Linda was getting worried; Danny had texted her over an hour ago that he'd be home soon. He should be home by now. It was late, it was nearing midnight. There shouldn't have been many traffic hold ups. She swallowed as she finally headed up to bed. Maybe if she got comfortable in bed, Danny would be there soon.

She had just changed and brushed her teeth when her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She prayed it was Danny, telling her there had been some kind of accident, and he was now just a few minutes away from her.

Her heart plummeted to the basement when she saw the headline.

Cop's been shot. Identity unknown.

She really should get rid of her news app- she had to pay to access it, and she doubted its accuracy on many things. But most importantly, she should get rid of it because headlines like that freaked her out.

She read the article— it told her nothing... except that said, unidentified cop was shot near Danny's precinct. It was Danny, she knew it was. He was going to die in some senseless shooting, and not saving someone. Not at home like she wanted him to go.

She yanked her phone off the charger and dialed the one person who could tell her anything she wanted to know.

"Tell me it's not Danny," Linda begged, almost in tears as soon as he had answered the phone. "Tell me it's not true! Tell me that he's okay! Tell me that he isn't- isn't dead! Tell me!!"

"What?" Frank sat up more in bed. He didn't think he'd ever heard Linda that worried before... and he had heard her worried plenty of times.

"The headline said a cop's been shot at or near Danny's precinct. Tell me it wasn't him! Tell me!"

"Calm down, Linda, I'm sure Danny's okay." But as soon as he said that, his phone started dinging with an incoming call. "Someone's calling. Let me answer this, and I'll call you right back. Okay?"

She shook her head.

"Okay, Linda? This is probably Garrett calling to tell me there's been a shooting."

"Tell me—"

"Honey, I'm not going to know until I talk with Garrett." He wasn't sure where the term of endearment came from, but it seemed to work enough.

"Okay. But call me as—"

"Soon as I can. I promise. Everything will be fine, don't worry."

He hung up. She stared at the screensaver. A picture of her, Danny, and the boys at Quogue that summer. They were all smiles, faces flushed from the heat of the beach. And now they'd never have another summer like that, because….

Linda pressed the power button on her phone and threw onto the mattress. She felt something salty on her lips, and she realized it was tears. She had thought she made peace with the thought, when Mary and Maggie Kent prepped her for the day no cop wife wanted to come. But it was a lie; she knew she was lying to herself and to the women when she said she understood and was ready should that day ever come.

"I'm not ready," she cried, staying frozen on the bed. What was she supposed to do now? How was she supposed to tell the boys? They were having fun at that lacrosse camp they had begged and begged to go to. She couldn't burden them with this now; but if she waited for them to be home, they'd be pissed at her.

As she contemplated exactly how and when to tell the boys, her phone rang. "Danny?" She asked desperately.

"It's not Danny," Frank informed her. "The cop that was shot wasn't Danny. I called his supervisor, and she said that he left around 10:45."

"That's when he texted me. But he's not here!" Her voice rose in pitch.

"I'm sure he's fine. Things are okay."

"They're not unless Danny's here," she sniffed.

Frank sighed quietly. He wasn't going to get any sleep now anyway, since news of one of his men being shot always kept him up. "Would you like me to stay on until Danny gets home?"

"Please?"

"Of course. I'd like to FaceTime you, Linda, so I need to hang up."

"Okay." She felt only slightly better hearing the news. But Danny was still missing. He could've had an accident, and he was just sitting there, unconscious, with no one to help him.

Linda accepted Frank's call, "hi."

"Hi," he smiled and it relaxed her just the tiniest bit. "I know you don't have whiskey, so what do you drink to relax?"

"Danny usually makes me some tea."

"Why don't you do that, and we can just talk until Danny gets there?"

"Okay," she swallowed again. Her throat was dry from breathing through her mouth. She walked down the stairs, keeping Frank on call.

Once in the kitchen, she said, "I need to put the phone down so I can get the stuff."

"Okay, just don't hang up." Frank— and the rest of the family— knew what to do when Linda freaked out like this. It didn't happen as often as it once did, but he had a feeling it was happening more now with her ptsd. Someone had to be talking with her, distracting her, or she might reach for a razor.

"I won't." Linda filled the kettle with hot water, then put it on the stove. "It's going to be a while," she said, mainly to herself.

"That's okay…. Can you prop the phone up so I can see you?" Presently, he was looking at the bottom of the cabinets.

"Sorry," she picked up the phone and sat at the little desk area of the kitchen.

To take her mind off things, he asked about the boys' lacrosse camp. She indulged him with the details, telling him how she and Danny finally caved and let them go. It was a camp the school had set up with a partner school, so the parents felt like it was okay for the boys to go. It was through the Catholic school systems, and they (mostly) trusted them.

Most of her tea was gone by now, and she was yawning. The tea never failed to calm her to the point of sleep. But Frank had promised to stay on the line until Danny came home, and that meant watching Linda slowly fade.

She yawned, "sorry."

"It's okay."

She heard the door opening, and she gasped. "He's here!" She set her phone down, giving Frank a view of the ceiling.

"You're here!" Linda ran into Danny's arms. "I was so worried. Where were you? What happened? Are you okay?" She pulled back to inspect him, but quickly abandoned that and hugged him tightly.

He hugged her back, "I had car trouble. It was just a flat tire- I thought it'd be easy to change. But it wasn't."

"You didn't call."

"My phone died. I'm sorry I worried you."

She didn't care about any of that anymore. He was here, in her arms, alive and warm and present. She grabbed his hand and led him upstairs— but not before he locked the front door again— forgetting all about her phone.

In the morning, when she found her phone at seventy percent on the table, she saw the message from Frank.

Good night, Linda. I'm glad Danny's okay. Get some sleep.

Linda texted back a long thank you, and promised to treat Frank to a steak dinner some time soon. She sometimes couldn't read him, but she knew one thing for sure: he loved his family with his entire being.

And it made her feel warm and fuzzy inside that she was, and always would be, considered Frank Reagan's daughter.