Frank's heart stopped momentarily as he stared at the lifeless form of his youngest son, covered in blood, lying perfectly still in the middle of his living room. Thoughts of Joe flooded his mind, as he forced his legs into action, willing them to carry them to the side of the prone figure.
Before he could use his training to assess the injuries afflicting the kid, the door opened and a breathless Linda careered back in.
"I forgot my damn badge, and this new imbecile in security won't me in without it, can you-"
The rest of her words died in her throat as she gasped in horror, her hands shooting up to her mouth as she spied the figure of her brother in law sprawled on the ground, wet blood adorning his face.
Before she could even process the scene, her medical training kicked in and she rushed to his side.
Frank, having no doubt in her abilities, instantly stepped aside as she yanked a small torch from her scrubs pocket, but stayed close enough to touch his son.
"Jamie" she murmured gently, checking his pulse and feeling swooning relied when it registered strong and present, "Jamie can you hear me?"
No answer.
If ever there was a time that Commissioner Frank Reagan was going to pass out from fear, this was it. He barely remembered to breathe as he watched his daughter in law working on his baby.
"Jamie?" Linda echoed, her gentle hands fluttering over his head, searching for a wound, "I need you to answer me now buddy."
She accompanied this plea with a particularly firm pinch as she searched for broken bones.
This time, the kid stirred.
Sleepily opening his eyes as if waking from a particularly pleasant nap, he coughed slightly as he stared bemusedly up at the ceiling.
His father's face, laden with concern, loomed first in his groggy vision.
"Dad?" he muttered in confusion, "why are you so high up?"
Frank stared at Linda in alarm, but she flashed him a reassuring smile.
"He's just confused" she explained quietly, "his heart rate is steady, and there doesn't seem to be any serious injury."
Before she could finish her explanation, Jamie broke her concentration by trying to sit up.
Two sets of gentle hands quickly caught him, and carefully pushed him back down.
"Stay where you are for the minute son" Frank instructed softly, resting his hand on the kid's soft hair.
He took a deep breath.
"Does he need to go to hospital Linda?" he asked urgently, knowing that his youngest detested such places, but being perfectly willing to drag him kicking and screaming should the need be present.
The nurse in her insisted she take another look at him, whipping out the stethoscope once more and checking his pupils for signs of responsiveness.
Both checks came back as perfectly normal.
"First aid kit Frank?"
The eldest Reagan swept from the room with a speed she quite frankly didn't know he was capable of, and within a moment he was back with the well stocked kit that resided in the kitchen.
Jamie however, was getting a bit tired of lying down and staring at the ceiling.
Plus his head throbbed and ached like hell.
Trying to sit up once more, he scowled when the same two sets of hands forced him gently back down.
"I'm fine" he protested, "its just a scratch…"
Frank merely increased his hold on the boy's shoulders, as Linda laced a cotton pad with a liberal amount of antiseptic lotion.
Wincing in anticipation of how much that was going to sting, Frank increased his hold a little more.
Linda quickly swiped the cotton pad over Jamie's face, removing a large bulk of the now drying blood from the kid's skin.
At first it seemed like he wasn't going to argue, but when the stinging made itself known, there was a change of plans.
"Oww" he whimpered as he pulled his head away from Linda's grasp, "stop…that hurts. Just let it heal itself."
Looking at Frank for help, she quickly laced another pad with lotion, and hoped for the best.
"Jamie…" he said in a warning tone, "let Linda help you. Then you can get up."
There was an answering scowl, but no more words of protest.
Linda worked diligently, swiping his face clean of blood, trying to locate the actual wound itself.
After three… four, pads had become completely saturated with blood, there was no more bleeding and a long, thin gash was identified just about the young man's right eye, stretching all the way back into his hairline.
Frank grimaced.
No wonder there'd been so much blood.
"Does that need stitches?" he asked, his heart heavy.
She ran her gaze over it once more, and shook her head.
"No… just a gauze bandage and some cream. The dressing will need to be changed every couple of hours for the first few days. He's lucky…another two inches down, and we could have been talking about some serious eye damage…besides the black eye he's going to have" she muttered thankfully, "what happened Frank?"
Helping Jamie slowly to his feet, who paled at the change in balance, and wobbled in his arms, the oldest man unceremoniously bent and scooped the kid into his arms.
Over the sounds of his youngest's outraged protests that he could walk thank you very much, Frank directed a death gaze towards his oldest who hadn't moved a muscle, or uttered a syllable since he'd entered the room.
"You'll have to ask your husband" he growled, before turning on his heel and making his way upstairs to Jamie's room, with continued protests about mobility and embarrassment wafting up from his arms.
Linda gawped, as she turned on Danny, for the first time registering that he had blood on his hands.
Literally.
"Did you do this?" she whispered, "did you hurt your brother like that?"
He mouthed wordlessly at her, looking down at his hands as if they weren't his own.
His head felt heavy.
"Danny!"
His head jerked up and he looked at her as if he barely registered her presence.
"I didn't mean to" he croaked out, "Linda…I didn't mean to hurt him…"
With that, he threw himself down on the sofa, and dropped his head into his hands.
She stared in horrified amazement at her husband. The man she knew loved his little brother dearly.
How the hell could this have happened?
Everything had been reasonably calm when she left.
She swallowed down the bile in her throat, as her pager pinged.
Checking it reflexively she groaned at the frantic message of short staffing. Deciding that Jamie's need was greater than Danny's at that moment, she turned and hurried up the stairs.
Knocking gently on the door, she entered to find a still protesting Jamie, sitting up in his bed with Frank perched on the side of it.
"How are you feeling Jamie?"
He rolled his eyes.
"I'm fine" he implored, "honestly, there's no need for all this fussing."
But as he spoke, his body betrayed him.
A particularly vicious surge of pain ran its way along the beginnings of a ferocious scab, and he winced heavily despite himself. His soon to be blackened left eye throbbed in accompaniment.
Resisting the urge to squeeze him, Linda turned to Frank.
"Give him two Aspirin every couple of hours, and try and keep him warm. He shouldn't leave that bed for at least the rest of the night, and preferably tomorrow. He needs to rest that head of his. That bandage is good for about another three or four hours, then it needs to be changed ok?"
He nodded his instant understanding of the instructions and standing, he drew her into his arms.
"Thank you Linda."
She smiled up at him as he released her.
"Just take care of the patient" she teased gently, "I have to go back to work now, but you call me if he vomits or anything like that ok?"
"Of course" came the immediate assurance, and with that she turned on her heel and made her way carefully back down the stairs.
Looking up at her approach from the couch, Danny's pained gaze tore at her heart.
"Is he ok?"
Sighing, she nodded.
"Yeah Danny, he's ok. He's in pain, and it will get worse before it gets better. But he might not have been ok, he got lucky…you got lucky."
He nodded slowly, guilt beginning to shut down his vocal chords once more.
"I have to go now" he barely registered her saying, "but we will talk about this when I get home."
With a stiff peck to his cheek, she was gone, leaving Danny alone to his thoughts.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this guilty.
He'd never injured his brother like this before, ever.
Not even when Jamie broke his pride and joy toy aircraft.
He'd always teased and pestered the youngest Reagan, but always maintained a burning protective streak for him.
Much like the protective nature his father had for his youngest.
Danny's eyes dropped closed in misery as he remembered the look of shock and fear that had flitted across Frank's face upon seeing his assaulted son, lying in the middle of the room.
His eyes clenched further still as he recalled the murderously furious look that had been directed at him before his dad had taken his brother up to his room.
He didn't know why he didn't just leave now, run… bolt for it.
His father was surely going to kill him.
But he found…he just couldn't.
He couldn't make his toes move, never mind his legs.
He was relatively grateful that his grandfather slept like a log, at least he was spared the mini heart attack of seeing his youngest grandson bloodied by his eldest.
It seemed like hours passed, the minute hand of the clock on the wall spinning manically as he sat in the all consuming guilt based silence of the Reagan living room.
His breathing was still uneven, he just couldn't get a hold of his emotions.
Linda's voice careered through his mind.
Two inches lower and there could have been serious eye damage.
He flinched, recoiling away from his own actions as if he could somehow detach himself from them.
He could have potentially blinded his own brother.
His baby brother at that.
The fight ran through his mind, the frenzied scuffling, and the vicious insults.
His cheeks burned with shame.
Before he could process any more of his deplorable behaviour, a voice broke him from his self loathing reverie.
"Yes…I'd be ashamed to, if I were you…"
Looking up with a jolt, Danny watched with a jittery stance as his father walked slowly back into the room and dropped himself down in the armchair opposite him.
He took a deep breath, and fixed his son with a gaze that would melt the polar caps.
"Jamie… is still refusing to tell me what has been going between you three. For your sake, I hope I don't have to ask you more than once." He paused, and shot another furious glance across the room.
"What happened in my house tonight?"
The quiet tone, radiating with rage, was not one that Danny had heard in a long time and he winced instinctively.
"Dad, I-"
Frank held up a restraining hand, and looked at his son with an awful mixture of fury and raw disappointment.
"You will answer my direct questions, that's it. Now, what was the argument about?"
Danny squirmed in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
"I didn't mean to hurt him Dad, I swear, it-"
Frank held up a hand again.
"You can either tell me what the cause of this ridiculous argument between you, your sister and your brother right now. Or I will… loosen your tongue for you, and then you can tell me."
Danny gulped.
His father's tone was quiet, and controlled.
And anyone who really knew Frank Reagan knew that that meant he was seething.
Not seeing any way out of it, the oldest Reagan child resolved miserably to tell the truth.
"It's about…" he faltered, uncharacteristically lost for words.
"About?" prompted Frank sternly, willing himself to remain in control of his temper.
Danny looked up at him out of miserable eyes that any other time would have melted his heart, but with his youngest lying with a gash on his head upstairs, his eyes merely narrowed dangerously.
The younger man licked his lips nervously and opened his mouth.
"It's about…uhm…its about you."
…
TBC
…
