Some Things Fall Away (Blue Bloods Fanfiction)

↞ Chapter Four ↠

Season Six, Episode Two

I was cautious when I arrived at the flat.

The stairs creaked loudly as I went up them, despite the attempts at keeping my footsteps soft. The front door was unlocked, which I found rather odd, as both Jameson and I were very adamant in keeping the door locked whenever we were home.

It was silent and cold when I stepped inside, the light in the kitchen was on, and to my own frustration I found piles of dishes in the sink. I'd forgotten to call him and let him know what had happened.

The frustration was directed at myself and not at Jameson, if anything I felt rather awful that I hadn't called him, and he'd gone as far to make dinner for the pair of us. I started towards the dishes, working quickly to clean them as quietly as possible.

The moment I finished I yawned, sighing loudly and stretching my hands above my head. There was a distinct ache in my shoulder, it would rain tomorrow, that I was sure of.

I caught my reflection in the mirror Jameson insisted on keeping hung in the hallway. The scar on my neck had faded so much, I unconsciously touched it.

"You still haven't told me that story."

Jameson's voice startled me. I dropped my hand, spinning quickly and smiling ever so softly at the man in front of me. "It's not a happy one."

Jameson hummed in reply, pulling the blanket around his shoulders tighter as he walked closer to me. "I'm sorry I forgot to call love." I muttered the words just loud enough for him to hear. He waves off my apology, setting his head on my chest as he sighs heavily.

"I should have expected you not to be back at a reasonable time." His voice is muffled by my shirt, and I just nod, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing tightly.

I pressed a kiss into the top of his head, a sense of comfort passing over me with the man I love in my arms. "Let's go to bed love." I turned him around slowly, reaching to pick him up in a nearly effortless way. The memory of him turning up at my apartment all those years ago with tears in his eyes and panic in his voice.

I held him tightly to my chest, cautiously moving the half asleep form into the bedroom that we share. He took a deep breath, pressing a kiss to the clothed skin of my chest just before I set him on his side of the bed.

"I 'ove you." Jameson's voice was slightly slurred, and I muttered it back, kissing his forehead lightly before moving around the room quickly changing.

When Jameson sleeps he curls into himself, as if afraid of taking up to much space. The way his arms hug himself and his head sits against his chest never fails to make me smile. I am the opposite when I sleep, spreading out and almost always holding Jameson flush against my chest.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, rolling onto the pillow and pulling him to me by the waist.

"Your so warm." He mutters, curling into my chest and tucking his head under my chin. I smile down at him, all the facts and figures of the case slipping from my mind as I hold my fiance in my arms.

Jameson is wonderful, his heart is so large and he only seeks to help others.

He told me he wanted kids, and I couldn't agree more, the idea of raising a small child together was something I had to agree was a great idea. Jameson wanted a boy, always muttering about not knowing how to raise a girl. I wanted a girl more than anything, someone I could spoil and dote on and raise to be a brilliant woman.

My parents had done a wonderful job with me in Jameson's eyes, and though I hadn't met his mother, I agreed that Frank had done wonderful with all four of them. The reminiscent idea that it was just the three of them passed over my mind.

I sighed, my breath mussing Jameson's hair.

"Stop thinking so hard." His breath tickled my chest, and I resisted the urge to shiver. "I can hear the gears turning."

Jameson lifts his head, pressing a hard kiss to my lips. "Sleep, now." His lips move against mine as he speaks, before letting his head drop back onto my chest.

I would take his advice, but the moment I closed my eyes the images of the victims passed through my head and I found myself opening my eyes once again. It would not be a restful night, that much was decided, and as I looked down at Jameson I found myself in awe of his ease to fall asleep.

He picked up his head once again, pulling out of my arms and pushing my back onto the bed. I frowned all the while, entirely unsure of where this was going. Jameson yawned loudly, continuing to push me over before mumbling about how I need to roll over onto my stomach.

I listened, still entirely unsure of what he was doing, especially once he pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it into the abyss that was the rest of the room.

"Relax babe." Jameson's voice was still full of sleep, his movements slow as he started to press the heels of his hands into my back.

I groaned loudly the moment he started. It always seems to slip my mind with just how talented my fiance is with his hands. He worked every spot on my back with careful care, each spot getting the same amount of attention before he moved on.

I felt self conscious, the scars covering my back had been a topic of conversation previously, and as he worked each knot on my back I could feel the unspoken question in the air.

He stopped massage, taking instead to trail his fingers along each scar, I spoke without realizing.

"Knife wound while working in London." I muttered, turning my face towards him on the pillow so he could hear me. It was a three inch wide tear in my mid back, "The guy jumped me in an alley, I didn't see it coming.

Jameson hums, crossing his legs underneath him as his fingers reached to touch my left shoulder and top of my back. "Three shots from a shotgun. Protecting your dad a few years ago." It was the one scar that Jameson new about.

He presses a kiss to each, and I tense up ever so slightly before relaxing. His hand brushes along the opposite shoulder, a long trailing scar that goes all the way around the joint. "Surgical scar from an attack while visiting a prison." I could never seem to forget about the events surrounding this particular scar, on cold morning it ached something awful. "The inmates had risen up, and I happened to be inside when it happened. The man was three times my size, he pulled my shoulder out of its socket and spun it."

Jameson hissed in sympathy, taking his time to kiss the length of the scar that crossed along the back of my shoulder. I shivered this time, the careful kisses of Jameson was something I hadn't expected, and as his fingers trailed down my back I found myself growing tired.

"And this one?" Jameson's voice brought me back from the edge of sleep, his hand hovering over my side where a nasty thick scar sat.

"Machete," I muttered, pressing my face into the pillow as my hand search for a part of Jameson to touch. I rested my hand on his thigh, "My partner and I were going to question someone, and I scared her, she took a machete to my side. Forty-three stitches."

It was one of the worst that I had, my eyes drifted shut.

I felt his hand lift away from my back, and for just a moment I believed we were going to sleep, his magical hands had done wonders to me.

"What about this one?" His fingers brushed the edge of the scar on my neck, and I flinched away, the shock of his finger tips touching me after I was so sure we were done was just barely to much. "I'm sorry." Jameson's apology was for scaring me, not for asking.

I shook my head, my voice unable to form the proper words to tell him what had happened. It was so long ago,much of it was a blank, repressed memories, common for trauma victims my therapist said. I moved to London not long after to live with my aunt.

I rolled onto my back, reaching for Jameson and pulled him to lay beside me. "Not tonight." My voice was harsh with sleep, and he nodded, stretching slightly to kiss my lips, before trailing down and kissing the scar on my neck.

"I love you Jameson." I muttered into his ears, his reply never came, and when I looked down his eyes were shut and his mouth relaxes against my chest.

Love is such a pretty feature on him.