Gina was wrong about one thing. Six-drink-Amy was not sad or even miserable. Six-drink-Amy, while she didn't come out to play very often, was just Amy, magnified by fifty or a hundred, an amount relative to the alcohol content of whatever she'd been guzzling.

So yes, tonight six-drink-Amy was lonely, her bleary eyes lighting on her fellow cops one after another, each a reminder of how far she'd drifted from her five year plan. Her career was on track, sure, but her personal life was a mess that she usually avoided contemplating. At the moment though, the liquid courage coursing through her veins was quickly transforming into a depressing dose of liquid reality.

And yes, her eyes did keep drifting back to one officer in particular, his loud obnoxious laugh landing on her ears every five minutes or so. She really should have just snuck away, climbed carefully back up the stairs and slipped into one of the waiting beds while everyone continued to enjoy themselves. She could feel herself being a wet-blanket, dragging down Gina's "party mood," casting baleful stares at Rosa every time the other woman smiled shyly down at her phone.

She was sullen, sure, but her closed mouthed behavior was actually the only saving grace in this situation. If she gave voice to the thoughts rolling around in the soup she called a brain, things would get awkward to a degree that she was not prepared to handle. Somehow, as the evening had progressed, the captain had been wrangled into a game of beer pong, nearly everyone shuffling outside to watch at he carefully bounced the little white ball expertly into the waiting cups.

Gina actually, was the last to abandon Amy on the overstuffed sofa. Amy felt the cushions shift around as the other woman rose from the couch. Gina tugged at her, cold slim fingers wrapping around her wrist with surprising strength. "Come on, Santiago, stop being a party pooper, let's get your ass outside."

Amy shook her head, the misery that had begun to abate returning once again in full force as she stared down into her cup. "It's too cold."

Gina merely shook her head, tugging Amy up violently. "Come on, loser, I broke into Charles's ex wife's bedroom and 'borrowed' a few of her furs. When you put them on you can feel the cruelty coursing through your veins. It'll do you some good."

Amy did rise this time, but she didn't follow Gina to the sliding glass doors. Instead, she slipped her hand from her friend's iron grip, and turned toward the stairs she'd been eyeing for the past hour. "I'm gonna just… go to bed."

Not one to exert energy where it wasn't effective, Gina rolled her eyes and let Amy go, muttering something about missing an opportunity to get their "Cruella DeVile" on as she dragged on one of the voluminous furs.

The stairs were harder to manage than she'd initially thought, each step waivering before her eyes as she blinked furiously to regain focus. She really shouldn't have continued drinking as the night had gone on, but she thought she could push past six-drink-Amy's melancholy and find a carefree state. It certainly hadn't worked.

Clutching the bannister, she climbed onward, picturing herself as a stoic mountaineer intent on mounting the peak. She let go, leaning forward to go at it on her hands and knees. This was much easier. She reached the top landing in a matter of minutes, sprawling out across the polished hardwood.

"Amy?"

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut tight, and prayed that she was having an auditory hallucination. Dropping her forehead to the cool floor, she took a few shallow breaths, thinking maybe if she were as still and quiet as possible he would go away.

"Everyone was outside, and you were just… missing. What are you doing in the floor?"

She rolled to her back, staring up at her interrogator in the dark. He looked strange looming from this angle, a lot taller than usual, his hands braced on his hips like some worried den mother. "Laying…"

Her hair had come loose from it's tie, a whole swath laying across her face, pieces falling in her mouth as she tried to speak. She struggled to bat it away and right herself. Strong hands looped under her arms, lifting her with surprising ease into a standing position.

Well, not standing exactly, more like hanging. She clung to his shoulders, trying and failing to get her feet under her. Jake shifted, holding her tighter. She could feel each breath he took, a little labored from the physical effort. "God, Santiago, how much have you had to drink? I've never seen you like this."

"I lost count, after Boyle's orange liqueur shot." Her nose crinkled, the memory of the flavor still lingering in the back of her throat. Suddenly she was too tired and queasy for conversation, especially with the one person she'd studiously avoided while schnockered. "Take me to bed, where I can slip into a coma."

Jake laughed, this time the sound wasn't as obnoxious as she remembered, in fact she would have called it warm if anyone ever bothered to ask. She instinctively laid her head on his shoulder, slumping into his embrace.

"'Take Me to Bed Where I Can Slip Into a Coma' the Amy Santiago sex tape." He snickered, moving them gently down the hall. "Although, that one's a bit of a mouthful. Not my best work."

Giggling, she pulled her head away. " 'That One's a Bit of a Mouthful' the Jake Peralta sex tape." She dissolved into giggles, finding that unknown-number-of-drinks-Amy was kind of an idiot. Jake didn't seem to mind though, squeezing at her shoulders as he turned her to face forward.

They stumbled across the threshold of the guestroom, Jake trying and failing to find the light switch in the dark. It was fine, Amy knew where the bed was. She'd scoped out her quarters before joining in on the festivities, carefully laying out her pajamas on the quilted coverlet.

She fell on the mattress, sweeping the pale pink jammies into the floor. Her feet kicked out, wiggling fruitlessly in an effort to remove her heavy winter boots. She grunted in frustration, too dizzy to sit up and remove them like a normal human being.

Before she could say anything, Jake knelt down beside the bed, fumbling with the laces before tugging the clunky things off. They dropped to the floor with a muffled thump, and Amy drew her legs up beneath her. "Thanks, Jake."

"Anytime, Ames." His reply was a little weak, his voice surprisingly soft as the nickname passed his lips. He cleared his throat, speaking more clearly. "That is, anytime you're three sheets to the wind and wearing hiking books."

Something heavy and soft landed on top of her, the fuzzy warmth tickling against the bottom of her chin. She looped her fingers through the loose knit of the afghan, formerly spread across the loveseat in the corner. Jake must have tossed it over her, knowing she wasn't coordinated enough to find her way under the fancy coverlet.

"Jake?"

He stopped on his way out the door, turning toward the direction of her voice. "Hmm?"

"Sophia's lucky, she's.. she's…" Her throat closed up, tears threatening to cascade down her burning cheeks. She quickly covered her face with her hands, hoping he couldn't see her embarrassment in the dark.

The mattress shifted, dipping down on one side as Jake took a seat beside her. "Amy-"

She cut him off. "Oh my god, no, forget it, please."

"No, look. We have awful timing… I'm sorry that's messed things up for you. I feel…" He searched for the right words. "guilty?" It turned into a question, and he shook his head. "You know what I mean."

She nodded, wishing a black hole would spontaneously open up under the bed and suck her down into it. She wanted to tell him to forget about it, to go back downstairs and enjoy the rest of their weekend away, but that was really hard when words wouldn't form. She blamed it on the last shot of kahlua Rosa had thrust into her hands.

He kept talking. "But you know… hindsight, and everything. You're gonna find some great guy, one that always wears matching socks like a nerd, and has an itinerary for every major trip. He'll leave you silly notes on the bathroom mirror, and sing you songs when you're sick. Teddy was just… a bump in the road. "

The room was too quiet, a ticking clock hung on the wall made her aware of every mortifying moment that passed. Her hands grasped the afghan and pulled it over her head, hoping it worked like an invisibility cloak.

"How about we make a pact? In five years…. if you're still single, and I'm still single…" Jake got quiet, listening for Amy's shallow breaths. The blanket crept down slightly, revealing to wide eyes, glassy with alcohol, reflecting the gleam moonlight from the window. He had her attention. "We find each other, no matter where we are…" He broke into a broad grin. "And we kill each other."

She relaxed, the air seeping out of her like a punctured balloon, a matching smile spreading across her face. Her hand shot forward. "Deal. Let's shake on it."

And they did, the pleasant warmth of Jake's firm grasp setting her at ease. She was drunk enough to make stupid decisions, like pulling him down to her and kissing the living daylights out of him, but she didn't. The image of Sophia hung firmly between them. She settled for giving him a quick squeeze. "I'm glad we're friends."

"Me too."

A/N: Thanks to anyone who read this. I don't often write for B99, and never continued that other fic I started for it (oops) but I still shop Jake and Amy because they're adorable, and after that last episode felt like writing a little one shot. (also, uuuh, yeah I ripped the pact thing from the Mindy Project bc it was one of my favorite scenes.) Please feel free to let me know what you think, comments and suggestions are cherished.