His job was the only thing he had left, but it was also falling apart. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. He was losing himself in the very thing he once loved. There were only so many lines one could cross before losing everything that once mattered, before becoming someone they didn't recognize.
He and Hank were on a collision course, locked in a constant cycle of bickering and frustration. They were slowly wearing each other down, and it seemed like they were both just waiting for the inevitable explosion.
He tried to remember the days when he woke up eager to face the world, when his job felt more thrilling than draining, when it had purpose beyond just survival. He remembered the feeling of her hand lightly brushing his shoulder as they prepared to break down a door together. A brief, reassuring touch that told him she had his back as much as he had hers. It was all he needed to feel invincible, to know that no matter how dangerous things got, they would face it together. But that was five years ago. Five long years since he had felt that support, that sense of partnership, of trust. And now, every day felt like a battle he was destined to lose.
He couldn't look at Hank anymore. He resented him with a depth that cut to the bone. It was Hank who had pushed Erin to leave, to take that job in New York, to walk away without looking back. He had given her the ultimatum to choose her career over the life they could've had together. And she had listened. She left, and with her went his last shred of hope. He knew deep down that it wasn't just Hank's influence—it was his own mistakes, his inability to open up, to let Erin in when she needed him most. But blaming Hank was easier, and it kept the guilt at bay, even if only for a moment.
Day after day, it was becoming harder to share a room with Hank, let alone work with him. Nothing he did made sense anymore. His decisions, his choices—they all seemed reckless, born from a desperation to make something work at any cost. Jay could see himself slipping further down that same path. Each time Hank bent the rules, broke them even, it started to feel like the lines he had drawn for himself were no longer clear. He was starting to think like Hank, act like Hank, and every time he did, the weight of it crushed him.
He didn't want to be Hank. But, in a way, he was becoming him. And the realization was suffocating. It was as if he was caught between who he was and who he feared he was becoming, and every step he took pulled him further into that darkness. He hated it, and yet, he couldn't stop himself.
He pushed himself up from the bed, the weight of the memories pressing down on him like a vice. Every moment, every second spent lying there felt like an eternity, haunted by the past he could never escape. There was not a single day that the ghosts of his choices didn't rise to torment him. He glanced at Hailey again, and it felt as if she were a stranger lying beside him. She wasn't Erin. She couldn't be.
He liked Hailey. She had saved him in ways he couldn't even begin to count and pulled him from the depths when he didn't even want to be saved. She had given him everything she had, even when he had nothing to give back. For three years, she had stayed by his side, patient, kind, without ever asking for more than what he could offer. But the truth was, that day when he kissed her, he had given her more than just a moment. He had given her hope, and with that hope came the inevitable heartbreak. He never wanted to hurt her. He never wanted to be the one who crushed her dreams. But he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't live this lie. He couldn't betray Hailey, or himself, or even Hank any longer.
He knew what he had to do. He had to let it all go. But the idea of leaving Intelligence, leaving Hank—it felt like cutting the last thread that connected him to Erin, the one thing still tethering him to her. Every part of him screamed that he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to sever those ties. He wasn't ready to walk away from everything that had defined him for so long. How could he give up the one thing that still made him feel alive? How could he live with the uncertainty of never knowing if she was alright again?
But deep down, he knew there was no other way. If he stayed in this world—if he stayed with Hailey, if he stayed with Hank—he would only be existing, not living. He couldn't breathe anymore with the weight of it all on his chest. And if he didn't let go, he would drown. He had to walk away, for his own survival, no matter how much it hurt.
More and more, he found himself wishing for something bad… anything… to happen at work. Something that would end it all. Something that would take the weight of his despair off his shoulders, even if it meant paying the ultimate price. It seemed like the only escape from the suffocating emptiness that consumed him. He was becoming reckless, throwing himself into the chaos of his job, searching for a way out without ever daring to take the step himself.
He wasn't strong enough to do it. He wasn't strong enough to take control of his own fate. And he wasn't strong enough to walk away from Hailey, because he knew it would destroy her. The thought of shattering her, of leaving her broken, tore him apart. He hated himself for even considering it. But it was the reality he couldn't escape.
So he started to drift. He started lying. He'd find any excuse to avoid her, to avoid facing the truth. He'd leave the house before she was up, slipping away in the dark like a coward, and he'd return long after she'd fallen asleep. His days blurred together—crime scene after crime scene, call after call, each one a temporary distraction from the mess he had become. He would drive aimlessly, roaming the city like a ghost, praying for another call to take him further away from home, from Hailey, from the life he had built with her. Anything to delay the inevitable confrontation with himself.
This wasn't him. None of this was. But he couldn't remember who he was anymore. And Hailey didn't know who he was either. The man she had loved, the man she had stood by—he was slipping through her fingers, and she didn't know how to stop it.
He had jammed himself badly after answering a call for a drugstore robbery. A soldier had thrown himself in front of a bullet to save a pregnant woman. Jay couldn't believe it when Hailey told him the soldier had been involved in the robbery. He didn't want to accept that. Not when that man had saved a life. The soldier's family would lose their pension because of his debt and poor choices, but Jay couldn't let that one mistake define the man. After all, how many times had he messed up?
He couldn't forget how many times he had crossed a line himself.
He had followed the investigation, and in the heat of the moment, ended up killing a suspect during an unofficial raid. Hank and Hailey would cover for him, just as they always did when things got messy. But while they tried so desperately to come up with a plan he was just paralyzed, lost inside the storm in his head.
They kept crossing boundaries for him, but Jay realized, as he stared into the chaos he had created, that there were limits he wasn't willing to cross anymore. That last line felt like the end of something. He couldn't keep going down this path.
As he continued to remember the past events, he walked into his living room, standing by the window for what felt like an eternity. The city lights blurred, their usual noise muffled by the storm brewing inside him. The hum of the city outside seemed distant, insignificant, compared to the chaos raging in his mind. If only the rain could wash away the weight of his pain.
His hand instinctively reached for the safe, his fingers lingering on the cold metal as he opened it. Inside, his gun rested quietly. He ran his fingers along its surface before setting it aside. Then, with a heavy sigh, he retrieved the envelope he'd tucked away under the lining of the safe.
Three days had passed since he'd received it. A job offer. A chance to return to the army. A mission in Bolivia to dismantle a drug cartel. It felt like a lifeline, or maybe an escape. It could be his way to rebuild… or perhaps it would be the final chapter. Either way, he knew the risks. He didn't care.
It was black and white. Right or wrong. There would be no ambiguity, no gray area. It would make things simple. He'd know who the enemy was, where he stood. He needed that clarity more than anything.
His thoughts drifted to Mouse, and how, years ago, it was his friend who had wanted to rejoin the army. Jay had tried everything to talk him out of it, to remind him of everything they'd been through and everything they stood to lose. But then Erin had stepped in, the voice of reason. She had convinced him to let Mouse make his own choice, to let him do what he needed to do, even if it meant walking away from everything they'd built together. And now, here Jay was, staring at his own crossroads, wishing he had the same clarity.
Erin. Her name echoed in his mind like a haunting refrain. Why the hell couldn't he think about anything without her barging in, uninvited, into his thoughts? Five years had passed, and still, she lingered in every corner of his mind. How much longer would this last? How much longer before he could finally move on?
He stared at the gun and the envelope, the weight of both in his hands. The cold metal of the gun felt like an anchor, heavy and pressing against him, but his mind kept pulling him back. He wasn't the kind of person to give up. He knew that. He took a deep breath, looked into the barrel of his gun, his finger hovering near the trigger, but it was only for a moment. He wasn't going to let himself go down that path. Not today. Not like this.
He put the gun back in the safe, turned his attention to the envelope, and held it in his hands. Maybe there was still a chance for him. Maybe he could find something to fight for, something to move toward. He wasn't done yet. He couldn't just give up.
Those following days were a blur. He was aggressive at work. Reckless. And he avoided Hailey at all costs. He was still planning on how he would tell her. How he would break up with her without breaking her too much. He knew she was a good person and she didn't deserve that.
He went to the Commander. He wanted to tell the whole truth. He knew it would destroy not only his career but it could also drag Hank and Hailey down with him. So when the commander started to praise him, telling how many lives he had saved and how much drug he had taken off the streets, he just froze. He surrendered his badge but he kept the lie of the crossed line buried with himself.
His belongings were mostly packed. Just some clothes and a few personal items in his duffel bag. But his heart felt heavy, weighed down by the decisions and the mistakes that had led him to this point.
He wanted Hailey to hate him. It would make it so much easier for him. But she didn't help. She stood by his side. Tried so hard to be there for him.
So like a coward, he was not able to break up. He lied to her. He told her that he loved her but also told her that if she loved him too, she had to let him go.
He said he would be gone for 8 months. But if he was being honest, he would have to say that he had no intention to come back ever again.
He kissed her and then he grabbed his bag and walked out the door without looking back. It really hurt to see her crying like that. It was never his intention. But he just couldn't stay anymore.
He went to the airport alone, his mind made up, but somehow Hank found him right by the door. He tried to stop him, to convince him to stay, offering him any job he wanted within the Department. But Jay had already crossed the point of no return. He had to leave. There was no other choice.
"I get it. You don't want to be me... but...," Hank started, trying to convince him.
"No. It's worse than that," Jay interrupted. "I do. I do want to be you. But it's like you've always told me. I'm not. And I shouldn't try…" the struggle and the pain were visible in his eyes.
Hank was out of words. Besides the recent bickering he had always admired Jay and his conviction, so to see him so vulnerable stirred something in him.
"Please, take care of her. I know you don't believe me, but I never forgot her, and I'll always love her." Those were the last words Jay spoke to Hank, his voice strained with emotion.
Take care of her? Hank was confused for a minute. Who was he talking about? Hailey? Was he asking him to look out for Hailey at work? But the weight of those words, never forgot her… always love her, could only mean one thing—it wasn't Hailey he was talking about. It was his daughter, Erin. The girl Hank had pushed away, trying to protect her, the one Jay had never stopped loving.
How could Jay expect Hank to take care of Erin? She was all the way across the country… He would talk to his daughter once in a while but he felt that with each passing year they were getting more and more distant. He was proud of her. She had grown her wings and built a career to herself.
It was only after accepting the job that Jay learned he would have to spend a week in New York City for training before heading to Bolivia. NYC. Of all places.
Two hours and sixteen minutes. That's how long the flight would last. It felt like the distance between everything he'd ever known and everything he wanted was so small—yet it felt like an eternity.
Why had it taken him five years to board that plane? What had he been waiting for?
8.2 million people. That's how many people lived in the city. 8.2 million lives, each one, a beating heart. But there was only one heart out there that had ever carried his own. Erin. The one person who had always mattered the most. But now? He had no address. No phone number. No way to find her.
That was a big frustration in itself. He was a detective! For God's sake! He tried so hard to track her down. Several times along those 5 years. But he would always come empty handed. Making him even doubt his own abilities. The only person that knew about her had made it a mission to keep her from him.
The hum of the plane's engines was a constant drone in the background, but Jay's mind was anything but calm. He stared out the window, watching the world shrink beneath him, as if he were finally putting distance between everything that had haunted him for years. The city below, familiar and distant at once, was now a blur—just like everything he had left behind.
The Army. The mission. It all felt so… rigid. So defined. He could focus on one thing, one purpose. And for the first time in a long time, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could finally find himself again within that structure. The order, the discipline—he could lose himself in it. A fresh start. No more confusion, no more heartbreak.
The rigidity of the Army offered a comfort he had longed for. In its rules, he could bury his pain. In the mission, he could focus on something that didn't involve feeling. The idea of being surrounded by nothing but other soldiers, where everything was clear-cut, black and white, sounded like peace to him. Maybe this time, he could erase the endless spiral of questions that plagued him. Maybe he could just do his job. Just survive.
But it wasn't that simple, was it? Erin lingered at the edge of every thought, like a shadow he couldn't escape. The harder he tried to push her away, the stronger her pull became. He had asked Hank to take care of her, but how could he?
What would she think of him now? Would she understand why he was doing this? Or would she see him as a coward, running away from everything again? He hated the idea that she might think he didn't care about anything. But the truth was, he didn't know what he cared about anymore. Was he doing this for himself? Or was he just running from the ghosts of his past? The memories of Erin, the way she had looked at him, how he had lost her without even trying to fix it—these thoughts clawed at him, relentlessly.
What was he really trying to escape? Was it Erin? Was it the constant, gnawing feeling of regret, of guilt for the way he had left things with her? No. It was himself. He was trying to run from the broken version of himself that he couldn't seem to fix. The one who had failed her.
The seatbelt sign flickered off, and for a moment, Jay allowed himself to close his eyes. He could still feel Erin's presence, as though she were somehow still right there, on the edge of his thoughts. If he closed his eyes hard enough, he could almost hear her laugh, feel her touch. The way she had always believed in him, even when he couldn't believe in himself. That was the hardest thing to leave behind. Not her memory, not the pain of losing her, but the possibility that he could have made it right, that maybe, just maybe, they could have found their way back.
But now he was here, on this plane, heading into the unknown. And there was no going back. Not for him. Not for Erin.
So he turned his thoughts away, tried to bury them deep. The mission, the structure, the plan. He would focus on that. He had to focus on that. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to drown out the questions. The wondering. The what-ifs.
And as the plane sped toward its destination, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever find the answers he was searching for. Would the rigid lines of the Army help him rediscover who he was—or would they only push him further into the abyss of who he had been?
Note: Just setting the pace... I watched 10.3 soo many times. (Ok, Not quite as much as s1-s4, but still...) I both hate it and love it. The pain in Jay is so clear in this episode that it hurts. So it couldn't just end there. It had to be a bigger reason behind it all. That was one of the inspirations to this fic. But there is just so much more... and I have a ton written already... but still figuring out how to publish and all... so bare with me...