Loyalty

It's as shocking as watching Eddie get shot all over again.

Last night he left this hospital room relaxed and confident knowing that Eddie would be by his side again in a few days. Now he walks quickly, long strides with hunched shoulders to the stairwell so he won't run into the resurrected ghost at the elevators.

Barry?

Only twenty-four hours ago he watched his partner fall to the ground with a bullet in her vest and he's barely had time to regain his composure from the panic that induced. He's too rattled to fully process whatever the fuck just happened but he does know he's about to spin out of control if he doesn't find a way to get a grip.

What saved him yesterday was seeing Eddie with his own eyes, confirming for himself that she was fine and they were safe and he wasn't losing her.

Today that won't work.

Today it feels like a lie.

Jamie processes best when he's moving. When his body is still his brain feels fenced in. That's always been true, dating back to his undergrad days when he'd pore over obscure con law cases on a stationary bike in the college fitness center for two hours at a time.

There are no textbooks or study guides weighing him down anymore. So he runs.

His feet pound the pavement, bringing a rhythmic clarity to his racing thoughts.

He has craved Eddie's presence constantly for nearly five years now. And he's always had it. They sit inches away from one another for the better part of every day. They're rarely apart for longer than twelve hours before the next tour or happy hour or impromptu off day adventure. Anywhere he turns, she's right there with him.

It's the biggest reason he's worked so hard to suppress his unyielding attraction to her. Acting on it will mean losing her physical closeness - at best their days of riding together will be over, at worst they'll find themselves working opposite shifts out of different precincts. Their time together will simmer down to a delicate logistical dance of complicated schedules and concerted effort. Compared to the way things are now, it'll feel like a huge loss.

He's always figured someday she'll get tired of the beat, and facing the end of their partnership for another reason, that's when they'll finally find out what they've been missing out on. It's the light of his own self-compromise at the end of the tunnel. So for the time being he's forced himself to let her nearness be enough.

It's never really occurred to him that it might not be enough for her.

He left the hospital last night relieved at the prospect of returning to normalcy - Eddie teasing him about his driving from the passenger seat while he shoots back some non sequitur retort about her unhealthy aversion to vegetables, each tedious shift made tolerable by her unmatched ability to keep him on his toes. He expected a seamless transition back to their partnership, that safe relationship limbo where they'll wait out that next step and try not to cross any lines before it comes. He thought they were on the same page.

Then Eddie left the hospital with the bearded wonder, and Jamie drove to his own apartment, alone.

He waited so long that her page turned without him. He's missed his chance.

The thought makes his chest ache. He pushes himself faster as if the physical pain of exhausted muscles can distract him from it.

It doesn't work.

What if it was Eddie that had been killed? Is there anything you would regret for the rest of your life because you never told her?

Jamie played dumb and brushed Erin off when she said it, but truth be told those words have haunted him for two days now.

He's having an awful time between Eddie's absence at work and Barry's unrelenting presence that makes it impossible to see her outside of it. He misses her and the thought of Barry the pizza boy being the one to support her as she heals, physically and psychologically, is enough to make his stomach clench. But the separation has helped him realize one thing - it is possible to do his job without her as his partner. The distance in their personal lives is what he can't handle.

It's the kind of realization that he'd probably keep to himself without Erin's loaded question practically chasing the words out of his mouth. But it's been five years and the longest week of his life. If he doesn't tell her now they'll fall back into their old routine - whatever their old routine will look like with Barry's stupid too-big smile haunting him around every corner - and he doesn't want to wait for another serious wakeup call like a shooting to make this happen.

He wants to tell her to take a promotion, ditch the hipster ghost, and come figure out the next steps. With him. Together. He just needs to figure out how to say it.

His chance arises when he returns to his desk to find her standing across at hers.

His stomach swoops when he sees her, a reaction he's gotten good at controlling when he expects to see her. He can't spell it all out here, in the middle of the Twelfth, but he can invite her to grab that drink she's been putting off all week and they can talk.

"You're back!" he says.

"Hey - no, just paperwork. And I had to get fitted for a new vest." Her voice nearly breaks when she says it, and so does Jamie's heart.

"How you doing?" he asks softly.

"Sore. But good." She meets his gaze and smiles. "Miss me?"

"As a matter of fact I did, yeah," he admits. "Having you gone has actually got me thinking about a lot of things."

She hums an intrigued note. "What were you thinking about?"

He's about to offer up that drink and those thoughts when he hears the human broomstick's sickeningly cheerful greeting behind him.

Fucking Barry.

When Eddie suggests dinner Jamie scrambles to think of an excuse. As much as he misses Eddie he can't take the thought of spending time with her while her boyfriend watches from across the table. So he feels a sting of painful relief when Barry produces an envelope of Springsteen on Broadway tickets from behind his back.

Eddie's face lights up and that's where Jamie focuses to ignore whatever smug-ass bullshit comes out of Barry's mouth. But he still has to swallow down a pang of grief that tonight, at least, Barry is the one making her this happy.

Barry excuses himself to get him a cab - for a ghost he's quite concerned with transportation, Jamie thinks bitterly - and Eddie gathers her things.

"What were you gonna say?"

Jamie looks up at her but he can't ask her to skip Springsteen for him a second time. "Ah - it was nothing," he says. "You should get going."

"No, tell me," Eddie insists. "I really want to know."

"It's just that…"

He almost does. Almost.

"I hope you come back soon. And enjoy that show, because I'm jealous. Alright?"

Grabbing his things, he makes his escape before he lets his eyes settle on her face. He knows he'll see understanding there - she knows he's not jealous about the damn concert - and it might make him do something stupid. He's not going to ruin her night.

Would it be ruining her night?

He pauses in the doorway, considering, just for a moment, going back. Grabbing Eddie's hand, taking her out the back door, away from Beardo and his Springsteen tickets and everything they think they know.

He doesn't. He doesn't need to. This isn't a one-time impulse and he's not going to lose his nerve.

He knows what he wants now. He's never been more sure of anything. That switch has flipped and he's determined. It might not happen right away - Eddie is seeing someone, after all, so it wouldn't be fair to expect that - but however long it takes, he's paying attention. He's waiting for his opportunity. He's ready. And he's not going anywhere.