While the Heart Beats

Author's Note: Missing scenes and major spoilers for episode 3x22, "The Bitter End."

It rained in New York City that night.

As a kid, Jamie had always loved the rain. Even now, the sound of drops against glass brought back childhood memories in a sudden, fond rush, and he was seven years old again, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his bedroom ceiling with drowsy eyes and listening to the idle, easy summer rainstorms. If he concentrated hard enough, he could still hear his parents' voices downstairs, soothing and familiar, and the cackles of Joe and Danny as they got in one last tease on an indignant Erin before bed. It was the familiar rhythm of life in the Reagan household, and he hadn't realized at the time how easy it was. Life had been simple, then.

Jamie tried to pull in a deep breath, but it strangled halfway into his lungs. He dropped his head again, pressing his forehead into his knees.

I'm here. A whisper on the darkness.

He ignored it.

Night had always been a safe place for him, too. Much to his mother's chagrin, he'd never had a problem running errands in the middle of the night or, as a teenager, taking a walk all the way down to Owl's Head Park at 2 a.m. just to clear his head. He'd never thought anything of it; he had four cops in his immediate family alone, so he knew a thing or two about how to take care of himself. It was a habit he would keep his entire life in New York City, before he himself became a cop and after he wore the shield. It had gotten him into trouble a few times - Chinatown during the Blue Templar fiasco came to mind - and his mother had certainly never approved, but he did it anyway. He remembered one lovely spring night in particular, when he had slipped out of the house at four a.m. to catch a breath of the blooming Japanese camellias and lavender down near New York Bay. They never smelled as good as they did in the early morning on a fresh breeze, and at the time he couldn't comprehend why his mom didn't understand that. Her reaction to him sneaking into the house through the kitchen door at 5 a.m. had been unprecedented. "You're grounded for three weeks, Jamison Reagan," she snapped. "And believe me, when your father gets home from tour I'll be having a long conversation with him. You'll be lucky if he doesn't lock you in your room for the summer."

Jamie had stomped up the stairs to his bedroom, taking them much harder than necessary, and barely paused when he saw Joe lounging at the top, sitting two steps down in flannel pajama bottoms, his legs stretched out. "It's not fair," Jamie fumed, stopping to glare up at him. "I'm grounded! But I didn't do anything wrong!"

"What have I told you?" Joe asked. "Clear these things with me first, Jamie."

He gritted his teeth, chest heaving with indignation, and glared at his older brother. "Why do you always wait up here for me anyway?"

"Because you're always getting into trouble," he grinned back. "Sounds like mom's pretty mad."

Jamie frowned. "I didn't think she would be. She shouldn't be. I didn't do anything wrong."

"I can read mom better than you can," Joe smirked. "I definitely could've told you she would be mad about this."

"I only wanted to take a walk. Dad says it's okay."

Joe cocked his head. "Not this late. Not by yourself. And definitely not when you're twelve."

Jamie folded his arms over his thin chest and scowled to hide his crumbling expression. "I'm sick of being twelve."

Joe's arm came around his shoulders a moment later, and he leaned into the embrace. "No worries, kid," his brother said fondly. "You won't be forever. Pretty soon you'll be eighteen like me and going off to college, and then you'll be some fancy lawyer somewhere, married with six kids-"

"I don't want to be a lawyer," he snapped as Joe tugged him up the remaining stairs. "I told you. I want to be a cop like Danny and you."

"I don't think mom's going to-"

"I want to be a cop!" he whined, lower lip trembling. "And I don't want six kids either."

Joe's arm tightened around him. "All right then. You'll be the best detective in the city, just like gramps and dad, and you'll have a hot wife- no, I know you still think about cooties and all that, but trust me on this one- a hot wife, and you'll solve lots of cases and get lots of bad guys, and then before you know it, you'll be old and in a home and some pretty nurse will come in every day to give you a sponge bath."

Jamie squirmed. "Will not."

"Don't worry, kid. I'll be in the room across the hall, and we'll make sure Danny's right next to us to keep things lively. How's that sound?"

I'm here, Jamie.

It was an unusually cool night, and Jamie shivered when a breeze touched his wet skin. He tightened in on himself. His butt had long ago gone numb agains the cold railings of the fire escape outside his loft, but he didn't care. He honestly had no idea how long he had been here, sitting with his back pressed against the bricks, letting the downpour soak through his jeans and sweatshirt. It didn't matter. Maybe if he was lucky he would catch pneumonia and die. Maybe he could just stay here forever, shivering in the darkness, wet and cold and alone.

You're not alone, kid. I swear to you. I'm right here.

His chest swelled, ached. He didn't know if it was from the impact of the bullet that his vest had caught or his heart itself, dry and painful in his chest, cracking open.

The tears on his cheeks mixed with the rain.

)()()()()()()()(

Jamie had one of those retro lofts, with the tall ceilings and high windows. Danny figured it probably looked slick to Jamie's friends, those new-age latte-drinking nerds that he had hung around with in college and law school, but the place had to be a bitch to heat. It was probably the sort of Official Big Brother Conversation he should've had with Jamie somewhere along the way, but finances were one of about a thousand things they'd never discussed. They were brothers, sure, but they had a ten-year gap between them that was more like the Grand Canyon most of the time. Danny couldn't relate to more than a fraction of who Jamie was before he'd gone to the Academy, but even then, his decision to become a cop had been so unexpected that Danny wondered if he'd ever known his little brother at all. They'd made progress since he'd been on the force, but most days they were still dealing with a chasm.

But not today. Danny wouldn't allow it.

"I'm here, Jamie," he whispered into the darkness.

Jamie didn't react. He hadn't been reacting for a while, and Danny was counting the minutes until his father arrived. He'd sent a 911 text twenty minutes ago already, and if dad was in one of his high-level chief pow-wows that was just too damn bad. This came first.

Danny shifted where he sat on Jamie's slippery hardwood floors (probably original to the place) and leaned a little more against the windowsill, ignoring the rain that dashed in against his face. His shirt was already soaked through and the floor had puddles of water standing around him, but it didn't matter. The window was stuck open, jammed and slightly crooked halfway up in its frame. It offered plenty of room for Jamie to have scrambled out onto the fire escape. Danny's heart had nearly stuttered to a stop when he came out of the bathroom and found no sign of his brother, just the open window, and Noni had flown unbidden into his mind. He'd covered the distance to the window in a single, strangled heartbeat, and there was his brother, not peering over the edge but simply curled in on himself in the rain, soaked and shaking. "Jesus Christ, kid," he had said, and just started to haul himself over the ledge when Jamie shook his head in the darkness. "Stop," he said tightly.

The grief in his voice took Danny to his knees, and he leaned hard against the windowsill, nearly folding over it. He could almost reach Jamie from where he sat, but he didn't dare reach out. "Jamie, I'm so sorry," he managed. "I am so goddamned sorry."

Jamie didn't respond. He didn't even turn his face toward Danny. Danny tried again. "Can I... can I at least come sit with you, kid?"

"Just give me a minute. Give me... please?"

"I can't let you stay out there."

"Just give me a minute," Jamie said breathlessly, breathing into his knees.

Danny's instinct had been to clamber ahead over the windowsill and bodily drag his trembling brother back inside, but he could almost feel the grief resonating off Jamie, and it wasn't the kind of pain he could slap a Band-Aid over. He knew how to fix problems with his hands and his actions, not with words. That had always been-

-hell, that had always been Joe's job.

With that, Danny had slipped to the floor completely, and he fumbled for the cell phone in his pocket to text his father. Joe, help me, he had prayed in the darkness. Help Vinny. Help Jamie. God, help all of us tonight.

The rain fell, cold, steady. Every few moments, Jamie's breath hitched on a half-formed sob, and Danny's heart ached.

"You're not alone, kid," he called softly. "I swear to you. I'm right here."

)()()()()()()()(

"Drive faster," Frank Reagan said. His voice sounded flat and emotionless, even to his own ears.

The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Yes, sir."

Frank's grip tightened on the cell phone in his hand, and he woke the display for the hundredth time since this endless drive had begun. 911 get to Jamie's - meltdown, the text from Danny read. He'd stood up abruptly from the conference table as soon as he read it, and the few chiefs and super chiefs who had already made their way in jumped when he did.

Garrett had stood quickly as well. "Commissioner?"

"My son," he said aloud, and everyone in the room seemed to deflate a little, expressions tightening in shared pain or softening in pity. "I... Garrett, call me when everyone's assembled. I'll call in, or get back here if I can, but... I need to get back to my son. Now."

"Yes sir," he replied quietly. "Your detail is ready downstairs."

It had been as simple as that, and now, as his driver and bodyman whisked him through the darkness toward Jamie's loft in the lower east side, Frank leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

The horror of the past six hours washed across him like nausea.

)()()(

"So what are we missing here?" Linda asked, looking over the Sunday dinner table in Frank's dining room.

"Uncle Jamie," Sean piped up helpfully.

"He took on an extra tour." Frank frowned as he said it. He hadn't been in the best of moods anyway, and he knew exactly what his youngest was up to with the sudden change in his work schedule. Vinny Cruz couldn't stay away from the Bitterman projects, and Jamie wouldn't allow his partner to go in alone. It was noble. It was right.

But for a father, it was hard to swallow.

He had changed the subject, and the dinner conversation had rolled into its usual, easy flow as beef, potatoes and vegetables were shared across the table. Danny and Erin had even managed to engage in a relatively civil conversation about who was at fault for the conditions in the project, but Frank couldn't remember exactly what they said. He never would, because just as Erin stabbed a piece of cauliflower on her fork and used it to gesture at her older brother with a smirk, Frank's cell phone rang.

He had left his phone on the sideboard, and he cleared his throat and wiped his mouth as he stood to retrieve it. His family's conversation carried on behind him as he glanced at the screen, saw Garrett's number, then thumbed the button to accept the call. "Reagan."

"Frank."

And he knew instantly something was wrong, because he'd never heard that tone in Garrett's voice before. Butter wouldn't melt in the mouth of his DCPI most days, but the voice on the other end of the line sounded... rattled. Choked, almost. "Garrett?"

There was noise in the background. Someone was shouting an address. It sounded frantic. "Frank. We... we just received word that Los Lourdes ambushed two cops in Bitterman about six minutes ago. Multiple gunshots. We got a 10-13 before losing contact, but a couple of 911 calls put both officers down at the scene. We're moving in with the full cavalry right now."

Frank's stomach turned cold. He gripped the edge of the sideboard to steady himself, rattling the china, then turned. The conversation at the table had gone abruptly silent, and even the children were staring at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes. Erin and Linda seemed a bit more tuned in, but Danny's gaze was the sharpest. Frank's eyes locked with his, and Danny, who could always read him like a book, was up and on his feet in an instant. "Dad?"

"Bitterman," Frank said, and Danny frowned, clearly anxious for more, as Frank lifted the phone back to his mouth. "Garrett, let's-"

"Frank, the officer who called in the 10-13 was Jamie. We haven't been able to raise him on the radio since."

Frank blinked. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Frank. It's Jamie and his partner. That's all I've been able to confirm."

There was a strange buzzing in Frank's ears that almost drowned out Garrett's voice. He stepped back, his free hand fumbling for the edge of the table. "Oh," he said aloud. "Oh, God." He stumbled back to his chair, knees giving out as he collapsed into it.

Danny was in front of him in a blink, crouching down. His face had lost its color. "Dad," he said sharply, and Frank felt Danny's strong hand behind his neck, tugging him forward. "Breathe, Dad. Jesus. What's wrong?"

"Frank, take deep breaths." Linda's voice, calm and steady, broke through the static next to Danny's. She was behind him, and he felt her soothing hands on his back. "Deep breaths, nice and easy. Danny, I can get my equipment if you think...?"

"Dad?" Erin was crouching on Frank's other side, both her hands clasping one of his. They felt hot. When had his skin gone cold? "Dad, what's happening?"

He managed to bring the phone back to his ear. Garrett was speaking again. Perhaps still. "...detail will be there in ten minutes, Frank. Wait for them, you understand me?"

"They'll take me directly to the scene." He wasn't sure how he was even talking. Was it possible to speak with a heart that had stopped?

"I'll advise. If the scene's hot I can't have you there-"

"They won't keep me from him," Frank said coldly. "No one will keep me from my son."

"And I won't either, Frank, but I've gotta find out the situation. We're going to transport to Bellevue; the detail may just take you straight there if he's on the way. Frank, we'll take you to him, wherever he is, okay? Let me get more information. I'll call you back in two minutes. Who's there with you?"

"We're all here," he managed. "We're all here."

"Dad," Danny interrupted desperately. "Is it Jamie? What's going on?"

"Two minutes," Garrett said. The phone went silent, and Frank allowed it to slip from his grasp, bouncing into his lap. He put his face into his hands.

"Francis," Henry said from somewhere nearby. "For God's sake...?"

"Mom?" Nicky's voice, small and scared, came from the other end of the room. Frank looked up, blinking sudden wetness from his eyes. She had abandoned her place at the table and was standing next to Henry's empty chair, Jack and Sean huddled close. "Mommy?"

Frank placed his hands on his thighs; gripped them to stop the shaking. Please, God. Please God, not my son. Not Jamie. Please, God. Not this.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come. He cleared his throat weakly.

Please God, not Jamie.

"That was..." He swallowed. "Jamie and his partner have been attacked in Bitterman. Jamie called in a 10-13, but now Central can't raise either of them on the radio. They think..." His voice cracked. "They think Jamie and his partner have been shot."

Linda inhaled sharply, and Henry recoiled from him, staggering back a step and just managing to catch himself on the sideboard. Danny and Erin both seemed frozen in shock, but as he watched, Erin's wide and disbelieving eyes began to fill with tears. She blinked, once, and the tears spilled over as her face crumpled into agony. Linda was quickly beside her, kneeling to pull her into a tight embrace as Danny rocked back onto his heels. "Dad," Danny whispered in a broken voice. "Dad, this can't... you're not..."

"They were ambushed," Frank managed. His voice broke again. "Two officers down."

"Son of a bitch," Danny breathed. "Son of a bitch!" And he exploded, tearing himself away from Frank to leap to his feet and strike the dinner table with both fists, sending wine glasses toppling and china rattling. He spun to the wall next, his fist tight and railing back. "Danny!" Linda said sharply, and her voice seemed to snatch his punch back just before it collided with the dining room wall. He gasped, a painful, scorched breath, and cracked his forehead into the doorframe, choking on a sob instead and pressing his hand flat against the wallpaper. "God, no," he whispered. "God, no. No!"

Erin tore herself away from Linda's shoulder with some reserve of strength, turning to meet her father's eyes. "How bad is it? What did they say? How bad..."

"I don't know. We're getting them out. I don't know anything else."

"Linda, where are my keys?" Danny asked suddenly, his head snapping around to scan the room frantically. "I've got to go - Linda?"

"My detail's on the way," Frank interrupted, raising his voice in a futile attempt to take back control of the situation. He knew there was no controlling this, but he at least had to try. "They're taking us to him. Garrett's calling back in two. Get ready to go."

"Leave all this," Henry said, covering the entire table with a sweep of his trembling hand. "Nicky, why don't you help Linda get the boys together?"

Frank nodded. They would all go. Of course, they would all go.

Erin had just gotten her feet under her when Frank's cell phone rang in his lap, and everyone froze. Frank did not allow himself the time to consider the magnitude of what Garrett would have to share, and he didn't look at the frightened eyes that were upon him from every corner of the dining room. Instead, he accepted the call and lifted it to his ear. "Reagan," he said.

"We've confirmed that they've both been shot, Frank. What I don't know is how bad. Our guys are calling it a hostile scene. Scoop and run. We've got at least a dozen units on scene now. Are you ready to go?"

Frank stood, gripping the edge of the table. "I am."

"I'll meet you at Bellevue, Frank. Hang in there. I'll let you know when I know more."

Frank ended the call and looked up to find every eye in the room upon him. "We're going to meet them at Bellevue."

"So it's confirmed?" Danny asked. Fear had sapped the color from his face.

Frank simply nodded, hearing the sharp intakes of breath from around him. He met no eyes. "Give me your hands."

Erin blinked but placed her trembling hand in Frank's. He grabbed Henry's hand, who reached out for a reeling Danny, and slowly the rest of the family joined in, making an awkward circle around the ruined dinner. "Our Father, who art in heaven," Frank began, and the rest of the family joined him, stunned by the fine edge of grief that had already severed their connection to normalcy.

There were only prayers now, and desperation, and for Frank Reagan, overwhelming fear.

Please God, don't take him from me. Please Joe, be sitting at the top of the steps for Jamie now. Please, God...

The detail - three SUVs, seven men, their faces solemn and unreadable - met them at the door of the house three minutes later, and two minutes after that they were gone.

Frank sat in the backseat in silence. His cell phone did not ring again but he held it close. He didn't think. Couldn't. Wouldn't. He sat and he waited for whatever was to come.

My mother. My wife. My son. What next? God, you can't take another from me.

Danny was with him in the back of the car, and he was clutching his own phone like a lifeline, doubled over at the waist. He spoke only once. "Dad, I won't lose him. I won't."

Frank didn't reply. He didn't know what to say.

The silence stretched on.

Bellevue's emergency entrance was six-deep with police vehicles, many with emergency lights still on, blue and red painting quick, bright casts of color against the hospital's white exterior. Officers, hospital workers, and bewildered visitors were everywhere, moving through the chaos. As the vehicles pulled to a stop, Garrett called again. "You here?"

"We're here," Frank confirmed, stepping out of the SUV. His feet had no more touched the pavement than the large sliding glass doors to the ER swept open and there was Garrett, striding out with purpose and pocketing his phone as he moved. Danny was a silent, hollowed-out shadow at Frank's side, and he felt the rest of the family press in.

Garrett was shaking his head before he even opened his mouth. "We can't do this out here. Come with me."

Frank locked his knees. He wasn't moving from this spot without at least some information. "Tell me what you know."

Garrett's hand gripped his arm. "Nothing except they're both here. Come on, the ER chief's waiting for you."

Frank allowed himself to be pulled forward as they walked inside the ER, passing the waiting area that was overflowing with cops from the 12th precinct. Frank barely looked at them, and couldn't bring himself to return the salutes of the captains and chiefs in the hallway. Police and city officials were pressed into every corner and alcove, almost materializing out of thin air. Garrett passed a pair of officers outside a set of double doors, and Frank gave a cursory nod to their crisp salutes. On the other side of the door was a large, private waiting area, and an older man with a white beard and bright blue scrubs stood, turning to face them.

"Frank," Garrett said. "This is Doctor Aaron Bainton, chief of emergency medicine."

The doctor shook Frank's hand. "Commissioner, I treated your son when he was brought in not long ago. He's going to be fine. He took a single shot to the chest, but his vest stopped the bullet. Saved his life. He was grazed across the right bicep and shoulder, but those woulds are just superficial. I was with him just a moment ago, and he's awake and oriented."

It was only with a concentrated effort that Frank kept his knees from turning to water. Beside him, he saw Linda melt into Danny's side. "Thank God," he whispered. "Thank God."

"Commissioner," the doctor said quietly. "I'm afraid your son's partner, Officer Vinny Cruz, was DOA. We pronounced him not long after he was brought in. Your son attempted to resuscitate him in the field, but he was shot in the throat. It was not a survivable injury. The first responders, uh... I understand they had to pry him out of your son's arms."

Frank swallowed hard. His stomach clenched, and there was a flavor of bitterness at the back of his throat. "I need to see my son."

"Of course," Dr. Bainton replied. "I'll arrange for it as soon as possible."

Under Henry's guidance, the rest of the family settled into the private waiting room, and Frank followed Garrett to the makeshift war room he had set up in a nurse's lounge, checking security of the scene, status of the investigation, and coordination with local and state authorities. Danny came with him, a silent shadow at his father's side. He had no real business being there but Frank didn't mind his presence. He understood why Danny needed to be nearby. Frank allowed him to hover close and worked, simply worked, because there was work to do, and if he worked he didn't have to think.

Half an hour later, Dr. Bainton returned. "I can take you back to see Officer Reagan now. It would be helpful to have your assessment... we don't need to keep him, but he's pretty shaken up. He won't let the nurses wash his hands... I'd just like you to check in with him before we decide on release. If we need to keep him to let him rest, we can."

"Lead the way," Frank said, and followed the doctor through the twists and turns of the ER until he was led to the door of a private evaluation room and motioned inside.

Frank stepped through the door, then stopped so suddenly Danny almost bumped into him.

Jamie was sitting on a hospital stretcher that took up the majority of the small room, its silver rails up. He was still wearing his uniform pants and shoes but had been stripped from the waist up. His knees were drawn in close and he was curved forward, resting his elbows upon them, hands over his face. His fingers were dark with crusted, flaking blood.

"Jamie," Frank said softly, stepping to the end of the bed. "Son."

Jamie unfolded slowly, and looked up at his father and brother. A swollen, cherry-colored bruise the size of a baseball was forming just under his right collarbone, and Frank saw a white bandage wrapped neatly around his bicep. His eyes were red and sunken, and smears of dry blood were evident on his face, as well. He looked as if he had aged five years in the night. "Dad," he said woodenly.

Danny stepped closer to him, hovering at his side. "Kid," he said brokenly. "Kid, I-"

"It's okay." Jamie shook his head, eyes lowering. "I'm all right."

"What happened?" Frank asked softly, gripping the metal rails at the foot of the bed.

Jamie met his eyes. "I got shot."

The sudden impact was a hand grenade shattering his shoulder, a garbage truck mowing him down. He was on the ground before he even knew what had hit him, twisting onto his stomach in agony, his chest a fiery mass of pain.

"Did you see where they were shooting from?"

"The roof. I didn't get a good look." Jamie dropped his head to worry the edge of the folded hospital gown someone had left in his lap. "I knew it was an ambush. I tried to warn Vinny, but there wasn't time. The whole quad was empty. They set us up."

"Just like they did me," Danny muttered. "Only this time they were loaded. Jesus, kid..."

"You were hit first?" Frank asked quietly.

Jamie nodded. "I heard Vinny get hit but I didn't see it. I got to cover... and..."

A hail of bullets, screaming through the air, chewing into concrete. Jamie dove behind the wall for cover, moving on instinct, when he realized Vinny wasn't at his side. He twisted around only to see his partner sprawled on his back, blood pooling in the latch of his throat. His eyes were glazed and looked dead already.

"You pulled him back under fire?" Danny asked.

"I had to. He would've died."

Frank and Danny exchanged a look that Jamie either didn't see or chose to ignore. "Jamie... do you think you can talk to investigators tonight?" Frank asked gently. "It would help them to have your statement as soon as you can give it."

"Yeah. I should probably talk to them while it's all still fresh, right?"

"Only if you feel up to it, kid."

"I do. I have to. Vinny, he... I got him back, you know? But he, um... he couldn't hold on."

Or wouldn't, maybe, because Jamie was begging him, and his hands were wet with Vinny's blood, but all Vinny could do was smile. Smile, and drift away, and Jamie wrapped his own body around him as though it might ground him, might keep him there just a few minutes longer. He clutched his partner tight and for as much life as Vinny Cruz had, Jamie couldn't tell when his partner slipped from life to death, or when the body in his arms became just that.

Gentle arms came around Jamie himself, this time from his father and brother. "I'm so sorry, Jamie. God, I'm so sorry."

But Jamie wasn't listening anymore.

)()()()()()()()(

Danny decided to stay with Jamie, after that. Frank had to get back to the business of the PC's office, after all, and as adamant as he was about sticking close to Jamie, there was work to be done. So Danny stayed at Jamie's side through the rest of the family coming to visit, and through the official questioning, until he finally had pain killers and muscle relaxants and "a little something for sleep" in hand from the doctors. Danny had secured a patrol car to take them back to Jamie's apartment, and had hovered close to his brother throughout, eager to be of use for whatever Jamie needed - a shoulder to cry on, a punching bag, a listening ear. Personally, Danny was still reeling a bit from the evening himself and wanted to be within poking distance of his little brother, just for reassurance. He was surprised that Jamie neither protested nor asked for a thing. Jamie told the story haltingly when asked, drank water when pressed, sat where he was directed.

As best Danny could figure it, the only mistake he himself made in his constant vigilance over Jamie that night was hitting the john. He hadn't been gone five minutes when he came out to find his brother doing a fine imitation of a pigeon on the fire escape, and thus the longest night had begun.

Danny's feet were going numb and he was checking his phone for the thousandth time when Jamie suddenly spoke. His voice was almost lost in the darkness; in the steady fall of rain. "Did you know Vinny grew up in the Bitter End?"

Danny straightened a little, sticking his head further out the window. Jamie was almost within arm's reach, but muddled and indistinct in the darkness. "I didn't know that, kid."

"He was a great cop. I mean, I hated him at first when we got paired up, but he knew what he was doing. He was a good guy. Wore the shield for the right reasons."

"Yeah." Danny heard the door to Jamie's loft opening, and he twisted to see his father hurrying in, rain still dripping off his overcoat despite the elevator ride to the twelfth floor. Danny motioned him over. "Vinny knew his way around over there, huh?"

"He was so determined to make things right. I didn't even tell you about the mentally challenged kid we helped in a hallway the night of the suicide." Danny could almost hear Jamie's teeth chattering, and he exchanged a quick, concerned look with his father before scooting over to make room for Frank at the window. "We could've gotten killed in that hallway right then. But he always did the right thing. He had a good heart. He was a good guy."

"He was. Hey Jamie, Dad's here," Danny called. "We're both here, okay? And I think you've been outside long enough."

"I can't believe this happened," Jamie whispered. "Why did this happen?"

Frank turned to Danny, his face lined deeply with grief. "Go to him, Danny."

"I don't know if I should," he replied in a whisper, somewhat desperately. "This was always Joe's thing. I don't know what to say..."

"Go," Frank insisted quietly, and after a moment's hesitation, Danny eased himself out the window, holding tight to the fire escape railing to ensure he didn't slip on the wet metal. Jamie's loft was high enough that there was a thick network of fire escape levels below him, obscuring his view of the street, but it was still a little nerve-wracking, especially given the steady rain. Danny crouched down slowly next to his brother, eyeing him with some trepidation, but again, Jamie didn't move and barely acknowledged him at all.

Danny hunched his shoulders against the breeze. God, Jamie had to be an icicle by now. "Kid, you've got to get inside. Have you taken any of those pills from the hospital yet?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Why don't you come on?" Danny asked gently, reaching out got him. "Come on, Jamie."

He shook his head, then hitched in a breath. "What do I do, Danny?"

Danny bit his lip. "You've... you've just gotta get through it, kid," he said, speaking over the steady rush of rain. "There's no getting over it. You've gotta go through. And that's what you're doing. Going straight through."

Jamie swallowed. "Mom never wanted me to be a cop," he said softly. "Look at me. She was right."

"No," Danny snapped. "Jamie, God. C'mon. You've been incredible as a cop. This thing, this thing that happened, there wasn't anything you could do."

Jamie closed his eyes.

Danny bit his lip. "Jamie, c'mon. You gonna stay out on this fire escape forever or what?"

"I like to be out at night," he mumbled.

"You've been out here too long," Danny pressed. "It's time to come back in, kid."

"It'll be dawn soon." He huddled down on himself.

From his place at the window, Danny saw his father grimace. "It's not going to be any better in the light, son," he said gently. After a moment's hesitation, he spoke again. "Have you ever heard of Alison Croggon?"

Jamie didn't reply, so Danny scoffed on his behalf. "Dad, we've never heard of anybody you ask about," he said with forced lightness. "And do you really think this is what we oughta be talking about right now?"

"Alison Croggon," Frank continued, unruffled, "is an Australian poet. And she once said, 'While the heart beats, hope lingers.'"

Jamie straightened, visibly shaking from the cold. "I don't have a lot of hope left right now, Dad. Vinny died for nothing. Don't you get that? He died for nothing. Just like Joe did. He's dead, and for what?"

Frank opened his mouth to speak, but Danny beat him to it. "Jamie, Vinny died doing the same thing you do. That all of us do. He died to make this city a safer place. He died taking care of people."

"But he's dead, and I'm not," Jamie whispered. "And that can't be right."

"Little brother, I'm sorry," Danny said. "I've been where you are. I wouldn't wish it on anyone in the world."

And as Frank watched from the window, Danny sat down next to Jamie, huddling close to his brother on the fire escape that looked out over a wet, bleak New York City night. He pulled Jamie's head into his shoulder and for a moment there was silence, and Frank recognized it instantly as that horrible, silent part of a cry that heralds the worst sort of grief. And when it came, it was muffled against Danny's coat and Danny put his arms tight around Jamie as if to absorb all he could, but Frank could hear it still.

Jamie's grief pierced the night, and Frank's and Danny's souls died a little with his, in that dark place before the dawn.

"A girl calls and asks, 'Does it hurt very much to die?' 'Well, sweetheart,' I tell her, 'Yes, but it hurts a lot more to keep living.'"

- Chuck Palahniuk