It's a look and a hand signal that wouldn't mean much to anyone—but to James Nuciforo, it means his boss's family needs guarding, and he summons Baker and the PC's driver with a tap on the shoulder to form a guard around the PC's family.
It's Danny he's protecting—he can hear the quiet sobs—and for all the respect he has for men of the cloth—if the priest said something that has caused these tears, Jim is gonna chew him out.
9/11 had pushed Danny to the breaking-point, and Fallujah had broken him. Jim had worked the Pile with Danny, trying to find survivors. He still has nightmares, and he and his wife celebrate their wedding anniversary—which is September 11—in the spring.
Whatever it is that has broken his boss's oldest right now, Jim is going to make damned sure Danny can grieve without the church gawking.
He stands guard until the church is emptying, and his boss motions them to stand down so Linda and Danny can escape.
It's not 5 o'clock yet, but Frank pours himself a second glass of whiskey.
He feels bad that he hasn't visited Danny during this whole broken ankle debacle. He'd tried—they all had, in one way or the other—but every phone call to Danny's cell went unanswered. When he called Linda, she always said Danny didn't want to see him.
He doesn't get it—which is why it was so surprising when his son agreed to the offer of help. By that time, Danny had been on his feet—very deliberately leaning toward his bad left foot—for too long, so it was a shaky, cursing-under-his-breath son who accepted the support.
He was closing the door when he heard a muttered "I didn't mean it, 'm sorry, Dad," from his son, and while the words were welcome, it did nothing to ease the worry in his heart. "I didn't mean it" doesn't go a long way when your son has just apologized for being alive.
He sits down just as his father comes back in the room. "What's eating at you, Francis?"
"What do you thinks, Pops?" he sighs.
"I don't know for sure. The weight of the day, John McKenna, Danny…"
Frank looks at his dad, and Henry nudges the whiskey bottle toward him. "All of the above, then, with Danny at the top of the list?"
"Yeah, Pops. Something like that. He…apologized to me…for being alive, when John McKenna isn't."
"O, Francis," Henry says, his voice catching.
"I know. I told him…never to say that to me again, but I don't know…if it got through."
"I thought none of us would sleep again after 9/11," his dad says. "The way Danny packed up Linda and baby Jack and brought them here, and we all…huddled. When you and Danny and Joe weren't working, that is."
Frank nods, takes the whiskey bottle and pours himself another drink. "That was one of the better sermons I've heard over the years. Just enough attention to the day, with enough of the readings mixed in to keep things from getting overly emotional."
"So why did you look like you'd been slapped when Jamie said it was a good sermon?"
He shakes his head, drains his glass and stands up. "I don't know, Dad. Just…a lot of memories. I…think I might go down to the Memorial for a bit."
"Promise me you won't try to lose your detail?" his dad says.
"Trust me, Nuciforo isn't going to let me out of his sight today—if he has to put a GPS tracker or a leash on me," he says, and calls Baker.