Tonight could have ended so differently.
He'd made a rookie mistake—a really, f-g stupid rookie mistake: he'd turned when the semi honked. That had given the kid the chance to rush at him with the screwdriver.
He hadn't had a choice.
He'd had to fire…he'd aimed for center mass because that was what they'd been taught…and now the kid was dead.
He'd checked and checked and checked for a pulse while dialing 911,
And when the EMT's and his fellow NYPD members—both uniforms and detectives—arrived, he followed protocol: gave them his shirt for evidence, answered all the questions, let the EMT's check him out, told the young paramedic five times that he didn't wanna go to the hospital. Of course his blood pressure and heartrate were high—he'd just nearly been screwdriver-ed to death!
He'd barely saved himself from asking Baez "What does anything matter?" and was grateful no one tried to offer him a ride home.
He'd driven home a little more slowly than usual, because he was actually shaking, and his head is pounding and his heart is racing and this could have ended so differently.
It could have been him, or the kid could have been Sean…
But he can't think about that now.
He shakes his head, sighs when he sees Erin's car parked in front of his house. Should have known someone would show up.
He can't keep blustering that he's fine when Erin looks at him and asks again if he's okay, so he shrugs. He's exhausted and he really hopes she just leaves.
He cuts her off when she tries to talk about how the boys can't lose another parent. He can't handle this conversation right now.
He goes upstairs, turns on the shower and the fan…because his kid sister has apparently decided she's spending the night, and he doesn't want her to hear him crying. Not that he's a crier, but…he was nearly screwdriver-ed to death, and he killed a kid, and he could have been killed, and then his boys would have been orphans, and he's already screwing up the single-parent thing, and he wishes Linda were here…and all of that is making him a little choked-up.
He leans on the counter, stares at himself in the mirror. He's glad for the protocols and procedures, glad that they'd taken his shirt as evidence, glad that the EMT had a spare scrub top that sorta fitted. Damn, he'd lost weight since Linda…
He takes a shaky, shuddering breath. It had been so close tonight…so close to him joining her again, and as much as he's wanted that, he doesn't wanna die. He just wants to be reunited with Linda…minus the whole…agonizing death-by-screwdriver thing. Which was why he'd done what he'd been trained to do, and shot the kid.
He wipes his face, curses when he feels the tears.
The door rattles. "Dad?"
Damn, he'd thought Sean was asleep.
He scrubs his face, plasters on his "everything-is-fine" expression, and opens the door, leaving the shower still running.
"You should be in bed, kiddo."
Sean shakes his head. "I couldn't sleep. Aunt Erin said you were involved in a shooting…but you'd just gotten off the phone with me. What happened?"
He shrugs. "You know I can't really talk about it, Sean. Ongoing investigation."
"Are you in trouble?"
"I did what I needed to do so I could come home to you and your brother," he says shakily.
"You mean you could've…you almost died tonight?"
He hasn't seen that fear in Sean's eyes since Linda's death, and he claps his son on the shoulder. "Not 'almost,' but…there was a bit of a situation. But I'm home now."
Sean shrugs his hand off. "Dad, I'm not a kid anymore! I heard you talking to Aunt Erin. Did you nearly get stabbed to death tonight?"
That had been loud enough, Erin had to have heard it, even with the shower running, and he hopes she stays downstairs.
"Yes, but I didn't. I'm okay. Now go to sleep, you have school."
Sean hugs him so tightly he can't breathe for a second, then goes back to his room.
Danny closes and locks the door, then sits on the cold bathroom floor and dials Doc.
"Hey, Danny, what's wrong?"
"I…it's…I'm sorry to call you so late."
"It's okay, Danny. Where are you? Are you safe?"
"Yeah, I'm at home," he says, and tries not to sniffle. Just hearing Doc's voice is making him teary again, dammit.
"What happened?"
"I…was getting gas, and saw…something was going on inside, and then this kid comes at me, with some story that he'd been robbed, and he's coming at me, then he pulls out a screwdriver and…I…I had to shoot him before he stabbed me. He couldn't have been more than 20."
"I'm so sorry, Danny. Were you hurt? Did someone check you out?"
"EMTs, and I'm fine, just…other than Baez and my sister looking at me like they're expecting me to fall apart."
"Do you want me to come over?"
"No, Erin's downstairs, that'll freak her out if I have my shrink come over. No offense."
"None taken, Danny. How are you feeling?"
He hates that question, so he pretend-coughs to give himself a minute.
He stands up to get his water, and knocks it on the floor.
It shatters, and he jumps back, his back hitting the wall and his phone flying out of his hand.
Damn, he hadn't had a reaction that bad since the first few years after Fallujah. Just a glass, Reagan. Not an IED. No need to go batshit crazy, he tells himself.
Erin's pounding on the door. "Danny! Are you okay?"
"I'm fine; I just broke a glass, give me a minute to get dressed," he lies. Maybe that'll stall her.
"I'll get the broom," she offers, and he kicks the counter. He is not ready to face her.
"Dammit, I'm perfectly capable of cleaning up broken glass, Erin! Now please go home and leave me the hell alone!" he yells.
He waits until he's heard the front door close, then goes downstairs to get the broom. Sean's looking inside the fridge. "Why were you yelling at Aunt Erin?"
"She was being nosy. It's way past your bedtime, Sean, go to bed, or no video games or computer after school tomorrow. I'm fine."
Sean gives him the Reagan stare—the one that means "I know you're lying"—but goes upstairs.
He cuts his hand picking up the bigger pieces of glass, and is downstairs trying to find bandages, and wondering why he doesn't keep any in the bathroom, when his phone rings.
He ignores it.
He bandages his hand, finishes cleaning up the glass, and takes the longest shower in the history of showers.
He's getting ready to call Doc back when his phone buzzes.
He has a text from Doc: "Open the door please, Danny."
Great. This night's just getting better.
His shrink is so worried about him, he's making a house call.
Why can't anyone leave him alone?