Jay stared down at his hand, the ring back on his finger. It felt heavier as he tried to understand what she was asking him to do—why she was asking it.

She sat down beside him, tucking a pillow between them instinctively. Jay glanced at it with a pang of sadness, then back at her, his gaze lingering a moment longer than he intended. He knew her too well to think it was random. She was clearly setting her boundary, drawing a line between them. It was not aggressive but it was a reminder that things were not the same. He got the memo.

"Now tell me what's really going on with you, Jay," she said softly. "Tell me why you're willing to go back to the Army… and why I should let you do it."

"Let me do it?" Jay whispered to himself, more out of disbelief than an actual question.

Five years had passed since the last time they had talked. Everything had changed, yet in some ways, it all felt the same. They'd been apart, had lived their separate lives. But now, just after a few hours together, she was asking him why he was making a decision that was so much bigger than both of them.

Despite all the pain and the time, she was still there—asking, caring. He smiled to himself, bittersweet, Five years, but she still cared.

"C'mon, Jay," she poked him gently as she noticed him drift away, her tone soft yet insistent. "Talk to me. That's why you came to the FBI headquarters this afternoon, pretending to run, isn't it? So I could stop you? Change your mind?"

"No…" Jay said, his voice quiet but resolute. "It's not that. I want to go. I need to go… but maybe… maybe I still need a reason to want to come back."

Erin froze as his words sank in. She tilted her head slightly, trying to understand what he was really saying. "What do you mean, Jay?"

"I mean exactly what I just said." He shrugged, like he didn't quite know how to articulate the dark truth.

The words had tumbled out, but he didn't have a full grasp of what they meant either.

He really believed that he needed to go, that it was something he had to do for himself. He was grabbing this opportunity as his last chance of changing and doing something that really mattered. And he was somehow excited about it—it gave him some hope.

But deep down he was still afraid—not of the risks or the unknown, but of what might come after. He couldn't really see what was left for him here.

He hoped that, somehow, going away would help him find his way back to himself. Yet the thought of returning empty-handed—still lost—bothered him. And if that happened, part of him wasn't sure he even wanted to come back at all. Or if he even deserved to come back.

Her eyes searched his face, looking for some clarity that wasn't quite there. She could see the sadness, the deepening shadows in his eyes. They looked more greenish… almost dark, like a storm was building just behind his gaze. The color changing magic that has always fascinated her was happening again right before her eyes. The shift in him was palpable, but she couldn't find the words to reach him.

Frustration tightened in her chest. She had always known Jay was guarded—hell, she had spent years trying to break through those walls. But this? This felt different. It was like he had shut himself off completely. She had seen him struggle so many times before, but this time, it seemed much deeper.

She wanted him to open up to her, to share what was really going on inside, but she didn't know how. After all these years, it was still the same old problem. He was still the same man who had kept her at arm's length when they were together, with all his feelings bottled up.

She couldn't deny that she was not any different in that aspect. But she was trying… She was trying so hard to change. Why hadn't he changed? After everything that had happened, she was still trying to make him talk.

"You're not telling me everything, Jay," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her frustration and concern mingling together. "You never do."

Well, if he wasn't going to open up, Erin would have to dig deeper. Interrogation style. It was funny how they were both so good at their jobs. They could break through a suspect easily in an interrogation room. Yet, when they were trying to make each other talk, they both felt so powerless.

But she was dead serious when she asked him why she should let him go. She needed to know—to understand—to make sure that he was going to be ok. And she wouldn't let him off the hook until she got all the answers.

"Did it come from Mouse?" she asked, her voice calm but insistent, as she studied him carefully.

"No… I haven't talked to Mouse in years," Jay replied, as if that was irrelevant to the bigger picture.

"Did you try to reach out at least? To find out what he thinks? If going back was the right decision for him?"

Jay shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The mention of Mouse stirred something in him… something he'd buried long ago and never truly dealt with—and it hurt.

"Not really…" he muttered, avoiding her gaze. Talking to Mouse, opening that door again—it was complicated. "I talked to him just a few times when he was back from his tour… I guess I had too much going on and I never… we just drifted away…" It wasn't just about making peace with his past; it was about facing that he'd walked away from everything, including the one person who might understand him now more than anyone else.

Erin leaned a little closer, her voice soft as she continued, "And don't you think it would be a good idea to talk to him? He's been where you've been… he might just understand…"

"I didn't want him to try to change my mind…" Jay's tone hardened with frustration.

"Jay…" Erin's voice softened as she leaned even closer, her gaze full of concern, "I'm not trying to change your mind, ok? I just want to understand and I just want you to see it for what it is. You're not the same person who left. And if you go back… I don't think you'll come back the same way either."

He swallowed hard. Her eyes never left his, and for the first time since they'd started talking, he felt himself wavering in his resolve. Her concern was more than he could handle right now.

"But that is the thing, Er. I don't want to stay the same way. I'm broken. I need to do something, something that actually matters, something to prove myself that I am still worthy" he whispered with his voice cracking. "I can't keep pretending like I'm fine. Like everything's ok. I need… something. I need to know that I'm not completely lost."

She took a breath, her expression softening. "You don't need the Army, or anything else, to fix you, Jay. You just need to remember who you were when you had something to fight for. You remember that, right? Because I do."

She had always been the one who truly saw him, saw what he was capable of, even when he couldn't see it himself.

He remembered that when they used to work together, he would feel proud of himself after each closed case, after each big burst or after each meaningful arrest. "But I'm not that guy anymore, Er. And I'm scared of what I might become if things keep the way they are…"

Jay sat back against the couch, staring at the floor, lost in his thoughts. Erin couldn't tell if she was really getting through to him, but she knew she had to keep trying.

"Take a breath," she added gently. "You don't have to figure out everything today. Just take some time and think about it."

"Erin… it is not something that I have thought lightly… I swear… and I've already committed…I am flying tomorrow."

She saw the pain in his eyes, the struggle he was fighting within himself. She didn't want him to shut down again, to retreat into that shell of his.

"Ok… ok," she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady, but there was a catch in her throat. "If it was not Mouse, how did you get this offer to go back?"

Jay took a long pause, his gaze dropping to the floor as he gathered his thoughts. He wasn't sure where to start, how to explain the mess in his mind, the things that had weighed him down.

"I had answered a call to a robbery at a drugstore," he began slowly, his voice quieter now, almost distant. "And as I arrived I saw this guy pointing a gun to the robbers. I got his gun and told him to leave after he showed me his military tag. But instead, he followed me, throwing himself in the line of fire to save a pregnant woman from being shot. He took a bullet as if it was nothing. But then… Hailey… She found out that he was involved in the robbery. He was the lookout. He confessed to us in the hospital right before he died. He said nobody was supposed to get hurt so when the shooting started he couldn't handle it and turned himself against them. And in the end, he ran in front of a bullet to save that woman… I had never seen anything like that… since the Army…"

Erin was listening carefully, watching him, feeling the tension radiating from him as he spoke. She could hear the pain in his voice, the guilt that still clung to him.

"He was involved, Er," he continued, his eyes finally meeting hers, "but he died and his family was going to lose everything. His pension… They were already drowning in debts… he gave his life to save that woman. I…I didn't want his family to lose everything… I didn't want his name to be dragged into the mud because of one mistake… 400 was the payment for the lookout.. he needed it to pay meds for his kid…"

She could feel the depth of his sorrow. She wanted to comfort him but she didn't want to interrupt him. So she just placed her hand on his thigh, hoping the touch would offer some kind of grounding as he continued.

"I tried to follow the case on my own, without exposing what we knew," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Hailey wasn't on board… she wanted me to just let it go, to lay it all on the guy, but I just couldn't do that… so I kept digging… unofficially. I found the meth lab but this guy attacked me… the dealer responsible for the robbery… and I stabbed him."

He paused again, his breath shaky, as if the weight of the words was suffocating him. "He died… I killed him."

Erin's heart broke for him. She stroked his thigh, squeezing it gently, silently urging him to continue. She knew this wasn't just about the incident; it was about whatever came after.

"I was off the books," he continued, his voice barely a whisper. "Hailey and Hank… they covered for me. Made up some story. Blaming someone else… I don't even know… I was holding the knife, and… I was so lost, Er… I wasn't even listening to them anymore. I'd crossed a line… AGAIN… and I just… I can't keep doing it."

His words hung in the air, the silence heavy between them. She could see the regret etched into every line of his face. This wasn't just about a single mistake… It was about something deeper, something that had been inside him for a long time.

If she were being honest to herself, in her books, it was not even a mistake. It was more of a technicality… he took down a bad guy… off the books but a bad guy nonetheless… a guy who attacked him... but of course she wouldn't minimize his pain or downplay his beliefs. She knew how deeply it was rooted in him. And she admired him for it. She took a deep breath, her heart aching for him.

"Jay…" Her voice was soft, but firm. "You made a mistake, because you have a good heart. You've always had. This job of ours, the things we have to do… to deal with—it's not easy… you know that… don't be so hard on yourself."

He shook his head slightly. "I know, but I just… I can't keep crossing the lines like this anymore, Er."

Erin wanted to reach inside him and take away all his pain and his guilt, but she knew she couldn't. He had to find his way back, and she didn't really know how to help him. But she wasn't about to let him slip away again.

"You're such a good man, Jay," she continued gently. "You just can't carry all of this alone. You don't have to. But that doesn't mean you need to quit Intelligence…"

"It's done, Erin. I've already resigned."

"You can get it back. Voight can fix this. I know he can. I'll speak to him if I have to."

"What? I don't want that job back. Why would I?" He asked, frustrated, not understanding why she would even suggest something like that.

"Because going back to the Army, to Bolivia… that doesn't sound like an answer. And it's—Jay, it's so dangerous. Recklessly dangerous."

"And Intelligence isn't?" His voice sharpened. "Why would you want me to stay in Intelligence so bad when you quit five years ago?"

"Because I'm selfish," she admitted, the words slipping out quickly before she could stop herself.

Her confession caught him off guard, "What are you talking about?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Because I know the team will always have your back," she began, her voice trembling but resolute. "I know Hank would do anything to keep you safe. Even though he won't tell me anything about you, he knows he HAS to keep you safe."

Her composure began to crack, her breathing unsteady as she continued. "Because he knows—if something ever happened to you… he'd lose me too."

Jay stared at her stunned, with his eyes widening.

"The only reason I've been able to move on—if you can even call it that—is because I know Hank will try to keep you safe. It's the only reason why I've been able to breathe without you in my life. Just knowing that somehow, somewhere, you're still alive." Her voice broke and she brushed away the tears rolling down her cheeks, even though more followed right away.

Jay's heart twisted in his chest as the weight of her words. He was confused. He thought he was the only one who still felt the pain of their separation. Seeing her open up like this—it caught him completely off guard.

"Erin…" he whispered, not sure of what he couldn't say. Of how to respond to that.

"I'm not saying this to make you feel bad," she interrupted quickly. "I just can't think about losing you, Jay. Not like this. Not to a war that doesn't need you in the first place. I left Intelligence because I thought I was doing the right thing—for both of us. And now you're running straight into something that might just… kill you."

Jay was prepared to defend his decision, to brush off her protests and fears, but this? He was definitely not ready for this.

"You think I'm running?" he asked softly, unable to hide the sadness in his eyes.

She nodded, biting her lip as more tears fell. "I think you're punishing yourself, Jay. For what? For caring too much? For crossing lines because you have a heart?" Her eyes locked with his, filled with a mixture of anguish and love. "You're not a robot, Jay… You're just human. You've always been human. And that's what makes you so… special. Even with all we have to deal with."

She looked away for a while, taking a deep breath.

"I know I can't stop you," she whispered, her voice breaking again. "But don't you dare tell me you don't have anything to come back to. You know that's a lie, Jay. You do. You always had."

Jay clenched his fists, torn between the sincerity of her words and the crushing weight of his own guilt and regret. She was making him realize that maybe he wasn't as alone as he had always thought.

He leaned closer and cupped her face gently with both hands. His touch was firm but careful, as though she might shatter if he wasn't tender enough. "Look at me," he murmured softly.

She closed her eyes in a futile attempt to shield herself from the intensity of the moment, but his breath warmed her skin, too close to ignore. Slowly, she opened her eyes again, meeting his gaze.

Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest as his thumb brushed across her bottom lip, slowly… causing her lips to part slightly in a desperate need… sending shivers down her spine.

She instinctively placed her hands over his, grounding herself in the moment—but as her fingers grazed the cold metal of his wedding ring, she backed off, reality crashing back in. That was exactly why she needed him to keep his ring… so it could stop her.

He understood her hesitation but refused to let her slip away. He pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her in a protective and desperate embrace. She didn't resist, resting her head against him, feeling his heart beating as fast as her own.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair, "I'm so sorry, Erin. I'm sorry for being so stupid."

His words spilled out like a confession, raw and aching, as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head. She melted into his arms, gripping his hoodie tightly.

For a few moments, it felt like the world had faded away. There was no past or future, just the two of them—the warmth of his arms comforting her. Her face buried deeper into him, his familiar scent was enough to make her eyes well up.

The sudden ring of the doorbell shattered the moment like glass, startling them both as reality came crashing back to them.

"The pizza," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, as she hesitated to pull away, avoiding his eyes.

He loosened his hold, letting her slip from his arms. She got up, drying away her tears and walked toward the door. He noticed how her fingers trembled as she reached for the lock.

She opened the door, taking the pizza box with a hurried thank-you to the delivery person, and then closed it again, leaning against it for a second before turning back to him.

Jay hadn't moved. He watched her from the couch, his mind spinning. What the hell had just happened? He'd come here expecting—if he saw her at all—to be met with anger or indifference. After all, five years was a long time. People move on. But instead, Erin had a meltdown confessing how much she needed to know he'd be safe. And, earlier at the café, she had run off holding her tears when she learned he was married.

He was sitting in her apartment surrounded by fragments of their shared past. His eyes wandered back to the shelves. The photos of them as partners. His hoodie, faded and worn, still hung there. The little brown police teddy bear he'd given her as a joke before they'd even started dating. None of it had been hidden away or discarded. It all made it so clear: five years hadn't been enough. Not for her. And not for him.

They'd tried, hadn't they? Both of them had done everything they could to move on. He had his job, his marriage, his new life. She had her career, her beautiful apartment, and the walls she'd built to keep everyone at arm's length. But sitting here now, it was painfully obvious that neither of them had fully moved on.

Jay sighed, running a hand through his hair. He felt like a fool. For years, he'd told himself that he needed to let go. He just wasn't so sure anymore.