Summary: Jake and Amy get back to normal. Or more accurately, they're figuring out what their new normal is.

Big thanks to Kamelea (on AO3/Tumblr) for the beta, whose suggestions always make my writing better.

B99B99

Amy wakes up disoriented the next morning. Something doesn't seem right. She's lying way far over to the right, the sound of her alarm is muted, and her phone is pressed right up against her ear like she's trying to not wake someone up. Her sleep-addled brain can't figure it out, but she fumbles for her phone and turns off the alarm. She has to get up, get her stuff together, get to work. It takes a full minute for her to notice Jake lying next to her. Jake's home. He's in the apartment with her. How could she have forgotten?

How could sleeping alone have become her normal?

She still feels tired but she can't fall back asleep, so she pulls herself out of bed and tiptoes out of the room. Lets Jake sleep because she's sure he needs it, his leg propped up. It's not until she opens the window in the kitchen that she remembers it is evening, not morning. Sometimes Jake joins her in bed, taking a nap while she sleeps away the day. Amy wonders how long it will take until Jake being home feels normal and routine again, like the way she makes coffee every morning. Mug in the cupboard to the left of the sink. Pour water, put in filter, add grounds, turn on coffeemaker. Wait. Pour coffee. (Her mother is perpetually disappointed that she doesn't make authentic Cuban coffee, but Amy burns anything that is more complicated than flipping a switch).

It feels wrong, to be drinking coffee and starting her day as the sun fades from the sky. How long until the night shift becomes her normal—does she even want it to? She thinks of the life plan carefully detailed in her journal. Instead life seems to be throwing wrenches in her plan at every turn.

She's settled at the table with a bowl of cereal when she hears Jake cry out. Jake has been sleeping restlessly since he got home from Florida, but this is the first time Amy has ever heard him yell like that. A strangled sound, a loud cry that descends into a soft moan, it immediately makes her heart pound. She abandons her coffee and cereal and speed-walks back to the bedroom. Jake has the sheets wound around his fists, his head tossed to one side.

"Jake?" She calls softly. She doesn't want to touch him and scare him.

He moans again, still asleep, and so she raises her voice and tries again.

"Jake!"

He jerks awake and scrambles to the corner of the bed, up against the wall, before he realizes what's happening.

"Ames," he breathes, as recognition dawns on his face.

"Are you okay?" She takes a step towards the bed.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. Sorry did I wake you?"

"I had to get up anyways, but Jake, are you sure?"

He looks down at his lap, his fingers twisting and turning in the blanket's edge.

"I guess I'm not fine," he says in a quiet voice.

Amy wants to recommend her therapist to him. Again. But she feels like it's not the time, so instead she sits down next to him.

"It's okay."

He looks up at her.

"It'll get better, but it's also okay."

Jake takes a few deep breaths in and out, and she watches his shoulders relax. She looks at Jake for confirmation before pulling his head into her lap. They sit like that for a minute, and Amy thinks that Jake has fallen back asleep when he speaks again.

"Mostly it was the loneliness," he says, as Amy runs her hands through his hair. "The loneliness, and the feeling like the days were going to stretch forever. I don't want to go back there Amy."

"But you came home. You came out of it."

"What if it happens again?"

"Then it'll end again." She's saying it just as much for herself as she is for Jake. "And we'll always, always be there for each other. Same infomercials, remember, even half a country away."

"Mm same infomercials," Jake breaths. Then he reaches up and catches Amy's hand in his.

Jake slowly falls asleep again with his head in her lap. She texts Captain Holt and tells him she's going to be late.

The waiting room is cheery and bright. Pale yellow walls, plush off-white chairs, a selection of magazines that are only a few months out-of-date. A nature documentary plays in the corner, with shots of butterflies flitting across the screen. Amy has spent a lot of time in waiting rooms recently, but the Flatbush Avenue Physiotherapy Centre is by far the most relaxed and pleasant of them. So why can't she quiet the unease in her gut? She can't shake the feeling that the honeymoon period of Jake's return is coming to an end, and she so desperately wants to hold on to the ease of those first few weeks of sharing a bed and a life again. But, like the butterflies in the documentary on the TV across from her, that ease is fleeting.

It's a novelty to be awake in the middle of the day, and maybe that is what's throwing Amy off. The night shift makes her head feel heavy and all light feels too bright. But at the same time, the sunlight streaming through the window is welcome. That tension, the way the daytime feels wrong and yet right, is echoed in her stomach and her limbs.

Amy glances at her watch, Jake will be almost done. He's been cleared to start putting weight on his leg, but he still has to use his crutches. Now that all they're doing is waiting for, and watching, his leg heal, Jake is usually happy to go to his appointments. Happy to get out of the house, happy to feel one step closer to returning to the Nine Nine. But Amy can immediately tell, when Jake enters, that he's upset. His jaw is tight, his eyes trained on the wall opposite her. He nods, finishing up the conversation with the physiotherapist, but Amy doesn't think he's really listening. He's got his notebook, filled with exercises and other important information, tucked under his arm.

"What's wrong?" Amy asks, as soon as they exit the centre.

"It's nothing, Amy."

Amy knows it's just Jake and his inability to let her in right away. Knows that what he's really doing is a misplaced sense of protecting her. But it doesn't stop her brain from immediately spinning as many worst case scenarios as possible. His leg is never going to get better. He'll never walk again.

"Jake- if it's something really bad you have to tell me." She can hear the exasperation in her tone, and she's sorry, but the anxiety in her stomach has ramped up and spread across her chest and down her arms and she can't control her voice.

"It's not," Jake starts and then stops again. Amy can see a vein outlined in his neck. "Of course I would tell you if there was something bad. But it can still be horrible and frustrating and not be like, I'm gonna lose my leg." His voice is rising now too. He's not shouting but Amy can hear the emotions in it.

"I know, I'm-" but Amy can't finish the sentence. She wants to say it's okay, but it's not, and instead she lets her voice trail off.

They walk in silence for a few paces, their car parked a block over. Jake's crutches make a dull thud as they hit the pavement. It's not uncomfortable, per say, but all Amy can see is the ease of the honeymoon period flying out from between them and away over the brownstones.

"It just feels like," Jake cuts in, less tension in his voice, "at first everything was great because I wasn't in Florida, I wasn't Larry Sherbert anymore, I got to be with you. But now, I'm used to it, you know, and that's amazing, but it also means that I'm finally realizing how much this sucks." He stops walking for a moment and gestures to his leg.

"I know what you mean. Well-I don't, because I didn't get shot, but it's that feeling like things are going to get hard again. And I don't want it to be hard again."

"That's it exactly. It's just like my stupid leg. At first it hurt like hell. And it sucked, a lot. Then I went to the hospital and they gave me the good drugs and for the next week it actually felt pretty good. But now I have to do all these exercises and actually try to move it again and it hurts so much, even though the doctor keeps telling me it's actually healing well."

They start walking again. The sky is crisp and blue, but it feels melancholy. Like there is a whisper in the wind and in the leaves that reminds Amy that winter is on its way. A perfect, unsettling end-of-October day.

"It's a metaphor I guess," Amy says after a moment, and she's not sure if she's talking about the weather, or Jake's complaints about physiotherapy, or all of it all at once.

Jake turns to look at her. "That sounds like a Pokemon. You know, like Bulbasaur."

"It's a literary device. You've never heard of metaphor?"

Jake shrugs. "Oh no, I have. It just sounds like a Pokemon. All those literary thingys have funny names."

"Whatever you say." Amy laughs, and a fraction of the tension loosens in her stomach. "It actually makes me feel better that we're both kind of feeling the same way."

"Like we're in sync or something?" He's referencing their disastrous first attempts to reconnect, and maybe it should make Amy sad, but instead it makes her smile.

"Something like that."

They make it back to Amy's car parked along a side street. It's been irritating Jake that he hasn't been cleared to drive yet, and he makes up for it by calling shotgun every time he rides with Amy, even when he's the only passenger.

"You still have the rest of the day, right?" Jake asks as Amy moves to start the car.

"Yep. I took tonight off, and I slept this morning. So I have all this afternoon and evening. I'm really messing up my sleep schedule, but who cares."

"Let's do something fun then. I think we both need a break."

"Do you want to rest first? We could go home for a little bit, if you wanted to nap, or even just sit with your leg up?"

"I'm okay. Let's drive down to the beach. I didn't get to go this summer-and I know what your thinking, I spent six months in Florida, but I was actually further away from the beach. Plus Florida is the worst and New York beaches are superior I don't care what anyone says."

Amy hasn't been to the beach either. For one, it's a fair drive from her apartment, which is closer to Crown Heights. But also because she didn't do anything to deviate from her routine in the months of Jake's absence. She's pretty sure her strict adherence to a schedule is the only thing that kept her going. Aside from Trivia on Thursday Nights, her days consisted of work, takeout for dinner (the Polish place for pierogies, or else the Cuban place that served arroz con pollo and ropa vieja that tasted like her childhood), and falling asleep with Jeopardy still playing on the TV.

They end up at Manhattan Beach Park, which is incidentally in Brooklyn. There are only a few people at the beach on a weekday in the end of October. A couple joggers, a mother and her children playing fetch with a dog in the sand. It feels desolate, but has a sense of seclusion that makes Amy feel safe. She savours the weight of Jake against her shoulder, and the cool, salty breeze hitting her face, even if she can't shake the nervousness in her stomach. She's happy she has an appointment with her therapist tomorrow.

They find a bench not far from the parking lot, and even though Jake assured Amy his leg was fine, Amy notices that he's not putting any weight on it at the moment. When they sit down she suggests he sit against her, with his leg on the bench, and he doesn't even argue.

"What do you think his story is, Ames?" Jake asks lazily. A jogger passes by, with a tiny chihuahua in a backpack on his back.

"Maybe he's dog-sitting, but also training for a marathon?" She chuckles to herself as she watches the dog's tiny head bob back and forth with each footstep.

"Or maybe his dog has separation anxiety and it has to go everywhere with him?" Excitement mounts in Jake's voice.

"What about when he goes to work?" Amy is fully invested now.

"He's self-employed, obviously. Freelance writer, half a dozen mugs with unfinished coffee, burning the midnight oil, that scared chihuahua his only friend in his dark basement apartment."

"How does the jogging fit into it?"

"Well his friend from college, Scott Vanderhaven, a successful investment banker that makes our guy, Dean Smithers, feel bad about his life. So Scott tells him he's concerned about his health and how he drinks 32 cups of coffee a day and makes him sign up for a marathon."

"He drinks 32 cups of coffee?" Amy exclaims.

"Deadlines, Amy. It's a very stressful job." His voice takes on a faux-explanatory tone that has Amy smiling into the sun.

"So this Scott guy, he's trying to motivate Dean?"

"Exactly. At first Dean hated it, but he grew to love it. And so now he's out here jogging, but he couldn't leave his dog behind."

"Hence the backpack."

"Mhmm."

"What about that lady?" She surreptitiously points to the lady on the bench next to them, who has been delicately picking at a sandwich for the last 15 minutes.

They go back and forth, inventing backstories for everyone on the beach, until a weight grows behind Amy's eyes, and Jake starts shifting on the bench. His fingers haven't stopped tapping on the bench, and neither has Amy's anxiety entirely vanished, but she feels a sense of contentment. The waves keep crashing against the shore, and Amy and Jake make their way back down the boardwalk towards the parking lot.

It's a grey day, rain pinging against the fire escape outside Amy's living room window. Even though the sun has come up, it's still dim under the clouds. Amy is sitting on her couch, in her pajamas, eating her dinner and watching breakfast TV. When Jake appears from the hallway, it nearly makes Amy jump.

"You're up early."

"Maybe I just wanted to see you." Jake's eyes in the morning are soft and sleepy, his curls standing up on his head (even if they still have those ridiculous frosted tips). It all makes Amy melt like it's their first date again.

He settles on the couch next to her. Jake seems to have turned a corner in his recovery. He's graduated to a cane around the house, and sometimes he leaves it behind too, when he's only walking a short distance. His doctor has warned him that she'll be forced to recommend another week of bedrest if he doesn't slow down, but it's so nice to see Jake moving around with his boundless energy, that Amy only half-nags him about it. All in all Jake has been taking the recovery as slow and patiently as she thinks is humanly possible for him. She can't help but compare it to a few years prior, when he first fell through a car's sunroof, then refused to take time off, and didn't slow down until he was quite literally run over by a car. God Jake was accident-prone. Although this time it was technically, kind of, Amy's fault.

"So Ames, I was thinking," Jake starts, "I could probably make it to physio on my own today."

"Are you sure?" An insistent, irrational part of Amy's brain still panics every time she has to say goodbye to Jake, no matter how short the length of time. What if he leaves again? What if this time he never comes back?

"It's right on the bus route, so no problem there. I'll meet you at Shaw's tonight for whatever that secret meeting Gina called is."

"I really don't mind giving you a ride." She tries to stifle a yawn. Her brain is telling her to panic, but her body is telling her to sleep.

"You've been pulling so many shifts lately, I figured you could use the sleep."

She can't argue with that. And the way that Jake looks out for her makes her feel warm inside. It's been a lot, readjusting, reconfiguring their lives, even if it's a blessing. She really could use the sleep before Jake and Captain Holt's surprise 'Welcome Home' party and her shift tonight. And she was meaning to tackle the ever-growing pile of laundry in the hamper, too.

Amy is brushing her teeth before she goes to bed, while Jake gets dressed in their room. Or her room. It feels like theirs, now, though. She stands in the doorway between the bathroom and her room, watching rain drops slide down the window pane.

"Are you sure you don't want me to give you a ride?" Amy says through her toothbrush.

Jake sits on the bed, and pulls a hoodie over his plaid shirt and he looks so much like himself Amy could cry.

"It's okay, I know you need to do laundry and sleep. Besides it's right on the bus route, and-"

"I just feel bad making you go on the bus, in the rain-"

"-I kind of want to," Jake finishes.

It shouldn't make Amy upset, but it does. Amy tries to disguise her hurt and confusion by taking that moment to duck into the bathroom and spit in the sink.

"Not that I don't want to be with you," Jake explains. "But I kind of want to prove to myself that I can do it. All I can think of, is going back to the Nine-Nine and life returning to normal, and then I remember I can still barely do stairs and it makes me feel like I'll never get there. So it's a win-win, you get to sleep, I get to feel like I will, someday, get my life back, and then tonight we both get to par-tay, or whatever Gina is doing."

But with Jake's explanation all her hurt feelings evaporate. Sure in a perfect world she would never have to leave Jake's side, but what she wants more, is for Jake to feel happy. For him to heal and readjust, just like her. She gets it. She's fiercely independent. As much as she gets on Jake's case for working through injuries, she's hid her own injuries from the squad too. (Nothing so serious as falling through a sun-roof though). She can understand the need to feel like life is getting back to some semblance of normal.

"Okay okay, you've convinced me." She rinses out her mouth and crosses the room to join him on the bed.

Jake wraps his arm around Amy and pulls her in. Amy's happy she has just finished brushing her teeth as she straddles him and leans in for a kiss. Jake brings his hand up to her back and pulls her closer, sending sparks up her spine. She can't get enough of him, one palm on his cheek and the other around his neck. His hair tickling her wrist in the best way. Jake deepens the kiss, and Amy readjusts her position. Sleep be damned, this is all she wants. Amy closes her eyes and loses herself in the sensation until Jake eventually pulls away.

"Mm Ames I have to go now. I'm meeting my mom today, too, remember?"

"Did you really just bring up your mom during our steamy makeout?"

Jake actually blushes at that and Amy can't think of anything more adorable. She could do this all day.

"I'll see you tonight at Shaw's," she says with one last kiss.

"I can't wait." Jake reaches for his crutches and backpack. He still prefers them over his cane when he's going out for long periods of time, and especially when he knows he's going to be pushing himself physically.

Amy gets to the bar early, but to her surprise, Rosa and Gina are already there. Even though Gina says she's never less than 30 minutes late because it, "cements her status as the alpha she-wolf."

"Did you bring the supplies?" Gina addresses Rosa.

"Got it." Rosa pulls out an electric razor and a black cape, the kind used by hair stylists.

If it was anyone else, Amy would have a million questions, but she's well past questioning anything Rosa does. Amy takes off her coat and claims a bar stool.

"We're staging an intervention," Gina drawls as she sidles up to Amy, and leans against the bar.

"An intervention for..." Amy asks.

"Jake's hair," Rosa sets down her stylist supplies on the nearest table, and turns to join the conversation.

"Oh thank god, his hair is awful," Amy says.

"See," Rosa nudges Gina's arm, "I told you she'd agree."

"I didn't want Amy to take his side. The frosted tips have got to go," Gina says.

"You don't even have to see them every day," Amy jokes.

"Bish, Jake has discovered Snapchat. Even the filters can't edit out that mess on his head. Every day it's like selfie, selfie, selfie," Gina continues.

"His hair is insulting to our friendship," Rosa adds.

Most of the squad have been over to Amy's apartment, at least briefly, to welcome Jake home. Gina stops by on Mondays to watch America's Top Model with Jake. Terry came over once with cupcakes and a stern lecture for Jake to take it easy. Charles won't stop bringing over food, which is a blessing because neither Jake nor Amy can really cook. But this is the first time everyone has been able to get together.

Terry arrives, then Hitchcock and Scully. Only a few of the squad buy drinks, because most of them still have to go to work after. Shaw's has a nice buzz, not too busy but with enough regulars to fill in the background noise. Shaw's is the perfect hole-in-the-wall bar. Gross enough that only locals knew about the place, but not so gross there were rats running across the floor.

Finally Jake walks through the doors.

"Hey everyone, sorry I'm late. So what's this secret meeting all about? You guys know I'm not medically cleared for another week."

Technically that's only true if his doctor clears him at his appointment next week, but Amy doesn't say that. She notices Jake's not putting any weight on his leg again, so it must be bothering him and she doesn't want to make him feel bad. He seems to be in a good mood though, or at least he's putting one on for the squad. Amy doesn't know if it's a detective thing, or just an Amy-thing, but she is constantly observing, analyzing, trying to read his mood and make sure he's okay. Jake teases her about sometimes, tells her it's time to turn off Det. Santiago, but it's hard to let go of the need to understand the minutiae of her surroundings.

"It's not a secret meeting, Jake. It's an intervention." Gina turns on the electric razor.

"The tips have to go," Rosa explains, leaning against the bar with a beer in hand. Amy knows for a fact Rosa has a shift after this, but apparently that's not stopping Rosa from enjoying a drink.

"What? Why?" Jake is joking, but he also sounds genuinely concerned.

"Jake we're worried about you, and you look very stupid." Gina advances with the razor in hand.

"C'mon guys, I think they're kinda cool. Retro."

"No, they're terrible," Terry says.

"Amy, come on, you're digging the tips, right?"

"No, I feel like I'm kissing Vanilla Ice." What Amy wants to add is, 'and it doesn't matter because at least you're here and we can kiss again, and I never want you to have to leave again', but that's way too sentimental to say in front of the squad.

"There was a time you would've jumped at that chance." Jake makes eye contact with Amy, and she makes a face. Now he's just messing with her.

"They have to go." Rosa puts down her drink and leans forward.

"Alright, you guys got me. I did it as a joke. I kept them ironically. Pretty funny right?" Jake laughs, and turns to leave. "I'm just gonna head out."

Then all chaos breaks loose. Hitchcock and Scully block the exit, and Terry plucks Jake off the ground. Amy and Rosa grab Jake's crutches before they clatter to the floor.

Simultaneously, Gina yells, "Get him!" while Jake protests.

"Yes Terry!" Gina shouts when Terry deposits Jake in a chair, gently enough to gain Amy's approval. Gina fastens the cape around Jake's neck, and she's pretty sure he tries to bite her hand, which has Amy giggling to herself.

"Okay, okay. Wait wait." Jake holds his hand out as Rosa gives Gina the clippers. "Okay. Stop, stop, stop. I'll admit it. I went too deep down there in Florida. At one point I think I forgot where the tip of me ended, and the base of the tips began. Before we just chop 'em off, would anybody like to say some final words?"

Jake is ever the king of comedy, and Amy can tell from his smile and the way his eyes dance that he's enjoying this. But she also remembers the look of absolute terror in Jake's eyes when she woke him from his nightmare. There are pieces of truth in his monologue too.

"No," Rosa says from her spot by the bar.

"That's one word. That counts. Thank you Rosa. Okay I'm ready."

Jake raises his head, and Gina grabs the first chunk of bleached hair.

"Sorry I'm late everyone, but trust me, it's worth it. Me and Jake are tip buds." Charles positively saunters into Shaw's with a hairstyle that is even more ridiculous than Jake's, if that's possible.

"What?" Charles takes in the scene, the clippers buzzing, Gina holding pieces of Jake's hair in her hands.

"Nooooo." Charles and Jake scream in unison, hands reaching towards each other.

There's a beat and then Jake says, "You know what, I do see it. It's bad. It looks bad."

Charles looks devastated but the rest of the squad dissolves into laughter, and eventually he joins in too. Amy hopes Charles didn't spend too much on his new hairdo. It only takes a few minutes for Gina to chop off the rest of Jake's tips, and Charles' too, for good measure. Then she shakes off the cape and bleached strands of hair fall to the floor. Amy looks back at the bartender, embarrassed and sorry for the mess, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"So should I go now?" Jake looks confused, still sitting on chair where Terry placed him, between two tables.

"We're just waiting on Captain Holt," Amy explains.

"Are you gonna cut his hair too?" Jake looks far too excited by this prospect.

Amy doesn't know how to answer, but it turns out she doesn't have to, because the Captain walks in at that moment, only limping slightly, and Terry unfurls a giant banner from the ceiling.

'Welcome Home Jake and Capt. Holt!'

Jake's face lights up. He really does look so much better without the blonde tips. Suddenly there are tears threatening to spill from Amy's eyes again, but these at least feel like happy tears. Amy doesn't know why she's dissolving into an emotional mess-she's only drinking a Coke. She moves to take the empty seat next to Jake, and wrap her arm around him, the rest of the squad be damned. (Well actually Charles will probably be overly thrilled).

"A surprise party? That's worth cutting off all my hair for," Jake exclaims.

"It was like five pieces of hair, you don't look any different." Gina rolls her eyes.

"And my hair too!" Charles butts in, pulling up a chair next to Jake.

"Squad, I am touched. I am happy to be home." Holt deadpans, which is his version of 'eyes-lighting-up'.

"Nine Nine!" Jake yells, taking Amy's glass and raising it as his own.

"Nine Nine!" The rest of the squad echoes.

Then Jake leans over and kisses her on the lips. Charles almost falls out of his chair. It feels perfect. And Amy lets herself relish this moment fully. Life will still be hard, there's still the night shift, and the fact she shot Jake in the leg. There's still the unpredictability of their jobs and six months of life lost and changes in Jake and Amy that they're both still figuring out. But right now, it all feels okay. She's sitting beside Jake, listening to him tell a stupid joke, and nothing else but that matters.

~~fin~~

A/N: This is the end! Thanks for following along, and thanks for your patience as it took me months to finally write the last chapter. There's something deeply comforting, and cathartic even, about writing fic that centres on healing, that answers the question 'what happens afterwards.' It's funny, I've never been in witness protection, or been shot, obviously, thankfully, but so much of this is drawn from personal experience. I guess because healing after trauma is a very universal human experience. And like Brooklyn Nine Nine, life is a ridiculous mix of tragedy and comedy, in a way that the jokes never feel out of place. It's one of the reasons I gravitate towards, and love, b99 so much.

So thank you, thank you for reading. This is the longest piece of ever written, and even though there's pretty much no plot, I'm super proud of it.

And for your amusement, the final notes on Random Things I Had to Research: how to make coffee (I don't drink coffee), Cuban cuisine, how to make Cuban coffee, the correct spelling of Bulbasaur, and reviews for beaches in Brooklyn.

Please tell me what you think. Chat endlessly with me about Jake & Amy. Or say hi on tumblr: feeisamarshmallow