A/N: There's a deleted scene from episode 6x02 in which Eddie wins Mets tickets from a radio station with Jamie's help. Watch it on Alice Blue's Youtube channel if you haven't! Here's my version of what happens after the episode when Jamie and Eddie cash in Eddie's prize. Enjoy!
"Do you think we'll be on TV?"
"Yeah, the whole game." Jamie brought up his ticket with a flick of his wrist. "Best seats in the house."
"Better not pick your nose then, Reagan."
"Better not spill nacho cheese all down that awful jersey of yours," he countered.
Eddie glanced down at her authentic Mariano Rivera jersey, pinching the fabric high on the left side of her chest to emphasize the Yankees' NY logo there. "You're just jealous that my team is playoff-bound," she declared. "And yours, well…"
"The Mets are in first place too!" Jamie said, trailing Eddie with an incredulous face that she didn't see as she stepped forward with the shifting line.
"By what, half a game?" Eddie scoffed. "That'll be gone after they lose tonight, but the Bombers - New York's real team - are four games up on Toronto and that gap gets wider every day."
"Two and a half!"
Eddie just offered a sparkling over-the-shoulder smirk as she flipped open her small purse at the security checkpoint. Jamie shook his head, laughing to himself as he followed her through the metal detector and inside Citi Field.
She turned to face him as soon as they cleared the crowd in the entryway. "About those nachos, though..."
Jamie flattened a hand against his stomach and groaned like her words physically hurt. "Nachos? Really? I can handle a ballgame with a Yankees fan, that's one thing -"
"Like you'd've said no to free front row seats-"
"-but a Yankees fan who doesn't crave a good ballpark dog?"
"I could eat -"
"It's like you're not even a baseball fan! Next you're going to ask what a foul ball is -"
Her nose scrunched into a playful sneer. "I know what a foul ball is, Reagan."
"I know, I know," he laughed, holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence.
"So can it."
"Hey, I'll buy you nachos if you insist. But for us real fans it's hot dogs and peanuts only."
"Fine, you stick to your shitty food, but I like to enjoy what I'm eating."
Jamie rolled his eyes, though he couldn't quite get rid of the goofy grin he'd had on his face since meeting up with Eddie an hour ago. "Yeah, whatever. I'm getting a beer."
Eddie nodded her agreement somewhere in Jamie's peripheral vision as he headed for the closest beer cart. She bounced along beside him, distinct pinstripes in a sea of orange and blue, ready for the game with her high ponytail and denim shorts and navy blue low-top Converse. It was a stark contrast to the way Sydney used to dress on the rare occasions he dragged her to ballgames, cute and done-up and impractical because she had to look good while she ignored the baseball game happening in front of them.
Something told Jamie that this game with Eddie would be much more fun, and it wasn't just because of their front-row tickets.
With drinks in hand they headed down to their seats as the grounds crew finished preparing the field for today's game.
"Alright, so it's not Yankee Stadium, but this is awesome," Eddie declared as she sidestepped into the first row. "You can thank me later."
"Thank you? More like you can thank me. Tell me again, where was Bruce Springsteen born?"
"He's a Jersey boy," she sniffed, chin in the air, a stubborn refusal to admit Jamie's crucial role in all this.
"Oh yeah? How'd you find that out?"
"You're not the only one who went to school, Reagan."
"You learned about Bruce Springsteen in school?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, lips pursed, an unspoken dare to keep pushing her. "Just drink your beer."
"Credit where credit is due, that's all I'm asking for."
"I did all the work!"
"If it was reversed, if I made the phone call and had to ask you for the answer-"
"I knew I should've brought Hayley," Eddie muttered.
"Hayley didn't give you the answer."
"And if I knew this is the price I'd pay for that answer…"
"That's almost an admission. I'll take it."
"You better. It's all you're gonna get."
Jamie just took a long sip of his drink, regarding her with an arched eyebrow over the rim of the plastic cup. She seemed to be in a good mood, which relieved him considering how subdued she'd been in the three days since her father was discharged from the hospital. She insisted she was fine every time he asked and so he didn't force it at work, but he knew she'd had a long week. Hopefully tonight would take her mind off things, even for just a few hours.
The grounds crew cleared off the field for the pregame ceremonies as the seats around Jamie and Eddie filled in with other fans. Eddie chattered on about nothing in particular - mostly making random observations that, to her, absolutely proved that Yankee Stadium was so much better than Citi Field - until a dad and his young son walked out to toss the ceremonial first pitch.
"Oh, seriously?" she whined over the loudspeaker announcing their names. "Two? So the first pitch - and the second pitch? Whoever heard of-"
"Aw, come on," Jamie said, winging out his elbow to nudge hers off the armrest between them. "Are you heartless? Look at that! A dad and his kid at a ballgame together - it's so cute!"
"You're just overlooking the fact that there are two first pitches?" she wondered, holding up air quotes around the word first.
"That's all semantics," Jamie shrugged.
"The Yankees would get it right."
"Are you gonna be like this the entire game?"
"The entire game? You mean you're not going to duck out in the seventh inning like every other Mets fan that shows up to-"
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer boomed over her. "Please rise and remove your caps as the FDNY Ceremonial Honor Guard presents our nation's colors."
Jamie turned his head when they stood, leaning into Eddie's shoulder and tipping his chin to her ear. "What, nothing to say about the Mets having the FDNY?"
"No, actually, I like the view," she murmured.
He had no comeback for that so he just let out the disgusted hiss of air that forced its way from his chest and planted his hand over his heart as the first notes of the national anthem hit his ears.
"Alright," Eddie announced the moment it ended. I need some food."
Jamie stopped adjusting in his seat to peer up at her where she stood with her back to the field. "Are you kidding?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" With a hand on his shoulder she stretched up on her toes as if it would help her evaluate the concessions situation on the concourse above them. "I told you - I want nachos."
"You go now, you'll miss the first pitch. It's Syndergaard!"
"I already watched two first pitches," she reminded him. "And the line will be short. You want anything?"
"Just sit down, Janko."
"Ugh." She folded herself into her seat with a huff, maintaining a feigned pout with her chin in one hand while the crowd, Jamie included, cheered for the Mets taking the field.
"Your stomach can wait - let's say end of the third? Then I'll go with you."
"End of the third?"
Through her exaggerated whining he picked up on the underlying levity in her tone - as much levity as Eddie ever mustered when it came to questions of food, at least - and an amused chuckle rolled out of him. "Look at this guy though! A hundred miles an hour. And he's got a nasty slider. You know he only started throwing it this year?"
"Mhmm," Eddie hummed, humoring him with a nod.
"Watch - right here, two strikes, he'll get him to reach for a curveball."
"Nah, fastball up and in."
"No, curve all the way." He squinted in concentration, focused intently on the batter just a few feet in front of them as the Mets pitcher delivered for a swing and a miss.
"High fastball," Eddie smirked. "Toldja."
"At the belt is high? Maybe for someone as short as you…"
"Maybe for someone as short as you," Eddie mocked. "You just can't handle being wrong."
"There's a reason I'm not the one calling pitches," he conceded.
Her only response was a narrowed glance across a swallow of beer as the next St. Louis Cardinals batter stepped up to the plate. The first pitch he saw was a fastball down the middle that didn't land until it found the seats in left field, effectively quieting the crowd that still hummed after the three-pitch strikeout moments before.
"Yeah man, ride this kid all the way to the World Series," Eddie said sarcastically, slapping a hand on Jamie's knee as she stood. "For me - it's nacho time."
"He tosses one mistake and you give up on him?" Jamie called after her, but she'd already shuffled out of their row.
Eddie returned in the middle of the second inning with two beers, nachos, and a hot dog balanced on a cardboard tray. "Reagan - Reagan - take this!"
He reached out for the food as she tried not to trip over any feet on her way back to her seat. "What took you so long?"
"Finding you a damn hot dog, that's what. You're welcome."
"Mustard and onions?"
"Mustard and onions." She took her food and beer, leaving Jamie's on the tray in his lap. "And look! We are on TV."
He squinted at her phone, a text messaged picture of someone's TV with his and Eddie's tiny faces visible behind home plate. "Told you we would be! Don't spill those nachos..."
She ignored him and he ate his hot dog bite by bite between cheering as the Mets strung together a walk and three base hits to grab a two-to-one lead. Eddie seemed to forget that she was supposed to be anti-everything Mets as she joined in - until she met Jamie's knowing smirk and settled back into her seat with a glowering look.
With his own food gone he helped himself to her nachos, earning a swat on the hand. "Hey!" Eddie complained. "Hands off. You only eat shitty food at baseball games, remember?"
"One hot dog isn't enough!"
"If you're still hungry there's a salad place up there halfway down the first base line - quit it!"
"Oh, they walked him, bases loaded - let's see if we can tack on a couple more runs here."
"See - this is why the National League is dumb," she said. "Intentional walks just to get to the pitcher - it takes away two whole spots in the lineup."
"No, this is how it should be! It adds a layer of strategy. And everyone should have to play on both sides of the ball. American League pitchers only play half the game, designated hitters don't play defense..."
"But it's so much more fun when you don't sit there just waiting for the pitcher to strike out," Eddie argued. "Every bat in the lineup has a solid chance of getting on base...and they wouldn't waste a bases-loaded chance like that." She nodded at the umpire as he called strike three on the Mets pitcher for the third out and all the players cleared off the field.
"Part of the game," Jamie insisted with an indifferent shrug. "Pure baseball - the way it should be."
"Is that like, your thing?" Eddie asked. "The old way is always the best way? Change is never good? What's wrong, you can't handle the extra action?"
"In this case, yes. I think the designated hitter is stupid."
"Pure baseball," Eddie scoffed. "Think how much more fun you'd have if you let go of your dumb hot dogs and pitchers who can't hit for shit. There's a whole world out there you're missing out on."
"It's about the tradition!"
"Yeah, keep saying that and just ignore the fact that with a DH, your team could have three or four more runs right now."
"Hey, you know what - we've got the lead. Just have to hold onto it."
But the Mets couldn't hold onto it. In the fourth the Cardinals scored three more runs, earning Jamie a smug grin from Eddie as she wondered aloud - again - what the game might look like if the Mets hadn't squandered that second inning scoring opportunity. They got another chance in the bottom of the fifth before an inning-ending double play dashed those hopes too. Eddie cracked up in her seat next to Jamie - she enjoyed his pain way too much.
"Okay," he sighed. "I need another beer. Wanna take a walk?"
"What's the matter, Reagan? Losing hope? Throwing in the towel?"
"If you're asking whether we can leave yet - nope, we're here til the final out. Come on."
Jamie brushed past her knees before she stood to follow him out of their row. "But leaving these seats, Reagan - it's okay, I get that it sucks to be so close to the action while your team implodes," she called out at his back.
"We'll be back in a minute!" he replied over his shoulder. "But this is a great ballpark to walk around in. Field views from wherever you are on the mezzanine. Let's go."
"Wait, we're walking all the way around? I thought this was a quick beer run."
"Yeah! Wanna stretch my legs."
"You really are wasting those seats! It's like you're not even grateful that I got them for us."
"That I got them."
"Oh God, this again?" Eddie groaned. "You never touched the phone, you didn't talk to the radio station…"
"Kidding," he chuckled, shouldering her sideways now that they'd reached the concourse. "Nothing wrong with stretching our legs."
She sighed heavily as if a lap around the ballpark was a huge inconvenience, but she easily fell into step beside him as he headed off down the first base line.
"What about Cracker Jack?"
"Hmm?"
"Cracker Jack," Eddie repeated. "Is that on your list of approved baseball foods? I mean, it's in Take Me Out to the Ballgame."
"Don't know," Jamie mused. "I guess, sure. But I haven't had Cracker Jack since I was a little kid."
"Well then we'll have to get you some, sport!" She clapped a hand hard against the back of his shoulder. "You have to complete your entire pure baseball delusion!"
"Delusion? Hey! At least my team didn't think it was a good idea to stop selling Cracker Jack at games like someone's."
"What?"
"The Yankees! They tried to stop selling Cracker Jack during games, I don't know, like ten years ago. Back when I was in college. It was a big deal, pissed off lots of people, so they brought it back."
"How? How do you know this shit?"
"Just do," he shrugged.
"All this useless knowledge..."
"Makes me a good member of any trivia team - but you'd be the real winner, you know, since you take all the credit for my answers-"
"Shut up!"
He rolled his eyes over taut lips that couldn't contain his smirk. Next to him Eddie dipped her head, exhaling her quiet amusement until they drifted into a comfortable silence. As they weaved their way past the fragmented concessions lines Jamie kept one eye on the game and one on his partner's profile. He didn't miss the way the remnant of her smile melted away, replaced by dull eyes full of that same quiet shadow that had clouded her bright gaze all week.
"Hey," he murmured, tapping his elbow lightly against the back of her arm. "You okay?"
"Hmm? Yeah! Yeah, I'm good. Are you good?"
"No, Eddie, seriously. I know it's been - it's been a rough few days. How're you holding up?"
"Fine."
"Really?"
"Yeah! Um, my dad's case got a review date for next month and it looks good for the sentence reduction…"
"That's great! Eddie, that's awesome. But you've still been - I don't know... quiet."
"What am I supposed to do, celebrate? Hooray, I got to see my dad for a couple days - in the hospital - because he was beat up in prison!"
Jamie's brow twitched at the bitter, sarcastic smile she offered him. "I just want to make sure you know - I'm here if you need anything."
"I know. I'm sorry," she sighed. "And you've - you've been really - I appreciate everything you did, you know? Not letting it go until we figured out what was going on. So thanks."
"Yeah, of course."
"Hey, there's the salad place!" she exclaimed, a brief flash dancing in her eyes. "Short line if you're still hungry…"
"Yeah, yeah..."
"It's just… it's weird," she said after a moment. "What my dad said to me in the hospital, why he started stealing money... it's like he thought that doing it for me makes everything okay."
"He did say it was a reason, not an excuse," Jamie pointed out.
"I know but - I'm a cop, Jamie! Doing my job with a dad who's in prison - it sucks enough. There's always that thought in the back of my mind, some jackass will bring it up one day like it's proof that I can't possibly be a good cop-"
"Hey. Nobody who knows you could ever question that you're a good cop. Anyone who says otherwise has no idea who they're messing with."
She sighed, letting a sad smile surface. "It's just - to find out I'm basically the reason he became a criminal in the first place - I don't care how good his intentions were. It's like it's my fault."
Jamie looped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer into his side - really to steer her out of the way of four giggly twenty-somethings taking up half the walkway, but he kept his thumb pressed against the tight muscle there even after the girls had passed. "It's not," he assured her. "You can't hold yourself responsible for decisions your dad made - decisions you knew nothing about. It started going on when - you were really little, right?"
"Yeah, like two or three but - I know it's not my fault. It's just right now... that doesn't make this better."
"I know it doesn't."
"It's like I'm back when it first happened, the shock… All this shit kept coming out, everything he did, how much money he stole, the people he ruined - and it's been four years now and I thought we knew everything, all the details of how bad it was, but… I guess we didn't."
"I know. And I see where you're coming from, okay, I get it. But he didn't mean to hurt you when he said what he said in the hospital. He just wanted to explain himself."
"Yeah, well, now I wish he didn't. I've had a long time to get used to the idea that he's just a selfish bastard who wanted to get rich, and that's worked fine for me, so I think it'd be easier if… if I could still think it didn't have anything to do with me at all."
"Look," Jamie said, ignoring the cheers that erupted from the fans. "I'm not saying it's okay what he did - I think you know that. But if it were me, I think I'd take comfort in-"
"Oh my God! There's a Blue Smoke here?"
"Wh-what?" he stuttered. Lifting his gaze, he saw the blue neon sign just ahead before turning a confused look on Eddie.
"Blue Smoke, have you ever been there? It's so good. Come on, let's eat here - don't waste your time with another hot dog."
"I thought we were looking for Cracker Jack."
"Just come on!"
He had no choice but to follow her to the end of the line, perplexed brow still furrowed as his brain scrambled to recover whatever supportive, insightful, wise thing he was about to say before she interrupted.
"This place has the best pulled pork," she announced.
"Do they have one of these in Yankee Stadium?" he smirked.
She just made a face at his teasing. "And fried pickles… but looks like they don't have them here. Damn, that's too bad. Still rather go to Yankee Stadium…"
"Sure you would. I saw your face just now."
"Anyway," she said, rolling her eyes, "sorry, what were you saying?"
He filled the pause with a low chuckle while he finished calibrating his thoughts. "I was just - saying - I think if it were me, I'd appreciate knowing that even though he made some mistakes - some really bad ones - that that's not who he is. That he's really a good person."
Her face turned serious again. "That's the thing though. What I told you the other day - all my memories of my dad, up until he got arrested, they're all good. He was a great dad, you know, almost like yours - the kind of person people looked up to. But the whole time it was all a lie."
"No, see, that's what I'm saying. The two aren't mutually exclusive. He did something wrong, but he's still that guy, that great dad you remember. That role model. I mean, what he did in the prison, and now testifying - that's brave, that's solid. That means something."
"Does it, though?" she asked, moving forward through the line without meeting Jamie's eyes. "Nothing makes up for what he did, Jamie."
"You're right," he agreed. "Nothing can excuse it, nothing makes it okay. But if-"
More cheers cut him off and he paused, waiting for it to pass without even bothering to check what had happened on the field. "But if he's trying to patch things up however he can, I just hope you, you know, give him as much of a chance as you can. He's not evil, Eddie, just misdirected."
"Not much difference - he did awful things anyway."
"Yeah, actually - there is a difference. Because you can't fix evil, but you can help someone who's lost figure out the right way to go."
Her eyes glistened above the small, tight-lipped smile she gave him - communicating everything she couldn't verbalize in a way Jamie understood just as well.
By the time they finished ordering Eddie's cheerful self reemerged - good food and beer always had that effect on her. She teased him about his choice of a bratwurst - "Seriously? I thought we were past the hot dog thing!" - ignored his argument that bratwursts were completely different from hot dogs, and cracked up when half his beer sloshed across his wrist.
Food in hand once again, Eddie looked up at him as they moved back to the flow of foot traffic. "Do we have to keep going on our walkaround?" she whined. "I just wanna get back and eat."
"Our seats are over there," he said, nodding directly across from their position beyond center field. "Same distance either way. So let's keep going."
"But I'm so hungry!"
"Then walk faster!"
Jamie sped up, more motivated by the now-tied baseball game - so that explained all the cheering - than his stomach. Though Eddie wanted to stop for Cracker Jack he urged her to keep moving and they made it back to their seats in a fraction of the time it had taken to walk the first half of the field.
"Nice to have these seats for a game that might go into extra innings," he remarked as they settled back in.
"Ugh, no way - someone better score because I don't want to stay in this stupid ballpark any longer than we have to."
"Whaat?" Jamie teased. "You mean the ballpark that has - whatever - Smokey Blue?"
"Blue Smoke - and it'll close, so not like it does us any good for the rest of the night," she sniffed.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah - don't act like you're not having fun. And look! We've got a baserunner."
"So long as someone gets him around - oh my God, don't tell me Syndergaard's batting for himself. What the hell is your stupid team, Reagan?"
Jamie flicked his eyebrows at her, amusement playing at his lips. "He's only at, uh… 79 pitches on the night, looks like the Cards haven't had a baserunner against him in two innings… and our starter only went two and a third yesterday. Why tax the bullpen?"
"Why let your pitcher bat in the seventh in a tie game?" she shot back.
"Syndergaard's decent for a pitcher! And there's only one out, relax."
Eddie pointed at the scoreboard. "Oh-for-three, grounded out in the fifth - can you say double play?"
"Shh!"
Syndergaard quickly found himself with two strikes against the Cardinals' reliever and Eddie wasn't impressed. "Watch this, swing and a miss… I hate the freaking National League-"
There was a swing, but no miss. The stadium erupted as the pitcher rocketed a moonshot to the seats in dead center, the deepest part of the park.
"How do you like that?" Jamie shouted. "That's it, baby! That's what I'm talking about!"
Eddie stood with the rest of the fans, directing a dramatic eye roll in Jamie's direction. When he didn't put his hands down she obliged him with a double high-five with as much snarky attitude as she could manage. But he wasn't falling for her stubborn no-fun anti-Mets act so he dropped his arms and bear-hugged her while the crowd carried on a moment longer.
"See, now that is why the National League is the real deal," Jamie said, sitting now as the noise around them subsided and the next batter stepped up.
"Lucky swing," Eddie maintained.
"Come on, that's just a great piece of hitting, and all you have to say is lucky swing?"
"No…"
"Great, here we go -"
"I also have to say" - smirking, she grabbed at her jersey again, stretching the NY logo in his direction - "Go Yankees."