Evaluation

"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself; I am large-I contain multitudes."

-Walt Whitman

"Heya Captain? This is gonna be short, right? 'Cause Rosa is really pissed at me and I need the three minutes it takes her to use the bathroom so I can hide under Hitchcock's desk. The smell will be unendurable, however, I value my face too much to not suffer through it. Honestly, I'm so brave I want to give myself a medal, or two, or maybe even three."

Detective Jake Peralta was grinning like an idiot. Captain Jay Holt did not look amused.

"Please sit, Peralta," Holt replied, setting the papers he'd been perusing on his desk and scooting a little closer to his desk. Peralta gulped, he still couldn't read the man very well, but he was capable enough to see that Holt was not so very happy. He nervously took a seat and quickly forgot about Rosa, because the look Holt was giving him indicated that there wouldn't be much left for Rosa to maul.

"'Course Captain," Jake responded anxiously.

"Sergeant Jefford has recommended you for a psychological evaluation."

"What?!" Jake's response was immediate, "You've got to be kidding me? I haven't killed anyone this year, in fact, I don't think I've even shot anyone, so, you know, psych eval totally not necessary."

Holt gave him a look which had Jake shutting up.

"I agree with Sergeant Jefford's thoughts on this. You were recently kidnapped, you've been injured and hit by a car, not only that you've been displaying a total lack of consideration for your well-being. There are also you personal affairs, I am sure your father's visit along with the recent break up with Ms. Perez have only aggravated all of this," Holt replied.

Holt watched Peralta's features waver, lines of pain creasing onto his face and his composure trembling.

"I think, that, my, well, personal stuff, affairs, well, it's none of your business, so," Jake broke off, his awkward stuttering another indicator that Holt was quite correct in his assessment.

"This proves my point, Peralta, you need to see a psychiatrist, if just to sort out your issues at work."

Jake shook his head, "Nope, no, no, no. Doctors are not my thing, I am not going, you cannot make me. Only way you can have a mandatory psych evaluation is if I have shot and killed someone this year, which I have not, so I think this meeting is over and I will go have my balls cut from my body by a beautiful latina woman with the eyes of a devil."

Jake stood to go out.

"Jake," Holt spoke.

This threw off Jake and he short-circuited for a moment, mouth twitching. Holt did not often use first names, and he used Jake's the least.

"At least," Holt paused, trying to think of anything he could do to keep his detective from ending up dead by the end of the year, or month. Holt gave Jake a cursory glance; or even week.

"At least accept a dinner invitation. Kevin has been wanting to speak to you about the New York Times."

This got a small quirked smile out of Jake and Holt gave a tiny nod as the detective stepped out. Moments later he heard a shout from Diaz and he smiled, shaking his head.

The dinner date got set, and it came all to soon. Jake was nervous. Well, nervous was a bit of an understatement. This year had been a crappy year, it had been a year of losing his Nana's apartment, of spending a painful amount of time undercover, of realizing he was in love and having that love crushed at every turn, and among it was his father's unpleasant surprise return. He stood outside of the residence of Mr. and Mr. Holt-Cozner. He felt under dressed while also feeling horribly over dressed. At least he hadn't brought wine this time.

Ringing the doorbell he shifted awkwardly on the welcome mat. The door opened and there stood his boss.

"Heeey," Jake said awkwardly, a large fake smile spread across his face.

"Welcome Detective Peralta, you're on time."

"Yup," Jake said, stepping inside and toeing off his shoes.

"Kevin is working on dinner at the moment, he'll be a short while, we can take the time in the living room. He does love his space in the kitchen," Holt said this while sweeping a gracious arm in the direction of the front room.

They moved in that direction, Jake bouncing down onto the couch a quivering ball of nerves and childish wiggling. Holt was much more elegant, gracefully setting himself opposite of Jake. There were a few moments of awkward silence.

"To be honest, Peralta," Holt corrected himself, "Jake, I may have deceived you in the nature of this dinner. Though my mendacity is unbecoming, I have found it necessary. I want to help you Peralta, and I can clearly see that you are not going to help yourself. In fact, the childish behavior you exhibit still astounds me-"

"Not helping Captain," Jake interrupted.

Holt nodded his head, looking to the side.

"The point is, you need to speak to someone, soon, before I lose one of my best detectives. Now, I don't care who you talk to, let that be an individual trained to do so, or, in this case, me. But please, do not make me have to give the eulogy at a police officers' funeral."

Jake was staring at Holt with eyes wide and watery. He looked completely insecure and wounded. Much more like a little boy than a thirty four year old detective.

"O-okay," Jake breathed out.

Holt smiled slightly and gave a relieved nod of his head. Unfortunately it was followed by silence. Just because Captain Ray Holt was good at getting his detectives in line didn't mean he had a degree in psychology.

"Umm, my dad, I told him not to talk to me, ever again," Jake began nervously.

"I-I'm terrified," his throat closed up and he stared at his hands, "I mean, he probably won't ever, not again. And, I don't think, I thought about it, but my mom doesn't even wanna talk to me most of the time and I don't know what to do to be better. I let people down and I'm never good enough. People die because I let them down, because I'm not a good enough cop. It was never enough growing up, I couldn't protect my mom and I wasn't good enough for him to stop or stay," Jake kept going on and Holt realized that maybe he hadn't thought this through because he was learning some unpleasant truths from Jake's babble.

"And I-and I don't know what I should do because I keep messing everything up with the people that matter to me, I'm just not good enough, and-" Jake let out a huge breath, his fevered gaze falling to the carpet, his hands moving to hide his face.

He was silent and Holt knew he should do something. He leaned over and placed a hand on Jake's shoulder, words not quite able to form in his mouth yet.

"These things, your mother, whatever you father did, does now, what he chooses, is not and will never be your fault."

Jake let out a choked sob and Holt felt the emotional uncomfortability for him increase. However, the safety of a man under his charge was at stake, that and a little boy who had never had someone tell him that what happened wasn't his fault.

"As for any deaths, you do a fine job as a police officer, better than any other in the precinct and better than many on the force. People die, and I find that the acceptance of our mortality is a problem many individuals have pondered over the centuries, I'm afraid no one has found the answer either. Just know that you are doing a lot more for the world than a great many others."

Holt felt Jake's shoulders heave and heard his sobs. Carefully moving to sit beside Jake, he set his arm around him. The crying seemed to become more pronounced. Minutes passed by and Holt looked up as Kevin's soft footsteps in the hallway reached his ears. His husband appeared in the doorway, face lifted slightly in annoyance. His face molded into something softer when he took in the scene. Raymond met his husband's gaze and Kevin gave a nod, heading back towards the kitchen.

The crying went on for a while and when it finally stopped, Holt realized that he had a heavy weight leaned against him. It took a few moments, but he realized that Jake had fallen asleep. He carefully maneuvered his full grown employee onto the couch with a cushion as a pillow. Somehow it felt as though every interaction with Peralta had a fifty-fifty chance of either being completely childish or completely mature. Jake didn't do things by halves.

Holt lifted the detective's legs onto the couch and removed his shoes. He then draped a blanket over him. With a soft sigh, he moved toward the kitchen.

Kevin was in there, eating the strawberries he had prepped for the trifle. He turned, a slightly guilty look coming onto his face. Holt smiled, amused. Kevin wiped his hands and moved over to Raymond.

"I suppose I shouldn't pry into Detective Paralta's affairs," Kevin was looking up at him, a question on his face.

Holt shook his head slightly and moved forward, pulling his husband towards him, arms circling Kevin's waist.

"Remember when we first met?" Raymond asked, chin going atop Kevin's head.

There was a soft chuckle, "I doubt I could ever forget the moment."

Raymond took in a deep breath.

"I remember that, when things seem beyond my mortal capabilities."

"I am sure of your competency Raymond, I rely on you, and those you work with admire you for your abilities," Kevin reassured.

When Raymond didn't respond Kevin pulled back and surveyed his husband with gentle, probing eyes.

"You fail to sing your own praise as Jason did on the Argo. I would not see you lay by your own gifts and efforts. You've made a difference in this world, Raymond, you've laid the way for so many. Continue the cause but never dismiss the merit from that which you've already done."

Raymond smiled again and pulled Kevin against him once more, cheek pressed against his husband's hair.

"And here I thought you preferred Flaccus' rendition of the Argonauts and their quest."

"Apollonius has his virtues," Kevin defended.

Raymond let go, kissing his husband on the cheek.

"I am afraid we're going to miss out on your dinner," Raymond apologized.

He moved back to the front room where Jake had already squirmed around in his sleep, arms thrown wide and mouth open. He was snoring. Raymond shook his head. Peralta really was like a child.

There were many more things to discuss, but hopefully this laid the way for Peralta actually seeing a professional. Trust was difficult to coax out from his employees, especially this one. He would not betray it and he would not leave. Mistaken father-figure or not, Raymond Holt cared, his distinction was difficult to attain but even more difficult to shrug off. Peralta would get help, whether he wanted it or not.

Peralta snorted in his sleep, flopping over onto his stomach while mumbling something about 'mini skirts' and 'tacos'. Holt shook his head and pulled the blanket back over Peralta; definitely an oversized child.

A/N: This got a little side-tracked. But I felt that that end part of season 2, before Holt's transfer, was deserving of just a bit more angst.

I just love Kevin and Raymond, what a cute awkward little couple. I apologize for whatever written errors occur, also any plot holes or poorly generated characterization.