"Awful quiet," Danny observes, during the more dignified rituals of second helpings. There are fewer sharp elbows and hovering forks over the serving dishes this time around, and there is time for deep breaths and conversation.
Jamie has barely touched his firsts. He looks up quickly, hoping for a moment that it's someone else in Danny's sights. With Jack not expected back for a month, and Pop upstairs sleeping off cold tablets, it's a quieter table in general.
No such luck. Danny's got them in his headlights, he and Eddie. Jamie's been immersed in his own thoughts more deeply than usual, and Eddie has been watchful since they arrived, waiting to support his lead.
His father looks somewhat apologetic: he'd noticed them, too, but he'd been trying to draw off the heat by keeping Nicky on her toes about her post-graduation plans as the bleeding-heart liberal of the family, while she waits for her NYPD application to move through the system. And Erin, though she's sitting right beside Eddie, has naturally been defending her daughter and then joining in the prodding.
"Are we?" Jamie replies neutrally.
Danny gives the mashed potato spoon a solid tap on his plate, and his eyes narrow. "What gives? C'mon. If either of you was in trouble, we'd already know."
Jamie pushes a bit of spinach around on his plate and puts down his fork, carefully enough that Danny can't mistake it for temper and flare up back at him. Under the table, Eddie's hand comes to rest on his thigh.
He's grateful for the reminder that he's not going in alone, but it's hard not to feel that he's failed in himself somehow. No matter what his brain tells him about the stark reality of delayed reactions, and that they are perfectly understandable, even predictable.
I don't want to be understandable. I want to be better, he thinks, petulantly
They've pulled Danny through his rages, silences, fugue states, benders and occasional disappearances. They've carried Erin through a college sex assault, a nasty, drawn-out divorce and having her own colleague die in her arms. Nothing Jamie is going to ask the family's help with will break them, or their trust in him. The kids deserve to see how grown ups in this line of work can healthily process their shit. He knows all of this.
He ungrits his teeth and looks directly at his brother. "Maybe gimme a hand with the dishes after dinner?" he asks.
Nonplussed, Danny nods once. It's uncharted territory for Jamie to tacitly admit that something is amiss.
A few shared glances and shrugs pass like a wave around the table. But the conversation quickly picks up like the rising sea swirling into a tidepool, turning with renewed interest to his father's recent lunch date - "It was a catch-up meeting over lunch." - with Kelly Peterson.
Jamie's not fooled, but he's grateful for the save, and joins in heckling Dad with everyone else.
They're left alone in seconds, after everyone's finished bringing in the dishes. Despite this, Jamie figures they have about twenty minutes before people begin to make noises about coffee and dessert. He wonders if Eddie's really hovering outside the door, and smiles to himself. He has a feeling she's not far away.
Danny, with extreme restraint, tucks up his sleeves and lets Jamie choose his moment, while every dish is scraped and neatly stacked. He just gets on with the work as if they happened to end up in the kitchen at the same time. Despite this, Jamie can feel the wheels in his brother's head spinning into the bad-news zone, and he appreciates how weird this is for both of them.
He takes a breath.
"So you know Eddie and I've been going to see Father Markhum for marriage prep sessions," he begins. The look on Danny's face is priceless. And then concerned, and a little relieved.
"Yeeeah," he says. "I remember those. Lotta stuff comes out."
"It's funny how you don't think you need to think about something until you need to completely re-evaluate it, huh."
Danny makes a sound of agreement and bends down to unlatch the dishwasher. Clearly he thinks Jamie has a married-man question. Which it sort of is, Jamie thinks. He's half of the Jamie-Eddie unit, and he's carrying around a lot of other people on his end. He doesn't want Eddie to have to carry all of them along with him, too.
"Can I ask you something pretty major? And you don't have to answer at all, really. It's just, I hit a big rock with my shovel, and think it's one you're familiar with."
"Okay?"
"This family, we've all lost more people than we should. Or maybe it's just small-minded to think that way, I mean, how do we know who should live or not? That's not down to us."
"Jamie." Danny makes a stay focussed gesture to his eyes with one hand, as he fills the top rack with precise rows of water glasses with the other.
"Right." He puts the plug in the larger of the two sinks. Over the sound of hot water rushing, he goes on: "You've had a lot more people you know pass away than I ever did. Family and friends and troops."
"You've seen more than your fair share by now. And you dealt with it a hell of a lot better than I ever did."
"That's just it. I haven't been. I'm good at shelving. Compartmentalizing." He slides a couple of encrusted serving platters under the suds to soak, and wishes all his accumulated grime was so easily dealt with.
"Just sucking it up, you mean?"
"Well, yeah. There's always another crisis, always someone hit harder than me. But there's a big difference between putting something in perspective, and using the next important thing to avoid dealing with it."
"Huh." Danny stands and spins the dishwasher knob till it starts up, and turns to lean against the counter, arms folded. "I kinda always figured that about you, but I'm the last person to be advising anyone about how they deal."
"Not sure that's true. You've gotten help dealing. I think that's what I'm looking at, to be honest. And it's about the hardest thing I can think of doing. I'm supposed to be the guy other people ask. I don't know if I would if it wasn't for Eddie."
He can feel Danny eyeing him carefully now. "I get that. Really, I do. Don't forget I didn't start seeing Dawson till I was ordered to. Because I wasn't a safe person to be around, and I didn't have Linda. She's always been...she was my rock. And she was relentless on my ass, till I went to VA meetings, after I came home from Iraq the second time. Then after she - after Linda, I didn't ask for help, or even accept it, till things went seriously sideways and other people were getting hurt. My kids were being affected. So if you can skip over that part, more power to you. You were always way smarter than me."
"That's part of the problem. It's easy to tell people what they need to hear, just to get them off your back."
And how, he thinks. He's been doing that all his life.
"Father Markhum's a smart guy, too. I bet he's pretty good at catching that."
"He is. I trust him."
"I'm glad. That's a better place to start than being dragged kicking and screaming into groups you just end up being the scary angry guy in, and doing one-on-ones on threat of losing your guns." Danny clears his throat, remembering it's not his turn now, and starts on the cutlery. "Lucky for me Dawson is an even bigger pain in the neck than my wife. So. What's been eatin' at you?"
"I think the real difference falls between Mom and Grandma dying, and then everyone else," Jamie says straight up, thinking out loud. "Cancer's a bitch, but we know there's nothing we could have done. Maybe we're lucky in that respect. We know how many tests and treatment options we looked into, and we don't have that nagging feeling we might have done more."
"That how you feel now, or how you felt then?"
Jamie thinks about this. "Now. You're right. At the time I was looking up every fringe treatment I could find. There had to be something we missed, that the doctors all missed. It was Grandma who convinced me to stop. Just enjoy the time we had left. That's the other big difference. Knowing it was coming."
"Yeah. Grandma said the same to me. In fact - don't forget she was Army through and through, she was a Marine wife and Marine mom, and a soldier's daughter - she had to remind me it was a blessing, having those few months together to prepare. Linda said so too, more than once. She's helped so many families through it."
Jamie nods, slowly. "We had, what was it, almost two years with Grandma, and then six months with Mom, not even a year later. Like God was trying to make it personal. At least with Mom, we knew what to expect."
"Yeah, but it didn't mean it was any easier, just maybe less...panicky? Less having to learn on the fly, more energy to be fuckin' pissed off about it."
"Yup. But we had that time with her. So I just kept telling myself, it's nothing like what you, and Dad and Grandpa had to see on active duty. It's nothing like what you all dealt with on the job. So what right did I have…"
He's surprised by the hard choke in his throat. His eyes are already wet. This is the second time today this has happened to him. Being emotionally available, if that's what this is, is...rough.
"So what right did you have to grieve them, you mean?" Danny finishes. His voice is matter-of-fact, not soft, and Jamie's grateful. Kindness would crumble him.
He nods. "We lost out on time with them, but they had about the most peaceful death anyone could hope for, at the end," he says, trying to mask a snuffle. "Both of them, no pain, and Dad and Pop holding their hands on the way out. Smiling and talking to them about old times."
"But you know that was for their wives' benefit. Dad and Pop don't show when they're really going through it inside. 'Specially Dad."
"Mom was angry enough for her and Dad both," Jamie recalls.
"Well, and with good reason. Erin and me, and my number two kid, we're like her, we yell it all out. We didn't get the stoic gene. Went around me, went straight to Jack. Like you and Joe."
They're not even pretending to be doing the dishes anymore. They're leaning against the kitchen counter on either side of the dishwasher, not looking at each other except for a glance now and then. They're not reacting at, or even to each other, not really. They're just sharing words they've repeated to themselves a hundred thousand times, but they're sharing them. Putting down stepping-stones for later.
It's far more than Jamie thought might happen. He thought he might ask Danny for some advance information about exercises and things he might expect in therapy, or a recommendation to a trusted therapist with no connection to the NYPD. But that can wait.
"Yeah. Me and Joe."
Now Danny looks full at him. "That was the first death that really took you out, huh."
He swallows, and nods.
"And I was in a hell of a dark place and no fuckin' help," Danny goes on, "to you or to anyone."
"You - "
He can't say it.
You shut me down. You drowned me out. I had to bury my brother alone. You should have been the one to understand better than anyone.
It's not entirely true, but he knows how true the words feel as they swell in his head.
"Me?" Danny prompts.
"You were carrying a whole lot of your own crap," Jamie says, the words rising easily. "I know it was hell on earth over there, and a hard landing coming home."
It hits him immediately, that feeling of stepping aside, of reaching for the right thing to say to avert a bad reaction. Frustration quickly masked by the smug self-denial of feeling like he won because he didn't lose control. The comfort of the controllable.
But tonight, with the scar scratched raw already, there is also the small spark of fury that he's never called by that name before, that says, quietly and coldly, my grief isn't the less because of what you went through. Don't you fucking dare tell me it doesn't mean as much.
"I was fuckin' useless," Danny repeats, flatly. There is no heat in his voice, nor even any self-loathing. He's telling his side of the story, and he's built up enough insight to know that now is not the time to apologize or reach for a resolution. "Or that's all I felt like. I was a danger to myself and to my family, at the time, and I hit out at anyone who came too close, so they'd keep out of reach. And I sure as hell couldn't handle anyone else's reactions. You were the one who kept flying straight."
"Only on the outside. Inside, it's all..."
His voice is strained. Danny drops his eyes again, breaking contact. "This why you wanted to talk to me first? Take my temperature and see if I'm in any kind of place to walk back with you through everything?"
"Pretty much. I mean, I'm not in a seriously bad place, or anything, but - like you said, it really starts to build up after Joe."
He doesn't need to list the others who died, who came so close to dying.
Or who left, he thinks. Sydney hadn't signed on for all this shit. He can't blame her, not really. He was too deep in his head to be angry. He was just despondent at the time, and for a long while after.
"I get it. I think. And yeah, we got some very stinky old compost to turn over between us. And I'm in a way better place than I probably have any right to be, and I'm in with both feet, wherever you need me. Eddie, too."
It's Jamie's turn to look abashed. "Good thing she's got you for a big brother too, turns out."
Danny grins and flicks him on the shoulder with the tea towel he's been playing with, but he's struck by a thought. "I gotta warn you, though. It's gonna feel like being right back there, time to time. You know that saying, you gotta feel everything before you can feel better?"
"Still better than realizing you have an entire wine cellar of unresolved grief and trauma you're about to drag into a marriage with you - "
"No, seriously, man. You went through some serious shit of your own, and I was a total asshole to you for years. Shoulda heard what Linda had to say to me about it. You want some advice from a guy happily married nearly twenty years, it's this: listen to your wife, okay, especially about family stuff."
"Oh, you don't need to tell - "
"DAD!" It's Sean's voice, followed by a "Shush! Just wait a - " from Eddie.
Danny strides to the door and swings it open. Eddie, six inches shorter than Sean, is doing a decent impression of a basketball check to stop him from coming in. Sean has clearly had to remind himself that he can't just throw his soon-to-be Aunt over his shoulder and keep going.
"I know, but...it's chocolate peanut butter cheesecake tonight," Sean pleads, appealing to his father. "Can't I just take it out for everyone?"
"Well, you got pretty good timing," Danny reassures him, "We're good to go." He glances back at Jamie. "Right? 'Cause we can continue this over a drink after. I can get someone to drive this one home."
"Let's take a breather," Jamie says. It's been a hell of a day already. "To be continued next week?"
"Scotch night. My place, after dinner."
"Good plan."
Eddie's tucked herself under his arm by then. She wraps her arm around his waist and peers up at him, and then at Danny. "You boys need cheesecake very badly," she says.
It's late and Eddie's been reading in bed for an hour already. He'd taken a long shower to unwind and now he's sitting on the couch in a clean shirt and sweats, surfing around the NYPD POPPA website. It's all very casual. He could call the hotline right now, and talk about how he's just at the early stages of realizing all that he needs to unpack, and get some sound advice on where to go next. But it's not time yet. And he's tired, bone-tired to a depth that surprises him. He knows that emotions and memories reside in the body as well as the mind, but he feels like he's doubled his run today.
Which means that once again, as much as he wants to hang out in bed with his beautiful, loving and sexually creative fiancée, he's not going to be able to do much for her. And he doesn't want her to feel like it's all on her to put him in the mood.
Hence the couch. If he's honest, he's sort of hoping she falls asleep over her book before he gets there. It's been a week. He thought he was in the mood just fine last Sunday, but his dick had other ideas, no matter how much he wanted her. And nothing since then. It's darkly hilarious that that's probably the final straw that propelled him to take action and confront the reasons why. How many guys have been led to therapy by their dicks? he wonders. Many, probably.
"Jamie?" she calls. So much for waiting her out.
"Hey, yeah. Just finishing up here."
"Okay. Can you – I just need some Jamie time."
"I can do that."
He closes the laptop and gets to his feet, double checking the door and lights by habit on the way to his room.
Eddie's curled up under the covers, in a soft pink tank-top and sleep shorts she'd never admit to owning to anyone else. He's continually stunned that she lets him see her at the opposite extremes of her tough-cop and sweet-city-girl personas, and that she'll fall asleep in his arms with total trust, or keep watch over him while he thrashes through nightmares. Sometimes he thinks he gets a glimpse of what it says about the depth of her feelings for him, and that it actually might be as deep as what he feels for her.
God, he hates disappointing her.
"Hey, you," she says softly. "C'mere."
He sits on the side of the bed more heavily than he meant to, and finds the quilt as he keels comically over. "Ugh. I'm beat."
"I know what it's like," she says. "Really, I do. It all takes so much energy. Processing heavy stuff."
"I'm getting that."
She pulls the quilt up over him and scoots closer, spooning him up from behind. "I don't mind," she murmurs against his neck, "Honest. You know I don't just love you for your body. Though it's pretty stellar too."
He sighs. "Sorry."
That gets him a gentle poke in the side, "My point was, don't be. Give it time. I'm not going anywhere. And I mean, I have a little box full of options and a good imagination, so..."
He mumbles agreeably. He's also intrigued. He rolls over, and finds her small hand with his, sliding their fingers together. She's smiling and sleepy, and he nuzzles her nose before kissing her sweet mouth.
He knows all about her little box, of course, in either meaning of the word, but he does love hearing how much she enjoys it. And he fucking adores it when she tells him exactly which of her toys she's in the mood for and what he can do with it.
But not tonight. It's been a hell of a day and they're both on the verge of dropping off.
"Just something to dream about," she purrs, and kisses him good night.
There's more than one way to stand guard between a lover and his nightmares, it turns out.