a complete guide to escaping nowhere | jake peralta

ONE · no place like the middle of nowhere

It had been five weeks of living in Nowhere, Florida when Alex had finally broken down and gone on a frustration-fueled murderous rampage.

Well, not exactly, since he would probably lose his job if he did that, and that's all he was holding onto so he wasn't driven to finally just jumping off a bridge. Only he couldn't do that anyway, because there were no bridges here.

Okay, so maybe living in what was basically solitary confinement had caused him to over-exaggerate everything for his own amusement.

Point is, it was hot out, he was bored, and he had absolutely nothing to do.

Sundays in Whatsthename, Florida were always the worst. Alex didn't have to go to work and spending a whole day inside always made him descend into a depressive state (so many tubs of ice-cream scarfed down, so many)

And Detective Jake Peralta always did the same thing, lay spread-eagle on the grass in his backyard that was in need of trimming, and recite the entirety of the first Die Hard movie start to finish.
And while his voices for each of the characters caused the event to be  endlessly amusing to witness at first, at this point all he wanted to do was go out there and tell him to just snap out of it.
Alex was perched on a chair on his own backyard, newspaper hiding most of his face, watching the man make sound effects with his mouth for the past one hour. Another weekly routine because this was his life now, apparently.

When he'd been placed here by the FBI for witness protection, he'd also been tasked with keeping an eye on the two other witnesses. This two-birds-with-one-stone type of solution wasn't exactly standard protocol, but he'd spent days going from one place to another in order to convince his bosses to let him be useful in some way at least, and had managed to sway them due to his long list of reasons why he could still do something, and included in it was his years of experience. In the end he probably just annoyed them into letting him do something, and he'd been tasked to keep an eye on Captain Raymond Holt and Detective Jake Peralta of the NYPD's 99th precinct, who had been target by Jimmy Figgis. Or, so his file with very minimal information said.
It also said to not have any contact with the two witnesses, and to not try to investigate their case in any way or form, especially since Alex was in witness protection as well. Although, the agent had promptly been avoiding the latter fact and trying to trick his brain into thinking he was on a job, instead of just another helpless victim.
During minor slip-ups when his brain informed him that he was living in denial, though, he consoled himself by repeating the mantra of this is just temporary and it isn't that bad.

But to be perfectly candid, it had been three weeks and he was already teetering on the brink of a breakdown.
He'd had stakeouts that went on longer than this but even then he'd mostly had some sort of company. And though he usually embraced spending time alone, Alex was the kind of person who needed at least some form human contact to stay sane.

And from the looks of it, so was Jake Peralta, or uh, Fred? Dave? Garry? Okay he needed to check the file for whatever white surfer dude fake name Jake had been given when he went inside because he genuinely kept forgetting which was not a good look on him.

The first time Alex saw "Greg and Larry" was a day after they moved in. Captain Raymond Holt, or Greg, was the picture of stoic acceptance. He seemed like the kind of person who didn't let his emotions show too much, Alex deducted because he was the regular Sherlock Holmes, not because it was Holt's one painfully obvious trait.
Two weeks in, through, when Alex was getting back from a nightly jog, he saw the captain sitting on a lawn chair reading a copy of Metamorphosis with a look of tender sadness in his eyes. It was the first time he'd just looked like a lonely man, instead of an always-alert police captain. He wondered what that was about.
It was none of his business through, so he walked away.

Jake Peralta was a much more captivating presence. Did he just say captivating? Florida really did make your brain act weird.
What Alex meant was that the man was interesting, definitely. And while he'd told himself that the captain's personal life was none of his business, no matter how hard he tried he simply couldn't stop himself from thinking about Jake. Not in the weird way, just in the way that he was definitely an intriguing presence to observe.

He seemed to be doing perfectly fine at first. But as the days went on that façade faded and he'd often find the detective crying in his hot tub or trying to do summersaults in his backyard. Often, since Alex's bedroom window faced Jake's, he'd hear Taylor Swift blasting on full volume behind the closed curtains.

All of this of course, was completely understandable regarding their current situation. And all of the detective's daily activities did make the days go faster for Alex.
Well, at first they did. Then the routine kept going and going, and at one point he just wanted to go over and give the guy a hug.
Or strangle him for being the reason Alex now had the entirety of Die Hard memorised despite never have seen it.

Just do something, at least. Jake and Holt haven't gotten in any trouble, Jimmy Figgis hadn't sent any threats.
At this rate Alex almost thought he was placed here with a made up task just to get him to shut up and stay put like a tactic used to placate a five year old.

Huh.

God, this would literally make the most uninspiring movie ever.