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Jake really didn't know what to make of the email. In all appearances, it exactly resembled the one that had summoned the Nine-Nine to Holt's (slightly disastrous) birthday party. Well, apart from the words, which come to think of it constituted a large part of its appearance.
Good morning,
Your presence is requested at the Holt-Cozner residence tomorrow, 8.30pm. Dinner will not be provided. Please keep this message confidential. RSVP.
Kind regards,
Raymond Holt.
Jake didn't know which part of the message to find the most mystifying. The short notice? The confidentiality? The lack of dinner? (Damn, Jake would have been so down for a free dinner). The fact that Holt hadn't signed the email off "Captain Holt", which was completely unheard of? (The poor guy had waited so long for his own command, Jake couldn’t really blame him).
Of course his standard protocol would have been to discuss the matter with Charles, or even Santiago (though in the latter case, more out of a desire to watch her implode with jealousy), but there was that wretched confidentiality line.
Jake levered himself stealthily up out of his chair a little and tried to peer into Holt's office through the blinds. He could see the Captain in there, looking through some paperwork, and showing no clear indication that he'd just sent such a strange email. As he watched, however, Holt raised his head, saw Jake staring, and gave a single nod in his direction, accompanied by one of the most severe/piercing/grim glares Jake had ever received.
Jake's stomach flooded with ice. Oh god, was this a sacking meeting? Was it protocol for the Captain of a precinct to call detectives to his personal home to tell them they were fired? Surely not. Jake wished he'd listened last time Santiago had been waffling on about union rights. Since Holt did not seem inclined to break eye contact any time soon, Jake gave a determined (and hopefully not terrified) confirmatory nod back, and lowered himself back into his chair.
"What's up, Jake? New case?" Boyle asked him eagerly, from his position by Jake's elbow where he'd just popped up, holy shit.
Jake jumped so hard that he jolted his whole desk. The layer of detritus on top of his desk, including his computer monitor, gave a sad matching hop. Amy gave a squawk of surprise. "Jesus Christ, Charles, you have got to stop doing that!"
"Sorry, sorry. You know I have a light feminine tread. What're you reading?"
“Erm, NOTHING!” Jake yelped, aggressively minimising the email window. Now the horrible idea of this being a sacking meeting (now the ‘no dinner’ made sense) had entered into his head, there was no way he was going to share this information.
"He's lying," Amy said blandly from across the desk. Jake shot her a glare, but she retaliated by waving the soggy napkin she was using to clear up the coffee that Jake had just spilt thanks to his jump. OK, fair play.
"I am not lying," Jake said manfully. "I was looking at nothing because… Because my stupid emails are down. Can I come over and look at yours?"
"Oh, yeah, sure!" Boyle said enthusiastically, and led the way, not before Jake made sure to lock his computer.
A good hour later he had managed to escape Charles' literal and metaphorical clutches. Following the disaster with his dad last week, Boyle had been even more nice and friendly and forgiving, which was really sweet, but kind of made Jake feel bad for not being a good enough friend, and for not telling him the whole truth. When he finally got back to his desk he composed a quick reply to Holt (and once he was sacked and relegated to a boring desk job he was so stealing the trick of saying "good morning" at the beginning of emails so he didn't have to negotiate the vagaries of mature email communication that he'd never bothered to learn). Maybe he’d add in a joking comment too, to test the waters.
Good morning,
I will be pleased to attend. Will not bring any wine.
Kind regards,
Jake Peralta.
A reply came through almost immediately.
It is now afternoon, Peralta, and the absence of your "wine" will be much appreciated. See you then.
Kind regards,
Raymond Holt.
Jake gulped.
***
The next day, Jake stood on Holt's doorstep at 8.37pm (nearly early by his standards), fidgeting nervously with his tie and trying to ignore the knot of anxiety in his stomach. He'd tried to ask Santiago general questions about how detectives were normally fired, but hadn't got anywhere except for making her worry that he'd made a massive and/or illegal cock-up of a case. Oh God, he hadn't managed to do that, had he?
"Peralta," Holt said, opening the door. "Do come in."
“Heyyy,” Jake said with forced cheerfulness, stepping inside. “Sorry I’m late.”
“I expected nothing less. If you could please remove your shoes… Peralta, what are you wearing?"
Jake paused mid-hop as he hurriedly tried to take off his shoes without unlacing them. "Um." What he was in fact wearing was his full ceremonial uniform from the waist up and then jogging bottoms that he'd used while impersonating a drug addict from the waist down. "I didn't know how formal or... not formal this was going to be, and I panicked. And then I was running late so I just... stuck with it."
"I see," Holt said heavily. In trying to gauge his expression Jake realised that the Captain was himself wearing a navy jumper, casual trousers, and huh, just socks. It was not the kind of outfit you wore when firing someone, Jake deduced (or maybe that was just wishful thinking).
"Would you like a drink?" Holt asked, gesturing for Jake to come through to the study. Jake managed to kick off his second shoe and followed with only a small stumble.
"No, no, no, I'm good, I’m good. Erm, is Kevin in?"
"Ah, no, he has a faculty meeting. Hence the lack of dinner. He is the chef of the household."
“Noice!" Jake said, whether to the idea of a faculty meeting or the chef comment he wasn't entirely sure. He didn't know if Kevin's non-attendance was a good or a bad sign. Sure they hadn't clicked immediately, but he liked to think that Kevin had developed a soft spot for him and in a pinch might fight his corner. Then again, he would have said the same about Holt. He’d really thought that maybe Holt had really liked him, hadn’t found him too annoying… Oh God, he had to stop thinking.
“Please sit down,” Holt said, indicating one of the dark brown leather armchairs. Jake did so, his stomach churning.
Holt took the chair next to him. “I apologise for the unconventional nature of this meeting. I wished to discuss a matter of a… personal nature.”
“Pleasedont’fireme,” Jake said in a rush, breaking all the rules he’d made for himself like “play it cool” and “be a normal adult” and “don’t word vomit on people”.
Holt blinked. Jake tried to deduce whether it was a “remarkable you have found the solution to this puzzle so quickly” or “remarkable you have misjudged this situation so completely” blink. Then again, he could never quite work out whether Holt looked happy or sad, let alone the precise meaning of his blinks.
“You think I have brought you here to… fire you?” Holt said slowly.
“I hope not,” Jake said quickly. “I’m just saying. If you are. Can you, like, not? Please.”
“Peralta, if I had planned to fire you, do you really think that would have convinced me otherwise?”
“‘If’?” Jake said eagerly.
Holt sighed. “No, Peralta, I am not firing you. Though your guilty conscience concerns me.”
“My conscience is not guilty, swear to God,” Jake said promptly. “I’ve been trying to work out for like, two days, why I was being fired, and I couldn’t come up with anything. Well, barely anything.”
Holt gave him another long look, let the silence hang for a moment, and then continued. “I invited you here because I wanted to ask whether you were… OK after the incident with your father last week.”
Jake blinked. Frowned. Blinked again. “What? What do you mean, ‘incident’? Is this a joke? Is this a test?”
“No. I was concerned about you, and I wanted to speak with you about the matter in a more private setting.” Holt’s face was, of course, unreadable, but his posture appeared thoughtful and open.
“Oh,” Jake said, completely taken-aback. “That. My dad using me to solve a case and then just dumping me straight afterwards, like he’s done like, my entire life? Yeah, I’m fine. Fine fine fine. Good, yeah. I’m over it. So over it.”
Holt gave him a look that clearly communicated that he was well aware of the extent of Jake’s lies and that he didn’t approve.
“Well, as that may be, I also wanted to discuss a related issue.” Holt tapped one finger on the arm of his chair, as if in thought.
Ah. Now Jake thought he knew what this was going to be about. “Is this about leaving Scully in Quebec? Because I swear to God that was an honest mistake. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have done it on purpose, but by accident it did actually happen.”
“No, Peralta.” Holt seemed fixated on watching his own tapping finger, maybe to avoid eye contact. “It is concerning your father. Or, more specifically, your lack of one.”
“Erm,” Jake said eloquently. “I’ve… got a father. We just talked about him. You met him and everything. You stood next to each other and it was really weird.”
Holt sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Yes, I am well aware of your biological father, Peralta. That is rather the… issue.”
“OK, look, I’m sorry if the Quebec thing was unprofessional, but I did ask, and I…”
“Peralta.” Holt reached his hand out imploringly. “Please stop… babbling for a moment.”
Jake deliberately closed his mouth mid-sentence and tried his best to shut up.
“As I understand the situation, from various context clues and also from speaking to a very inebriated and dismayed Boyle, your father proposed that the squad go out for drinks, but then failed to turn up without a credible or appropriate excuse.”
He nodded at Jake to speak. Jake took the opportunity to mumble, “Yeah. That’s about right. He said he had an early flight, but I could tell he was lying. Took me long enough.”
“Well, I wanted to say that he was very wrong to behave in that manner,” Holt said, his voice still perfectly level, resuming his tapping.
Jake stared at him, still perplexed. “Where is this going? Why are you being so weird?”
Holt lifted his head to shoot him a cold glare. “Peralta, I am trying to speak professionally about your father without calling him an arrogant, lying, manipulative, unreliable cheat.”
“… Oh,” Jake said. Once he would have tried to defend his father, but he couldn’t deny that most of that sounded pretty accurate.
Holt exhaled slowly. “My apologies. My emotions got the better of me.”
“I couldn’t tell,” Jake said honestly, as Holt’s expression and tone were completely indistinguishable from normal.
“What I mean to say is - your father was wrong to not attend the drinks last week. By doing so, I feel that he implied that you were not worthy of his praise and pride, which could not be further from the truth, and this… angers me.”
Jake blinked again. “What?”
“I saw you when you came back in to the bar,” Holt said quietly, resuming his finger-tapping. “You looked unhappy.”
“Yeah, well, my dad had just dumped me for the trillionth time in my life, so I wasn’t feeling great. It wasn’t even that he had been a dick, it was that I’d fallen for it again.” Jake shrugged and then realised that he suddenly felt perilously close to crying. He shook his head a little. Jesus. This was why he didn’t talk about these kind of things.
Before he could process what was happening, the warm weight of Holt’s hand appeared on his shoulder. Jake glanced up in surprise and their eyes locked.
“Jacob, you were not wrong to trust and love your father,” Holt said.
Jake opened his mouth and then closed it again like a fish. He was really very confused by the whole situation, and also entirely distracted by how mind-blowingly great that hand felt.
“He was wrong to betray that trust,” Holt finished heavily.
Jake managed to find his voice and snorted and shrugged again. He darted his gaze around Holt’s face, trying to read what he was thinking. Talking about his father like this felt a bit like walking a tight-rope, and he was afraid to fall to his grisly death. “I guess.”
"He was. And I am sorry I was unable to support you more comprehensively at the time."
Jake pulled a face, trying to lighten the mood. "What were you going to do, give me a ten minute hug like Boyle?"
There was a long pause, which seemed to somehow suggest that Holt would have offered that. Jake’s stomach felt like he was doing cartwheels. He couldn’t help but stare in shock. What the hell was going on?
Holt sighed and let his hand reluctantly slip from Jake’s shoulder, though it still stayed hovering around his upper arm. “I must apologise, I am not making myself clear,” he said. “What I wished to say to you this evening is that if you wanted someone, well... To act in some way as a father figure... I would be happy to assist you.”
Jake’s mouth fell open. His stomach did another swoop. “Erm. Is this you offering to be, like, my dad? Is this what is happening now? Because I know we have the great father-son-style banter going at the moment, and I mean I definitely admire you as a cop… And occasionally a colleague or a criminal or a superior or just some random person I see on the street jokes about my daddy issues, but right now this is seeming... different to that."
Holt paused. “Yes. Yes it is. I meant this in a personal sense, outside of work, if you need help or support. In fact, I have composed a list."
“Wait. Is this a dream?” Jake asked quickly. “Because I’m sure I’ve had a dream just like this, except that in a minute Santiago comes in and she’s half-naked and I’m surprisingly down with that but then she turns away and she was Hitchcock in disguise the whole time and then I start screaming.”
Holt frowned. “I don’t know which part of that to be most concerned about. But no, this is not a dream.”
“Good,” Jake said, with a little too much sincerity. Once again, whether that was concerning not wanting to see an imaginary half-naked Hitchcock, or really really wanting Holt to be his dad, he wasn't sure. "Wait, did you say you'd made a list?"
"Yes," Holt said, leaning across to a nearby coffee table and picking up a notebook. "Would you like to see it?"
"Yes," Jake said, slightly breathlessly, not knowing exactly what level of enthusiasm to inject into his voice but hoping they were beyond that stage. Holt passed the list over.
It was fairly evenly divided into two sections, "no", and "at my discretion." Skimming quickly through it, Jake saw that the on the "no" list were items such as “I will not provide you with an allowance” and “No affectionate physical contact while at work”, but on the “yes” list were “go on appropriate trips, such as fishing and/or walking” and “discuss your career plans and aspirations for the future” and “act as an emergency contact if necessary” and “provide emotional support”.
Jake felt a little like his throat was closing up. “Erm. Wow.”
“I apologise if this is vastly inappropriate,” Holt said, sounding possibly a little nervous. Jesus, he must be practically terrified if Jake could hear that in his voice. “Well, that is to say, I realise this is vastly inappropriate. I am expressing what could be seen as unacceptable favouritism to one of my subordinates, not to mention the personal relationship I am endeavouring to cultivate. But I hope that I have not made you uncomfortable.”
“No,” Jake said, his eyes prickling a little. Jesus. Is this what normal dads did? Well, not the list thing, obviously. But the trips? And the talking? And the looking after? His main experience of son-hood had been the occasional happy memory largely tainted by years of disappointment and misery and self-reproach.
“You sound uncomfortable,” Holt said worriedly.
“I’m not,” Jake tried to say, but it came out a little strangled. He tried to will his eyes not to produce any liquid, but then that just made him think of last week when he’d tried not to cry after seeing his fucking piece of shit father for hopefully the last time in a long while, and yup, now he was crying at Holt’s stupid notebook while sitting on his stupid chair.
“Jacob,” Holt said, and now he sounded very troubled. “I must express my sincere apologies. I did not intend…”
“It’s not you,” Jake said quickly, scrubbing at his face and moving the notebook reverently to the arm of the chair so he didn’t get tears on it. “It’s thinking about my stupid actual dad that’s making me sad. That stuff sounds…” He let out a little sad laugh. “Really good, like, just about perfect, really.”
“I’m sorry…” Holt began again, but Jake shook his head.
“Seriously, don’t apologise. But I’d like that, er, emotional support you were offering.”
“Certainly,” Holt said, positively snapping to attention. “How can I help you?”
Jake gave another, more sincere laugh. “Don’t, that makes it sound like you’re working or something. Could I…” He hesitated. Normally he would have said this kind of a thing as a joke, and it would be fine, but he felt demanding and weird asking seriously. “Don’t worry.”
“Jacob,” Holt said gently. “You may ask. You realise that that was really the entire point of this exchange.”
“OK,” Jake said, though he couldn’t quite banish the thought that he was going to be shot down. “Could I… have a hug?”
“I would be amenable to that,” Holt said promptly, and before Jake had a chance to make a snarky comment about needing a thesaurus, he stood up and held out his arms.
“Oh man,” Jake said, in both shock and wonder.
“I would like to point out that I will not be offended if you get tears on this jumper,” Holt said helpfully. “Please feel free to engage in this hug when you are ready.”
“I was born ready,” Jake said without thinking about it, and then tried to leap into the hug as enthusiastically as possible without actually knocking Holt over. There was still a soft, surprised oof as he connected with the Captain’s chest, but that was quickly mitigated by strong, sturdy arms closing around him and Holt holding him so tightly that Jake almost felt he could dangle his feet uselessly on the floor and be supported.
“This is so good,” Jake murmured, half-smothered in Holt’s jumper and kind of loving every minute.
“I am glad you find it… comforting?” Holt said in response, his voice rumbling in his chest against Jake’s ear.
“Knew you wouldn’t fire me,” Jake sighed, and Holt gave an assenting “hmm” in reply. Jake closed his eyes. He could smell Holt’s aftershave, and he couldn’t put a finger on when he’d started associating the scent with safety and comfort, but now it was making him feel a bit like a little boy again. He clenched his eyes a little tighter to prevent more tears emerging and tried to relax.
Certainly a few moments had drifted past with Jake barely noticing them when he heard the tell-tale sound of a key in a lock. He stiffened immediately.
“It’s only Kevin,” Holt said placidly, loosening his grip a little. “I have spoken to him about this, but if you are uncomfortable…”
Jake weighed up the embarrassment of being caught hugging his boss, realised it was nowhere near even the top twenty most embarrassing things Kevin either knew about or had personally seen him doing, and shrugged. “It’s OK.”
There came a small polite knock on the study door. “Raymond, are you occupied, or…?”
“I am occupied,” Holt said, raising his voice a little. He glanced at Jake, who nodded. “But you may come in.”
“Thank you,” Kevin said, as he opened the door. He was dressed very smartly and looked completely impassive at the sight of Holt and Jake, though really Jake hadn’t expected anything else. “Ah good, I see your talk went well?”
“Yes,” Holt said simply.
“Yes,” Jake said, his voice still slightly muffled.
“Well that’s excellent. Raymond has been very anxious about it.”
“Have you?” Jake said in glee, trying to twist his head to meet Holt’s eyes.
“Yes. Last week he came home in a terrible temper after meeting your father,” Kevin said, a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh my god,” Jake said excitedly, bending his knees and angling his head upwards so he could stare dopily up at Holt’s face. “You care so much you came home and told your husband.”
“Of course I care, Peralta,” Holt said, rolling his eyes. “That is what this was supposed to indicate.”
“Kevin, do you want to come and join in the hug?” Jake said, swivelling his head back round.
Kevin gave a light laugh. “Not in this suit, I’m afraid, it crumples terribly.”
“Did the meeting go well?” Holt asked.
“Very well, thank you. I’ll discuss the minutes with you tomorrow?”
“Sounds excellent,” Holt replied. “Peralta, are you ready to disengage from this hug?”
“I mean in one way yes, because my knees hurt and I’m really too hot,” Jake admitted. “But in another way no because this is the best.”
Holt released him. “We will be able to repeat the experience at a later date if you find it agreeable.”
“How can you give such good hugs and still talk like a robot?” Jake whined. “It’s not fair. Hugging shouldn’t be in your weird robot programming.”
Holt raised an eyebrow. “Maybe my manufacturers made a grave error.”
“You know what I said about going along with the robot jokes!”
“Hmmm. Please, feel free to sit back down on your chair.”
Jake did so obediently.
“Do you feel better now?” Holt asked gently.
Jake shrugged. “Yeah, a bit, thanks… Ugh, sorry, it’s just… I guess your dad leaving you at a young age and just generally being crappy gives you a whole shit-ton of issues, who knew?” He ended with a slightly manic laugh, and glanced up to see Holt staring blankly at him.
“Everyone knows that, Peralta.”
“Goddammit.” Jake sighed, opened his mouth to say something, and then hesitated.
“Yes?” Holt asked.
“Do you think anyone at the office would be… like, funny about this?” Jake winced. “I wouldn’t want you to get in any trouble if someone sees us out socialising together. I mean, I know work friends do, but…”
“But I’m an openly gay officer, and you’re my young, male subordinate? Yes, I have considered that people could make allegations of impropriety,” Holt said placidly.
“Crap,” Jake said, recoiling a little. “Jeez, I didn’t mean… Well, I…”
“No, people remain ignorant and prejudiced, and we would be foolish to ignore that,” Holt said heavily. “But if anyone asks, I will merely say that you are a promising young officer who is nonetheless having issues with discipline and maturity, and hence I have taken you aside to impress upon you the value of order, method, and self-control.”
“Oh God,” Jake said in a hushed tone. “That sounds awful.”
“Exactly,” Holt said contentedly. “That way, if anyone asks you, you need only complain vociferously about your boredom. I could even give you a reading list of procedure manuals, for the sake of the pretence.”
“As long as those manuals remain only a cover story, I’m in,” Jake said fervently.
“Good,” Holt said. “Then we are in accord. Oh, and please feel free to add suggestions to the list. Though…” He let out a long exhale. “I will need to maintain a power of veto.”
“Awww,” Jake said disappointedly, crossing ‘dirt bike racing’ off his mental list.
“There is a chance, however,” Holt said. “That I could be persuaded. I expect this whole business to be an exercise in… learning new things.”
Jake beamed at him. “Oh my God, we are going to have so much fun.”
“Though I feel we should also discuss your terrible habits around money.”
“I take it all back, you are the worst.”
***
“I should start thinking about going,” Jake said regretfully. After a fair amount of heated discussion, they had gotten the flipchart out (again), and it was now absolutely covered with suggestions, crossings-out, and re-suggestions. Kevin had come to check in on them after the first hour, made them coffee and then unobtrusively taken his leave, as he was at risk of becoming the unwilling middleman in a dispute about whether visiting libraries was a fun father-son pastime.
“If you want to stay, I can fetch the guest pyjamas,” Holt suggested.
Jake hesitated. He was tempted, but it was getting late, and he was pretty sure he’d left a lot of wet washing in the machine in his apartment for one night already.
“Nah, I can’t stay. Thanks, though.”
“We should do this again,” Holt said. “We still have much to discuss.”
“You are never conning me into a classical music concert, you monster,” Jake hissed, and Holt looked appropriately horrified.
“Please,” Kevin said slightly pleadingly, sticking his head round the study door. “Don’t start this again, both your arguments only become circular and tedious, and your views are intractably opposed.”
“Fine. Well, we have found some common ground,” Jake said, glancing at the flipchart.
Wii Sports, Fencing, Fishing, Walking, Playing catch, and Hula-hooping had been aggressively circled.
“It’s a start,” Holt agreed, with a smile.
“Right,” Jake said decisively, before he could get distracted by feeling warm, safe, filial feelings, and stood up. Kevin drifted upstairs out of the way as he came to the front door. Ah shit, he had to put his shoes back on.
“Here,” Holt said quickly, as Jake made to stand on one leg. Jake glanced up to see that he was putting a hand out to steady him.
“Oh,” Jake said, surprised. “Thanks. I…” He thought too hard, and was forced to make an ungainly grab for Holt’s arm before he wobbled over. “Heh.”
Shoes retied (and even on the correct feet), he stepped back a little, feeling awkward again. How was he supposed to wind this up? Just say “bye then sir, thanks for everything”? Bust out the “dad” word? That had originally entered his mind as a joke, but now he was overthinking it, and…
“Goodnight, Detective Peralta,” Holt said, laying a firm hand on his shoulder and staving off his alarm. “I will see you tomorrow morning for your shift, obviously bright and early.”
“Ha! Definitely, sir,” Jake said. “You know me. Always prompt.”
“Hmmm,” Holt said doubtfully. “We shall see. And Jacob, I will see you here on Saturday, at 10am, for our first fencing lesson.”
Jake grinned. “OK. Sounds good.”
And before he could think better of it, he bounced towards Holt for another hug. Holt gave the same startled oof, but also a deep chuckle, and Jake gripped him a little tighter to try and distract his eyes from their stupid tearing-up instincts.
“OK, well, good, sorry about that, I’ll be off,” Jake said quickly, breaking off the hug and heading rapidly for the door.
“No need to apologise, Peralta,” Holt said serenely. As Jake opened the door, he added, “And please do not forget that the Deputy Commissioner is coming to the precinct tomorrow, so you will need your tie.”
“SORRY CAPTAIN I CAN’T HEAR YOU,” Jake yelled, and made a dash for his car.