A/N: This chapter takes place at the Reagan house after Sunday dinner—immediately before chapter 2 starts.
I hope it's half-way decent; it's been giving me a lot of trouble. Any ideas for the next chapter—the bulk of which will be Danny's session with Doc—are appreciated.
"Did you get to talk to Danny before he and Sean left?" his father asks, handing him a glass of bourbon.
Frank takes the glass and drains it in one gulp—not his usual style. "No."
"You're worried about him, too," Henry observes.
Frank nods, slides the second glass his father hands him over to Erin. "That obvious, Pop?"
"The glances you all were giving each other…the fact that Erin is sitting here drinking Scotch with us after saying at least twice that she needed to get home and get ready for court in the morning…yes, it's obvious!"
"He still blames himself for…Linda," Erin says quietly. "He never talks about her, but his face and his body language when I mention her…"
Frank nods, sighs. "Ever since the day Linda died, I've been afraid Danny would…turn his gun on himself. He blames himself—even after three years of therapy. And now…him saying he respected this woman for killing herself? That…worries me."
"Then what are we doing sitting here drinking for? Call him, drive over there, go check on him!" Henry explodes.
"Sean's home. He wouldn't do anything, not with Sean there. Hopefully, he calls Dawson."
"I'm calling him," Erin says, and leaves the room.
She's back twenty minutes later. "Two call and one text, and no response. I'm about ready to get in my car and drive over there."
"Erin, wait. Maybe he fell asleep; maybe he got called into work. It's not time to panic yet."
Her phone rings.
"It's Sean," she says. "I'll put it on speaker. Hello, Sean. You've got me and Pops and Grandpa."
"HI, Aunt Erin. Dad asked me to see what you wanted; he's…talking with Doc. He said you called like three times…so you're worried about him, too?" Sean asks, and his tone breaks her heart.
"Yes…I think we all are."
"Can I talk to Grandpa…privately?"
Frank takes the call and goes into the kitchen, closes the door. "What's going on, Sean?"
"I screwed up, Grandpa."
"How?"
"I…asked Dad if he…if he would kill himself because he still blamed himself for Mom's death."
"Sean…!"
"I didn't mean to, it just came out, and then…he sat down hard like I'd punched him in the gut, and… he's talking to Dr. Dawson—not on the phone, his shrink actually drove over here, which means he's worried, too…"
"Do you want one of us to come over there?"
"Yeah, but…Dad would flip, so you better not."
"Tell your dad to call me after Dr. Dawson leaves, okay?"
"Okay," Sean sighs.
It's after 11 p.m. when his phone rings. Caller ID says it's Danny. "Sean said you wanted me to call."
"How you doing?"
Danny sighs. "Tired of everyone asking me that. Why is everyone so upset? What the hell did you and Sean mean you forgave me?"
"I don't know what Sean meant, but I meant that I was forgiving you for respecting Sarina for her suicide."
"Why? Aren't I entitled to my opinion?"
Frank sighs, wishes for a second glass of bourbon. "You are, but it worries me…my son with a history of PTSD and suicidal ideation, says he respects a woman for killing herself."
"Dad, I'm not…I'm not thinking like that. You can't be thinking like that, either."
"The day you enlisted in the Corps…the day Joe put on the uniform…the day we buried him…the day Jamie graduated the Academy…each of those days ratcheted up my worry for the safety of each of you. I'm hard-wired to worry about you, Danny—more so with your history. So I need to ask: What is it you can't forgive yourself for?"
Danny curses vehemently. "Dad, you sound like my shrink."
"Sorry. But that still doesn't answer my question."
"I'm not gonna do anything, Dad, okay? "Listen, it's late and I've got an early tour. I'll talk to you tomorrow," Danny sighs, and hangs up.
Frank plugs his phone in, gets ready for bed, and lies down praying to St. Michael and every other saint he can think of.