Chapter Text
If Gina had to guess how her night was going to go, this wouldn't have been on the bottom of the list, because it wouldn't have even made the list - and that was saying something. She kept a very open nighttime schedule.
Jake Peralta showing any capacity for deep emotion would have been odd enough. Having her childhood best friend openly sob on her shoulder and repeatedly ask her, "What's wrong with me? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me?" while Oprah Winfrey's Legends Ball played in the background was, quite frankly, the most terrifying experience of her life.
It wasn't like she'd never seen Jake cry before. The unusual aspect was the lack of alcohol intake. And the actual real-life seriousness of his upset. All things considered, Gina would say she probably (definitely) had every right to be very, very concerned. Problem was, she wasn't really sure...how to be concerned.
Damn their mutual extreme discomfort with emotion.
After a good five minutes of awkwardly allowing him to cry and babble many self-deprecating things all over her shirt, Gina reluctantly leaned into the semi-embrace. She rubbed one hand up and down his back and gently kneaded the other through his hair. Physical comfort, she at least kind of knew how to do (thank you, insanely overly cheese made-for-TV movies.) Unfortunately, she was probably going to have to talk at some point, too.
"Okay, umm..." she hummed thoughtfully. Honestly, all his weird gasps and sobs were...painful to hear? They cut through her chest. Her heart hurt. She kind of wanted to cry, too. "Well, okay, I don't know how much this helps, but you're my best friend, and I think you're really awesome and fun and funny, and I love you, and I'm...really sad...that you're...sad."
He pressed himself closer. The crying volume increased slightly. Oh, shit. She messed something up, didn't she? This kind of work was really too delicate for her. Weren't there specialists for this sort of thing?
The things Gina said were entirely true, though, and she had to blink rapidly when her own vision began to blur, swallowing around a lump in her throat that she was pretty sure was her heart. "Wow, hm. I think this is what they call empathy. Yep, I've got a bad case of empathy. Feelings are so strange. I think I'll pass on them for the rest of forever."
A soft laugh interrupted his sobs. Gina peeked the corner of his mouth turning slightly upward across one side of a red, blotchy, tear dampened face.
"Oh, good!" She sighed. "Yes, laughing is good. More laughing, less crying. Good, good, good."
He began to relax, the tear flow gradually slowing. Gina sat perfectly still and silent for at least ten minutes, letting Jake get himself together. When the only sounds left in the room were Oprah's words of wisdom and her friend's hitched, uneven breathing, she dared to test the waters again.
"There's nothing wrong with you, to answer your question," she said.
He tensed against her. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. So, you're not great with money and you're in crippling debt. Everyone has flaws and stuff. Except for me, of course. But I'm the exception, not the rule."
He laughed again. The tension in the room dropped another few degrees. Gina cleared her throat. "So, uh...you good now?"
Jake nodded slowly.
"Yeah." He took another hitching breath. "I'm good."
"Good, because you've been compressing the nerves in my shoulder for like thirty minutes and my entire arm is numb, so..."
"Oh, yeah, sorry."