"I…I'm drowning, Doc."
"I'm on my way. Danny, where are you?"
He couldn't answer, he couldn't find the breath to say the words, and the psychologist asked, "Are you at the precinct?"
"Yeah," he sighed.
"I'm on my way, Danny. Stay there. Call Linda."
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A cup of hot cocoa appeared in his peripheral vision, and Dr. Dawson sat down next to him. He looked up at the doc—just lifting his head took effort, as though he were trying to move underwater—and put his head back in his hand.
He swallowed hard. "You said not to wait 'till I'm drowning to reach out. It's too late, Doc," he whispered. "I'm drowning. I need help."
"I'm listening, Danny," Dr. Dawson said. "But first…have you told Linda you'll be home late? She should know."
"What time is it?"
"A little after nine. You really should call her, Danny."
He shook his head numbly. "I can't…she can't see me…I can't talk to her."
"If you want, I can call her."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
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Alex Dawson took the phone, rose, and stepped out of earshot of the traumatized detective—but still close enough that he could see him. Before calling Linda, though, he went to another one of Danny's contacts.
"'Ello?"
"Sergeant Gormley, this is Dr. Alex Dawson."
"Aww, hell, doc, is Danny alright?"
"No, far from it. Does he have any sick days accrued, and can he take one of them tomorrow?"
"That bad, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, I'll take him off tomorrow. I don't envy you telling him that."
"Thanks, Sergeant. Good night."
He hung up, pressed speed-dial 1.
Linda answered on the second ring. "Hey, Danny."
"Linda, this is Dr. Dawson. Danny's fine. Physically, he's fine."
"But not emotionally, which is why you're calling me. Did the soldier…?"
"Danny tried to talk Corporal Russell down, but the Corporal committed suicide right in front of Danny."
He heard a stifled sob. "O no…how is he?"
"He's grieving, he's in shock, and he's blaming himself. His partner drove them back to the precinct, and when they finished their paperwork, Danny called me of his own accord, which is huge for him. I have a feeling we'll be here all night—and I already talked to Sergeant Gormley: he'll take Danny off tomorrow."
"Help him, Doc, please…get him to open up. He's been simmering since this case started; he snapped at Jack the other day; he's not sleeping, he's not eating… He needs to work through this before he breaks."
"That's what I'm planning to do, Linda. It's a good sign that he reached out. I'll do my best to help him."
"Thanks, doc. Can I talk to him? Just to say good night."
"Just a sec."
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"Linda wants to say good night. I'd take it, if I were you. She's worried." Doc held the phone out, and Danny took it.
Dimly, through the pounding anger and shame and grief in his head, he heard Linda say "I love you, babe."
"Love you…more," he whispered, cursing as his voice cracked.
"Love you most." She paused. "I'm proud of you, Danny…I'm proud of you for calling Dr. Dawson, for being willing to talk to him. Let him help you, Danny. I love you," she said again.
"Love you most." He hung up the phone, threw it down on the desk, and glanced over at the doc.
He swallowed hard, mouthed the words silently, licked his dry lips. It felt like an eternity before he could say the words.
"I couldn't save him, Doc," he whispered.
"It's not your fault."
He bolted upright at that, slamming his fist down on the desk. "I let a fellow soldier fall to his death! I stood there, and I did nothing! How the hell is that not my fault?" He slumped down, leaned his head on his hand again. "I should've…waited for backup, called ESU, something, dammit!"
"And if you'd waited, he might have taken Tommy with him when he jumped." The doctor paused for a minute. "I ran into Detective Baez on my way in. She says you talked with John, you stayed up there talking with him. Sounds to me like you did a lot."
"I should've saved him." His voice broke, and he cursed under his breath.
"Danny, he…Danny, he had already made up his mind. John…chose to fall off that roof. He wanted to die. He saw death as the only escape from the PTSD that was consuming him. If you had tried to force him off that ledge…it's possible he would have dragged you with him—to your death. Would you have wanted to do that to Linda, to Jack, to Sean?"
He shook his head, held his breath at the thought.
"Breathe, Danny."
He flinched at the grip of a warm hand on his arm. "Breathe with me, Danny. In through your nose…one, two, three, four…out through your mouth…one, two, three four, five." He let out a shaky breath, and the doc let go of his arm. "That's it, there you go. Can I ask again, would you have wanted Linda, Jack, and Sean to have to go through that?"
He shook his head numbly.
"Walk me through what happened on that roof, Danny."
He shifted in his chair, scrubbed at his face with his hands. "I was at dinner when Baez called; TARU had traced John's cell. Baez and I…found him on the roof of his old apartment. Tommy was with him. He let Tommy go…Baez took him downstairs…and it was just me and John, on the roof. I wanted to talk to him, vet to vet. I told him I'd done two tours, I told him I know about the RPG's, the IED's, the nightmares, the fear, and the anger." He swallowed. He would never be able to forget the words he had said on that roof. He had opened up, and still he'd failed. He had failed to save the life of a fellow soldier.
"He said…he said it would be better for his wife and his son…if he jumped. I told him no, Tommy needed him. He said Tommy didn't need a dad who had something wrong with him. I told him if he made it through that hellhole over there, he could make it through this one; he could get through this. I…"
He beat the desk again with his fists. "Dammit, I promised him I'd help him myself. I would've listened to him, soldier to soldier…dammitall!"
A stray tear rolled down his face, and he swiped it away angrily. "He pulled out his medal… said he got it when he lost his five best friends, said he didn't know why he survived. I told him he survived so he could get back to his family. He said no, he got it 'cause he was quick. Then…he snapped to attention, recited the damned drill: 'What are the two types of people in this world, soldier?' 'The quick and the dead, sir.' 'What are you?' 'The quick.' 'What are they?' 'The dead.' I said, 'John, look at me. It's time to come home.' Then he said 'I don't want to be quick anymore.' He saluted me. I said, 'Don't do this.' And then he…dammit …he let himself fall backwards."
He was back on the rooftop, hands beating the concrete wall as he screamed "John!" at the top of his lungs and then sank to the roof, his head in his hands.
He flinched at the touch of a hand on his arm, and realized he was pounding his desk with his fists. "Dammit!"
"I'm sorry you had to see that. It wasn't your fault, Danny," Dr. Dawson said gently. "I promise you. It wasn't your fault."
"I couldn't save him, Doc." The tears he'd held back earlier were slipping down his face now, but he didn't stop them.
"I know. I'm sorry, Danny." The doc let go of his arm, and he shivered. "What did you do then?"
"I…I…screamed his name and then…I ran to the wall and…looked down…and saw him…on the ground. And then I…sorta crumpled onto the rooftop. I…don't know…how long I sat there…before Baez came. We did all the usual crap we needed to, made sure Tommy got home safe; then Baez drove us back here, and we filled out all the paperwork, and now here I am."
"You normally drive, Danny. Why did your partner feel she needed to drive back?"
"Why do you think? Because I couldn't! I was shaking, I couldn't see straight…all I could see in my head, over and over, was John falling off that roof."
"You were in shock, which is a perfectly normal reaction to seeing someone end their own life right in front of you."
He took another swallow of hot cocoa. It was cold, and he frowned, pushed it away. How long had they been sitting here?
He let out a shaky breath. "Jack gave a family history presentation in school on Friday. He said that he knew that I made a difference in someone's life every single day…" He sighed, blinked back the tears. "I don't, Doc. I couldn't save John Russell."
"Danny, you saved Tommy. You saved the life of a scared little boy. And you saved Mrs. Russell from losing her only child."
"But I couldn't save a fellow soldier. Again."
"Which leads us back to your guilt over your brother Joe and over your time in Fallujah."
"I can't talk about that, doc."
"The Army let John Russell down…didn't get him the help he needed. Just like the Marines let you down. It's been what…six years, Danny?
"I can't talk about it."
"You can't, or you won't?" The words hung in the air, and he picked up the coffee cup to hide his shaking hands. "Have you ever talked about it, Danny?"
While he was being so damn honest, might as well keep it up. "Just enough to get through the mandatory evals."
"Linda said you haven't been sleeping, you haven't been eating…you've been so on edge, you snapped at Jack. Just…say the word, Danny, and I'll help you."
He set the cup down, leaned his head in his hands, and looked at the picture of his family on his desk. It blurred in front of him, and he remembered Jack's face on Friday…the fear that he had seen in his older son's eyes—the fear that he had put there.
He took a shaky breath, let it out. "I…can't do this anymore, Doc. I need help."
"Good job, Danny. That's the first step. You've had a long couple of days, so we'll stop here. I'm free tomorrow at 3. Does that work for you?"
"Long as a case doesn't come up, yeah."
The doc sighed. "About that, Danny. A case won't come up. I called Sergeant Gormley, told him you needed the day off."
He was surprised the hot anger didn't rise to chew out the doctor. "Doc…you can't…"
"Already did, Danny. Come on, I'll drive you home."
"I'm not gonna drive off a cliff, if that's what you're worried about, Doc. I can drive myself home."
"No can do, Danny. You haven't eaten all day, plus I already told Linda I'd drive you home."
He blinked. "When…how…?"
"Linda said you haven't been eating, and you told me that your partner called you away from family dinner." He stood up. "Come on, Danny. It's time to go home."
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He got out of the car, then turned to the doctor. "Thanks, Doc."
"Anytime, Danny. Get some sleep, and I'll see you at 3 p.m. okay?"
He nodded once, sharply, then walked through the door and into the welcoming arms of his beautiful and patient wife.