A/N: This takes place before the last chapter—so Danny still has his weapon.
Episode Tag: 10x12
It's the evening after Officer Martin's funeral; his dad had called him over for drinks. He's surprised it's just him and his old man.
"You wanna tell me why you're so worried about me working so many hours?"
His dad pushes his glass of Scotch away. "Actually, it's something Sean said. Right before you came. He asked why so many cops commit suicide."
"Dad, I'm not…"
"Hear me out, Danny. 22 hours on-duty…how much sleep did you get?"
He shrugs. "A couple hours in the dorm."
"When you're sleep-deprived—you, personally, not random guy on the street—what does that do to you?"
He sighs. He can't even lie; his father knows him too well. "Ramps up my PTSD flashbacks and…depression."
"If I ordered you to stand down?"
He looks at his father. He has to get Delgado's son back.
"Go talk to your son, Danny."
He plods up the stairs to his old room, where Sean's staying. Easier than having someone take him back to Staten Island—at least 'till this case is over and he's not working another 22 or 44 hours straight.
He finds the kid fiddling with one of his old hockey trophies.
"Dad said you had some questions?"
"Yeah. Like why do so many cops commit suicide? How long is it gonna be 'till I'm that kid in the waiting room, waiting for news I never get? How many more days do I wake up and wonder if you're gonna come home tonight?"
"Sean, I'm not…"
"You have all the risk factors Uncle Jamie and Aunt Eddie and Grandpa were talking about! Add in whatever happened in Fallujah—I can't lose you, Dad!" Sean explodes. "Jack called—he's worried about you, too; said some guys at his college…figured out he was related to Grandpa; they know we're a cop family; and…they've said some stuff."
He wishes he'd heard this from Jack personally. "Tell your brother to call me and talk to me, and not let them get to him like…"
"It's not about Jack! It's about you! These b $+ rds are saying you should kill yourself!"
"Tell him to ignore them," he says, and turns.
Suddenly his son is blocking the door. "He can't—and I can't, either! Not when I know…"
"Not when you know what, Sean?"
"That…more cops die by suicide than in the line of duty. That you've been suicidal before. That you almost ate your gun after Mom died. That she's the only reason you didn't, after you came home from Fallujah."
"Not the only reason," he says roughly. "You and Jack were a huge help in that, too."
"How? I wasn't even 2."
"You drew me awesome 2-year-old scribbles," he says, and scrubs his face. "I'd planned to show them to you when you graduated high school, but…"
They'd all been lost in the fire.
He jumps when Sean squeezes his shoulder. It's such a…grown-up show of support.
"Get back to your homework; I'll see you when the case is over," he says, and goes back to the precinct.