Danny and Jackie had been on the Greg Morrison case for weeks. He had all but outright told them that he was guilty of murdering his wife, his girlfriend, and his girlfriend's boyfriend; yet, there was nothing but circumstantial evidence against him. To say that the detectives were frustrated with the case was a severe understatement. Then they got a call that their suspect had been seen going into a building where gunshots heard a few minutes later.

"This guy's sick," Jackie remarked in disgust as they sailed down the streets in their car, Danny at the helm, weaving almost effortlessly through traffic. "Thrill of the kill, or something."

"We don't know if he's the shooter this time," Danny reminded her, "and frankly, I wouldn't mind if we did find him shot. Make it easier for us."

"They've got the building locked down," Jackie said, "It's an old warehouse. Hasn't been used in years."

"Has anyone gone in?" Danny asked.

Jackie shook her head. "No. They're waiting for us. The've got all the exits blocked, all we have to do is go in and pull Morrison, and whoever else is in there, out."

"Yippee," Danny retorted dryly.

Once they arrived, it was all routine. Bullet proof vests were put on, a general layout of the building glanced over, and a decision made on who was going where and when. They would go in through one door. Keep it simple. It was dark in there, and they didn't want any of the good guys on the wrong side of the building.

Danny couldn't remember what happened next, not exactly. He remembered catching Morrison in his flashlight beam. "Police, freeze!" he shouted. He saw the glint of a gun in Morrison's hand, and Morrison lifting it to aim at Danny. So Danny didn't hesitate to pull the trigger. In that split second, Morrison disappeared from view, and suddenly, there was someone else standing there, a beat cop. Danny's heart stopped, he was sure, in that moment. He couldn't stop the bullet from racing the distance between him and its new target.

He wasn't sure of the exact moment when he realized it was Jamie standing there. Maybe the beam of a flashlight slid past, glimpsing the young cop's face. But he knew it was Jamie when the cop stumbled back and fell.

"Jamie!" Danny screamed. He didn't even look to see where Morrison had gone, he didn't hear the other gunshots, he didn't listen when Jackie called out to him. He was running towards his fallen brother, but the distance seemed to stretch for a hundred miles. He felt numb, adrenaline pounded in his ears.

Finally, he collapsed next to Jamie, searched for the entry wound and found it on the left side of his chest. Very close to the heart. Too close. Danny pressed his hands against the wound, blood creeping up between his fingers. "Jamie!" he shouted, "Jamie! Answer me, kid!"

He didn't know how long it was that he knelt there, next to the unresponsive body of the victim of his gun. He didn't realize that someone had turned on the warehouse lights, that suddenly the entire room was lit, and he could clearly see the ashen face of his brother.

"Danny, let go," someone said to him.

He shook his head. "No. No, I've got to keep pressure on the wound…I've got to keep him alive! Jamie! Jamie, wake up!"

"Danny, you've got to let the paramedics take over. Come here. They've got him, Danny." Someone touched his arm, then gripped it tightly and tugged, pulling him halfheartedly away from Jamie's body.

And suddenly, he was too weak to resist. The adrenaline abandoned him, allowing him to give way to the shock that had come the moment he'd realized he shot his brother. As he fell back, he started to sob, "I killed him. I killed my brother. I killed him."

"No, Danny, no. He's going to be fine. They're taking him to the hospital." It was Jackie. Of course it was Jackie. She was there, sitting next to him, an arm slung across his shoulders, a hand gently rubbing up and down his arm, trying to comfort him. "C'mon. I'll drive you," she said.

Danny didn't know who called his wife and family. It could have been anyone, but all he knew was that they were there, asking what happened, if he was alright. He couldn't answer because he didn't know what had happened. Not exactly.

"Dad!"

Danny looked up at Erin's exclamation, and there stood his father. He hadn't realized it until this moment that he had been dreading the meeting with him. It was to Frank Reagan he felt he owed an explanation to for what happened to his youngest son. Danny wanted to disappear, melt into the upholster of the chair he sat in. He did not want or expect the comfort of his father. He fully anticipated blame…because it was, indeed, his fault that Jamie was in that operating room this moment, fighting for his life.

Erin immediately got up and embraced her father. They spoke softly, Erin explaining what they knew and what was happening. Henry got up and joined them. But Danny didn't move. He watched them, waiting for the moment when their eyes would involuntarily turn to him.

He didn't have to wait long. It was only a few seconds before his father caught his gaze, and stared at him, as though evaluating Danny. Finally, he spoke up so that Danny could hear him. "How are you doing, son?" he asked.

There was no blame, no anger in that voice. Danny should have known his father well enough to realize that his father would never blame him for what happened to Jamie. He of all people would recognize the devastation of a tragic accident. But Danny was surprised, and struggled to speak through the painful lump forming in his throat. "I'm so sorry, Dad," he said.

"I know, son. I heard what happened, and it wasn't your fault. It was an accident."

Danny shook his head. "I shot my own brother, Dad," he said, his voice hoarse, "If I had been paying better attention to what was going on…none of this would have happened."

"Have you stopped to wonder what Jamie was doing back there?" Frank asked.

Danny furrowed his brow, surprised. "What?"

"As I understand it, there were orders not to be in the back of the building. So why did Jamie go against orders?"

"That's not the point, Dad," Danny argued.

Frank interrupted him. "There are two sides to this story, Danny," he reasoned. "We know what happened on your side. But we can't see the whole picture until we know the other side."

Danny just bent his head. For once, he did not want an argument. That always seemed to be his way. He always had to be right, even when he knew he was wrong. And if he was going to lose, he was not going to go down without a fight. That was usually his way, with his family. He wished he could be more humble, like Jamie, sometimes. Willing to accept his downfalls without defending them. But no. He was Danny. A hothead who often let his emotions guide his actions without thought of the consequences.

"Frank!" Linda's voice was drenched in relief, and Danny glanced up to see his wife embrace her father-in-law. "I'm so glad you're finally here," she said.

"Of all days to take a trip out of state," said Frank with a regretful sigh.

"Excuse me, are you the family of Jamison Reagan?"

Danny stood up at the sound of the doctor's voice. "How is he?" Danny demanded.

"He pulled through the surgery well. He's in recovery now," the doctor said. "We are very lucky the bullet missed the heart…it was only by a fraction of an inch."

"Thank God," Erin breathed.

"He is still in critical condition, but I believe he is going to be fine with a lot of time for healing."

Linda spoked up. "When can we see him?"

"Probably not for a couple more hours yet. We need to monitor him closely; however, I will send a nurse out to get you when we believe he is ready." The doctor smiled encouragingly. "I'll come back and update you soon."

"Thank you, Doctor," Frank said.

TBC