Chapter Text
Captain Raymond Holt was not fond of time-wasting. Efficiency, in Holt’s opinion, is the most valuable skill in the workplace. The thought of idling around the precinct when there was work to be done was distasteful, but it couldn’t be helped. His watch told him it was past seven, past the end of his shift, but he was not ready to leave yet. It was CompStat day after all, and he was determined to stay until the last case file was closed. Jake was burning the mid-evening oil, putting the finishing touches on an aggravated assault he’d been working on. He wanted to be sure it was logged with this month’s cases to try a beat the precinct record, or so he told everyone. Holt had his own suspicions, mainly focussed around Jake wanting an excuse to miss having drinks with the squad after work, but he wasn’t planning on sharing those. So he waited.
As he watched, he found himself reminiscing. Much had changed in the ninety-ninth precinct in the last thirty-eight months. Scanning the bullpen, he recalled the threat that Wuntch had used to manipulate him as she forced him into the public relations office - one where his detective squad was destroyed, one transfer at a time. He had fought to ensure that that nightmare stayed in the realms of imagination where it belonged; only now, it had come to be.
It has started with Amy. She and Jake fell out, irreparably. They were unable to fix their problems before she received an offer she couldn’t turn down in Boston. Their relationship strained under the pressure of long distance, and the problem grew. Simply put, Amy wanted children, Jake did not.
In Boston, Amy found someone who did. Teddy Wells had also transferred, and they found what they were missing in each other. The divorce papers arrived in May, three days before Jake and Amy’s third anniversary. No one expected that. No one knew how to talk about it either. That night at the bar, Jake tried to drown his pain with alcoholic beverages of all varieties. Holt had never seen him so drunk.
It was too soon when in August, Terry published his debut fantasy novel. It gained reasonable success, and he was soon signing contracts with publishers for a second and then a third. He realised he was ready for a slower pace in life, wanting more time between writing to enjoy his family.
The notice for his retirement was enough to plan a surprise party, but not enough to make it any easier. It took Jake and Charles a full week to find an ice-cream store willing to make a frozen yoghurt cake shaped like a police badge, but the look on the Sergeant’s face had been worth it. The departure was bittersweet, much like the cake.
It wasn’t long before Charles and Genevieve adopted twin girls from Ukraine - Nastya and Olena. It was exciting, especially for Nikolaj; he wanted nothing more than to be a big brother. But, the adoption process was long. It took the Boyles out of the country for weeks at a time before they could bring the girls home. Charles didn’t mind. He finally had the big family he’d always wanted. The addition of the girls to his life made him realise that he was ready to be a Daddy full-time. He followed in the Sergeant’s footsteps and retired from the force for good.
The announcement broke Jake. They went to Shaw’s that night for drinks, and Holt saw Jake get drunker still than he had after Amy. It reminded him of the night they cancelled Bunheads, except it was Charles comforting Jake, instead of the other way around.
Eight months passed. The squad stayed intact for a while, stabilising after the loss of friends and family. It felt, finally, as if they had gone back to normal. There were morning briefings, cases, and shenanigans. It was good.
Then Rosa transferred to Organised Crime. The paperwork came across his desk a mere two weeks before she left. Holt wondered if this is what it felt like to lose a child. The final words Jake and Rosa shared in the bullpen still haunted him.
“I’ll never forget you.”
“‘Course you will. You’ve got the memory of a goldfish. If you don't see me every day, you’ll forget I exist.”
“I won’t. A thousand push-ups.”
Holt found it hard to come to work after that. The precinct wasn’t the same. The department promised to transfer in some new officers soon, but he knew they couldn’t take the place of those they had lost. No one really heard from Rosa, but that was normal. Jocelyn sent updates periodically.
And finally, Hitchcock and Scully. All the changes had become too much; the house mouses were ready to move on. A series of incredible events led to them becoming franchisees of the Marine Park Wing Slutz, leaving their favourite waitress to run it. Last anyone heard, they were doing quite well for themselves, and were working with other stores to introduce a new, lobster-based dish called Busty Crustacean.
For their retirement party, they did nothing but get hotdogs from the food truck outside and nap on the couch. After all the fuss the others had caused, they wanted to leave exactly as they came - lazily. Hazmat removed their desks for destruction the next day. It was funny and heartbreaking all at once.
Sudden as it felt, hindsight left Holt wishing it had happened faster so it could be behind him more quickly. The old guard was gone, save for Jake, and the new guard paled in comparison. The teamwork he had admired in his squad was gone. The new officers had many problems. Their work ethic was poor, their paperwork sloppy, and their dress code lax. They had no boundaries, and they treated Jake like a celebrity, harassing him each day about his most legendary solves. Once upon a time, he would have loved that.
In all of this, nothing had changed more than Jake. Each event broke him down a little more. He was more sober and quieter. He was still Jake, who uses inane made-up words and sweats orange soda, just more reserved. He had less debt, owns his apartment and a collection of sensible sweaters. His hair, once kept close to his scalp, had been allowed to grow down past his jaw and was getting caught in his beard. He kept to himself, worked overtime almost every day, and continued to be badass and glorified by the squad. But there was something wrong.
Holt was worried about him and had been for some time. He wanted nothing more than to have the old Jake back but was scared that the notion was now impossible.
He was brought back from his musings by the sound of Jake’s chair rolling out from his desk. He had finished his report. He brought it in to Holt’s office, dropping it onto the mountainous pile of finished cases that already sat there.
“Thank you, Peralta.” Holt nodded, flipping through it.
“You’re welcome, Cap’n.” saluted Jake, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“And I you.”
They stood in awkward silence. Jake seemed as though he were waiting for something. Holt wasn't sure what. He tilted his head ever so slightly, expectantly.
Jake sighed, gesturing the report. “Did I misuse the semicolon or something, Captain?”
Holt shook his head. The semicolon was perfect. “I was just wondering if you were alright?”
“I squirtenly am.” he smiled.
He was clearly not alright, squirtenly not. Holt didn’t know what to say.
“Okay. Then you’re dismissed, Detective. Get some sleep.”
Jake left with a wave over his shoulder.
Holt was worried, now more than before.