The night before going to the community center, he never goes home.
He catches a cat-nap—more like nightmare after nightmare of the IED attack—in the precinct, then goes to his desk and pulls up Jill's arrest records.
Page after page, booking picture after booking picture, rehab after rehab…every page another testament to a broken system that failed this hero.
He goes over every word of the six times Jamie arrested her—then goes over them again.
Seems like, the fifth time, a year ago, it had been for trying to pawn her Eagle, Globe, and Anchor—to buy drugs?—and then attacking the pawnshop owner who accused her of stealing it, said there was no way she was a Marine. The language the pawnshop owner used was derogatory, to say the least.
He goes home at 7 a.m. to grab something, and finds Sean pacing. "I was getting ready to call Grandpa. You never called and said you weren't coming home. I fell asleep playing video games, just now woke up, and you weren't home."
"I'm sorry, Sean. I was going to call, and I…got distracted. It's a…tough case."
The case is over; it's Jill's "case," and his own memories, that are "tough" now.
He unlocks the lockbox—the one thing that had been saved out of the fire. It still held important papers from him and Linda's life—Sacramental records, their marriage certificate, the deed to the house—his dog-tags, his Bronze Star, and the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor he'd gotten after completing the Crucible.
He slips the Eagle into his pocket, grabs a cup of coffee and a muffin off the counter. "I'll see you later, Sean; I've gotta go…help Uncle Jamie with something."
"At 7 a.m.?" Sean yawns.
He shrugs. "Yeah."
Jamie had slipped him a check the other day, and it's a simple matter to give his credit card for the balance, to the nurse at the desk, when Jill's back is turned.
He gives her one more hug before the doors of the inpatient rehab facility close behind her, presses the medal into her hand.
She tenses, obviously recognizing it just by feel. "Danny, I can't…"
"You can. You keep it until you graduate from here. Okay? That's your goal. You graduate, and you return that to me, and I'll have yours back by then."
"Danny, I don't…."
"Shhh. We take care of our own, Marine. Semper Fi. I'll see you when you get out," he says, and leaves.
He drives back to the community center, goes into the kitchen, washes his hands and puts on gloves.
Standing next to his kid brother, he spends three hours serving food to the homeless population of New York—veteran after veteran after veteran.
Jamie tries to talk to him when they're washing dishes afterwards, but he's going to lose it if his brother starts asking about Fallujah, so he gives Jamie a lame excuse, hurries to his car, and drives to the cemetery.
First, he visits Michael Oates' grave, then John Russell's.
A homeless Marine murdered by a rich punk, and an Army veteran who couldn't live with his PTSD anymore.
Either one of them could have been him…some days, still could be.
Then he drives to another cemetery, walks to Linda's grave, says a quiet prayer, sits down against the cold stone, and closes his eyes.
He has an hour before he has to be at Doc's for his last-minute 3 p.m. appointment.
"Help me give you a chance to save your own…"