He's been at his desk all of five minutes Monday when Gormley says, "Reagan, my office."
Wondering what he's done now, he follows the boss to his office.
"You're back on modified assignment. You know the drill."
He hands over his gun and badge. "Sarge, honest, I didn't do anything."
Gormley looked him in the eyes. "I got a call from a Dr. Alex Dawson telling me that you're suicidal. You can't be full duty till you're cleared. You're a house mouse, Danny."
He punches the filing cabinet. "Dammit! That sonofa…! He never said he would tell you! I thought the whole damn session was confidential!"
"He's obligated to report when a patient is suicidal, Danny."
He kicks the desk. "I'm not his patient! Linda just…freaked out and made me talk to him."
He storms out of the precinct, goes to his car, and peels out of the parking-lot.
He looks at his phone at a red light, sees nine texts from Gormley. He's suspended. Damn.
He drives mindlessly until blue lights flash behind him. He glances down, sees he's going almost 60 in a 45 zone, and puts his blinker on. He slows down, pulls over, rolls down his window.
"Excuse me, Sir…Danny?"
O crap, he's been pulled over by his kid brother.
"What's wrong, Danny?"
"Nothing, just got some bad news."
"Is it Linda? The boys?"
"Can you give me the ticket and get the…" he was going to ask for Jamie to leave him alone, but those aren't the words that come out of his mouth—"Can you talk for a few minutes?"
Jamie talks to Renzulli for a minute, then gets in the passenger seat. "This is cutting into my lunch break, so you owe me a hot dog later. What's going on?"
He can't look at his kid brother. "I was just put on modified."
"Why? What'd you do?"
He wants to lash out, ask why it has to be something he did, why he's always the bad guy. But he's too tired to lash out. "Almost ate my gun Friday night."
Jamie punches him in the arm. "Danny, don't you dare…" He stops, gives him a once-over. "You're not joking."
He shakes his head, suddenly exhausted. "No. No, I'm not."
"What happened?"
"You know how the coma I was in last month made me think I'd just gotten back from Fallujah? Well, there's been some stuff going on, and Friday night I almost ate my gun—literally—and when I told Linda she just left the room, and…"
"Why did she leave?"
"To make sure my weapon was in the safe."
His kid brother nods sagely. "That…that's probably the first thing I'd do too, make sure you couldn't hurt yourself right then."
"She left. I coulda had my weapon still on my belt."
"You'd been home a couple hours by then, Danny; I think Linda knew it wasn't still on your belt. She needed to confirm that, though, to ease her mind."
"You sound like a Harvard law professor, or a shrink—not a cop!"
"Right now, all I am is your concerned brother. I think you need to talk to Linda. Come on, Renzulli and I will make sure you get home okay."
"Uh, Harvard, this is my car. You're sitting in it. You and Renzulli have a beat to get back to."
"Neither Renzulli nor I are gonna let you drive off by yourself, after you just told me you're suicidal. Come on, I'll ride home with you; Renzulli can follow us, and then I'll get back to work. Just to ease my mind. Please?"
In the end, he accedes. He really doesn't wanna know what Jamie told Renzulli…he's sure by the end of the day, it'll be all over the 12th precinct.
He gets Jamie talking about sports so they don't talk about him and his mental state.
He walks in the house, sighs when he finds Linda cleaning the kitchen floor. He'd hoped she wouldn't be home. "Danny, what's wrong? Why are you home at 10 a.m.?"
He gets a glass of water, sinks into a chair at the kitchen table. "First Gormley tells me I'm on modified because Dawson had the balls to call the precinct and tell him I'm suicidal. I stormed out, got a speeding ticket from my kid brother, and just got a text from Gormley: I'm suspended. Probably 'cause of storming out instead of staying and working my desk shift."
She leans the mop against the fridge, sits down next to him. "Danny, you know Dawson had an obligation to report. Why didn't you work your shift? You've been modified before."
"This is the first time I've been modified because I'm freaking suicidal."
He jumps a little when she scoots closer to him, takes his hands in hers. "Danny, I know the concussion rattled you, got you thinking about Fallujah more than you wanted to, but…why do you want to kill yourself?"
He doesn't think he can answer that question. Probably couldn't, if someone paid him to.
He shrugs. "Just…seems easier."
"Easier than what?" she asks, and he recoils a little at her tone.
"Easier than living with the memories of what happened over there."
"What happened over there, Danny?"
He shakes his head. "Thing that scared me the most when I was over there…and the fear just got worse when Joe was killed…dying, without you there. Getting hurt on the job and bleeding out, alone. That's why it hurt so much when you left Friday night."
"I…I'm sorry I left, Danny. I just…needed to know you didn't have your gun."
"Why didn't you ask me?"
"Because I was afraid that…that if you did have it, you would turn it on yourself."
"So you left me alone, when you weren't sure if I had it or not."
"I'm sorry! I screwed up, Danny! I'm sorry!"
He nods. "I…I'm sorry, too. For freaking out when you left, for overreacting."
"Can I give you a hug?" she asks.
"You don't have to ask," he mumbles.
She hugs him tightly. "Yeah, I do. You've been so on-edge lately, I don't want to startle you. C'mere."
He lets her pull him upstairs, and falls asleep listening to her heartbeat.
