Work Text:
The elevator ride from street level to the detective floor is never more than 45 seconds. Jake can handle 45 seconds. Anything much more than that is a struggle, but he can handle 45 seconds before the walls starts closing in.
He would take the stairs, but it doesn’t fit with his lazy persona in the workplace, and admitting that you’re claustrophobic really puts a damper on the whole “Johnny Law” thing. He’s working on it, really; Jake goes to therapy once every two weeks to work through his problems. And it does help, but only so much.
“Hey, Ames! Hold the elevator!” Jake calls, leaving the precinct one evening. She does, rolling her eyes as he walks over causally.
“Peralta, are you not even going to try to speed up?”
“Nah, too much effort,” he replies, getting in the elevator car. Jake takes a deep breath as the doors close and starts his mental count, just like any other afternoon.
45 … 44 … 43 … 42 … 30 … 29 … 28 …
He notices the sound first.
Skkrrrrreeeeeeeettt!
Then the car jolts to a stop, causing him and Amy to lurch forward.
20 … 19 … 18 …
“Shit.”
“Yeah. ‘Shit’ is right, Peralta. It’s stuck.” Amy is already reading the safety briefing posted over the button panel. “It says here that we need to – push this button to call for help, and remain calm.” She presses the button and waits patiently.
Meanwhile, Jake’s breathing is speeding up. He’s doing his best to hide it, but he notices it.
The speaker crackles, and an elderly woman’s recorded voice fills the space.
“We apologize for the inconvenience. Authorities have been contacted and help is on the way. Please remain calm; we will have the situation resolved as soon as possible. Enjoy your day.”
Jake slides down the wall to sit with his knees drawn up to his chest. He tries the breathing exercises his therapist gave him for when the anxiety became too much, but they don’t help. Not with the room shrinking on him like this.
He is vaguely aware of Amy saying something and looking down at him, but Jake can’t distinguish what she’s saying, or what he should reply.
“Jake? Jake are you okay?” She kneels in front of him, which makes things slightly easier from Jake’s perspective. He manages to shake his head ‘no’, but only barely.
Jake can’t make out everything Amy’s saying, but he’s pretty sure he catches the phrase, “no time for your shenanigans.” He can’t get his mouth to work well enough to tell her that he’s not playing around, that he truly is petrified.
He’s breathing too fast and Amy notices that Jake isn’t focusing on her face. He’s staring through her, not at her.
“Jake, we’ve gotta slow down your breathing.” For a split second, his eyes bore holes into hers. She thinks that if he could speak he’d say No shit, Ames? You think I don’t know that? “Can you breathe with me? C’mon. In through your nose- hold it, that’s right. Let it all out.” Amy walks him through the entire breath even though it’s clear from the start that he isn’t following along. If anything, his breathing became more ragged.
Amy doesn’t know what to do next. She hasn’t been to a TedTalk on “How to help your totally childish partner with a panic attack in an elevator.” But she does know that he has to breathe better, or he’ll pass out. Her first aid training kicks in (note to self: Tell Holt it wasn’t a waste of department funding, but in a nice way. Maybe frost it on a cookie?). More oxygen reaches your lungs when you breathe through your nose.
She looks at her partner, who’s currently rasping on the floor next to her. Amy reaches out and lifts his jaw.
“Breathe through your nose. I know it’s hard, but it’ll help.” She lets her fingers drop, and his mouth falls right back open.
It’s quite possibly the worst idea Amy has ever had.
“Jake, look at me.” He rolls his head to the side and looks through her again. “This is for your own good,” she murmurs, leaning toward him.
He doesn’t react when she presses her lips to his.
She isn’t kissing him. Amy Santiago isn’t kissing Jake Peralta. She’s just -cutting off the air supply to his mouth. With her mouth. But it isn’t kissing.
Until it is.
As quickly as he fell out of it, Jake is alert and very much so aware that Amy Santiago’s mouth is on his mouth.
He’d never admit it, but he doesn’t totally hate it. Jake tries to steel his reaction, hoping that Amy won’t notice he’s focused on something other than total panic again. Because if she notices, she might stop.
She notices. Amy gently leans back and turns bright red.
“Jake, I’m-” she hesitates, unsure of how to finish the sentence. “What-” Nope, not better. “Jake?”
“Amy, we-” Jake isn’t doing any better at stringing together sentences than Amy; he’s noticed the elevator still isn’t moving. “Can we get out of here?”
“We have to wait for help, Jake.”
“Then we need to talk.”
“I agree.” Amy opens her mouth to say something else, but Jake beats her to the punch.
“No, like we have to talk. It’s a whole thing – the power of distraction.”
“OK. Do you wanna tell me what this is about?”
“Y’know, I really don’t, Ames.”
“Will you anyway?”
He mutters something into his knees, but Amy can’t tell what.
“Say again?”
“I got lost,” he murmurs again. “When I was seven years old. I got lost at the mall. Ames, there were so many people and I just – I couldn’t find anyone. It- it-” Jake’s breathing grows rushed and ragged again.
“Jake? Jake, look at me. Hey, hey hey hey. I’m here, Jake. I’m here.” Amy takes a couple more minutes to soothe her partner again. He’s looking at her now, rather than through her, but the fear on his face shatters her heart.
“I’m getting help. Really, I am,” Jake slides his chin up just enough to look at Amy, still curled in on himself. “I’m working on it. But I can’t do this.”
“You can do this, Jake. You can do this because I’m here and I’m gonna help you through it.” Amy reaches out gently and rubs a hand up and down his bicep. “Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”
“It feels- it feels like I’m being squeezed from the inside. My lungs are getting smaller and smaller, back to the size they were when I was a baby. I can’t breathe, and then the room closes in too. Amy,” his voice breaks. “I’m so scared.”
“Jake,” Amy breathes. She wants nothing more than to hug him, but she knows that being wrapped up will only make him worse. “We’re going to get out of here. I don’t know exactly when, but we’ll be fine. I promise.”
It feels like an eternity, but Amy knows rationally that it was two minutes and 37 seconds, before the elevator lurches back to life. The only problem is that it’s going down, not up. But it’s moving again, and Amy is thankful for the small reprieve, even if it does mean that they’re met at the ground floor by the fire department. Luckily, Fire Marshal Boone has apparently decided that a stuck elevator is beneath him and sent a truck of non-command firefighters.
When the doors open, Amy turns back to Jake and reaches for his hand.
“Jake, the doors are open. We’re out, we’re safe. Can you get up?” Jake forces his legs to cooperate enough that he can stand up and lean heavily against the wall until Amy wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him forward. She brushes off the firefighters’ questions, assuring them that everything is fine and Jake is OK as she leads him to a bench in the lobby. Jake leans against her hip while she pulls out her cell phone and dials.
“Hey Rosa? Can you let the Captain know that Jake and I won’t be in today? No! Don’t shout it across the—we weren’t ‘boning’! Ugh. OK, fine.” Amy rolls her eyes and pockets her phone, turning back to Jake. “So, we have the day off, but Boyle is probably gonna call you wanting to know why you were holding out on him.”
Jake’s breathing normally again, but he’s clearly shaken up. He chuckles weakly and looks up at Amy.
“Wanna go get a bagel and figure out exactly what we didn’t tell Charles?”
“Sure.” Amy is reaching for Jake’s hand when the stairwell door flies open.
“JAKEY! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”
“Go, gogogo. I’LL TEXT YOU LATER CHARLES!”