Believing In You (Blue Bloods Fanfiction)

↞ Chapter Eight ↠

Season Three, Episode Eleven

I had eight missed calls from Jameson when I woke up this morning, and I dismissed them all.

When I got home yesterday, Danny called about the case and I told him to keep me updated but that I was taking a few days off. But that was all I could do.

It was Sunday, which meant family dinner that I wasn't going to, and I know I was probably blowing all of this out of proportion, but the way that Jameson was shouting and acting.

I had never seen it before in him, and the last time I had seen it was in my boyfriend when I was seventeen.

And so I wasn't thinking about it. I was specifically ignoring those thoughts whenever they flashed through my mind, and I occupied myself with books and baking and listening to music. I promised Henry that I would make treacle tart for today, and I did. The only issue was that I wasn't going to family dinner anymore but they still needed their tart.

See how well I am at not thinking about things?

I was sitting in my car down the road from the Reagan's breathing slowly when Jameson called me again. I didn't answer, instead I got out of my car and very confidently walked around to the back of the house.

I took four deep breaths, before opening the door and tip toeing in. My plan was to stick the tart on the counter top with a note saying that I had somewhere to be, and leave before seeing any of the Reagan's.

It didn't work out very well.

Frank caught me on my way out and stopped me in my tracks just by saying my name. I didn't turn to face him, rather I kept my hand on the door knob and waved at him. "Why aren't you staying for family dinner?"

I liked the adding of the word 'family' to that. It was a subtle way of encouraging me that I was in fact family, while also making me feel guilty about not staying.

"I've got somewhere to be." Being undercover for months did not improve my lying and I knew that Frank knew that I was.

"Okay." It was all he said, and I appreciated it.

I looked over my shoulder. "Thank you Frank."

And that was it, I was gone.

I was missing my first family dinner in nearly three years, and I felt bloody awful for it. But I don't think I can face Jameson just yet.

Not that I blame him for any of this, he was angry, and I was living in the wrong moment. I should have said something, and I will say something, as soon as I can think about saying something without feeling the urge to cry.

I was home before I knew it, and I laid on my couch with Kenai. Everything felt strange, and I felt awful and I knew I needed to apologize for my actions.

But at the same time I wanted him  too. I wanted Jameson to make the first move.

Which was probably what all of those missed calls were.

"Je ne sais pas quoi faire." I muttered mostly to myself.

Hours had passed before I knew it, and I felt myself dozing off on the couch it didn't last long because of Mrs. Jefferson talking loudly downstairs, but the few minutes of shut-eye was pleasant enough.

The footsteps that came up the stairs were decidedly not hers.

They were Jameson's, and they were slow, which meant that he was really thinking about something, and given our current romantic situation, he was probably thinking about what he was going to say.

The door handle jiggled as he tried to open the door, but I had locked it.

"Jett? Babe?" Jameson voice was muffled by the door, and at the sound of it Kenai bounced off of the couch, doing her excited butt-wiggle about him being here and being entirely oblivious to what was going on.

"Aller au lit." My voice was low when I spoke, and she did as I asked.

"Babe, I kinda know you're in there. I can hear Kenai." He paused, "Can I come in."

I stood and slowly approached the door. I put my hand on the frame as I unlocked it, before sitting just to the side of it and sliding down the wall as he opened the door.

I could tell he didn't know what to do. But he closed the door, and sat down beside me, his back up against the door itself and his shoulder brushing mine.

"I'm sorry babe." He held his hand palm up to me, and I just looked at it, propping my chin on the top of my knees. "I shouldn't have yelled at you, I know you were just trying to help, and I'm sorry."

It wasn't a great apology, but I wasn't accepting a Pulitzer prize apology. I still didn't take his hand, but I leaned my head back. It hit the wall with an audible thunk and I looked across my shoulder at him.

"That case you mentioned. From last month. When Danny shot that newly released convict and I said I didn't give him the same treatment?" It was phrased as a question, but I didn't really want him to answer. "I didn't give it to him, because he gave it to me. The only reason he shot that man was because he had a gun to the side of my head."

A looked flash across Jameson eyes, anger or fear or grief, or maybe even all three.

"He didn't feel that death, because I felt it. The man had been shot because  of me, and that is why I was trying to help you." I took a deep breath, "Because I know how hard it is to be the reason someone died, and I wanted to help you no matter what."

Jameson nodded, unsure what to say. He apologized again. "I'm sorry for misunderstanding, and I'm sorry for yelling." He offered his hand to me again, in the same way, and with the same sad smile.

I took his hand, "I forgive you my love."

I let my head fall onto his shoulder, and Kenai took that as an opportunity to join us.

And there we were, our own little family in our own little world.

~~~

Translations:

"Je ne sais pas quoi faire" = I don't know what to do.

"Aller au lit." = Go to bed.