Bagpipes were playing while two members of Squad 18 were folding he American Flag into triangular shape. Clouds were darkening the sky, as if it was mourning too. Mrs Martin was holding her son's hand, trying to be strong for him while her husband was laid to final rest.
The priest was citing the "Fireman's Prayer":
"When I'm called to duty, God, whenever flames may rage, give me the strength to save some life, whatever be its age."
One of the members folding the flag was now walking over to Mrs Martin and her son, presenting the American flag to them, taking one step back and saluting.
"Help me embrace a little child, before it is too late. Or save an older person from the horror of that fate."
Lieutenant Johnson couldn't help to imagine how it would be if it was him laying in that coffin that was now lowered into the earth. He imagined how it would be to leave his wife and daughters behind.
"Enable me to be alert and hear the weakest shout, and quickly and efficiently to put the fire out."
Johnson felt the hand of his wife in his and knew she was sensing what he was thinking. And he was grateful for her being there with him.
"I want to fill my calling, and to give the best in me, to guard my every neighbor and protect his property. And if, according to my fate, I am to loose my life, please bless with your protection my children and my wife."
It was until now that Mrs Martin could hold her tears down, but it was too much. She drew her son close to her and wept.
Captain Stick was sitting at his desk in his office, his eyes again and again flying over the typed words of the letter he was holding:
"As of the end of this month, I wish to be relieved of my duties as a Lieutenant for the NYPD. Due to several incidents in the last few days I find it impossible to further stay a member of this precinct. Please respect my wishes, signed Joe Swersky, Lieutenant 55th precinct."
He heard a knock at the door and quickly put the letter down. It was Lieutenant Swersky, the Captain could see that through the tainted glass door.
"Come in."
"You wanted to see me, Sir?"
"Yes. Have a seat."
When the Lieutenant was sitting down, Captain Stick straightened up and looked at him with sympathy.
"It's been a rough few days," he said.
"You can say that again," Swersky returned with sarcasm in his voice. He was guessing what this meeting was all about.
"I'm gonna be straight with you, Joe. I won't accept your resignation."
Swersky's face hardened.
"With all due respect, Sir, but you have no right to do that!"
Stick face didn't move at all. It was impossible to read what he was thinking.
"Cut that crap, Joe! We've known each other far too long for this," he returned calmly.
"Why don't you tell me why I should let you go?"
Swersky looked at his superior as if he was from a different planet. Yet the anger inside of him faded away. He sighed and pointed towards the white sheet of paper lying on the desk, carrying his signature.
"It's all in there."
"I know, but I want you to tell me anyway," Captain Stick told him, managing a sympathetic smile. He wanted Swersky to voice what was eating him up so much inside that he wanted to quit the job he loved.
"It's plenty of things, boss. I'm just getting to old for this," Swersky began, his eyes focusing on a imaginary spot on the floor.
"I am responsible for the shooting, I let the man upstairs. I never do that, I just had the feeling he was kosher…" Images from that day flooded into Swersky's mind again. Bosco lying on the floor dying; Faith and him trying to revive Bosco; the dead body of an innocent man in the holding cell and the shooter lying on the floor with a hole in his chest from Officer Gusler.
A terrified Christine Thomas fidgeting with the strings of her purse while she told him she was afraid for her life. The face of her ex-boyfriend Bruce in the holding cell, telling them he didn't do anything to her. The mutilated body of the poor woman on her bed.
Swersky closed his eyes in anguish, trying to get rid of those images that haunted him since that day.
"What's going on, Joe?" Captain Stick finally wanted to know.
Lieutenant Swersky opened his eyes again and started telling his superior about the images, that have been hunting him.
Quietly, the squad members made their way upstairs. Lieutenant Johnson stayed down alone, to take it all in one last time and also to get his mind away from the funeral again. He listened to the fading sound of feet on the stairs and when they were gone, Johnson leant against the squad and quietly said goodbye. To his friend and to his squad.
Upstairs, Carlos put his dark blue hat and the white gloves onto the kitchen counter and sighed.
"I wish he wouldn't do it…"
"Hell, what do you know…," Walsh mumbled when he passed Nieto to get some coffee.
"Yeah right," Carlos returned sarcastically and turned around to face Walsh.
"What the hell do I know anyway! He's our LT too, you know. I'd hate to see him go, but it's his life, his choice! If he wants to quit, then we of all people should respect that! It's his decision to make, not ours!"
For a moment, there was silence. Deep inside their hearts, they knew Carlos was right, but they didn't want to let go that easily.
"Firemen never leave a brother behind," MacNamara whispered, his eyes focused onto the floor of the firehouse. Everybody startled when DK pushed the chair back with a squeaking sound when metal moved on wood.
"You're right, Mac! We don't!" DK agreed, got up and headed towards the stairs that led downstairs. All heads turned towards him.
"What are you up to?" Joe Lombardo wanted to know stopping DK in his tracks.
"I don't know yet, but whatever it takes to keep Lieu here!"
