Frank's headache increased with every passing minute as the war brewing between his three children continued to rage at the dinner table. He arched an eyebrow at his father for help, who buried his head in the nearest platter of buttered potatoes.
The Commissioners moustache all but quivered in indignation at the lack of support, and as a particularly cheap shot from Danny sailed across the table and found its target in Erin, he cleared his throat in a pre cursor to his inevitable intervention.
"That's enough."
Danny's, Jamie's and Erin's heads swivelled towards their fathers in outrage, as Sean, Jack and Nicky choked back laughter at how easily their respective parents could be silenced by their grandpa.
Danny recovered first, as usual.
"Dad" he spluttered in outrage, "you're gonna let her sit there and talk to me like that?"
Erin barely suppressed an enraged shriek.
"Me?" she yelled, "you're the one who wouldn't know common courtesy if it danced on top of your thick head!"
Frank frowned fiercely, and opened his mouth to issue a rebuke, but was cut off by his youngest.
"She's right there Danny, you're not exactly known for your tact are you?"
As his oldest opened his mouth to presumably shriek across the green beans, he slammed a hand down on the table.
A silence immediately fell, and all three looked down with a modicum of guilt.
"I said that's enough."
Frank took a soothing breath, and calmed himself down, mindful of the fact that his grandkids were present.
"You three will not speak to each other like that at this table, and you three can start clearing this table. Now."
The three in question would each have dearly liked to argue, but recognised when they'd pushed the old man entirely too far. They settled for throwing each other molten hot gazes of scorn, as their father watched on silently.
There had been a growing and brewing row between his three for the last week or two, and damn it to hell if he knew what it was really about.
No one was talking.
He'd interrogated Jamie first, he'd always started with the youngest.
He'd piled on the pressure, but the kid had stood firm. Insisting everything was fine, and they were just on edge with their jobs. He'd piled on a little more pressure, and the kid stood even firmer.
He'd resigned himself to failure on that count, and moved up the ladder to Erin.
She'd lawyered the hell out of him, and he'd left their conversation more confused and bewildered than when he had entered it.
He'd then naturally moved up to his eldest, Danny, and from the get go he wasn't expecting much luck. He was always the hardest to get a confession out of as a kid, and nothing much had changed as the years passed.
He had left that discussion, equally empty handed, and equally frustrated.
Snapping back to the present, he sighed as he could practically feel a wall of tension between his three, as they cleared off the table around them.
Knowing when a battle was temporarily lost, he threw an arm around each of his grandson's shoulders, and guided them into the living room to practice their presentation due at school the next day. Linda joined them, leaving Nicky at the table finishing up her water.
"Keep an eye on them for Nicky, call me if there's any trouble" he called over his shoulder, and was rewarded when his granddaughter spluttered into her glass with laugher, as her mother turned and shot him a death glare.
Time passed, and Linda had to leave for work and with her working the night shift, and Danny on call, the boys went up to bed in the room they shared at their grandfathers house.
After another small bout of bickering, Erin also left, taking a grinning Nicky with her. Kissing her on the cheek before she left, Frank looked down at his daughter and felt the overwhelming urge to make everything between her and her brothers ok again.
Sighing, he cupped her face with a gentle hand as Nicky ran out to the car.
"You're sure there's nothing you want to tell me?"
She ran her eyes over his face for a moment, before shaking her head.
"No dad" she murmured, shooting a furtive look over his shoulder at her two brothers who were watching her closely for signs of treason, "I'm good."
Nodding slowly, and filing away that misdirection, he walked her to her car.
Returning, he felt exasperation overwhelm him as he entered into another bout of raised voices and ridiculous squabbling.
"Your sons are sleeping upstairs Daniel. I'd appreciate if the two of you could act your age and not wake them."
The sheepish look that crossed their faces melted his heart slightly, as he threw himself down in his familiar armchair.
"Boys…are sure there's nothing you want to tell me? I can help you know, if you'd let me."
They exchanged furtive glances before shaking their heads in unison, one blond and one dark assuring him of a truth he knew to be false.
"We're fine dad" they echoed, and he felt another pang of weariness well up inside him.
Watching them out of the corner of his eye, as they sat as far away from each other as possible and continued to throw scathing glances at each other, he wished for the millionth time that Mary was still alive.
She was always so much better at getting to the bottom of things like this than he was.
Henry had long since left him to it, rolling his eyes at his grandkid's theatrics, and taking himself off to bed with relief.
An hour or so passed in relative silence as the two younger Reagan's watched the game, completely devoid of their usual banter based commentary, which made Frank even more uneasy with every goal scored.
Eventually, Danny's pager beeped and he sighed realising he had to go to work. Sending the relevant information to his new partner, he checked his holstered weapon as he so often did before the start of a tour. Checking the leather holder, he was dismayed to find a significantly fraying patch. Testing it's resilience with his hand, his eyes widened in misery when the whole thing disintegrated in his hands, his weapon gently falling to the carpeted floor with a thud.
Seeing this, Frank chuckled.
"Come on Danny, what do you expect? You've had that thing since your beat cop days."
His son turned a torturous gaze to him, holding the ripped holster in his hands.
Taking pity on him, the elder Reagan held up his hands in a placating gesture.
"Alright, alright. I have a spare one upstairs. Give me a second."
With that, he heaved himself out his chair and set up off the stairs racking his brains as to where he'd last seen his stash of holsters.
After about five minutes of rooting around his room, he sighed in consternation.
He knew they were there somewhere. But where?
After a brainwave, he dragged a footrest over to his closet, and hoisted himself up to search the top shelf.
He was just about to reach out and grab a box, when suddenly raised voices and a following loud crash was heard wafting up from downstairs.
Startled, he leapt off the footrest and careered out of the room and down the stairs, his heart beating.
Had someone broken in.
Barrelling into the living room, his heart stopped, and his jaw dropped.
There, lying on the floor, was his youngest, with blood covered his face, gasping feebly for air.
Standing over him, covered in blood that was not his own, stood his oldest with his fists raised.
Jamie gave one last gurgle, and then….
There was silence.
…..
TBC
….
