A/N: Tag: chapter 57 of Drowning: Danny did his fitness-for-duty eval; doesn't know the results. He couldn't call Linda because his phone died; he went for a drive and ended up at Corporal Russell's apartment, where Doc finds him after some well-placed phone calls. This picks up once Danny gets home to Linda.

She hugs him tightly the instant he walks in the door. "Don't do that again, Danny!"

"I…I called you."

"You had a six-hour fitness for duty eval, and I didn't hear from you until 4 p.m.—more than 2 hours after it was supposed to be over! I didn't know if you'd…"

He sags against her, and she realizes he's freezing. It's in the low 50's, but not too bad. "Babe, I thought you just got home from Doc's. why do you feel like you've been sitting in a freezer?"

He shrugs. "I'm cleared for modified duty. It hasn't even been three months since…"

At first, she thinks he means three months since Corporal Russell's suicide; then she realizes…he means three months since the car crash.

She swallows the lump in her throat. "That's good, babe, right? That means you won't be sitting around going stir-crazy. It will give you something to do—even if it is just paperwork and video surveillance."

He nods dully. He seems spacey, dazed, and that worries her. "Danny, where were you when Doc called? You said you'd been for a walk?"

He nods. "I drove…to Corporal Russell's apartment. I was going to…go up to the roof and see…try to convince myself that there was nothing I could do to save him. But I was too…I couldn't do it."

"You were too…what?" she asks, having learned to not let Danny leave his sentences dangling. Not when he's talking about these subjects. He has to finish his thoughts. She doesn't quite understand the psychological importance, but Doc says it's important; and Doc is the reason her husband is alive and in her arms now instead of next to his brother in the cemetery, so she trusts him.

"Too…cowardly."

"What do you mean you were too cowardly?"

"I…was afraid if I went up on the roof, I might…do something stupid."

"On purpose or on impulse?"

He shrugs, tries to pull away, but she holds him gently. "Accidentally. So I…sat on the curb and…"

"How long were you there for?"

"Dunno. What time did Doc call you?"

"A little after 5."

"Hour-and-a-half, maybe. No one bothered me. I just…sat there."

"What were you thinking about?"

He shudders and snuggles a little closer. "The past four months. The hell I've…" He clears his throat. "The hell I've put you and the boys and my family through."

"You've been through hell, too, Danny, don't act like you haven't been suffering through all of this, too."

"But I…I shouldn't have been…putting it on you and the boys, putting you through hell."

The self-loathing in his voice breaks her heart. She pulls away a little so she can look him in the eye. "It wasn't your fault, Danny. You didn't wake up one day and decide 'I think I'm going to be depressed and suicidal and have PTSD so bad I try to kill myself three times in the next four months'; it just…happened. Yes, it scared me and the boys, but it wasn't…you couldn't control it, Danny. Please don't blame yourself."

"I should have been able to…"

She kisses him—an effective method at stopping the self-hatred that still spews out of him far more often than she'd like. "Danny, babe, you're spiraling. Take a deep breath with me, okay? In…through your nose, and out…through your mouth."

He takes a few, shaky breaths, and kisses her. "Thank you. I'm sorry I'm…"

"Danny, no more apologies, okay, babe? Let's get you warmed up."

"It's only in the 50's," he says through chattering teeth as he follows her upstairs, "and I…Doc said air conditioning was a good…grounding tool. So I had the a/c going full blast in the car."

She runs a hot bath, not surprised when he falls asleep in her arms.

She's running her fingers through his hair and enjoying this rare moment of relaxation, when there's a knock on the bedroom door. "Mom, I'm hungry!"

She doesn't want to yell and startle Danny, but she can't leave him asleep in the tub alone, and the boys also have been needing more reassurance lately—something their therapist has said is normal.

She wakes Danny gently, gets him wrapped in a towel, and gets dressed herself. "Sean, you are fully capable of making yourself a snack. Please don't bother Mom and Dad when the door's locked unless it's an emergency."

"But we're all out of grape jelly!"

"Then just make peanut butter toast, or cheese and crackers. There are apples on the counter that need to be eaten," she says, and closes the door.

She counts to ten as she listens to her 11-year-old go pounding down the stairs, then goes back to Danny.