but Amy quickly uses her free hand to rest the phone on her other shoulder. Emily starts whimpering, preparing to start the fifth tantrum of that morning, and Amy silently reminds herself that she was the one who volunteered to take care of her brother's kids while they were out of town.

Right. So I've been kind, sort of, more or less lonely without you around-

"Aw, you miss me?" Amy coos, opting to place Emily on the floor as her brother Tomás comes in with a model train to show his aunt. Amy nods appreciatively, pointing a finger to Emily and mouthing him an order to watch his sister. She escapes to the kitchen as Tomás drags the sibling in front of the TV. "You were saying?" she prompts, away from the ears of her brother's alarmingly attentive children.

I may have… Bought something… Since you've been gone.

"Jake," Amy groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What did you buy?" She can already imagine it: a lifetime supply of Haagen-Dazs Rocky Road, or maybe one of those limited-edition (read: super-expensive) Die HardNakatomi Plaza Security T-shirts he's been begging for.

Well you see, I needed something to keep me company while you were gone-

"Oh my god," Amy pretends to sound scandalized. "Did you hire a prostitute?"

As if to answer for him, Amy hears a small bark in the background. She freezes, mind suddenly racing a mile a minute. There's another beat of silence before Amy speaks.

"Jake," she spits, barely keeping her anger in check. "Did you buy a dog?"

Maybe? He answers, though it comes out sounding like a question. Well no, yes, I did buy a dog.

"I'm allergic," Amy seethes, gripping the countertop for support. She cannot believe this is her life: her boyfriend bought a dog.

I know! Jake replies quickly, and she hears him shuffling papers haphazardly in the background. I called your doctor, and got a list of hypoallergenic dogs you should be okay with. Plus your medical history shows you actually grew up with dogs when you were younger-

Amy cuts in, wincing as she remembers all the stray her brothers used to collect, even when they were fully aware of their sister's allergy. She wasn't completely intolerant to furry pets, Mrs. Kenton had a hairless cat that Amy was perfectly fine with babysitting sometimes, but her brothers had the worst habit of finding the dirtiest, smelliest, and hairiest dogs in the neighborhood.

But Amy, you're going to love him. He's a Xoloitzcuintli-

"How many times did you have to say that before you could pronounce it?" Amy wonders, laughing despite the situation. Maybe she was going into hysteria.

Too many, Jake answers honestly, glad to get her to lighten up.

"It's just a Mexican hairless dog," Amy corrects, impressing him. Even if her history with dogs had been terrible, it never stopped her from wanting one of her own. She vaguely remembers having a talk with her doctor a few years back, before she moved into a no-dogs-allowed apartment and then forgot all about her dream.

See, now you're warming up, Jake notices, and she can just imagine his smile. She does kind of wants this, to join him on one of his whims and raise a fucking dog; but his plan is just too good to be true, and it completely ignores the reality of the situation.

"Jake," Amy sighs, upset that she has to be the one to break the news to him. "We can't keep him-"

Oh c'mon, Amy, Jake whines. He's a miniature, and I already named him Alonzo. Then, pretending to sound disappointed he says, He looks more like an Alonzo than a McClane, unfortunately. Jake pauses, trying to think of better reasons, and Amy can just imagine him stroking the dog's head in thought. It's not a bad image to think about. And his last name is Santiago-Peralta. Don't even tell me that's not cute.

Her heart skips a traitorous beat when she hears the combination of their names; that was something she imagined herself having one day, not some little dog.

"It is cute," Amy admits reluctantly. She's glad he's not actually here otherwise he'd totally make fun of the blush that has graced her cheeks. "But the landlord is going to kill us-"

Oh, I knew you'd be worried about that, Jake chuckles, sounding embarrassed and probably scratching the back of his head. She quietly hopes it's not the same hand he used to pet the dog, but odds are it is. Yeah, I took care of that.

"How?" Amy's eyes narrow, though he's not here to see her suspicious look. "What did you do?"

And now, he starts dramatically, for part two of 'My Girlfriend Leaves Me and I Consequently Become a Shopaholic.' Jake pauses, maybe for theatrics but more likely because he's nervous, I put down a deposit for a new apartment.

Amy stares dumbly at the counter top, trying to think of a response that won't involve a string of curse words or a detailed explanation of how she's going to murder him.

There are children in the next room, after all.

When nothing appropriate comes to her, Amy, the person who was infamously voted 'Most Appropriate' in high school, tells Jake (in an appropriately restrained tone) that they'll discuss this at home and promptly hangs up on him. She returns to the living room and lifts Emily to her lap.

Emily greedily snatches Amy's phone from her and starts playing the Little Einsteins game Amy had downloaded for her last night, when suddenly an iMessage comes in and Emily taps the little notification on the top out of curiosity.

"Doggy!" she squeals. Amy peers over her head and sure enough, there's a picture of Jake's and the Xoloitzcuintli's faces squished together to fit the screen. Jake is right, it does look more like an Alonzo than a McClane, and Amy begrudgingly admits that it's the dog of her hypoallergenic-dreams.

She saves the photo of their dopey-looking faces and sets it as her lock screen, then types out a text to Jake.

Alonzo's shit is going to be his daddy's job. Only. The phone buzzes almost immediately after she sends the text.

Deal. Mom's going to remember to feed and walk him, though.

She smiles, heat flooding her cheeks again because the idea of them being parents, even to something as funny looking as Alonzo, is enough to make her insides melt.

Deal.

Nicknames for each other?

"Oh, Pineapples, what did you do?" Amy shakes her head, lifting a coffee-soaked file from his desk. Jake can barely prop his head up onto his palm due the sheer exhaustion he's suffering from. Of course, once he recognizes her voice and the overwhelming stench of coffee, Jake bolts upright, paper glued to his face, attached by the drool he's been spilling on it for the last hour or so.

"Shit," he curses, pulling the paper from his face and surveying the desk. While it's usually in some sort of organized mess, today's it resembles a Philippine garbage dump more than usual.

"Pull an all-nighter?" Amy asks sympathetically, dropping the file back onto his desk. Jake stifles a yawn and nods.

"Yep. Been working all night on this stupid Doug Judy case," he explains while stretching his arms over his head.

"Stole another Pontiac?" she guesses, peering conspicuously through Holt's office window. Once Amy confirms Holt isn't inside or near the bull pen, she steps between Jake's legs and takes his face into her hands. Jake blinks sleepily back up at her, not quite registering the intimacy of her actions or where she's conducting herself. "Where's Rosa?" she asks while wiping drool from the corners of his mouth with a stray napkin from the desk.

"Let her off early. Figured she didn't want to miss her 'booty call' or whatever," Jake shrugs, leaning back in his chair to survey the bull pen. Other than the two of them, it's empty. "Holt came in a while ago. Where's he?"

"He was going to get something from the files lockup when I came in. Guess he's not back yet," Amy answers, glancing nervously at the staircase. She should really get to her desk and start working. Jake senses her unease and smirks.

"More time for us then," he whispers, voicing dropping an octave as he settles his hands on her hips. She gives him an incredulous look, ready to walk away from him. But he's got this suggestive grin on his face that's sillier than it is sexy, so Amy figures one kiss in the office won't ruin her.

She's bent down to his level and her lips are just brushing his when Rosa suddenly kicks the bull pen open with one, solid boot, causing the couple to spring apart.

"Didn't miss anything good, did I?" she chuckles, ripping off her sunglasses and throwing a stack of files haphazardly onto her desk. Despite the distance, Jake still has a hand on Amy's waist, a fact that doesn't go unnoticed by Rosa. "Or maybe I interrupted something?" she wonders, trying to keep her smile in check. Amy blushes instantly under Rosa's discerning gaze and her very correct assumption. Jake coughs to break the silence in the room.

"Well," he begins, rising out of his seat, "I've got to find Charles's toothbrush and use it before he finds out, so I'll leave you two ladies to your deskwork." Jake means for it to be a clean exit, but he immediately trips on Amy's foot instead and lands on top of her. Amy steadies him, grabbing him by the arms and pushing him upright.

"You need coffee," she states, giving him a serious look. He nods, then realizes that it's harder to do standing up; his head feels disjointed from the rest of his body. "I'll make you coffee," Amy tells him, then gently pushes him towards Charles's desk. Jake doesn't mean to say it with Rosa there, but he's so used to Amy doing these favors for him in the morning that he can't help himself:

"Thanks babe."

He doesn't even realize his mistake until Rosa starts snickering and Amy blushes and quickly runs to the kitchen without responding.

"Babe?" Rosa repeats, still laughing in disbelief.

Jake shrugs, too tired to be ashamed, "She is a babe."

"Peralta, please refrain from using endearing terms in my precinct," Holt orders as he materializes into the bull pen, making even the ever-alert Rosa jump.

Jake gives him a boyish smile, "I'll do my best, dad."

Who is more likely to pay for dinner?

"Santiago you sneaky bastard," Jake snarls from across the table, no appreciation in his voice as the waitress walks away from their table.

"What?" she smiles innocently, finishing her glass of wine as she hold the checkbook to her chest.

"You lied," he hisses, leaning forward when a couple of nearby patrons give them weird looks. "You said you were going to the bathroom."

"I did go to the bathroom," she insists, tapping the corner of her mouth where a new layer of lipstick had definitely been re-applied only moments before.

"And you made a pit stop to the front desk and gave them your credit card!" Jake finishes, waving his arms around wildly.

Amy rolls her eyes, "You never let me pay. There are certain methods I just have to employ to make sure our money is being spent evenly."

"Including deception?" Jake demands.

"Yes," Amy replies honestly. She takes his hand, clenched tightly in a fist on the table, and shakes it loose. "Jake, your credit score needs to go up. You're in debt. Crushing debt. Let's just make a deal and let me pay for dinners until your score improves." She catches his protest before he can make it. "Please?" she implores, giving him her best pleading face. He sighs under her soft touch and pouty face, giving in.

"Fine," he mutters, slumping in his seat.

Amy smiles sweetly at him, scribbles her signature and calculates the tip, then returns the check when the waitress stop to bid them goodnight. Jake helps her put on her coat then leads her out of the restaurant by the waist.

"Just so you know, the minute my score improves I'm going to start paying for things again," Jake informs, not bothering to look her in the eye. He can feel the heat of her disapproving glare from the side anyway. "Like, super expensive things," he adds, just because he knows it'll piss her off.

"Dummy," she snorts, pressing herself closer to him to ward off the cold. "That'll tank your score again."

Jake chuckles, kissing the top of her head, "It'll be worth it."

Who steals the covers at night?

"Jake."

Tug.

"Jake."

Tug.

"Jake."

"Peralta," he teases, burying his nose in the sheets. Childish games always amuse him at ungodly hours of the night.

"N-Not funny," Amy shivers, tugging again. "I'm cold," she tells him, pulling harder on the blanket this time. Jake peaks out from his human burrito and has the decency to look guilty, immediately opening up the covers for her.

"Well then," he begins dramatically, "May I cordially invite you to be the cheese of my kosher taco?"

"That doesn't make sense," Amy answers as she rolls her eyes, though she has a feeling the action is lost to him in the dark room. "And I can't decide if you're trying to stereotype me or..."

"Not stereotyping," Jake responds quickly, tugging her into the mess of blankets. "Just being dumb," he promises as he wraps an arm around her waist.

Amy chuckles into his shoulder, "No surprise there." Jake pinchers her ass in retaliation, but otherwise the two settle comfortably against each other.

In the morning, however, the two fight to be free of the sweaty confines of blankets they find themselves in.

"We need those old lady night sweats bed sheets," Jake pants, wiping the sweat from his brow with his T-shirt. "You know, the ones women get for menopause." Amy raises him an incredulous brow; she knew about those, of course, but she certainly didn't expect him to.

"I think my mom has those types of sheets," she notes dryly, gathering her damp hair into a ponytail.

"Well find out where she gets them from, because we need them," Jake orders, completely undeterred.

Amy laughs and promises that she'll ask, then drags him into the bathroom for a morning shower.

What would they get each other for gifts?

"The fact that you're having a raging lady boner over office supplies really worries me, Santiago," Jake remarks as he watches Amy staple forty pages of paperwork together with a single staple. She then punches holes into the documents with her new one-hundred and forty paper-capable hole puncher, ogling at the clean circles it cuts into the papers. Amy files the report into one of Holt's binders (the ones that sit in rainbow order on his back shelf), and strokes her heavy duty stapler in appreciation.

"It's a beauty," she marvels, flipping it over to read the brand name. Her eyes widen slightly when she makes out the label. Amy looks up at him, concerned, "Jake, how much did this cost?"

"Bup, bup, bup," he quickly leans over to cover her lips with a single finger. "Don't even try to outdo me on this one." Amy looks ready to protest, so Jake hastily continues, "I forgot your birthday like a douche, so let me have this one victory, okay?" Her eyes soften as he says this, a gentle smile growing on her face.

"Thank you," she says sincerely. "I love it. Really." Jake flushes under her gaze, coughing to distract himself from her pretty face.

"R-Right," he stutters. "Happy Birthday, Santiago. Sorry I'm such an asshole and forgot."

"No worries," she smirks, "I'll let you have this one. But I'm totally out-gifting you for your birthday."

Jake snorts, "I'd like to see you try." But really, he would like to see her try, because she knows him, and she'd probably get him something totally awesome.

His birthday passes them by without any real celebration or gift. It ends up part of the blur that was his life undercover and all Jake can recall from that time was how homesick and tired he was.

When he returns to the precinct Amy and he fall into an awkward relationship: she pointedly avoids him and he dutifully respects her wishes not to speak to each other. He's trying to be nice, because she's not with Teddy anymore and maybe she's still sensitive from that, but it really fucking sucks when Amy's being so formal to him, not even smiling when he cracks a joke.

Jake's not even sure if Amy will acknowledge him or his confession properly at this point. In fact, he's become so accustomed to their stiff dynamic that he's surprised when Amy corners him in the evidence lockup.

"I found the files you were looking for," she says as she drops the stack of papers on the table he's working at. Jake removes his gloves, leafing through the papers to buy some time.

"Thanks," he finally answers when he gets to the last page. Jake gathers up the courage to look into her eyes and is disappointed to find her expression as neutral as ever.

Then she does something peculiar.

Slowly, Amy produces a small plastic bag from behind her desk. Flipping it over, she lets the item inside drop onto the desk. Jake's eyes widen when he realizes what it is.

"This is-"

"Die Hard 25th Anniversary Edition with never-before-seen backstage footage," Amy finishes, smiling more to herself than to him. This is the first time in months he's seen her eyes light up like that.

"Amy-" he starts, his heart threatening to burst right out of his chest.

"I missed your birthday," Amy explains, cutting him off. She can't quite handle the emotion in his eyes yet. Everything's too new and fragile between them, and she really doesn't want to screw it up.

"Thank you," he whispers, but he's looking at her, not the DVD. Jake's in her space, leaning forward enough that she can feel his breath on her face, and that stupidly sentimental look in his eyes is making her heart work overtime.

So she does something impulsive.

Clumsily, Amy pulls Jake by the arm so she can kiss his cheek. Her nose kind of ends up bumping his and then she's backing away faster than either of them can process what just happened. Amy recovers first, therefore she's able to thoroughly enjoy Jake's awestruck expression. It gives her the confidence boost she needs.

"Happy late birthday, Jake," she whispers, then hurries out of the lockup.

She didn't say it, but Jake caught the hopeful glint in her eye before she escaped.

We're going to be okay.

Who kissed who first?

Amy Santiago hates going undercover.

It's her first week at the Nine-Nine, and of course she's forced to work with the resident five year-old.

"Excuse me, I'm six," Jake stresses, popping the collar of his leather jacket. Amy rolls her eyes and continues to search through the club's storage room; there has to be evidence somewhere. She's kind of annoyed that there's no offer to help from her partner's end, though she shouldn't find that surprising. One day into the job and Amy has summarized that her new partner is an egotistical, lazy, smart-mouthed asshole.

She should have stayed with the Eighty-Two.

But she didn't, so now she's here with a useless partner, searching for evidence of a drug network that may or may not have its headquarters in this club. They were lucky to locate most of their suspects in the club, now they just needed some evidence and maybe a confession or two and then Amy could close this case and go home and catch up on Law & Order: SVU.

She's just about to search another shelf when suddenly the door of the storage room slams open, and Jake swiftly grabs her to hide with him behind the shelf.

"We're so fucked," he groans under his breath. They hear footsteps descending down the stairs, and they look at each other worriedly. "We need a plan," he hisses, eyes darting around the room in search of an exit.

"We can't fight them off," Amy reasons in a hushed, tone, peering over the shelf and spotting four massive bodies.

"Then what?" Jake snaps. Amy looks around the room, searching for something to give them an advantage. Finding nothing, she looks back at Jake determinedly.

"I'm really sorry about this," she says.

Then she kisses him.

And they get totally into it. Like, Amy fists are in his hair and Jake's hands find her waist, and when she tugs on his locks he actually moans.

They're ultimately kicked out of the club with a warning not to come back, but otherwise their suspects still think they're just a horny couple.

Amy shuffles down the street with Jake, purposely not looking him in the eye. She can feel his questioning gaze on her, but she's too upset over not procuring any evidence to answer him.

Finally, Jake stops in his tracks and waits patiently for Amy to pause and look at him.

When she does, Jake pulls out a plastic baggy from his pocket. He's almost proud of himself as he watches her expression light up.

"You found it!" she yells gleefully, pumping a fist in the air. Amy almost, almost, hugs him,but she manages to catch herself and holds out an outstretched hand instead. "Good work!" she tries to sound as encouraging as before, but her stiff posture ruins her good intentions. Yet Jake chuckles and takes her hand anyway, giving it one good shake before releasing it.

They both ignore the spark that ignited when they touched.

Who made the first move?

I really wish something would happen, romantic stylez.

Amy holds her breath for as long as she can, until he's disappeared around the corner and she knows she won't see him for at least six months.

She exhales, then digs for the cigarette pack in her purse.

Inhaling her addiction, she forgets how to breathe.

Amy won't remember to exhale until Jake's back at her side.

Then she'll stomp on the ends of her cigarette, dig it into the dirt, and walk right up to Jake and ask:

That's stylez with a 'z,' right?

He laughs. She breathes him in.

Of course it is. I mean it.

Exhale.

I mean it too.

Who remembers things?

(Jake remembers things that Amy will categorize as 'unimportant.')

"Santiago, did you eat?"

"I'm working, Peralta. I'll eat when I finish this report."

Jake doesn't say anything when it's almost three hours later, instead he simply drops her favorite sandwich from the nearby deli onto her desk and let's her work. Amy's busy hands manage to find the food while her brain is still a hundred percent in the case. She eats mechanically, not even registering the fact that a sandwich just appeared on her desk.

(Amy will leave a thank you note on his desk in the morning. A little reminder that she's grateful for him. Jake deems these silly little post-it notes littering his desk as 'unimportant.')

(Yet he keeps every single thank you letter she's written for him, and her heart soars every time he remembers the little things she likes.)

(So in the end, they remember the important things after all.)

Who started the relationship?

Amy doesn't say much when Jake comes back from undercover work.

She congratulates him like everyone else and offers him praise and good wishes as he adjusts back to normal life.

Therefore, Jake doesn't even think twice when she calls him over to watch the first season Fargo that he missed while he was gone.

He's okay until Amy's head somehow ends up against his shoulder, and then he's really confused when the final episode ends and she's dozing off on top of him. Jake shakes her shoulders gently, excited but unsure of what was actually going on between them.

"Hey," he whispers. She peers up at him, barely visible in the flickering light of the television. Jake swallows, "Are we a thing now?" She smiles sleepily back up at him.

"Yep."

"Yes?"

"Yes, Jake." she confirms, rolling her eyes. Jake chuckles, then does his best impression of Gaear Grimsrud:

"You're a smooth smoothie, you know?"

Who cusses more?

"¡Besa mi chulo, puta!"

Jake cocks a brow at Amy, waiting for her to translate, but she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She shoves the criminal's head under the hood of their police car, then climbs into their driver seat. Jake shrugs and get into the passenger side. While they drive back the precinct, the crook in the back continues to yell at them. He's swearing, Jake can figure that much, but only Amy actually knows what he's saying.

"Pendejo," Amy finally mutters under her breath as she parks the car in the precinct lot.

"I'll drag him in," Jake offers, sensing her discomfort with the criminal in their backseat.

"Please," she encourages as she opens the car door. "He's all yours."

Jake opens the back door and leads the guy out and towards the precinct's entrance, and the whole way there the criminal hurls insults at Santiago.

"-Pinche puta," he finally finishes as they lead him inside.

At that particular moment Amy whirls on the criminal, eyes blazing with anger. If Jake wasn't so scared he might find it kind of hot.

"¡Necesitas tomar su actitud y métetelo por el culo!" she snarls, pointing an accusatory finger at the man.

"¡Cállate la boca!" he shouts back as they enter the bull pen. Rosa gets up from her desk to help them out.

"¡Jódete!" Amy spits back, shoving the guy a bit so he stumbles away from Jake and towards Rosa. The latter woman simply take him and leads him to the hold-up cell, grinning over her shoulder at Amy.

"You really have a potty mouth, don't you?" she chuckles.

"Seven. Brothers," Amy pants, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

Jake takes in her exasperated state and laughs, "I have no clue what you said babe, but it sounded really hot and dirty."

Amy smirks, "No me jodas, Jake." Rosa laughs from down the hall.

"He already is!" she quips.

A/N: The last prompt was 'What would they do if the other one was hurt?' That's going to be the prompt for my next short fic/oneshot (don't know which it's going to be yet). Either way, my response to that prompt will be in a future fic.

Also anything remotely cultural-related in this fic (food, language, etc.) was based off my personal experience (so basically whatever my Hispanic/Jewish friends have told me/what I've learned from 8 years of Spanish), so if anything's particularly inaccurate, I'm really sorry! Especially my translations, I'm sure I mess up at least one of those.

And if you're wondering why Jake and Amy got a dog in this fic is because I've always seen them as dog people and Amy being allergic is possibly the most canonically tragic things I've ever heard.

Anywho, thanks for reading!

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