After a great 4 days camping with his grandfather, father, brother, and son, Danny came home a day early to take care of a few things. He caught a case on Sunday that barely left him time to eat or sleep until Gormley kicked him and Baez out of the office at 8 p.m. Monday.

He knocked on Doc's door at 8:30 p.m. "Sorry I'm late, Doc. Tough case. You didn't have to wait around."

"Danny, when you asked to continue these sessions, I told you I would be available whenever you needed to talk. How was the camping trip?"

"Good. Look, Doc, that's not why I'm here."

"I know. How have the nightmares been?"

He glared at the younger man. "You're assuming that that wasn't a one-off last week."

"Uh, uh, uh, Danny. You described the nightmare as 'the usual, with an added twist.' Tells me you've had nightmares about your time in Fallujah before. All I'm asking right now is, have you had any more nightmares since we talked last week? Did they affect the camping trip?"

"None on the camping trip." He sighed, looked down at his shoes. "Bad one Saturday night."

"What happened Saturday?"

He stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out at the dark city. His shoulders slump, and he let out a sigh. "I came back a day early from our camping trip so I could go to John Russell's funeral. It was a closed-coffin, because…you know. Mrs. Russell thanked me for saving Tommy, Tommy thanked me…and I told them I was sorry I couldn't save John."

"Did Linda go with you?"

"Yeah." He closed his eyes, remembering the fight that morning.

"Linda, I'll be fine. I appreciate the offer, but you don't need to come with me. I'm not going to break down if I go alone." Actually, he probably would—all the more reason to go alone.

"Danny, you don't need to go alone. I'm here, and I'm willing to go with you, to be there for you."

He'd shaken his head, his fingers trembling as he tried to tie his tie. "Linda, I need to do this—and I need to do it alone."

She'd come over, taken the tie from him, and kissed him, long and hard. "Cut the macho crap, Danny. Let me be there for you, please."

"You know I can't say 'no' to you when you do that, Linda," he'd groaned. "Go on, get ready."

"I didn't want her to, but she can be very…persuasive." He let out a shaky breath, walked back to his chair, and slumped into it.

Doc smirked. "I see. Why did she want to go with you so badly?"

"So she could be there for me."

"How did the funeral make you feel?"

He bolted upright. "Dammit, Doc, can't you come up with another version of that question?"

Doc held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. What were you thinking during the funeral? Did you have any flashbacks, any memories?"

"Only every single military and police funeral I've been to in my life, plus re-living every second on that damn rooftop."

"That must have been rough. How did you handle those?"

"Linda held my hand, squeezed it when she could tell I was flashing back."

"So her presence there helped?" He shrugged, and Dr. Dawson asked gently, "Did the two of you go to the burial?"

He swallowed hard. "Yeah," he whispered. "Mrs. Russell and...Tommy asked me to; I hadn't wanted to, but we went. It was a military burial—taps and the flag and everything."

"I think it's a good thing that you went, Danny; hopefully it will help you find closure." He paused. "Did you cry?"

"I plead the fifth, doc."

The doc chuckled, shook his head. "This isn't a courtroom, Danny; this is a place where you actually heal if you 'incriminate' yourself. May I ask again: did you cry at John Russell's funeral?"

He shrugged, studied a coffee stain on the carpet. "Well, I wouldn't exactly call it crying, but…"

"You got choked up?" Doc guessed and Danny shrugged. "It's okay, Danny. I'd be more worried if you were bottling it up and keeping it all inside until you explode." He paused. "What did you do when you got home?"

"I sat on the couch and held my wife."

"And did that help?"

"Yeah. She…she's the one I lean on."

"Does Linda know about your nightmares?"

"She knows I have them, yeah; 9 times out of 10 they wake her up, too. But she doesn't...know what they're about."

"Have you heard the saying: 'Shared joy is double joy, shared sorrow is half sorrow'?" He shook his head and Doc continued, "Well, I'm sure you can figure out what it means. Your homework for this week is—"

"Homework? Come on, Doc, I'm done with school."

"You do it well, I'll give you extra credit," Dawson said without missing a beat. "Here's your assignment: the next time you have a nightmare, talk to Linda. You don't have to go into all the details, just the bare outline. Tell her the hard moments, tell her you're angry, tell her you're frustrated, tell her you're sad. Let her be there for you, Danny."

He rose—his signal that the session was over—and Danny did as well. "Thanks, Doc. See you in a week."