While the Heart Beats

Author's Note: Happy Blue Bloods Friday, everyone! This week is my first attempt at filling the awful summer void of no new episodes with some Haley originals. First up is part four of "While the Heart Beats," my ongoing series that looks at Jamie's response to the tragic events that closed out season three. Please be advised, this story contains spoilers for episodes 3x22, "The Bitter End," and 3x23, "This Way Out." Enjoy!

"You shot the bullet, you shot the bullet that killed me
Not feeling my heart beat, and I was dying
I've been through it
I've, I've been through all the agony
And now my eyes are drying…"

- Gavin Mikhail, Disaster (acoustic)

The first night had been a blur.

Jamie was pretty sure he'd been drugged to the gills, thanks to the good doctors at Bellevue, and that was probably a good thing. Time was standing still around him that night and he was standing still within it, caught up in something dark and meaningless, endless. He remembered an ache in his chest like a phantom heartbeat, pulsing painfully on, his own personal ticking proof that time was, indeed, inching forward, though every moment was an eternity. The only saving grace, if indeed anything could be called redeeming about that night, was Danny beside him. He remembered leaning against his brother in the darkness and tears leaking from his eyes, though he wasn't sure how much of that was real.

He remembered rain.

The first day after, the fog had lifted somewhat, and though he could count all ten fingers and carry on a mostly coherent conversation, his body felt brittle, like an empty husk. There seemed to be nothing under his bones at all; no lungs left to breathe, no heart to beat, certainly no soul to ache. He felt nothing but a great emptiness, yawning so wide and vast in the pit of his chest that he could almost lose himself to it altogether. He put on his dress blues that day because Danny told him to, and after that he moved where his father directed him to move; stood where he was led. The only moment of true lucidity came after he and his father's small army of bodyguards, chiefs, and solemn-faced city officials packed themselves into the tiny living room of Vinny's mother, inside her small apartment outside the city. Jamie had stood silently in the corner, his hat tucked under his good arm, and watched her.

She was a tall woman, as broad-framed as Vinny was, her dark hair dusted with gray and flowing over the yellow blouse and bright purple scarf she wore. Vinny had never said a lot about his family, but Jamie could tell that the knot of men and women tucked around her on the couch were blood, because they all looked so achingly like him, especially in the eyes. Her own eyes were tight with pain but her face was strong, and at some point when Jamie had been introduced as Vinny's partner, he stepped forward hesitantly. He was prepared for open stares from the family, hostile expressions; glares that damned him for daring to be alive when Vinny was dead. But there was only grief in the faces around him. Vinny's family barely acknowledged his presence, and when he knelt down in front of Vinny's mother and took her hand in his and told her how sorry he was, all she did was offer a watery smile and mouth the words, "Thank you." They blamed him for nothing; not in that moment, anyway, and wanted no explanations. He was a ghost, drifting through the thick mist of their agony.

And somehow, their emptiness made his own throb all the more.

He'd ridden in the SUV with his father, over to the apartment and back again. At one point on the trip back into the city, his father had placed a hand on Jamie's good shoulder. "How are you holding up, son?"

"I'm fine, dad." His voice was rusty, like bent nails.

The hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "All right. And now the truth?"

He looked up at his father, such a bear of a man, his idol. How could be be anything but fine? "I'm getting through."

Frank nodded. "All right."

And Jamie let that be that.

The nightmares started the second night, and in them, he relived the moment, over and over again. The blood, almost black, that spilled from Vinny's mouth. His eyes, so wide, so startled, trapped in the same disbelief that twisted in Jamie's chest. Over and over again, Jamie clapped his hand over the wound on Vinny's neck, and the blood was hot and pulsing and everywhere. The metallic smell turned his stomach.

It had been the most surreal moment of his life. He had looked out across that deserted quad with a dawning, rising horror, knowing it was a damn trap, but barely getting out the words before he was flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him, blasted off his feet by a bullet. He had pushed through the pain, scrambling to safety, then turned to check on Vinny and saw the image that would be seared on his mind for the rest of his life.

His partner, limp and loose on the ground, already halfway between one world and the next, blood pouring freely from his throat.

The second day, Jamie spent most of the morning at One Police Plaza, sitting in his father's familiar conference room, telling the story over and over again. He wasn't sure why everyone couldn't come in all at once to hear it because the room was certainly big enough, but a parade of them moved through and he recounted every detail, each and every time. The tellings were identical. The story could have no other ending, now. The woman in a red jacket standing half a block away, screaming that her purse had been snatched and pointing at a young Hispanic tough tearing off down the street, fast as the wind. Gasping in enough breath to call in the 10-85, keeping his eyes sharp upon Vinny racing along the sidewalk in front of him. The empty quad, silent and eerie.

That afternoon, and the days that followed, were a swirl of darkness. Renzulli had given him the whole week off, right through the wake. He didn't want it, but he took it because he was expected to; dutifully scheduled a check-in with the NYPD shrink. It was the same woman as before, the doctor he'd spoke with after he put two bullets into Gavin Bryant in Washington Square Park back in January. That would be fun. But it was fine. It was all fine.

Friends called. He let them ring through to voicemail. He didn't want to talk, to anyone or about anything. He'd talked enough already. His grandfather spent an afternoon watching baseball on television with him, sitting in silent solidarity next to him on the couch, and Erin brought over dinner three nights in a row. Danny called at least once a day. His father didn't check in, but Jamie knew he had deputized Danny in that regard. And it was fine, really. His father had too much going on with the investigation to talk, and besides, he hadn't raised Jamie or any of the Reagan kids to be fading violets. They had to be strong, because he was strong. They had to be tough, because that was the world in which they lived. His dad would expect him to be fine, and so he would be.

He stayed away from the newspapers, from the television news. He didn't want to see Vinny's face, or that goofy, too-big smile.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Sunken eyes, dark circles. He pressed his fingers into the wicked bruise below his collarbone, turning to dark purple with yellow edges.

The doctors said it wouldn't scar. He wished it would.

)()()()()()()(

The morning of Vinny's wake dawned blisteringly clear. It had rained again the night before, but the city seemed washed clean in the morning sunlight, sparkling with life. The sky was a slate of sweet blue, not a cloud to mar it, and even the faded graffiti on the mailboxes across the street looked good, rainbow colors glittering in the sunlight.

Leaning against the side of his patrol car, Renzulli looked up into the beautiful morning and tried yet again, for the hundredth time, not to sigh.

The Torrezolli Funeral Home was just across the Williamsburg Bridge in Brooklyn, not far from the 12th precinct he called home and not all that far from the Bitterman Projects, either. From his vantage point, Renzulli could see the Manhattan skyline in sharp relief against the East River, and such a sight would normally light his eyes with pride to be a New Yorker. On this day, though, his gaze was drawn instead to the green, white and blue buntings that the funeral home owner had hung with careful, solemn precision over the main entrance to the funeral home, and to the knots of officers gathering, a few more every moment, each cutting a crisp and precise figure in their NYPD dress blues.

It was going to be a long day, Renzulli knew that much. The visitation was being restricted to family and close friends that morning, which included the guys from the 12th - that was going to be hard. After that, the rest of the day and the whole day following would be open, and he knew from sad experience that it would be a circus. The street in front of the funeral home would be shut down at noon, and a whole detail of cops would be assigned to simply keep the media back. He could already see New York One and the local ABC and Fox stations setting up shop across the street, and a few photographers had been comparing notes with a cameraman on the far corner. There would be thousands of cops through here over the next forty-eight hours, not to mention the city officials and the hundreds of mourners sure to come from Vinny Cruz's vast network of friends - his high school football team, his younger brother's union buddies, his sister's high school English classes. Hell, his ex-girlfriends alone would probably fill most of a tour bus.

Renzulli grinned, but the levity left him as quickly as it had come.

The commissioner had called him the night before. He had been halfway through a spaghetti dinner and nearly choked on a meatball when his wife had thrust the phone into his lap. "It's Commissioner Reagan," she hissed, her eyes wide as his dinner platter.

He fumbled the phone, choked down a big swallow, and barely remembered to wipe the sauce from his hands before grabbing the receiver. "Sir?"

"Tony." Frank's voice was as rich and warm as always. "How are you holding up?"

"Just fine, Commissioner." It had been a quiet, sad week at the precinct. Even as the men and women around him had shared their grief, however, he had seen them rally as the NYPD began to turn up the heat on Los Lourdes, and his chest had swelled with pride. "We're getting through it, you know?"

"I do."

"How's Jamie holding up, sir?" The youngest Reagan had never been far from his thoughts that week. He knew the kid would be okay; he was resilient, with a level head on his shoulders and the rock-solid examples of his pop and older brother to lean on. Still, losing a partner was never an easy thing. Especially the way that Jamie had lost Vinny.

Renzulli had been forced to bat the memories away as Frank spoke. "He's all right. I'm wondering if you can do me a favor, though, Sergeant."

"Of course."

"The Cruz family has invited my family to join them tomorrow morning during the private visitation, but my task force has a meeting in the morning regarding the next steps in our... investigation into the activity in Bitterman. My detail won't be able to get there until later in the morning, and I believe Danny and Erin were going to pay their respects then as well." There was a pause, and Renzulli could almost see Frank taking a moment to rub at his forehead. Renzulli pressed his lips together in sympathy. The coverage of Vinny's death, and the escalating violence in Bitterman, was playing out on a national level now; he'd caught a glimpse of Vinny's goofy NYPD photo on CNN the night before, taken his first day on the force. Vinny had always looked a little red-eyed in that image to Renzulli's assessing gaze, and he wondered if the kid hadn't tied a few on in celebration the night before. Now the stupid picture was all over the world.

"Sergeant, I know you're going to spend some time at the wake tomorrow," the commissioner continued. "But I was wondering if you might be willing to arrive early to accompany Jamie. I'd rather he have a chance to pay his respects before the crowd builds too much, or before the crowd from the 12th arrives. Besides, I attract too much media where I go and I don't want him getting caught up in any more of that than necessary."

"Yes, sir." Renzulli hesitated.

"What's on your mind?"

"Sir, I just… I was wondering if that's what Jamie wants?" Despite having a PC for a pop, every one of the Reagan kids was a notorious hardhead and independent as a week-old mule. Renzulli didn't exactly chat with the commissioner on a regular basis, particularly over his parenting techniques, but he couldn't ever remember him arranging a schedule for one of his kids.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "What's he said to you?"

"Well, that's just the thing, sir. I've talked to him a few times but he hasn't really said much."

The commissioner sighed. "Same here, actually. The family's been checking in on him. I think he's still in shock. He's been doing a lot of walking this week."

"Sir?"

"Jamie's always wandered when he's been stressed or had something on his mind. It used to drive his mother crazy, especially since he would go out at all hours of the night. He's been doing it this week, and... well, if I can't be there with him right now, I'd like someone to be. I think he might benefit from a guiding hand."

Renzulli blinked. "Have you had a tail on him, sir?"

A pause. "I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation."

He stifled a laugh. "I can't believe he didn't spot it."

"The fact that he didn't tells me all I need to know. I'll make sure he's there tomorrow by eight. I just… I want him to have someone with him. And if it can't be family, I'd very much like it to be you."

Renzulli swallowed, oddly touched. "I understand. I'd be honored, sir."

"I appreciate your help, Sergeant."

"Anytime, sir."

And so Renzulli waited in the spilled sunlight of a beautiful Saturday morning. He'd seen the Cruz family arrive about ten minutes before, accompanied by a small group of city officials and NYPD chiefs, and he was glad Jamie wouldn't be there for those emotional first moments. Ten minutes later, he watched as an NYPD patrol car pulled up near Torrezolli's front entrance. The cop behind the wheel said something to his passenger, clapping him on the shoulder, and Renzulli walked over as Jamie Reagan stepped out, straightening his tie as he did so. Renzulli gave him a quick assessment, sweeping him head to toe. He looked flawless, his dress uniform pressed, but his eyes were tired and haunted. "Kid," Renzulli said, and offered him a hand. Jamie shook it without hesitation. "You're lucky they let you ride up front."

Jamie smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I appreciate your being here, Sergeant."

"Your pop gave you the scoop, huh?" That surprised him a bit.

"Well, most of my family is tied up with the investigation. I think I'm the only one with any flexibility in my schedule. So." He looked at the street, squinting at the television trucks across the road.

Renzulli looked at him keenly. "Are you sure you want to be here?"

"Of course I am." His eyes wandered up the branches of a nearby tree.

"Do you even know where you are right now, kid?"

Jamie's eyes snapped to his, annoyed. "I'm at my partner's visitation."

"Yeah," Renzulli said. "Physically, at least."

Jamie looked at the ground next. Renzulli saw the muscles in his jaw clench, relax. "What more do you want from me?"

"Just wondering where your head's at." He had seen this before, too many times.

For the first time since stepping out of the car, Jamie's eyes turned to the funeral home. "Let's get this over with," he said, and moved forward without a moment's hesitation.

Renzulli sighed and followed.

)()()()()()()(

They hadn't even gotten beyond the funeral home's main lobby before it started.

A young woman was wrapped in the arms of an older man just inside the main doors. They were both sobbing openly. The woman was wearing a giant button with Vinny's face on it, printed with his name and what appeared to be his dates of birth and death. It wasn't the NYPD stock photo this time, but what looked like a family picture… Christmas morning, maybe, or taken from around the Thanksgiving table. Renzulli wasn't sure if Jamie saw it or not, but the kid kept moving and so Renzulli did, too. Next, they had to dodge a man with a grim face, carrying a huge floral spray of white roses draped with baby's breath.

Jamie stopped, allowing the man to move in front of him. Renzulli stepped in close to his side. "Good?"

Jamie was looking left and right. He seemed outwardly calm, his face emotionless, but Renzulli was starting to get a bizarre, edgy vibe off him that had his senses on red alert. "Which way?" Jamie asked.

"C'mon." Renzulli moved forward toward the end of the hall, closing in on a soft spin of noise emanating from a large doorway to the right. Jamie followed, soundless at his side. Jamie didn't turn his head even as they moved past small clusters of people from NYPD headquarters and the mayor's office; from some of Governor's Cuomo's detail and big shots from the city chamber. The people who looked their way latched onto Jamie and whispered about him to their colleagues; of course they did, because everyone knew the commissioner and everyone knew this story, another tragedy in the long Reagan legacy of disasters. Renzulli looked back at them coolly, staying tight against Jamie's side, but Jamie never blinked. He stayed silent, and he stayed steady, right until they walked into the room.

Jamie stopped just inside and Renzulli did, too, taking in the setting with a swallow. Flowers were everywhere, hues of yellow and white and blue, and the smell was honey-sweet and overwhelming. People were everywhere, too, friends and family and dignitaries, some talking softly as those in the hall had been, others caught up in long embraces. The thickest knot of people were huddled at the side of a mahogany coffin on the far side of the room, which, Renzulli noted with a sinking stomach, was open. He couldn't see inside it for the people standing there, but the foot was draped in the NYPD's flag of white, blue and green, and a huge spray of red roses adorned the top.

Jamie turned his head toward Renzulli. He leaned in towards the kid immediately. "It's open," Jamie said.

"Yeah." He wasn't sure what else to say.

"I didn't…" Jamie swallowed.

"I'll go with you, kid. If you want. We've gotta do what we've gotta do."

"Go first," Jamie said. "I'll follow you."

Renzulli nodded, then moved forward slowly, respectfully, toward the casket. He shook a few hands along the way, said a few hellos. He didn't know the family well at all, but they seemed to recognize the uniform, at least, or perhaps the 12th precinct pin on his collar.

A young man with burly shoulders approached. He looked weary, but smiled. Vinny's smile. "Sergeant? I'm Tommy Cruz, Vinnie's brother."

Renzulli shook his hand. "Good to meet you, Tommy. I wish the circumstances were better. I'm very, very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." Tommy's eyes went over Renzulli's shoulder.

Renzulli stepped aside slightly. "Tommy, this is Officer Jamison Reagan, Vinny's partner. Jamie, this is—"

"Tommy," Jamie said, and reached out his hand. He was, instead, pulled into a tight hug that clearly caught him off-guard.

Tommy squeezed him hard, and long, almost lifting him off the ground. Renzulli realized after a beat that Tommy was whispering something into Jamie's ear, quick and intense. Tommy released Jamie a moment later, and Jamie stepped back. Tommy laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it, then suddenly moved away. His face was beginning to crumble, his composure slipping.

Renzulli looked quickly at Jamie. The kid's face was impassive.

Renzulli swallowed, and turned to the casket. A path had opened for them now, as if Tommy was the official gatekeeper to his brother's body.

Vinny looked about as good as anybody dead and in a coffin, Renzulli figured as he stepped up to pay his respects. The uniform looked great on him, and his posthumous Medal of Honor was sparkling, lime green and gold against the navy jacket. He would be proud, Renzulli thought, and he let that emotion buoy him up so as not to think about the kid, the kid, happy-go-lucky Vinny Cruz, suave as the day was long but with a good and generous heart, lying dead in a coffin before him.

Renzulli forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath. Vinny actually looked like himself, which was more than Renzulli could say for a lot of the mortuary work he'd seen done over the years. He had barely recognized his own father at the man's wake years ago (although Papa Renzulli drinking himself to death might have had something to do with that), but Vinny looked good. Almost too good. As in, not-even-dead good.

But facts were facts, and the body was turned in such a way that he couldn't see the wound in Vinny's neck (but God knew he could see it in his memory, now and forever), and so he offered up a quick, silent prayer and saluted. Then he stepped aside, praying next that Reagan was indeed still behind him and hadn't bolted at the first sight of his partner's body.

Renzulli knew a second later that he never should have doubted. Jamie stepped up smoothly into the space he had left, staring down into the casket. His eyes were a little red at the edges, a little tight, but they remained dry. No one around them seemed to be particularly drawn to the sight of Jamie stepping up to the side of his partner, and he wondered belatedly if anyone even knew the story of how Renzulli had found them in that quad together; of everything Jamie had tried to do to save his partner's life.

They probably didn't, he realized. They would be watching if they did.

But Renzulli was watching, just as he had that day not even a week before, and he saw Jamie grasp the edge of the casket with hands that were shaking, just a little, like leafs touched by a breeze. "I didn't think he would look like this," Jamie whispered. "It looks like I can talk to him."

"You can talk to him, kid," Renzulli replied softly.

Jamie's eyes never left Vinny's face. "Not anymore," he said quietly. And Jamie saluted his partner, face stoic, moments crisp and smooth.

Then he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Renzulli went after him, trying to hurry without hurrying, and reflected as he went that it was probably a good thing that nobody was watching, because they would probably wonder what the hell was going on. Sort of like he was wondering what the hell was going on.

He finally got hold of Jamie near the front doors. He grabbed the kid's right bicep, and it took him a breath longer than it should've to figure out why the kid flinched. He released him instantly when he remembered. "Shit – sorry, Jamie. What are you doing?"

"I need to go." His eyes were on the doors. "I need some air."

"Well, you ain't going anywhere without me." Renzulli pushed open the doors, following Jamie through. The kid seemed to know where he was going, and he followed as Jamie weaved his way expertly through the growing crowd, head tucked low. Renzulli followed him down the sidewalk, around the corner, and half a block further to the door of a sleepy café, the scent of oven-roasted coffee drifting out of the open front door and wrapping around them like an embrace. Jamie walked in as though he'd been there before, and a few moments later they were parked unobtrusively in a booth near the back, their hands wrapped around disposable cups of the warm brew.

Renzulli dumped in two packets of sugar and stirred slowly, his eyes on Jamie. "So how do you know this place?"

Jamie tossed his hat carelessly onto the table, leaning back with a sigh. "Used to come here a lot on my days off. Not too far from home. Good place to read."

Renzulli watched him carefully, trying to put the pieces together. "Did you come here with Vinny?"

Jamie snorted. "Are you kidding? Vinny wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this. 'Skin and I'm in.' That was his motto."

Renzulli leaned forward. "Tell me what's going on."

"Nothing's going on. Thanks for coming with me this morning." He took a slow sip of the coffee, his gaze wandering vaguely.

"Are you going back?"

"Where?"

"Where." Renzulli shook his head. "To the funeral home, Jamie."

"Why should I?"

He hesitated. "You're his partner."

"Not anymore."

Those words again. "Kid, he's always gonna be your partner."

"He's dead, Sarge." Jamie looked at him levelly over his cup. "He can't be my partner if he's dead."

Renzulli's eyes narrowed, but inspiration struck him suddenly. If there was anyone ideally suited for pulling a younger brother out of a funk, it was an older brother. "Have you talked to Danny at all, kid?"

"Yeah." Jamie set the cup down carefully. "You know what he told me? 'Lean on your partner, Jamie. That's how you get through this.'"

Renzulli's brow furrowed. "He told you…?"

"After the girl committed suicide and killed her baby." Jamie's fingers brushed across the surface of the old table, his fingertips finding the pattern of the wood grain, the gouges from time. "He told me I had to get through it with Vinny. Shared experience and all that."

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say.

"I'm just taking one day at a time now, Sarge."

Renzulli nodded, watching him. "The precinct commander heard from your shrink."

"Not my shrink. The department's shrink."

"Right. Well, you're cleared to start back to work after the funeral."

"Great."

"Do you even want to come back?"

Jamie frowned. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I'm trying to figure you out." He clenched his hand into a fist, fighting to control his temper. "You're not making it easy, kid."

"Well, I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine." Jamie sipped at his coffee again.

"Yeah? 'Cause you don't look fine."

Jamie glared at him, then thunked the cup down so hard a little coffee sloshed over the side. "Tell me how I'm supposed to look. Tell me how I'm supposed to act, Sarge. I had a little practice when my brother died, but the only difference was, I wasn't there when he got gunned down. I was this time. And I don't know how I'm supposed to act. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. I don't even know if I can feel anymore, because the only time I feel anything is when I do this—" He made a fist out of his left hand and struck himself, hard, right underneath his collar bone in the place the bullet had hit, and Renzulli winced for him. "And even then, it doesn't last." Jamie's voice cracked a little, and he looked back down at the table's surface.

"Kid," Renzulli sighed. "You're going through something nobody goes through, you understand that? You've already lost a brother to this job, and now this? There's no playbook, you understand? However you get through it is the right way to go."

"So stop asking me if I'm okay! Because you know I'm not."

Renzulli nodded again, slowly. "Nobody could be."

"And stop asking me where my head is, because I don't know." He tangled his hands together on the table and glared at them.

"You know I just want to help, kid," Renzulli said softly. "That's all anybody wants."

"I appreciate that. But there's nothing you can do, Sarge. The only person who could've done anything at all was me, and I screwed that up, so here we are."

"You didn't screw anything up, Jamie."

"I could've seen the shooter on the roof."

"You had a thousand places to be watching when that guy took his shot. You didn't see him? That was bad luck and nothing else. You were a hundred times more likely to take fire from the windows than the roof, and you know that. They teach that, Jamie. You did exactly what you were supposed to do."

Jamie stared him down. "I could have seen the shooter on the roof," he said slowly, deliberately.

Renzulli sighed. "Yes, you could've. And you could've seen the bullet coming at you instead of getting knocked down by it first."

"I could've warned Vinny. I could've drawn—"

"Jamie, nothing you did or didn't do in that moment was going to change anything. You don't think I wish I could go back, too? I was there, kid! And I hate everything that happened, but I'm not going to torture myself because I know there was nothing I could do. And you shouldn't torture yourself either."

Jamie sighed, long and dry. "Even if there was absolutely nothing I could do—"

"Which there wasn't."

"Even then," Jamie said. "He was my partner. And he's dead and I'm alive, and that's wrong."

Renzulli hesitated. "What did Tommy say to you in there? When he hugged you?"

Jamie's smile was humorless. "He said, 'Thank you for being there. Thank you for being with him.'"

Renzulli slumped in his seat. Again, he didn't know what else to say.

Jamie abandoned his coffee cup for his hat, running his hand across the top. "Is it normal, Sarge? Not to feel anything at all?"

"Like I said, kid, there's no playbook for this."

"I barely even remember what happened. I dream about it, but it's like a nightmare, and I wake up and I'm not even sure what's real."

Renzulli tilted his head. "You did a good job at the scene. Held it together as well as anybody could. You did everything you could do."

Jamie frowned. "I don't remember."

"I do."

Jamie lifted his gaze to Renzulli's. "Someone told me you were there." He leaned back in his seat once again. "Tell me."

And Renzulli did.

)()()()()()()(

"Shot through the heart, and you're to blame… darlin', you give love a bad name…" Renzulli sang. He had a grin a mile wide plastered on his face, not necessarily because he was the world's best singer, but because of the bizarre expression on the face of the rookie riding shotgun. "Hey, c'mon, kid. Don't tell me you don't know Bon Jovi."

"That was Bon Jovi?" The kid was a fresh boot out of academy, with a gangly frame and wide eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. He was assigned to the 15th precinct normally, but they'd had a couple of T.O.s call in sick for the weekend and this particular rookie had been trusted to Renzulli's capable hands for the shift. He didn't mind; it was actually nice to get out from behind the desk for a change, and he always appreciated the opportunity to show a newbie the ropes. This kid seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, although he needed to work a little on his presence. Not to mention his taste in music.

"How old did you say you are? Twenty-three?" Renzulli shook his head. "How could you have possibly made it this far in life without being able to recognize Bon Jovi?"

"I know Bon Jovi. That just didn't sound anything like him."

Renzulli chuckled despite himself. "Yeah, I'd love to hear your dulcet tones, kid. Don't knock the pipes. I have a mean voice for jazz."

The kid – his name was Pierce Benning, which Renzulli also found hilarious – shrugged. "I was always more into computers myself."

Renzulli was about to share how that didn't surprise him in the least when their radio crackled. "12-Sergeant, please respond – 12-George requesting 10-85 in the area of Driggs Avenue and Bedford Street, Bitterman Housing Project. 10-10, officers in pursuit and requesting assistance."

"Acknowledge," Renzulli ordered, reaching down to flip on the lights and sirens.

Pierce fumbled the receiver, looking somewhat bug-eyed at the abrupt change of pace. "Uh, 12-Sergeant acknowledged," he said. "Do you know where that is?"

"Yeah, we're just a couple of blocks away."

"No, I mean… that's where the woman killed herself with the baby, right?"

"Right. Major trouble spot for the 12th. Did you hear who placed the call? 12-George? Those officers were first responders on the call with the woman." Renzulli smiled a little, despite himself. "One of them's Jamie Reagan, my old boot. Great kid. Damn fine officer, too. You'll have to meet him."

Pierce was gripping the door handle with one hand and the dash with the other as Renzulli threw the squad car around a sharp curve at almost 40 miles an hour. "Think we'll live long enough for that?"

"12-Sergeant, be advised 10-85 now 10-13, officers requesting assistance for shots fired." The radio burped, then pealed a tone that made Pierce's face go a shade paler than it already was. "Attention all units, code three on this channel – shots fired at Driggs and Bedford, Bitterman Housing Project. 10-13. 911 callers reporting multiple officers down on scene. Proceed with extreme caution."

Renzulli's skin went cold. The temperature in the car felt as though it had suddenly plummeted twenty degrees. A single thought crowded all others out of his mind.

Jamie.

Author's Note: Okay, sorry to leave you dangling, but that's all this tired author has time for in this week's episode! And she has to go see "Star Trek: Into Darkness" tonight, so there's that, too. :) Next week, we'll pick up where this left off - and yes, I will absolutely be addressing the situation between Frank and Jamie. If you enjoyed the story, please let me know – I love talking Blue Bloods with fellow fans. See you soon!