The Virus (Brooklyn Nine Nine - Jake Peralta!) (8/?)

[stephab13]

Hey guys! How are we all?

So it's been... nearly a year, I think. Wow... since I last wrote something. But I just started watching Brooklyn Nine Nine, and it is WONDERFUL. It also has the amazing Andy Samberg, who plays Jake, and I just... wanted to torture him a little. So I was chatting with the amazing AnonyMouse, who has done wonders for my muse! And so, it spawned this. More bits and pieces to come - mostly dealing with a very sick cop who is actually pretty darn amazing at denial. But, as always - new fandom, so I'm learning voices, and it's been an age since I've written, so getting my voice back up to scratch might take a little going. But I'll stick in some nice bits of sneezing here and there, and lots of sick!adorable!cops :-)

Please let me know what you think! Bring on the criticism! And I'll keep writing. :-)

Enjoy!

****************************************

It’s not a calculated decision but pure instinct that causes him to run. It’s the adrenaline coursing through his body, his heart skipping a beat as his legs jump into action, pushing him forward. The burning in his muscles, the pain that always waits until the next morning. The complete shutdown of his brain, other than exactly what he can do to catch this guy.

He doesn’t know how he knows – he just does. His feet thud along the ground, the same timing as his heart. His body is on fire but he can only think of one thing – catching The Man With No Face.

There aren’t many people around, but he doesn’t stop to process it. He just watches the navy elbows of The Man as they both duck and weave around streetlamps and pergolas and the odd car waiting to turn left out of an alley. 4^th, 25^th, Flatbush, Atlantic – he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. What he does care about is the laneway The Man has just tried to slip into. Sneakily, stealthily – The Man is clever.

But Jake is smarter.

He takes a shuddering breath, trying to quieten his heart. He tiptoes in, back against the wall, sliding forward inch by inch.

Then he pounces.

“NYPD, freeze!” He cocks his gun, arm as steady as a watchmaker. “Put your hands in the air and turn around. Slowly.”

“Well, it would appear that you’ve caught me,” The Man says in a deep voice, dripping with sarcasm.

He knows that voice. He’d recognise it anywhere.

“Well done…”

The Man turns, embers fizzling behind his ebony eyes.

“… Detective.”

“Captain?”

****************************************

“Peralta!”

He jumps, fingers moving from his forehead to his hair in an effort to appear natural. His desk is just as he left it… only now with an irate captain and a steaming mug of tea in front of him. “I wasn’t sleeping!” He can’t have been out that long but his eyes are already bleary and his mouth tastes bitter. He swallows, making sure to keep his fingers steady and away from his throat. “It’s a new technique I’m working on – I’m perfecting the art of pretending to sleep while taking a detailed surveillance of the surroundings.”

He’s rambling. It’s his tell, and they all know it. And, what’s more, the captain isn’t buying a word of it… but instead of getting his sass on, Holt just looks concerned. “Go home, Peralta.”

“What? No! I’m fine. What are you talking about, dog?”

“I did not ask how you were, detective.” The rhythm in the deep voice, normally quite soothing, has taken on its commanding tone. Business voice. This isn’t good. “In fact, I have not commented on your appearance or the clear lack of concern you hold over your illness affecting your ability to work.”

“Hah! That’s because my work ability hasn’t been compromised in the slightest, because I actually do no work. Suck on that!”

Jake sometimes imagines what life would be like if he had a filter. Or enough time between words forming and leaving his mouth for his brain to catch up and stop them. Probably pretty boring, actually.

“Look,” he says, trying to worm himself back up from the hole he’s digging. “It’s a Friday. We all know productivity is non-existent on Fridays. Look at Gina,” (spinning on the desk chair, pulling faces and taking selfies from all angles) “or Hitchcock and Scully,” (Scully is grooming what little hair Hitchcock has left, pulling bits of chocolate and coconut and God only knows what else… occasionally popping some in his mouth), “or evend yourself, sir. Have you considered how much time you’re wasting standing here talking to me? Wasting precious taxpayer’s mboney.” He tsks for effect. “What differendce does it make paying me to sleep at my desk? At least I’mb available, and a hell of a lot more productive than half of the taskforce you’re paying right now.”

Holt raises an eyebrow. “Are you quite finished?”

He rubs his nose and sniffs, eyes downcast. “Yes, sir.” He knows he’s pushed it too far, but he’d much rather get punished for insubordination than sent home. He knows he’s ill – he’s been fighting this stupid cold for weeks now – but if he doesn’t stop, it won’t hurt. So he keeps going, keeps pushing, keeps ignoring. It’s only real if he lets it be. If he doesn’t stop, it’s all in his head.

But the Captain seems, as always, to read his thoughts. “I appreciate your enthusiasm,” he says slowly, calmly, just as robotic but somehow managing to seem like he cares. Or maybe Jake is just desperate. “However, running from your problems will not solve them. You’re a detective – you are aware of this.”

Jake nods, abandoning dignity and pressing a finger under his nose.

“You need to listen to what your body is telling you. Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

“I’m ndot sick,” Jake protests with another sniff.

“Oh?” In another universe, he would swear Holt just gave a chuckle. “And I suppose you haven’t been holding back the urge to sneeze since we woke you?”

“Of course ndot!” Jake scoffs, but it’s enough to make him lose his cool and push his sinuses over the edge. “Ehhh… I don’t… don’t ndeed to… eh-hehhh…”

Holt takes a seat, reaching for a box of Kleenex from Amy’s desk and setting them in front of him. “Just let it out, Jake.”

The kindness surprises him enough that it steals away any control he had remaining. He yanks a couple of tissues and scrunches them over his face. “Ehh’NGTSH! Eh’ngtSH! Eh… eh-hehh… eh’NG’SHOO!”

“That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Holt has a few Kleenex in his fingers, willing Jake to take them. “Bless you.”

He can feel the weight of the squad staring at him after his outburst, so he only swipes halfheartedly at his nose. It’s not like blowing it will make a difference – not now. Too much space with too much mucus – he’d be sitting at his desk for days just trying to clear the gunk out. “Thandks,” he mutters, “but I’mb okay. Thindk I’mb allergic to your colognde.”

“I’m not wearing any.”

“Jake…”

Amy’s sudden appearance at his side causes him to jump. She nudges the mug of tea over, perching on his desk with that awful concerned-apologetic face.

“You’ve been off for weeks now. Don’t you think it’s time you got some rest?” She raises a hand to his forehead, and it’s remarkably cool. He’d melt against it if he didn’t have an audience. “You’re burning up…”

“Et tu, Santieg…eh? Ndah, that doesnd’t work. But… really? You’re selling mbe out? I thought you were mby partnder.”

“Yeah, you got me. Trying to make sure you don’t work yourself to death makes me a pretty terrible partner, doesn’t it?”

“Amby…”

“Jake…”

“Enough!” Holt doesn’t raise his voice but his word still cuts through them like a knife. “Stop bickering. Peralta, I am telling you this once and once only. You need to go home.”

“I’mb fi – “

“I do not want to hear you finish that sentence. Go home, detective. That is an order.” Holt stands up, and he knows he’s lost this battle. “Do I make myself clear?”

He sighs, clears his throat. “Yes…”

“Santiago!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Take him home. Peralta…”

Jake’s buried his nose in another Kleenex, smothering sneeze after sneeze into the tattered tissue. Holt watches him momentarily, then leans in whisper to Amy.

“It wasn’t too mean of us to spike his tea like that, was it?”

Amy grins. “Sir, we’ve managed to get him to go home. He’s going to sleep in an actual bed. So what if we made him sneeze? It’s not our fault we forgot he’s allergic to peppermint.”

Holt’s eyes twinkle. “Take care of him, Santiago.”

“You got it, Captain.”

Jake finally emerges from his white chrysalis, groaning. “What are you two plottigg?”

Amy just smiles. “Nothing,” she sings, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the door. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Edited January 10, 2016 by stephab13

[Rook]

PLEASE EXCUSE ME WHILE I SHATTER THE SOUND BARRIER OMHG AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SPIKEING TEA

[rodakemopetojoen]

Aww this is simultaneously adorable and hilarious! I love it! It makes me want to watch the show again, it's been so long since I've seen it... and my gosh I wish they could make your fic into an episode, it's so fantastic!!

[Anonymouse]

oh shit oh shit oh shit oh SHIT

Jake fic -and posted on my birthday no less! A dream come true! I saw this days ago and have read it a hundred times since but haven't had the opportunity to comment until now.

I love the dream/intro. Jake is like a savant when it comes to police work. Goofy and socially inept, yes, and clueless in almost every other area of life, but a damn good cop.

This part made me laugh because it's so accurate and sometimes I feel like I can relate:

Jake sometimes imagines what life would be like if he had a filter. Or enough time between words forming and leaving his mouth for his brain to catch up and stop them. Probably pretty boring, actually.

Huge LOL at the goings-on of the office, helping Jake make his point about the productivity (or lack thereof). Everyone was so in character. Gina taking spinning selfies... Holt's stern patience is perfection. I love how he low-key teases Jake... and the sneeze-related banter! I agree with the roda-person above, this would make an amazing episode. I'm so excited to see what comes next!

[Snapdragon]

This is great! I love how you describe all the little details of background goings-on in the precinct, and you've got all the character voicesdown so good - this feels like it could be a scene from the show, easily!

[silentdreamer789]

Unbelievably awesome!

[Dynein]

Ooooh maaaan, I love this. I've been meaning to watch Brooklyn Nine Nine, so I can't comment on characterization, but you've really hit the nail on the head story-wise. I love Holt and Amy spiking Jake's tea. Poor, poor Jake.

[Winged]

I am mentally SHRIEKING because Anony and I are always complaining about how there's no B99 fic on the forums! I'm so excited to see this -- you write Jake's ramble-voice brilliantly, while balancing the perfect degree of "juvenile" that is our favorite dork. Also that dream sequence was a really fun way to start things! I'm very much looking forward to seeing where you go with this

[stephab13]

Oh, wow. I was not expecting this sort of response!!! Thanks so much for the comments, guys - it means so much! Feel free to bring the criticism too - editing has never been my strong point (maybe I should use a beta until I'm properly back in the swing of things, any volunteers?) and it is a very new fandom for me - plus there aren't a whole heap of fics out there to get a written-voice feel for. But we're here and we're trying! And I have an update. It's... very self-indulgent, but I had a seriously shitty day at work when I wrote the majority of this bit so I think I needed the release. Hope you guys enjoy it anyhow :-)

PLEASE EXCUSE ME WHILE I SHATTER THE SOUND BARRIER OMHG AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SPIKEING TEA

It's B99! Of course they do silly shenanigans like that I'll have to think of some more things for them to do to him, so if you get any ideas or have anything you want to see, feel free to pass it along! :-)

Aww this is simultaneously adorable and hilarious! I love it! It makes me want to watch the show again, it's been so long since I've seen it... and my gosh I wish they could make your fic into an episode, it's so fantastic!!

Ooooh, I don't think we'd want this next part in there but OMG. YES. SICK JAKE IN AN EP LET'S DO IT! Pity they already did the hero!injured!Jake but I'm not going to complain because injured!Jake is almost as amazing as sneezy!Jake Thanks for the comment! I hope I can capture B99's humour - the writers are just insane so I can only do my best to emulate their style!

This part made me laugh because it's so accurate and sometimes I feel like I can relate:

Jake sometimes imagines what life would be like if he had a filter. Or enough time between words forming and leaving his mouth for his brain to catch up and stop them. Probably pretty boring, actually.

Hahaha I totoally feel this most days. Glad someone else relates!

Huge LOL at the goings-on of the office, helping Jake make his point about the productivity (or lack thereof). Everyone was so in character. Gina taking spinning selfies... Holt's stern patience is perfection. I love how he low-key teases Jake... and the sneeze-related banter!

THANK YOU! Can't wait to keep trying out their voices. Or actually attempt their voices. Holt is a fun one! I'm looking forward to him really ripping into Jake though... Terry's done enough in the show!

This is great! I love how you describe all the little details of background goings-on in the precinct, and you've got all the character voicesdown so good - this feels like it could be a scene from the show, easily!

Thank you! That really means a lot :-)

Unbelievably awesome!

Thanks!

Ooooh maaaan, I love this. I've been meaning to watch Brooklyn Nine Nine, so I can't comment on characterization, but you've really hit the nail on the head story-wise. I love Holt and Amy spiking Jake's tea. Poor, poor Jake.

Oooooh yes. Definitely 100% recommend B99. 20-ish min eps so it's really easy to marathon, and the writing is just wonderful. If you've enjoyed Parks and Rec, it's the same guys! And they're not afraid of playing around with tropes that *we* tend to pick up on - there's an episode where a character has a cold, there's an episode where Jake injures pretty much every part of himself, there's a flashback with another character sneezing... Not that you'd watch it for that, obviously, but it's a nice little touch

I am mentally SHRIEKING because Anony and I are always complaining about how there's no B99 fic on the forums! I'm so excited to see this -- you write Jake's ramble-voice brilliantly, while balancing the perfect degree of "juvenile" that is our favorite dork. Also that dream sequence was a really fun way to start things! I'm very much looking forward to seeing where you go with this

Oh, wow, thank you! I love Jake's little rambles in the show, so it's fun to see what he puts on my computer screen Hope you enjoy the next few bits! I'll try and make it a bit more... realistic after this, but I needed to write me some crazy drama for now

[stephab13]

A couple of things. Tiny update-filler-thing. I needed to write some drama so this splurged out but it'll pull back into more realism in the next update. Also, as for when it's set - sometime late 2nd season, I think, pre-Peraltiago purely because they don't flirt nearly as much when together and I like writing them flirty. And, onwards!

It has to get worse before it can get better.

It has to get worse before it can get better.

It has to get worse before it -

“Eh-heh… ehnGSHH’uhh!”

It has to… has to…

He repeats it over and over but no matter where the emphasis is placed, it doesn’t help. He had no idea just how bad it had gotten until he was forced to stop – and he can’t even begin to imagine just how rough this is going to get.

He doesn’t need Amy’s hand to tell him he’s feverish. He can feel it, not just as the usual prickling behind his eyes but as a raw power, eating deep into his bones. She’s still gripping his arm, pulling him along, forcing foot to drop after foot, but it feels much more like swimming than walking (aww, stumbling, who is he kidding, he can’t stand straight let alone walk), water clogging his ears and his nose, head lolling, refusing to wake up. Not that he’ll admit it to anyone but he’s dizzy, and something as simple as standing and waiting for the elevator is taking way more energy than he cares to acknowledge.

And, of course –

“Hep-BPTT!”

The sneezing still hasn’t let up. He sniffs, leaning against the wall and tipping his head back with a groan. For the minute it grants him the façade of stability – it won’t stop his legs shaking but it does stop him from falling backwards and the support against his head is soothing.

“Heh’ESH’ah!”

“Bless you…”

But he can barely register the thought, or Amy chewing her lip, as dizziness fully takes over, forcing him to slide down the wall.

“Jake…”

“I’mb finde, I’mb finde, I’mb finde.” He tries to shake it off, but they both know it’s purely an act of habit. Any attempt at reassurance would be a total waste on either of them. “I just ndeed to sit downd awhile.”

“You need to get into bed.”

Jake smirks. “Amby Sandtiago. I kndow I’mb every schoolgirl’s fandtasy right ndow but this is hardly the timbe or place.”

Amy can only roll her eyes. “I’m serious, Jake!” She reaches out with splayed fingers, tapping gently over his forehead. “You’re really hot… and I’m sure Scully won’t notice if we tip him off his couch so you can use his bed in the fax room.”

“Really? You’re and exhibitiondist? That’s a surprise. What if Captaind walks ind?”

It must be pity that stops Amy from slapping him. “Jake…”

“Amby…” He tries to sigh but it catches and he coughs into his fist. “I’mb ndot usigg Scully’s bed, alright? I just… heh-nggGESH!... just wandt to… eh’ngtSHH!... wandt… eh’hehhh… to go-ohhh… go hooohh – heh’ESH’ah!”

“Go home?” She finishes for him quietly, not even bothering to watch for the nod. “And bless you.”

Jake sniffs, but it does nothing for the tickle that’s taken residence in his sinuses. If anything it makes it worse again and he tilts his head down, mouth facing the floor and forehead resting on his arms. “NnnGESH’ng-iiESH’OO! Ehh – ehhh’hehh… ha’IESHH’ah!”

“Wow…” Amy’s hand is on his shoulder now, rubbing gentle circles up and down. “That sounded really painful. Are you okay?”

“Always three’s,” he moans. “I’mb donde. Ndo mbore. I… oh God…”

Amy’s lip is in her teeth again and she pulls out her phone. “I’m getting the Sarge.”

“I dond’t ndeed to be… carried…” he breathes. But then he’s gone, dissolving into another volley of sneezes. “Iihh’nyesh’oo-nnGESH’OO! Eh’hehh… nGESH! Nnn’ngt’TSH! Eh’ngt’SHH! Eh’hehh… hehh… heh-hehhh? IESHHH!”

“Shit!”

On any other day, he’d find Santiago swearing hilarious. But now he’s consumed by the soup in his head, the bubbling in his nose and chest and his heart which is threatening to leap out of his chest at any moment. “Ndo Jeffers,” he stammers. “I’b… fide…”

Then the last thing he sees is Amy’s panicked eyes before he succumbs to blackness.

[Anonymouse]

Ohhhh my gosh, poor sneezy thing. :/// I was expecting it to be more dramatic based on your description but it was perfect and still very much in character. Oh, Jake... my heart... I love Amy's unwavering concern, and their banter, even as Jake is sinking deeper and deeper into the feeling like shit hole. I love the image of Terry carrying him out, and I won't complain if that's what ends up happening.

Oh, and that mantra in the beginning, with the different emphasis on the words. Idk why but I really liked that. Sort of like the little engine that could, reassuring himself every shaky step of the way.

SO looking forward to more! This is such a delight.

[stephab13]

Hey, look, it's another update! It's 4am - it's been WAY too long since I last had a writing session like this - and it still feels amazing. Plus, I have a day off tomorrow (I've had 3 in as many months, and one of those I was quite ill...) so yay!!!!

... So the plot bunnies ran away on me a bit with this, and it is a little stereotypical. But, on the other hand, it could be an episode so I'm going to attempt to write it that way :-) Also, not much sneezing (I mean, we left with Jake unconscious) but lots of caretaking and there will be more to come, I promise! :-)

Ohhhh my gosh, poor sneezy thing. :/// I was expecting it to be more dramatic based on your description but it was perfect and still very much in character. Oh, Jake... my heart... I love Amy's unwavering concern, and their banter, even as Jake is sinking deeper and deeper into the feeling like shit hole. I love the image of Terry carrying him out, and I won't complain if that's what ends up happening.

Oh, and that mantra in the beginning, with the different emphasis on the words. Idk why but I really liked that. Sort of like the little engine that could, reassuring himself every shaky step of the way.

SO looking forward to more! This is such a delight.

I think because I like writing realistically where I can, so it spun me a bit? But I'm glad you enjoyed it :-)

[stephab13]

That’s when the sirens go off.

For a brief second, Amy thinks they’re all in her head – some sort of hallucination, a physical manifestation over her panic. But then there’s shouts from down the corridor and Holt comes charging over. “Santiago, what in the – “ His eyes drop downwards to Jake’s sprawled body. “Oh. Okay.” The flicker of uncertainty is the first falter she’s seen from the captain – only it’s gone as fast as it came and Holt is crouched down beside her, heaving Jake’s shoulders into a sitting position. “Hold him up. Let’s take him inside. Then I can start debriefing everyone.”

“Debriefing?” She watches Holt jump in behind Jake’s back and slide him up, spinning easily into a fireman’s lift. “Sir?”

“Not here.” He’s unbelievably terse – probably overcompensating for nerves. “Why don’t you… follow me to my office?”

Her eyes flick between the captain, the limp body in his arms, the elevator and the clouded doors leading to the bullpen and she weighs her options. None of them are fantastic. She can ignore the sirens, take Jake and run – but she’d be disobeying protocol and jeopardising… who even knows what. Plus, as fit as she may have to be to keep her job, she’s never expected to need to carry her 160-pound partner as deadweight for long distances. Only, the alternative is to set Jake up somewhere in the precinct, keep everyone else away from him and get him to sleep. Which, considering his inhuman level of stoicism is going to be nearly impossible… and, while the medicine cabinet is fairly broadly stocked, if they’re going to be trapped for a long period of time… Tissues, tea, soup supplies dwindling…

“Santiago!”

She jumps. “Yes, sir?”

“In my office, in the cupboard behind the flag, there is a pillow and blanket. We can set up the couch as a bed. I will be able to keep an eye on Peralta while we get this… situation… back under control. Does that sound… agreeable?”

She bites her lip, but she knows the decision has already been made. And as robotic as the Captain can seem, she can read the concern in his lips. Jake may not be the top priority – but he’s ranked high enough that keeping him comfortable is going to factor into every decision that gets made from this point onwards. Finally, she nods. “Okay.”

“He’s going to be alright,” Holt says quietly as they start moving again. “He’s Jake Peralta – too young, perhaps, and complacent, but he always pulls through.”

The image of Jake trying to cock a gun using only his left hand (his right, of course, having been stabbed just two days before) pops into her head, and Amy smiles. “He’s an idiot.”

“I will not comment on that, but I won’t disagree with you either.” Holt sighs, bone-tired. “Can you explain to me the circumstances that led to Peralta’s collapse?”

“Uh…” The guilt niggles deep in her stomach. “I think he sneezed himself unconscious.”

“The peppermint tea?”

“Maybe. He’s got a fever – “

“Yes. I can feel that through his sweater.”

“ – but I don’t think the sneezing helped any.”

“Hmm.” Holt looks thoughtful. “Has he taken any medication?”

Amy snorts. “Sir, with all due respect, this is Peralta we’re talking about. I had to teach him how to boil water. I don’t think he knows what DayQuil is, let alone thought to take some.”

“Good point…” He sighs again and tips forward, shifting Jake’s weight. “Who would you suggest is most suited to getting some acetaminophen into him?”

“Gina?” She’s uncertain. “He’s too obstinate to listen to Sergeant or Diaz, and Boyle would just annoy him…”

“Ughhhh…”

“Jake?”

“Peralta?”

“Ugh… huhh…”

He’s not with it and they both know it, but it’s reassuring to hear that tiny groan of life back in the detective. They’re just a few paces behind the door to the bullpen now, but Holt stops abruptly. “Jake, can you hear me?” He waits a few seconds for a response, then turns to look at Amy. “His breathing is… awkward somehow.”

She sidesteps to check out Peralta’s face. His eyes are fluttering at half-mast and clouded over when they do open long enough for her to glimpse his coffee irises. His mouth is dropped open for air, but his nose is red and quivering. “I think he’s going to – “

“Iiiesh'hh-iiESHhh!”

“Sneeze,” she says, and runs a hand through his hair. “And there’ll be another,” she warns as Jake’s breath hitches again and Holt shuts his eyes in a dignified grimace.

“Hhh’hhh… HESH’oo!”

“Bless you.” The words tumble out of habit. “Poor thing.”

“Ughhh!” Jake sniffs before his eyes finally open, bleary and confused but definitely Jake. “What… where…?”

“Still at the precinct – you never quite made it in that elevator.” She bites back jokes of going down and lasting the distance – short sentences to help him understand might be easier. “You passed out. The Captain was just about to carry you to his office.”

“Oh, I’mb ond his shoulder! That explainds why all the blood’s in my head!” Jake smiles dopily. “Raymbond’s so strondg. He’s mby bro. Mby strondg brother, yo.”

“I’m not your… Peralta…” For once, the captain actually seems at a loss for words. He crouches down to the ground, setting Jake’s feet level before standing up again himself, pressing himself against Jake as he stands and then throwing an arm over his neck. “Come into my office. We can sort everything out there.”

Jake pitches forward – even supported on both sides, and it’s a bit of luck they both manage to catch him. “Cool cool cool cool cool. Your office. Cool cool cool.”

“It’s very cool,” Holt reassures him. “We’re going to walk now. Through the door. Into my office. One foot in front of the other.”

“Alright, alright, alright.”

He seems drunk, but it’s almost like every step brings a new burst of consciousness. Three paces and his eyes seem to clear up. Another two and he’s aware of the stares following them through the pit. A pace and he’s reassuring Boyle that, no, he really is okay. Two more and he’s ribbing Scully, angling for coffee. A final few paces and he’s gritting his teeth, face red and glistening with sweat but he’s mumbling an apology to Holt for the inconvenience and telling Amy that he doesn’t need to bed her to show her his musk. (Amy chooses not to focus on the grossness – instead trying to force a laugh at the terrible attempt at flirting and telling Jake that no, she really didn’t need to experience that musk but at least they’ve reached that point in their relationship, and tries to rationalise how his eyes light up at the R word.)

Finally they reach the leather couch, and Jake’s as with it as he’s going to be until they drop his temperature a few degrees. He pulls a couple of Kleenex from the box by his side, rubbing his nose before glancing up into Holt’s eyes. “Whend I… before I passed out… I was going hombe…” He pauses, like he’s chewing his words. “So why amb I here, ind your office, add ndot ind a hospital or mby ownd bed?”

The Captain perches on the edge of his desk and folds his arms. “There was a bomb threat to the Precinct. We’re in lockdown.”

[stephab13]

Holt sometimes pictures his precinct as a nest of ants. Every officer knows their place, knows their route, knows exactly where they fit in the colony. The days tick along like clockwork as they travel from their desks to his office to the breakroom to their desks, carrying paperwork and mugs of coffee. They do this all without thinking, just following the path set out for them. For the most part, every day runs like a happy ant colony.

However today is not one of those days. If the officers are ants then the bomb threat is a small child with steel-capped boots and a heavy gait. It takes one small disruption, one tiny lockdown, to throw them all into anarchy. Their paces quicken but they are uncertain. The route changes. Everyone bustles in and out from desk to debriefing room to his office and back but they never stop, never settle, always searching for some illusive treasure. It’s almost pitiful.

Of course, the fact that one of their key workers is currently curled up in a ball on his couch and clearly compromised doesn’t help. He can feel his own concern reflected in his team, almost tangible, leaving a line behind like a sparkler as it bounces from person to person, creating a haze through the precinct.

He has to do something. He has to guide them, help the tiny ants find their way again. Restore order and minimise the threat level. Then he can properly focus on Jake and get him the medical attention he requires.

“Gina!” His tongue plays along the inside of his bottom lip. It’s a nervous habit and he needs to get a handle on it, but somehow he needs to expel this energy and compose himself before his squad. “I need you to round everyone into my office.”

He sees Amy frown. “Are you sure? Don’t you mean the debriefing room?”

“Did I say the debriefing room? No. I want everyone in here.” He’s snappish and he commits it to memory to properly apologise to Santiago later, but he doubts she heard the words or picked up on his tone – she’s already turned back to Jake, pushing a loose wave of hair back off his forehead.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. If Peralta is contagious, the more open space they can get the better. Being cramped in here is only going to make it that much easier for whatever pathogen he has to multiply and jump between people. Only the rational part of his brain knows – even if only subconsciously, forcing him to make decisions on instinct rather than a carefully calculated formula – this is better. Move the meeting to the debriefing room and Peralta is sure to follow. That comes with its own delays, possible risk of another collapse, and the young detective needs to be resting. And while Holt knows he can’t control what goes on in Jake’s mind – herding cats would be a much easier feat – at the very least he can impose restrictions on Jake’s body. Keep him close, keep him still, keep him safe.

Time aches forward as the team trickle in. They converse with each other but all he can snatch is random words here and there, little of substance and nothing of meaning. They all cram into his office, Jeffords behind his desk, Hitchcock and Scully molding themselves around Jake on the couch, Diaz and Boyle and Gina and the rest into whatever space they can find – and everyone is talking at once.

“Captain?”

“What’s going on?”

“What’s happening?”

“What can we do?”

“… What happened to the pizza? Gina said there’d be pizza.”

“Yeah, and fried cheese curds.”

“We’re not in Wisconsin, Hitchcock!” Diaz slaps him. “Captain, what’s the deal?”

He lets himself close his eyes to mask his irritation and holds up a hand. “I have not been made aware of all of the details and we are working on a strict need-to-know basis.” He sighs, waiting, but no one protests. Yet. “A threat was made against our precinct. As a result we, along with the nine-four and seven-two, have been placed in lockdown.”

“But this is a police precinct! Can’t we just – “

“No, we cannot resolve it ourselves.” He can’t give them false hope. “The threat was made anonymously and the lockdown was placed by officials far above my paygrade. We cannot investigate for fear of bias. Each and every one of you is considered a suspect.” He folds his arms and drop his voice. “There is nothing we can do but wait it out.”

“Was it just the Ndinde Ndinde that was threate’d? Or mbore genderalised?”

“I have not been made aware – “

“Because that could help ndarrow downd the suspects…”

“Peralta.” He looks over at the pale, shivering mess on his couch. Of course the kid, despite being ill out of his mind, wants to try everything in his power to solve the puzzle. It’s probably a struggle for power, trying to regain some of the control back into his life, and he’s uncertain as to whether he prefers this Jake or the Jake that tries to work having broken every part of his body… but Holt does admire his stoicism. “This is out of my hands. I’m sorry.”

“Alright, alrighd. It’s cool.” Jake attempts a sigh of his own but it only results in a few raspy coughs. “Cand you at least say whose hands it’s under?”

“You will not like the answer,” Holt says. Jake just gives him a pleading look, red eyes as wide as he can make them, and Holt can’t for the life of him refuse. “These threats are typically dealt with by the fire department with specialised squads if required. This is Boone’s jurisdiction.”

The result is exactly as expected.

“Boonde?!”

“Seriously? That whackjob is controlling this?”

“We’re gonna be stuck here til Christmas!”

“Enough.” Holt raises a hand and the silence is as sudden as caramelised butter when it thickens. “I expect that you will treat Fire Marshall Boone with the respect that he deserves. After all, it is his call as to whether the precinct is safe or not. Do I make myself clear?”

His message – be nice or be stuck – seems to go over a few heads, but the detectives all have the sense to nod or quietly affirm and fall back into silence. Other than Jake, whose hitching breath seems to suggest he’s fighting another losing battle.

“I will keep you all updated while we wait.” Holt plucks a few Kleenex from his desk and stretches to pass them to Peralta. “In the meantime, there is plenty of – “

“Ehhhn’YISH’UH!” Jake emerges from behind a tissue, cheeks red. “Sorry, I was… tryigg to hold… to hold… Eh’nXTCH’iew!...”

“You have no need to apologise, Peralta.” Holt watches him closely as he gears up for the final sneeze. “You cannot control your body’s response.”

“Th-thandks…” The detective squints, looking up towards the light and holding a fresh tissue by his face. These tiny fits must really be taking it out of him if he’s dropped his humour…

“Captain…”

He wrenches his attention to Diaz.

“What do you want us to do?”

“As I was saying previously, before I was interrupted…”

Somehow Jake is still able to listen through his build-up. “Sohhhh… huhhh… Sorry…”

“Finish off your paperwork. Get started on your comp-stats. Read over old case reports. Co-operate with Boone. I don’t care what you do, but if you in any way jeopardise his investigation…”

He doesn’t need to finish the threat. Half the team is focused on Peralta anyway, and he knows that the family feeling will prevail. Jake is one of their own and they want to protect him – even if that means sucking up to the fire department. It’s almost a relief.

“So, unless anyone has any further questions…”

“Actually, Captain, I do.” Boyle’s watching Jake struggle, but Holt can see the twinkle in his eyes. “Ever since I’ve known him, Jake sneezes in threes. Always. But not this time. Did you somehow put a ban on sneezing more than twice in a row? And can I ask how you stopped it? Because I could really use something like that on my sister’s ex-boyfriend…”

Jake somehow manages a slack-jawed smile. “Ju-ust wait, Charles. It’s cuh… ccuhhhh…”

“… Good. Dismissed. Go back to what you were doing.”

No one moves – too busy watching the trainwreck that is the brink of a sneeze. Boyle even appears to be cheering him on, as if all it takes for a sneeze is a bit of encouragement.

“Oh, it’s cuhhh… cobigg… huh’huhhhh…”

“Go on, Jakey!”

“Hehhhh!”

“Push it out!”

“Heh! Heh! Hep!”

“Go, Jake! Go, Jake! Go, Jake!”

“Heehh-iiiIESH’UH!”

“There it is!” Boyle claps Jake on the back as he buries himself in the Kleenex. “Good work, Jakey-boy!”

Holt can only shake his head. “Get out of my office!”

[Winged]

This just gets better and BETTER! Fics with good sneezing and good plots are hard to find, and one for one of my favorite TV shows? I'm in heaven.

I LOVE how you write from each of their points of view. Amy and Holt's chapters were both so distinct in writing style and so clearly written in their individual voices, they were really a lot of fun to read. I also love poor dopey Jake trying to simultaneously be part of the action and melt into the couch.

Can't wait to see where you go from here! Lovely work, thanks for writing.

[Anonymouse]

I agree with Winged 110%. This is stellar. I suck at commenting in a timely fashion but omg the bomb threat! Again, this could be a real episode, I don't think they've ever done that before. You already know how much I love Jake sneezing while Holt carries him. And I love the part towards the end of the third chapter where Jake semi-recovers with every step and shmoozes with the precinct before collapsing onto the sofa. And then this little interaction:

Jake: Cool cool cool.

Holt: It's very cool.

I can hear it perfectly. Just so matter of fact. And Jake just being an enormous goof.

I love Holt's cost benefit analysis of holding the briefing in his office, and ultimately ruling in favor for Jake's sake. He is such a dad. I love this and I hope it never ends but I understand that's a lot to ask for so I'll be happy with however many chapters you decide to write.

[stephab13]

This just gets better and BETTER! Fics with good sneezing and good plots are hard to find, and one for one of my favorite TV shows? I'm in heaven.

I LOVE how you write from each of their points of view. Amy and Holt's chapters were both so distinct in writing style and so clearly written in their individual voices, they were really a lot of fun to read. I also love poor dopey Jake trying to simultaneously be part of the action and melt into the couch.

Can't wait to see where you go from here! Lovely work, thanks for writing.

Oh, thank you!!! I'm glad you're still enjoying it! ... Jake is just adorable. I really want to just hug him and make him soup. Especially after this latest chapter... Why am I so cruel to my babies?!

I agree with Winged 110%. This is stellar. I suck at commenting in a timely fashion but omg the bomb threat! Again, this could be a real episode, I don't think they've ever done that before. You already know how much I love Jake sneezing while Holt carries him. And I love the part towards the end of the third chapter where Jake semi-recovers with every step and shmoozes with the precinct before collapsing onto the sofa. And then this little interaction:

Jake: Cool cool cool.

Holt: It's very cool.

I can hear it perfectly. Just so matter of fact. And Jake just being an enormous goof.

I love Holt's cost benefit analysis of holding the briefing in his office, and ultimately ruling in favor for Jake's sake. He is such a dad. I love this and I hope it never ends but I understand that's a lot to ask for so I'll be happy with however many chapters you decide to write.

Haha a girl can dream... Jake is just... I don't know. I think you put it very well as "enormous goof". He just... tries so hard and is so failing. And yet, he still can't switch off his brain. Poor guy. Maybe they'll just get Boyle to throw in some antihistamines with the soup

[Anonymouse]

Orrrr they can leave the antihistamines out and he can keep sneezing his adorable head off. Just a suggestion. Though I suppose he deserves a little relief after the two of us have been putting him through the ringer, hehe.

I literally gasped when I saw this at the top of the new content section. Even though it's not a new chapter it still fills my heart with glee just to talk about it a bit. Is the next part forthcoming?

[stephab13]

Hey guys! Thanks for still reading (all probably two of you ). Just a little update and *no* sneezing I'm sorry but there's stuffy talk is that okay? but it's important plot-wise so at least it's out the way. There'll be more sneezing in the next one There's talks of vomit, just as a warning, but nothing explicit.

He wakes like an old man, cranky and confused. He doesn’t know when he fell asleep, but he must have if he’s woken up. And he doesn’t know what woke him up either – probably snoring, if the dry throat is anything to go by – but at least he hasn’t roused suspicion from the captain. Holt seems chained to his desk, talking hurriedly into his office phone, but Jake can only see his back, and he’s not about to bring attention to himself.

But seriously, he feels old. It’s like instead of napping he took on another investigation that ended in dangerous chases and a gold old-fashioned tackle. His joints creak and his muscles burn and everything just feels too tight. He hurts.

It’s probably the flu.

He squints, searching for the tissue box. They’re scattered around the room like flowers in a funeral home, so you’d think it would be easy to find. He knows he had a box before… it’s probably buried in the mass of coats and blankets he seems to be wrapped in. He finally finds one perched delicately on the arm of the couch and reaches up carefully and… oohhhhh. Nope. That’s his head. Yeah, his head hurts. Not gonna happen. Not unless he wants to keep his skull intact and his brain in his head… which he somehow does. It definitely helps with the whole being-alive thing.

He’d like to think the sound tearing from his throat is a high-pitched groan, but he’s basically given up on dignity. Anyone listening would call it a whimper. And it’s caught Holt’s attention.

“Wait; sorry – I’m going to have to call you back.” The captain spins around as the phone magically finds itself back on the hook. “Peralta. It’s nice to see you awake.”

He clears his throat, blinking, trying to bring the captain into proper focus. “How long was I out?”

“About half an hour, give or take.” Holt glimpses up from his watch and Jake can feel his eyes tracing over him. “How are you feeling?”

It’s moments like these that he questions why he sees Holt as a father figure. Sure, he’s a man in power who actually seems to give a damn about him. But when it comes to stuff like this, Holt just… kinda sucks. Though, then again, at least he’s trying. It’s a hell of a lot more than he can say for the sperm-donor.

Holt does seem to realise they ridiculousness of his question, at least. “That was not an appropriate question. The answer should be obvious. But I do want to know - are you… feeling better?”

He takes a second to survey his body. Which hurts, but it’s mostly manageable. His nose seems to have settled – it’s just leaking everywhere – and his bones are overly toasty, instead of the burning ice they were before. “Uh…. A little.” He decides it’s better to be truthful. “I mbeand, you kndow, apart fromb the fact that I’mb trapped ind your office for and indetermbindate period of timbe and every timbe I opend mby eyes it’s like fireworks exploding indside mby head and I feel like the Brooklynd Bridge because trucks keep driving over mbe.” He sniffs, and the wall of sarcasm crumbles through his fingers. “But I think mby fever’s downd so that’s a start.”

Time must be acting screwy in his head because he swears all he did was blink and then the back of Holt’s hand is resting on his forehead. “You do appear to be a little cooler.”

He’s not too sure how he feels about this. It’s not that he’s adverse to touch, necessarily – he’s spent way too much time around Boyle for that to be an issue… but right now, his temperature is still too high and he’s hyperaware of everything touching him. He’s laughed at Boyle before for his criticism of polyblend materials (whatever the hell that means anyway) but he swears he can feel every single thread of clothing digging into him. It’s too much, too much information, pressing in all around him and he just feels overloaded. And his breath is quickening in response.

“Jake…?”

He squeezes his eyes shut but he can feel pins and needles shooting from Holt’s fingertips down his neck.

“Are you alright? Do you need… What do you need…?”

God, his situation has spun out the robot. He’d almost laugh if the adrenaline wasn’t kicking him in the gut.

“Here, Peralta. It’s okay.”

He cracks an eye to see white waving in front of his face. Clearly Holt has misread the scenario. But he’s not going to sneeze. He instead forces a swallow, praying he can keep everything down. “Ndot mby ndose.” He swallows again. He’s not going to vomit – not here, not now. “Just… please don’t touch mbe…”

He’s not sure he’s ever actually made an honest request at work before, and Holt is clearly surprised. “Oh!” There’s still electricity running down his arms and legs and back and neck, but the pressure has lightened a little – there’s no more fingers, no skin, no human-invasion of his personal space. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you alarm…” He opens his eyes again to see Holt crouched a few feet in front of him, looking at his face. “There is… a bucket next to the couch if you need it.”

He forces himself to sit up and looks anywhere but the side of the couch. He’s not going to look for the bucket. He doesn’t need it. Nope. He’d much rather focus on how dry the back of his throat is. Or on how ridiculous his life is right now. On how he can possibly spin this (read, guilt trip) into getting a date from Amy. Or on… why they’re locked inside the building during a bomb threat.

Something isn’t right here, and it’s not just his roiling stomach.

“Captaind…”

Of course, the phone chooses that exact moment to ring. Doesn’t matter that they’re in lockdown and the phone’s been going off the hook. It just has to go off as he makes a revelation.

Holt’s already at the phone by the time he’s registered the ring – his brain is definitely processing too slow – but he’s still looking over, hand hovering above the receiver.

“Do you need something? I can call Gina in while I’m on the phone.”

He should probably drink something, but it’s too soon, too likely to come straight back up. He closes his eyes, shakes his head gently, tries to relax back into the leather.

“This is Raymond Holt. Yes… Frank. Hello.”

The tone shocks him. Mostly because, holy hell, Holt has tone in his voice. But, even moreso, he can hear the distaste and frustration underlying the terse words.

Or maybe he’s still too feverish and hallucinating.

“Frank, this is ridiculous. This is a police precinct. My detectives are going to ask questions. This is not standard procedure.” Holt rolls his eyes. “You need to tell me what the hell is going on. I have a sick detective in my office who needs to be resting at home and – “

It’s like the office got doused in cold water. Jake even shivers. The captain can be remarkably collected and hard to read even when he’s trying to show emotion. But this… Whatever he’s just been told, whatever it is that’s draining his face of colour… Well, it can’t be good.

“Yes, Frank. He’s in my office. Would you care to speak to him?” The captain holds the handset away from himself, looking straight at Jake. “Peralta… Jake… I think you need to hear this.”

He clicks a button and that voice fills the office. “… so we’ll have a set of PPE sent in, and fuck, I still can’t believe that this is real, we all thought it was a hoax, shit, I’ll have to send a team in, make a list of things you’ll need cos you’ll be in there awhile and… goddammit, I was meant to have the day off…”

He’s dreamt of this situation so many times before. Hearing those words spewing from Boone’s mouth. But not like this. Never like this.

“… My voice sounds funny. I’m on loud-speaker, aren’t I?”

He so wants to chip in with a, “Well done, Boone. Good solve. It’s about time you had one of them.” Sarcasm is a crutch. But he can’t afford it.

Holt just sighs. “Frank, I have detective Peralta.”

“Dammit, Jake! Trust you.”

“Yeah, trust mbe to mbake your day real shitty. Cos it sure as hell can’t be worse thand mbinde right ndow.” He sniffs loudly, but the congestion has made his point for him. “This isn’t and ordindary bomb threat, is it?”

“Look, the need-to-know-basis still applies. The last thing you want right now is a panic…”

He risks a cough but his heart is beating out his chest. Luckily Holt beats him to the chase. “Frank. Enough.”

“The threat…” The voice sounds like it’s trying to eat the words before they come out, like somehow they can all just pretend everything is okay. “Look. You’re right. Okay? It isn’t a bomb. It’s a bioagent.”

Holt’s eyes are wide when they stare into his, but the voice is scarily steady. “Jake. You may be patient zero.”

He finally gives in, lurching to the side and grabbing the bucket.

[stephab13]

Orrrr they can leave the antihistamines out and he can keep sneezing his adorable head off. Just a suggestion. Though I suppose he deserves a little relief after the two of us have been putting him through the ringer, hehe.

I literally gasped when I saw this at the top of the new content section. Even though it's not a new chapter it still fills my heart with glee just to talk about it a bit. Is the next part forthcoming?

DUDE You just beat me. I was formatting when you answered!

... I actually think that Jake, when hes' allergic, has those crazy triplets, but is more prone to extended fits when he's sick. Which is how he works out that someone spiked something, or he was reacting to something... I don't know how else they're gonna make him sleep. Oh, but, my God, I just... Jake asleep and sneezing while asleep I just I cant't WHY HAVE YOU PUT THIS IMAGE IN MY HEAD

[Anonymouse]

oooOHHH DAMN SHIT JUST GOT REAL D:

I had a sneaking suspicion this might be the case. Hopefully it's just an empty threat and Jake just has the flu? I am on the edge of my seat right now.

Poor babe, struggling with all the terrible physical sensations. I can totally relate to that feeling of having to throw up but doing everything in your power to distract yourself from that horrible feeling in your stomach. Vomit doesn't bother me, not in stories anyway. I kind of see it as a release, similar to sneezing. And speaking of sneezing... Holt with the tissue! He is trying so hard and it is so gosh dan sweet. I love the comparison Jake makes between Holt and the "speed donor." Because yes, Holt is not warm and cuddly, but at least he's trying. And again, I'm super impressed at how well you write Holt. Voice, mannerisms, everything.

And Jake... oh, poor Jake. I love fevers and achiness and delirium too so I didn't even miss the sneezing this chapter. You did a great job writing from his perspective, with the sensory overload of the clothing on his skin and Holt's hand touching his forehead, and the perception of time going wonky from the fever.

Dying for more!!!

[Zwee]

Just wanted to drop by and say that this story is pure beauty.

It is a work of art.

And it's definitely possible I started watching B99 because of you and AnonyMouse's stories. My boyfriend had seen it before and he said it was good, and then I saw that you watch it, and apparently we have really similar taste because I love practically everything you write material for, and this was yet another success.

But seriously, how are you so damn good at characterization?? It's like reading a transcript for an actual episode. Unbelievable. And hilarious!

This is great, you're great, the premise is great, also the suspense and DAMN the bio threat OMG I can't wait for the next part.

[CHOCOLATE <3]

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH CRAP.

this is amazing, by the way. I haven't seen many episodes, only enough to know who's who, but now I wish it were on netflix so I could binge-watch the show

[stephab13]

oooOHHH DAMN SHIT JUST GOT REAL D:

I had a sneaking suspicion this might be the case. Hopefully it's just an empty threat and Jake just has the flu? I am on the edge of my seat right now.

Poor babe, struggling with all the terrible physical sensations. I can totally relate to that feeling of having to throw up but doing everything in your power to distract yourself from that horrible feeling in your stomach. Vomit doesn't bother me, not in stories anyway. I kind of see it as a release, similar to sneezing. And speaking of sneezing... Holt with the tissue! He is trying so hard and it is so gosh dan sweet. I love the comparison Jake makes between Holt and the "speed donor." Because yes, Holt is not warm and cuddly, but at least he's trying. And again, I'm super impressed at how well you write Holt. Voice, mannerisms, everything.

And Jake... oh, poor Jake. I love fevers and achiness and delirium too so I didn't even miss the sneezing this chapter. You did a great job writing from his perspective, with the sensory overload of the clothing on his skin and Holt's hand touching his forehead, and the perception of time going wonky from the fever.

Dying for more!!!

I'm actually not too sure what's going on with Jake yet... He's pretty damn sick. But at least he's getting some meds and stuff into him now :-)

I relate to... most of what I write. Jake's sensory thing I've stolen from my experience. I get hypersensitive if I'm feverish or getting a migraine and, if I'm nauseous, touch makes me worse. Like, if I'm sitting there needing to vom, rubbing me on the back is probably the easiest way to get that to happen. It used to really annoy my step-father though! Because I couldn't do toast or touch, so he didn't know what to do

And, as always, thanks so much for the comments! I'm afraid we won't get a whole heap of new things - just needed to get the EMT's in there - but still sweet father!Holt and delirious!Jake :-)

Just wanted to drop by and say that this story is pure beauty.

It is a work of art.

And it's definitely possible I started watching B99 because of you and AnonyMouse's stories. My boyfriend had seen it before and he said it was good, and then I saw that you watch it, and apparently we have really similar taste because I love practically everything you write material for, and this was yet another success.

But seriously, how are you so damn good at characterization?? It's like reading a transcript for an actual episode. Unbelievable. And hilarious!

This is great, you're great, the premise is great, also the suspense and DAMN the bio threat OMG I can't wait for the next part.

OH MY GOSH THANK YOU!

... But yeah. B99 is just absolutely wonderful. I'm really glad that we got you in! AnonyMouse is just insanely good... and I try Speaking of TV shows though - any recs? I'm always looking for new things

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH CRAP.

this is amazing, by the way. I haven't seen many episodes, only enough to know who's who, but now I wish it were on netflix so I could binge-watch the show

Awww. I'm really glad you're reading (and hopefully enjoying!) though :-) And, there is always torrents. Which is how I do things because I don't own a TV But thanks for commenting!

[stephab13]

Hey! Merry Christmas, guys! Hope you all had a great Chrissy and also have a wonderful New Year! I've got another update - fairly small, mostly important because I didn't want to fry Jake's brain so it's about time we got those EMTs out to him... but there is delirious!Jake and a bit of sneezing. I'll involve some more characters in the next.

Updates might be a little slow coming up. I've managed to score nearly 3 days off (I'm working a sleepover shift right now, so I have 3.5 hours of work tomorrow, then I'm off til next year! ) but I do have a few parties to get too. And, for some reason, my hands (yeah, both of them) are not liking me at all. So going to go see a rheumy next year to get it checked out. I *will* still write, but some days typing hurts and I'm stiff... so it'll be slower. But stay posted! And please, feel free to comment or criticise or give me ideas or anything.

AND LAST THING - go check out the synopsis for the ep on Jan 19th! I'll post a link in another entry, if I can :-)

****************************************

Creak…. Creak…. Creak…

It’s dark and dim and there are tiny footsteps swirling all around him like ice in a snowstorm, whispering against his cheek and his neck and his hands and fingers, tapping their rhythm, creaking into his bones.

Only it’s not right. It’s pitch black. He doesn’t know where he is… or what it is that’s making the noise.

He stands up, squinting. There’s a wall next to him so he turns, back against the plaster, hand pulling his gun ready. Then he slides across, feeling the surface with his feet.

Creak… creak… creak…

“Ughhhhhh…”

There’s someone in the room with him.

His fingers hit a light switch, and suddenly he’s surrounded in the blinding. But he can see the figure, hunched over, hair short and wavy.

He cocks his gun, pushing it gently into the guy’s back.

“What do you want?”

The guy spins around. Jake barely has time to register that the face is his own reflection, when he feels a thousand knives ripping into his skin.

****************************************

He wakes with a jump and shoves the EMT off his arm before he realises he’s out of the nightmare. He’s sticky with sweat, and way too hot, and everyone is way too close.

“Zombie!” He chokes, hacking into his shoulder, hands flat ahead of him. “Get away!”

“Jake…”

“What did you give him? Is this a reaction to your tests?”

“He’s delirious. Probably his brain melting. We gotta get that down now – blood draw can wait for reperfusion and a better site – get a line in first – “

“He’s too dehydrated, he’s rolling – I won’t get another chance – keep him still.”

There’s fingers on his bicep and more slicing into his elbow. They’re out to get him, the navy gowns and their needles. He kicks out, drawing his arm in close. He knows he’s being paranoid, but he needs more time for the fog to clear. “Stay away fromb mbe!”

“Peralta!”

He jumps at the tone, but for once the cold hand on the back of his neck is nice.

“You’re alright, detective. These people are not here to harm you.”

He shivers violently – he can feel his skin peeling away from his bones. Only he blinks and realises it’s not his skin but it’s Holt’s spare hand tugging at his shirt, trying to force the clothing upward. He takes a deep breath, then wriggles, wincing as the (freezing) room air hits his skin.

“Thanks, man. That’s a great help.”

There’s two strangers around him, wearing dark gowns with EMT printed where the pocket should be. They’re gloved, masks and goggles hiding their features. The nearer one is holding a needle set (which he’s going to pretend he didn’t just see cos, nope, needles, no way), with some bigger syringes on a roll-y chair next to him. Then, on the other side of the chair, the other guy is fiddling about with more needles, drawing up different substances from different vials.

They’re going to medicate him.

They’re going to make him like them.

He shivers again and looks up. Holt has a mask on too, but his eyes are deep, searching into his. And he’s not wearing gloves – it’s cool skin on his neck, his shoulders, his back, not alien nitrile. Human skin. He draws a deep breath, like he can wind up those strands of rationality and sanity and anchor them. Another shiver, another deep breath. Then -

“Hhp-TSHHH! Hep’NGXT!”

Jake tries to swallow the coughs bubbling up from that forced stifle. He can see spray from the first glistening on the EMTs gown… but the medic seems unaffected as he moves over, reaching for Jake’s right arm. “We gotta get this IV in you, dude. Think you can not fight me for a minute?”

The next round of shaking is from fear, not fever. Holt squeezes his shoulder. “You’ve handed me paperwork that was completed in pencil. You’ve taken on Jeffords in the dojo. I believe I’ve even heard you call Rosa a chicken once before. Forgive me for saying this, Peralta, but I’d take the odds that you can make this IV your bitch.”

Jake chokes, but even his body jerking as he coughs has no effect – Holt’s words are enough of a distraction that somehow, by some miracle, the IV has slid in, needle discarded, and syringes of blood are being taken from the port.

“See? I told you that you could do it.”

“Blood flow’s good – dark, you’re too dehydrated, but not clumping.” The EMT switches the blood-filled syringe for a smaller, clear one. “Flushing with saline – we’ll get some drugs into you next, when Perry’s ready – may as well spike the bag and we’ll get fluids running – you’re staying in here, I believe, so we’ll chuck it above the couch – have you taken any medication?”

It’s like treading through mud as he thinks. He can feel every neuron fire individually as his brain scans through the pathways. He’s about to shake his head when Holt speaks up for him.

“He’s had two Advil but he vomited an hour later.”

“What’s his temp? One-oh-four?”

“One-oh-four-five when we arrived. Want to recheck?”

EMT-1 nods, and EMT-2 hands over a fat, white, almost-gun-looking thing. It’s pointed at his head – Holt pinning his arms down so he doesn’t reach for his own gun – and beeps harshly. He’s even got the weird-thermometer-thing worried.

“One-oh-four-two. Need IV acetaminophen.” EMT-1 turns his head back to Holt. “You say he vomited?”

“Yes. He vomited twice and then fell asleep again.”

“Perry, I’m gonna need the ondans too.”

He doesn’t like all these people talking about him. He is there, and he wants to contribute. The trouble is, the only thing that he can think of is – “… You’re ndot zombies…”

EMT-2 laughs. “Nah, sorry, mate. It’d make this job so much better.”

“He’s not wrong.” EMT-1 stops injecting and hangs a clear bag from the curtain roll behind the couch. “Is that what you were screaming about earlier?”

He winces. Even if rationally he knows it was just a fever-induced nightmare, he’s too foggy. The dream is still too vivid, too real. If he closes his eyes long enough, Holt’s skin begins to peel from his hands and the whole room reeks of death. He’d much rather not think about it all.

And besides, his nose still hasn’t let up on its itching. His brain is about to boil over and out his ears, his stomach is still threatening to twist itself into a ball and jump into his throat, and everything hurts like he’s just finished a marathon. And somehow his sinuses can still make themselves the most important thing in the room.

“Heh… Eh’NGTSHHH!”

“Bless you.” EMT-2 presses a Kleenex into his hands. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugs before blowing his nose. It’s not like anything that comes out of his mouth is going to be an honest answer. And his throat hurts too much to justify carrying a conversation… though he is curious… “Why are you here?”

EMT-1 snorts. “Just a normal day at the office, until we get notified of an unknown threat in your precinct. CDC ordered some tests, Boone sent his top medics, and here we are.”

Of course, Holt seems to pick up on what hasn’t been asked. “After you… vomited… Frank elevated your priority ranking. I think your fever began to spike again, and you passed out. You slept for about 15 minutes before the EMTs arrived, and you woke just a few minutes into their visit. We still don’t know what the potential threat is, or who made it. You seem to be the only one who is ill, which I hope will make you feel less anxious. The precinct has also been supplied with masks and goggles for anyone wishing to come into close contact with you.”

“And we’re running your blood – so whatever it is you have, we’ll find it. And as soon as we know, we’ll take you to hospital to fix it.”

“It’s safer to keep you here in the meantime.” Holt turns to look briefly at the IV bag with its tubes running down the windows and into Jake’s elbow. “Jeffords has been talking about making his cure-all soup, Santiago and Boyle have been discussing the merits of different tea leaves, and Diaz is currently sitting outside the door growling at anyone who comes close. You’re in good hands here.”

“He’s not exaggerating the growling thing either!” EMT-2 shakes his head. “She threatened to cut off my fingers and shove them up my arse one by one if I did anything to hurt you. I thought she was who the call-out was for at first!”

Jake manages a shaky smile. “That’s mby Rosa. Her bark is worse thand her… iih-NGISH’UH!”

“Nasty bug you got there, dude.” EMT-1 shakes his head as he passes over more tissues. “Reckon you’re up for answering a few questions for us? The CDC just need to know your symptoms so they can start trying to diagnose. Or, at least, to narrow down the options for the gels they need to run.”

Holt gives him one of his looks. Those penetrating ones, the ones that leave you feeling open and vulnerable, like all your secrets are written in ink all over your skin and you’re standing naked for him and him alone, to read like filthy Harry Potter fanfiction. “Excuse me, Peralta… Will you be alright if I go to the bathroom? I'll only be a minute or two.”

He’s known Holt for too long now. Holt doesn’t need the bathroom – he can hear it in the pauses in his voice. But Holt does want to give him privacy, and it’s there for the taking. Only… he’s overwhelmed. Call him a small child but he needs to have someone there, holding his hand. So he bites his lip.

“Or… I can wait until this is finished. No matter.”

“Thandks…” His voice is no more than a whisper, his face burning. “I’mb sorry.” He looks away from Holt, who’s running a hand in circles over his back and looking sympathetic, over to the EMTs. One of them – the Aussie – is looking at his watch and frowning through the goggles. “I’mb sorry for keeping you here and taking all your timbe… It’s ndot a big deal, I’mb finde, you have other people and shouldn’t have to deal with mbe sdnee… sndeezig all over the youuuu… Hi’ISHU!”

“Hey – it’s okay, mate, no worries.”

“Yeah, we’ve dealt with worse before. Bit of snot never killed nobody.”

He shuts his eyes with a shuddering breath. These guys are just so nice and calm and caring and beautiful and nice and he doesn’t want to answer questions, all he wants to do is go home because everything is just so sterile and terrifying and home is warm and comfortable and these EMTs are so nice, so different from the normal fire department loonies and instead of going home to die in his bed he’s stuck with some freaking virus that’s going to kill him and his friends and the nice paramedics and he wants to go home, not sit snivelling on Holt’s couch.

“Hks’DJZSHH’uhh!”

There’s soft under his eyes, drying his cheeks, and it settles under his nose, pinching and dragging down his nostrils. Someone has taken pity on him, started cleaning his face for him, and even though he knows, he’s not about to open his eyes to discover who.

“It’s alright, Jake… Let it out… You’re okay. Everything is going to be okay…”