A/N: Apologies for the almost-year-long delay since I updated this. I had a severe case of writer's block, then real life was crazy stressful, and some other fanfiction things have been keeping me busy.
He paced the bare, sterile, barely-lived in bedroom, until he heard Doc leave.
Then he stalked downstairs, finished his breakfast, and drove to the cemetery.
He sat there until quiet footsteps sounded behind him.
Without turning, he said, "You can't sneak up on me, Doc."
"Wasn't trying to. I was hoping we could finish our conversation," Doc said, sitting down next to him.
He shrugged. "Nothing to talk about. Sean wishes I were dead—he said as much a few weeks ago, remember? He and Jack would both be better off if I were dead."
"And that is what concerns me: you thinking that your boys would be better off if you had died instead of Linda."
"I'm not having this conversation right now, Doc."
"I'm afraid you are. You're benched for the rest of the day, per your father's orders, and on desk duty until I clear you to carry your weapon."
"Dammit, Doc, you can't do that! I'm not suicidal! I have bills to pay…the boys' tuition for this quarter, rent is due tomorrow, I can't sit around paying you $100 an hour to get my head shrunk, if I'm not working!"
"You know my rates have been much less since Linda's death. I get that you're a single father now. Stop deflecting."
"Deflecting? I'm not deflecting, Doc! I just…"
He shook his head, stood up, and walked to a nearby tree, his back to Doc.
"I miss her, Doc. I…don't know how to…do this without her. I've been trying to make the very small steps…going out for pizza just the three of us, ordering one that had those damn mushrooms on it… getting the boys the basketball hoop. Something Dad said a few months ago…about being stuck in quicksand after he lost Mom. I'm stuck in quicksand and there are no very small steps that will get me out. I just get more and more bogged down," he whispered.
"That's why I want you to take a few days off. Spend some time with your boys. Use that basketball hoop."
He nodded. "It's less than a month till…the first Christmas…without her."
"I know. And that is going to be hard, Danny. And we are going to talk about ways to get through that without hitting the bottle. But tying yourself in knots worrying about what that's going to do to you and the boys…is not gonna help."
He nodded dully, and shivered. He hadn't grabbed his coat when he left.
"Danny. Tell me one thing that was out of your control on May 28."
He flinched a little at the mention of the date. "I worked late. I was on a case, I couldn't just drop it and go home. But I still should have…."
The hand on his shoulder made him jump. "Stop, Danny. No more shoulds. There is nothing you could have done. You're not omniscient. You didn't know the helicopter was going to crash. You didn't know Linda was going to get on the helicopter. You could not have changed the outcome. And beating yourself up now…is not helping you or the boys."
He nodded tiredly. "You've said this every week for the past six months."
"And I'll keep saying it until you internalize it and believe it, Danny."
"What if I never can?"
"You will. Be patient with yourself, Danny."
Patience. Not his strong suit on his best day, and this…the past six months…had been 180 of his worst days.
He sighed.
Doc's eyes were boring a hole in him. "Tell me one thing you can do to move forward."
He shrugged.
"Have you played a game of basketball with your boys lately?"
"Not since we set up the hoop."
"Then that's your homework for the day: when the boys get home from school, play basketball with them. Three games. And text me the winner."
"Seriously, Doc? My shrink homework is to play a game of basketball?"
"Three games: you against the boys, you and Jack against Sean, and you and Sean against Jack."
"Whatever. You're not gonna make me do some heavy-duty, nonsensical shrink assignment?"
"Nope. I'll see you next Monday. Call me if you need to before then."
Doc left, and Danny went home and did a load of laundry.
He lost the first game to the boys, Sean won the second game, and he and Sean won the third.
That Sunday was family game night at the new house, but Danny couldn't focus.
He went into the backyard to take a call from Baez, and was trying to find a convincing way to tell his family that he needed to go to work, when the door opened. He looked up to see Erin. "Thought you were playing Scattergories with them."
"Taking a break, boys are making popcorn."
He nodded. "Look, I…I've gotta go to work for a bit."
"At 8 o'clock on a Sunday, Danny? When you told us at family dinner that you were benched until tomorrow?"
His shoulders slumped.
"What's going on, Danny?" Erin asked gently.
"I…there's something I need to get out of my desk. Can you stay with them until I'm back?"
Erin nodded, and Danny drove to the precinct.
He unlocked his desk drawer, pulled out the box in the back. Letters Linda had written to him when he was in Fallujah. He didn't know why he'd kept them here instead of at home, but he was glad now—because they had escaped the fire.
He drove to the cemetery and sat in his car and read through every single one of the 78 letters.
He was asleep, the letters held tightly in his hand, when Baez called him at 8 am to ask why he wasn't at work yet.
He swore and raced to the precinct.