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As soon as Jake came to awareness, he could tell something was wrong.
He could taste a mixture of blood and ash on his tongue as he coughed, wincing at the pain in his chest that followed it. It was quiet, agonisingly quiet, save for the sound of an occasionally shifting stone. He could barely see in front of him, waiting for his eyes to acclimatise to the darkness so he could register what was going on. The sense that failed him the least, though, was his touch.
For starters, his left arm hurt. When he woke up, he’d tried to move it, only to be met with a sharp pain. He could feel pressure, and after he clumsily used his left to reach around in the darkness, he found stone atop it. Though he couldn’t remember where he was, and why he was even there in the first place, it was an instant sign that something had gone wrong. It had led to him immediately checking his other limbs, finding a sharp pain within his right leg. His hands were still sticky from what he guessed was blood, something he’d been stained with after trying to assess what was wrong.
Worse than that, his head was killing him. It was the type of pain that muddled his thoughts, distorted his senses. It had turned his hearing to static when he rolled to his side, the noise making him flinch and causing his pain to flare even more than before. That had turned his vision white for a second, and before he knew it, his eyes opened back up and he was lying, curled into himself as much as he could.
As he lay there, his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. What was most apparent to him was that he was in rubble. Concrete loomed just above his head and, for the most part, surrounded him. He could just about stretch his arms in the enclosed space, and he couldn’t tell if the resulting nausea he felt was due to the pain he felt or his own claustrophobia. He could see his own radio, or what remained of it, crushed under stone. At the recognition of a communication device, he quickly patted his own pocket, thankfully finding his own phone inside. He pulled it out, clicking on the screen. 87% – he’d never been more thankful for charging his phone in his life. The signal was clearly choppy, the bars in his phone switching from 1 to 3 in a random order, but he was nevertheless thankful for it working.
He’d opened his contacts, fiddling with the cracked screen, and clicked on whoever had called him last as he placed his phone beside his ear. The sound of ringing filled the small area as he set the phone on loudspeaker, taking a deep breath to settle the growing nausea in his stomach as he, once more, saw how trapped he really was.
He didn’t have to wait too long for an answer as, by the third ring, it connected. He barely had time to speak as a voice rushed from the other line, voice firm.
“Peralta? Where are you?”
Jake coughed as he tried to use his voice. He’d barely realised how dry his throat was, likely a consequence of the smoke and dust surrounding him, “I, uh, – I don’t know?”
“Are you able to move?”
Jake turned to look at his arm, before snorting at the sight, “Yeah, no.”
His voice was raspy as he continued, “Arm’s stuck. What happ’ned?”
“There was an explosion, and you were caught in the crossfire. We’ve been looking, trying to track your location, and I promise you we’ll get you out of there soon. You think you can hold on a bit longer for me?”
Jake bit his cheek, relaxing his head more against the floor, before speaking, “Yeah, uh, that should be fine. I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
Holt sighed, “I know. We’re searching for you as I speak.”
There was a beat of silence, before Jake spoke, “You’re not gonna hang up, are you?”
“Of course not, son. I’ll be here with you.”
Jake nodded, his head bouncing against the ground, before he realised he was on the phone, “Thank you.”
Now that he really focused on himself, he noticed how heavy his eyelids felt. There was a draining tiredness within him, gnawing at his bones and promising him peace, so long as he rested. He had to physically stop himself from leaning into the fantasy, moving his legs so he could place his hand atop the wound in his thigh. He whined involuntarily at the sharp pain that resounded through his body at the action, thankful it at least gave him a jolt of energy.
“Peralta?” Holt’s voice cut through whatever thought Jake had, pulling his attention.
“Yeah?”
“What injuries do you have?”
Jake thought, looking back at the self-assessment he’d done on himself, “Well, my arm’s probably broken. Can’t really see it, with the stone on top of it, y’know? Can’t feel it too, weirdly enough. Hope I’ll still be able to move it after this. If I escape, that is. Oh, I haven’t even decided what I want on my grave yet. I had so many good phrases in mind. I hope Charles remembers at least a few of them for me. Wait – Charles is okay, right? He wasn’t in the building?”
“Charles is safe, Jake. He’s out here with me. You were the only person caught in the blast, and you will come out of it alive. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Jake breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, uh, my leg. Don’t know what happened there. Bleeding a lot, though. Think it’s calmed down a little, but these trousers are unsalvageable. Man, they were one of my favourite pairs too.”
Jake could hear the sounds of voices in the background as Holt spoke, “I’m sure you’ll be able to get new ones soon. Any other injuries?”
“Just my chest and my head. Hurts to breathe a little, but I should be fine, right? I mean, the pain could just be from the rubble. I doubt it’s good to inhale dust, probably just irritation from that. Unless it isn’t. Then that’s maybe a bit more of a problem.”
“You said your head hurts too?”
“Yeah, probably hit it. Not like there’s much room in here.” Jake joked. The more he thought about the limited space, the hotter the air seemed to become.
It enveloped him like a blanket. With each breath he took, the air seemed to get thicker, choking him slowly. He felt like he was going to suffocate, his lungs burning at the thought of it. Holt was speaking again, but Jake could barely register it, eyes closing as he tried, and failed, to calm his breathing. It was an aimless fight, proven by the way each intake of breath became faster than the last. There was a light ringing in his ears, slowly growing louder the longer he tried to remain calm. Sweaty fingers pulled at hair, and he could distantly recognise the crusted blood on his scalp, a confirmation that the pain was an extension of another injury, rather than his own subconscious panic building up.
“You’re doing good, Jake. Just a little longer. They think they’ve found where you are.”
Jake huffed, his voice weak, “Good. I hate it in here.”
As his thoughts slowly started to gather again, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed for panicking. He didn’t know if he could feel his cheeks burning with shame, or if it was the warm air heating him up and causing the sensation, but he felt warm nonetheless.
He found it hard to recognise the thoughts that flew through his head as he lay there, choking on his own breath. His head felt fuzzy, dizzying him. He let out a noise of pain as he tried to move, his arm protesting at each movement. The pain sent him further into his own abyss, opening his eyes to be met with blurred stone. Stars danced across his vision, and it was almost as if he’d never lifted his eyelids in the first place.
A voice cut through the panic, pulling his attention slightly. He could hear his name, just audible through his own panic. He focused on it, using it as a distraction.
“Jake. You need to breathe. Slowly.”
“I'm – I’m trying.”
Jake could almost hear a sigh of relief as Holt continued, “Good, that’s good. Keep going. In for four, out for four. I’ll do it with you.”
Jake followed Holt’s voice, trying to listen and practice the same. His breathing was shaky, his hand moving from his head to his chest to try and ground himself. He was careful not to press too harshly against aching ribs and he felt it rise and fall, trying to sync it with Holt’s breathing. It was slow, horribly slow, but Jake could feel himself slowly starting to relax, breath evening out. Holt could hear it, too, as he stopped.
“Are you still with me, Jake?”
“Yeah, I’m here."
“Why don’t you talk to me about something? Say, your current case?”
“Why? You know as much about it as I do.”
“Even still, tell me about it.”
“Uh, okay.”
Jake could hear the shifting of rubble as he began to speak. He tuned it out, focusing on Holt’s responses and questions instead. It wasn’t a long topic – there was little knowledge currently, and while they were hoping to find some more clues, it was early enough in the investigation that barely anybody had been questioned. Despite that, Holt found a way to keep the conversation going, giving Jake pointers to talk. By the time they’d finished talking, voices Jake didn’t recognise had become far more apparent, and light was starting to peek into the small space through gaps in the debris.
“God, I hope the rubble doesn’t collapse on me. That would be ironic.”
“It won’t. They’re being careful, trust me. You have my word when I say no more harm will come to you.”
“You really are like a dad to me, huh?”
The words came out on instinct, Jake’s mouth moving faster than he ever could have controlled it. He felt his face burn immediately, and knew it wasn’t the temperature as a hand moved to his mouth, wincing.
“And I’ll always be, Jake. I’m sure you know that by now.”
There was something unrecognisable within the captain’s voice. It was a tone Jake had never heard, and somehow, it had left his chest feeling warm. He didn’t know how to respond, mouth opening and closing while no noise escaped. He, instead, opted to focus on the rays of light shining through the rubble, illuminating the gap he’d found himself in. He immediately used the opportunity to look towards his arm, biting his tongue to stop bile as he saw the amount of blood staining the remains of the building he’d been buried under. He knew, looking at the size of the crack his arm was in, that something was wrong. He wasn’t surprised he couldn’t feel it, if there was anything left of it.
“Cap?”
“Yes, Peralta?”
“I might not have an arm after this is over?”
It was phrased like a question, but Jake knew the reality, unavoidable truth setting in the more he looked at the blood coating his sleeve and every surface in range.
“We have medical assistance ready, Jake. Your arm will be fine.”
“Yeah? Wait until you see it.”
More light was coming in now, the wreck atop him slowly moving. Voices were starting to grow louder, urgent as they combed through the destruction. Jake had to put his hand over his eyes as the sun blinded him, eyes taking their time adjusting to the light. Jake grabbed his phone, hanging up and pocketing it. He was sure Holt wouldn’t mind – he was almost out anyway, judging by the faces that began to appear. He held his breath at the vibrations, metal screeching against stone in a way that made Jake wince. Though he couldn’t feel his arm, he could feel the pressure, each vibration echoing through him. Dust flew from each crack, coating his already dirty clothes.
Jake couldn’t focus on anything after that – it was only until there was an IV tube in his hand and someone kneeling next to him that he started to pay attention once more.
“We’ll be removing the stone your arm is trapped under. This is going to hurt, but I promise we’ll do it as fast as possible.”
Jake nodded. There wasn’t much else he could do as he closed his eyes, waiting for the pain that was likely going to come. He hated the build-up more than the actual thing – There was nothing worse than waiting for something to happen, especially when he knew it was something that was going to be painful. He’d learnt that from Roger.
White hot pain flooded his senses as he heard the rubble creak. The pressure lifted, replaced with a pain that had him gasping. There was a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from moving and, most likely, worsening his arm. His lungs burned as he tried to catch his breath, face morphed in pain. It felt sickening, feeling the blood rush back into his arm. His throat felt dry, and it took a moment for him to realise he was screaming, his hearing blocked by the blood rushing through his ears. He felt dizzy, his consciousness threatening to fade every time his arm twitched. He could feel the vibration of movement around him, his arm being touched – no matter how much he wanted to pull away, his body betrayed him.
The next time his eyes opened, it was far brighter. Artificial lights shone down on him, blurring his vision. He let out a whine as he turned his head, and could hear shuffling next to him. He could feel the vibrations of a vehicle – likely an ambulance – beneath him as he felt around. His hand reached up to his face, met with an oxygen mask. His arm still hurt, but it was far calmer than what he had experienced, the burning devolving into a constant dull throbbing. He could feel the tight wrapping of a bandage around his leg. As his hand moved from his face to his hair, his head gave a small protest of pain as he touched stitches.
“You did good, son. You’re okay.”
Jake turned his head slowly, making eye contact with Holt. He was sat next to him, his hand on Jake’s stretcher.
“Okay is definitely a word. Probably not one I’d use, though. Maybe just, I don't know, alive, fits better.”
Holt shook his head, his expression unreadable. Jake could swear he saw the slightest of a smile.
"I see you're feeling well enough to resume your quips?" Holt asked.
Jake grinned, "Captain, nothing will ever stop me. These jokes will follow me to my deathbed. They practically did back there."
"I heard. I never doubted they would."
The room was quiet for a moment, before Jake frowned, a wave of humiliation washing over him.
“I can’t believe I basically called you my dad.” Jake mumbled.
“You’re saying that’s the worst thing that happened to you today?”
“No – but it’s pretty close on the embarrassment scale.”
“Jake, I think it’s been established already that you see me as a father figure, and I assure you that there’s nothing wrong with it.”
Jake snorted, blushing, but Holt continued, “I’d never complain about having you as my son. It’s something I’d wear with honour.”
Jake looked up at Holt. He was looking down, his expression serious. Jake found it within himself to smile, rolling his eyes lightly.
“Thanks, dad.”
“Anytime, son.”