A/N: My first BB fanfic. R&R appreciated. :)
• For the sake of this story, Joe was killed while Danny was working narcotics with Jackie. (1x3 - "This is my new partner, Detective Jackie Curatola. We worked Manhattan North Narcotics together back in the day.")
• Brief dialogue quotations borrowed from the episodes, no copyright infringement intended. Borrowed quotes clearly marked.
• As often happens with TV families, the ages and age order tends to fluctuate throughout the show, so for the sake of this story the ages are: Danny (35), Erin (33), Joe (31), Jaime (26).
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May 9, 2011 — 6:14pm
Danny threw his Jeep into park at the curb in front of his father's house. His youngest brother, Jaime, stood on the sidewalk in front of the house. Dressed in street clothes, hands deep in his pockets. But he looked… okay. Didn't he?
After working until late in the night to finalize everything for the Cleary case and then catching only a couple hours sleep at the station before working his regular rotation today, all Danny wanted to do was go home, kiss his wife, and crawl into bed.
But the tremble in his kid brother's voice when he called twenty minutes ago, begging to meet at their father's house on Danny's way home from the precinct had caused a nagging in his gut. Something was bothering Jaime, which meant something was now bothering him.
He hopped out of the car and hurried up the walk.
"What's going on, kid?"
Jaime pulled something out of his jacket pocket and started fumbling with it. An mp3 player? What was he, twelve years old?
"Something you should hear."
Bloodshot eyes met Danny's own as his brother clicked the button on the small device.
"I'm getting close… but the Templar may have made me."
The voice on the recording might as well have been speaking from a tombstone. Danny's heart began to race at the sound of the voice he hadn't heard in two years. Two years since he'd last been able to hear it, to talk to him.
"That's Joe."
"The night he was killed." Jaime clicked off the recording, unable to hide the shakiness in his hands. "He was working with the FBI, investigating the Blue Templar."
FBI? The Templar? These titles had never come up before in regards to his brother's death, which they'd been told and believed to be a causality of a dangerous job.
"What?" was all of a response Danny could manage as his mind clouded with questions.
Jaime shook his head, ran his tongue across his bottom lip. "I should have told you a long time ago, Danny."
(dialogue from season 1, episode 21)
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May 15, 2009 — 4:47am
"I still can't believe there are people who will actually eat pizza outside of the five boroughs."
"What?"
"I mean, c'mon. Even after sitting in the backseat for hours, you can't beat this stuff."
Danny Reagan stuffed half a slice of cheese pizza into his mouth and smirked at his partner across the console of the car. They'd been staked out near a possible drug house all night with nothing to show for it except for a half eaten pizza and a couple yawns.
Detective Curatola laughed as she sipped from her coffee cup. They'd stopped for coffee hours ago—her brew had to be cold by now.
"You're a true New Yorker, Reagan."
The dispatch radio on the dash lit up as a notification came in. "All units in the area of Bronx River, be advised we have a 10-13. I repeat we have a 10-13 at 457 Princeton in the Bronx. Multiple shots fired."
10-13. Officer down.
Danny's stomach dropped the same way it did anytime he heard that same code come across from dispatch. He eyed the remains of his pizza with disdain—so much for enjoying a quick snack before the end of shift. He was no longer enjoying anything about this night.
Jackie met his eyes in the dark car, illuminated only by the streetlight to their left. "We're at least twenty minutes out, but there's nothing tying us here."
He didn't have to tell her that he wanted to go. She knew that anytime an officer went down, it was assumed that he'd be there if at all possible. He hated the helpless feeling of knowing his brother or sister in blue could be dying on the cold pavement somewhere.
Jackie picked up the radio and notified dispatch they were responding before he even said anything.
Danny stuck the pizza box behind the seat as he pulled out of the vacant parking lot onto the street. "Hey, radio in and request details on the situation."
"Responding Detectives Reagan and Curatola of the 5-4. Do we know the status of the officer down?"
Dispatch responded. "Status unknown as of this time. Officers on scene are from the warrant squad out of the 1-2. Be advised we've lost contact with officers at the scene. Multiple units responding."
The knot in Danny's stomach tightened and a tremor slinked up his spine. Warrant squad. 12th precinct. That was his brother Joe's squad.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He flipped on the lights and sirens as he blew through a four-way stop.
Jackie crammed the radio in the cupholder as Danny took a corner faster than advisable.
"Joe working tonight?"
Even though by the speed they were traveling she already knew the answer.
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May 15, 2009 — 5:03am
Danny slid the car sideways as they arrived at the scene, screeching to a halt next to a barricade of cop cars. He was out of the vehicle before the tires had stopped skidding, swerving through an army of RMPs parked caddy-cornered across the yard and around the block. No one cared much about avoiding traffic and parking in a straight line when one of their own lay in the dirt. Three ambulances were near the front of the house, back doors jacked open and mostly abandoned except for a young female EMT digging supplies from the back of the second.
In the dark, he was aware of Jackie's presence. He never had to wonder if she had his back—she was always there.
Danny raced at the front of the rundown drug house, his heart pounding in his chest. On the ride here, he'd tried calling his brother's cell at least a dozen times. No answer. As soon as he saw his little brother's smirking face, he could breathe easier, go back to being Danny the Tough Cop, and go on about his night.
But if…
A rookie cop was stringing up crime scene tape across the front lawn of the house. Danny ran past him without a word, without a thought.
"Hey! Sir! You can't go back there!"
He heard Jackie behind him, showing her shield and explaining they were NYPD too. He knew he needed to stop, calm down. Realize how paranoid he looked. There was a good chance his brother wasn't the one down, an even better chance this wasn't even Joe and his partner's call. But the fear rapidly turning his blood to ice kept him from slowing his stride.
Growing up in a family of cops, they all knew even as little kids that the chance of Dad or Grandpa not coming home from work one night always existed. Most days it was just a given, not something that was dwelled on or discussed.
Not something they'd ever had to grasp as reality.
Shouts and flashlight beams were coming from the side of the house—Danny hurried toward them. He rounded the corner and slammed straight into a tall, uniformed frame.
Joe…
No, Joe would be in street clothes, having gladly given up the confines of an official uniform years ago for the more lax dress code of a detective.
Instead Sergeant Slewinsky, commanding officer out of the 1-2, stared down at him in the near darkness. Danny didn't even have time to wonder how or why the CO had responded to the scene at this hour before the brawny man grabbed him by the shoulders, yanked him around the corner, and shoved him against the side of the house.
"What the hell, Sarge?!"
Now out of sight of the chaos that lay to his back, Danny fought free. "It's me, Danny Reagan of the 5-4. What's going on? We heard officer down across the radio."
The sergeant met Danny's eyes, recognizing him in an instant. He released his hold on Danny's jacket and drew in a shaky breath. "You don't need to go over there, Reagan."
Jackie jogged past them, only sparing Danny a glance, before disappearing through the chainlink fencing at the side of the house.
"What do you mean I don't need to go over there?" Danny slipped past the man, heart racing, a sick feeling swirling in his gut.
"It's your brother."
A cold sweat broke out down his back.
His steps faltered.
The three words reverberated through Danny's mind.
It's your brother… your brother… your brother… brother…
Everything seemed to be happening in slow-motion as he entered the backyard of the drug house where the crowd had gathered. Someone shouted. Voices grew hushed. Uniformed bodies began to move aside, making way, revealing the bodies lying on the ground.
In the center of the yard, two paramedics still knelt next to a lanky frame, shielding the face and upper part of the body from his view. One of the men was sitting back on his heels, shaking his head. The other met Danny's eyes as he approached. He probably knew the man, or at least had seen him on calls before.
But all he recognized in that moment was the unmistakable remorse and sympathy in the paramedic's dark eyes as he stood and stepped away from the body.
Now with clear sight to the victim, Danny dropped his gaze to the ashen face.
Bile rose in his throat at the familiar cheekbones, jaw, and dusty brown hair.
No… no… no!
Your brother… it's your brother…
"Joe…" the name was a whispered prayer leaving his lips.
Blood pooled under the lifeless body. Joe's kevlar vest has been yanked clear and his t-shirt cut up the center, revealing two gunshots low in his abdomen. Another in his right shoulder. Another through his neck, just above his collarbone.
He fell to his knees at his brother's side. His chest heaved uncontrollably.
Common sense told Danny that with injuries like that, Joe hadn't stood much chance at survival. But the rest of him shrieked in agony. This was his brother lying dead on the ground. None of this could be real.
Panic seized him. Horror's fisted hands squeezed the air from his lungs.
He'd woken up in hell.
"No, no, no…"
He gripped what remained of Joe's t-shirt, only tattered pieces after the EMTs had cut most of it away, and pulled him close.
The weight of his brother's limp body in his arms chilled him as the finality of this moment overcame his senses.
The tingle worry that had emerged in the back of his mind when they'd received the call from dispatch manifested into a reality he prayed everyday his family would never have to live through.
Joe was dead.
And he screamed. Fear, agony, panic, horror, anguish, grief.
Releasing in a soul-wrenching cry.
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