He was glad it was dark when he got in Erin's car. He didn't want to see the pity in her eyes while they talked.
"Hey, Danny. Are you okay?" she asked softly. "I didn't hurt you too badly, did I?"
"Bruised ribs. I'll live," he said, and winced at the memory of Doc's all-too-recent probing on that subject.
"I'm sorry, Danny. But you really scared me last night."
"I know. I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "Doc wanted me…about what you said last night…Doc wanted me to make sure you knew that…suicide's not selfish. He said…for most people, all they're trying to do is escape from pain. I'm…trying to hang in there. I really am."
"You better hang in there," she said, her voice thick with tears.
"I'm trying. I've promised Linda and Dad that…I'm not going anywhere, that I'll call someone if I need to, that I'll take my meds and go to therapy…"
His kid sister sighed, said slowly, "I'm not mocking you, Danny, but…the brother I know won't acknowledge he has feelings, much less talk about them; scoffs at therapy, and likes the hard stuff too much to take meds. What happened? How did…none of us notice you were in so much pain?"
He wanted to snap at her, but Doc was right, he was using anger to hide his pain, so he said quietly, "Because I didn't want any of you to notice. Dawson's the guy Gormley sent me to last year for anger management. Turns out, Corporal Russell had been seeing him for post-traumatic stress. I called Dawson to get some help on the case; and then..."
He swallowed hard. "After Corporal Russell…killed himself…I called Doc. I…I was in shock, Erin. This wasn't my first suicide; but it was…the first where…I realized that…that could have been me on that ledge. Even now, nine years after Iraq."
"Danny!" his sister said in a broken whisper.
"I'd…been a mess since the case started. And I told Doc I needed help."
He flinched when a gentle hand came to rest on his arm. "I'm proud of you, Danny."
"Thanks," he whispered.
"The case was three weeks ago, Danny…how did you go from flashbacks and nightmares to thinking about killing yourself?"
"I don't know, Erin! Had a bad flashback Wednesday morning; I thought I'd failed to protect Linda and the boys, and…I almost…" He swallowed hard. He didn't think his little sister needed to hear him say those words again. "Dad made me promise to call someone if things got too bad. That's when I realized just how close I was…"
She was crying now, and he cursed. "Hey, Erin. Look at me. Look at me." She finally did, and he patted her cheek gently. "I'm right here, okay? I'm still alive, I'm trying to…stay that way."
Her sobs slowed, and she swiped at her eyes. "You better stay alive, Danny. I can't lose another brother." Her breath hitched. "Linda didn't go into details about why you can't drive…"
"Meds are making me dizzy; it'll probably be a couple weeks before that goes away."
"I didn't help by bruising up your ribs, did I?"
He shrugged his shoulders, then caught his breath at the shooting pain that small movement sent through his ribs and arms. "Well…not really." He cleared his throat. "We good, Erin? I'd like to go back to Dad's now."
"Yeah, Danny, as long as you promise…to call me, or Linda, or Dad, or Jamie, or somebody, if you start thinking about killing yourself again."
"Dad made me promise that last Thursday. I promise, I'll call someone."
Erin didn't want to come in, insisting she had to get home to Nikki; and Danny sighed as he walked into his dad's house.
His grandfather was sitting at the kitchen table, working on a crossword puzzle. "Hey, Danny."
"Hey, Pops." He opened the pantry door, pulled out the peanut butter and the bread, made himself half a peanut-butter sandwich. "Where are the boys?"
"Francis sent them up to bed."
"Good. Be right back."
He trudged up the stairs, checked on the boys—who were sound asleep. Then he popped into the room he and Linda were sharing, rummaged in the duffel bag until he found the little bottle. Stupid happy pills. He measured one out, swallowed it dry.
Back in the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of milk, drained it, poured a second, and sat down with his grandfather.
"Glad to see you're eating something, Danny."
He stiffened at the reminder that he'd joined them at the dinner table but had hardly touched his plate, and took a bite of the sandwich. "Linda told me all the horrible things that could happen to my insides if I took the pill on an empty stomach."
"Pills making you sick to your stomach?"
"It's one pill, and yeah."
"That's rough."
"Yeah." He finished his sandwich, drained his glass, stood up. "I'm gonna make it an early night. 'Night, Pops."
He threw his glass in the dishwasher, grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer on his way out of the kitchen.
"'Night, Danny."
Upstairs, he unwrapped his hands. They looked worse than they had the night before: swollen, bruised, scabbed. He took a quick shower, cursing every time the hot water hit his knuckles, toweled off, put his robe on, and re-bandaged his hands as best he could.
By the time, he was finished, his hands were burning and his ribs were throbbing. He dialed Linda's cell. "Hey, Danny, how are you doing?"
He lay down gingerly on top of the two pillows Linda had ordered him to sleep on, caught his breath at the stabbing pain. "Danny?"
"I'm here. Moved too fast. Sorry. I'm…okay. I took the bandages off so I could shower. Got 'em wrapped again—not as pretty as you did, but I think it'll do the trick."
"Don't forget to ice your ribs, just don't fall asleep with the ice pack on."
"Just put the ice on. I won't. I miss you."
"Miss you, too." She hesitated. "How's Dr. Dawson?"
"He's good; we just talked through the weekend, didn't discuss anything too heavy." He yawned, suddenly exhausted. "I talked to Erin."
"Good. I'm glad. Get some rest, babe. Call me if you need to; I should be on break around 3 a.m. But I hope you're asleep then."
"Me too. Love you."
"Love you more."
"Love you most. G'night." He hung up, threw his phone down, and turned the light off. It was going to be a long night…
He woke with a start at 1 a.m. The ice-pack was underneath him, melted and soft. He threw it on the ground, tried to roll over, and caught his breath. If he weren't already on modified, he would've had to take sick leave because of his ribs. Then again, if he hadn't been on modified, Erin wouldn't have beaten him up… It was a mess.
He heard movement downstairs, and got up.
He found his father in the kitchen. "You should be asleep, Danny."
He bit off the so should you that rose to his lips, and put the warm ice pack in the freezer. Then he grabbed a fresh one, sat down next to his dad. "What's on your mind, Danny?"
"If we go back to Staten Island tonight, like we'd planned…that's a helluva lot of driving for Linda. I was thinking…she doesn't work Thursday night, we could all go home as a family that night if…"
"You're more than welcome to spend a couple more nights here, Danny; you know that." His dad looked up at him. "Now, what's really on your mind, son?"
He sighed. "You've always said…'Reagans don't do drugs', 'Reagans don't'…talk about their feelings. Sorry I let you down."
"Danny, son…is that why you never 'got around' to seeing someone to talk about Iraq?"
"Maybe." Yeah, actually.
His father steepled his hands on the table. "I shouldn't have…drilled that into you and your siblings, but it was how Pops raised me. After I got back from Vietnam, I began to realize that Pops had his struggles, too, from his time in the Marines. I don't know about his coping mechanisms, but mine weren't that healthy."
He sighed, looked up at Danny. "It's a whole different ballgame when I see my eldest son on the brink of taking his own life because he's in too much pain to live. Danny, I am proud as hell of you for reaching out to Dawson. I'm just sorry that you opening up, getting help with what went on in Iraq…had to come at the price of John Russell taking his own life."
He nodded, seeing in his mind John Russell's face in those last moments.
"His death wasn't your fault, Danny."
"Why the hell does everyone keep saying that—like if they say it 30 million times, I'll start to believe it?"
He hadn't meant to yell, but he had; and the pain took his breath away. He felt tears pooling in his eyes, and cursed.
There was a hand on his back, but he didn't have the strength to move away. "Breathe, Danny! Come on, son. The pain will ease up soon, just take a nice, slow breath."
He tried to swallow, couldn't, and took a gasping breath.
"That's it, there you go. Are you sure nothing's broken?"
He nodded. "That's…what Linda…said."
"Okay. Better now?" He nodded, and his dad pulled his hand away. "We keep telling you that because it's the truth, son."
He shook his head, pushed his chair back from the table, and stood up slowly. "'Night, Dad."
"Danny…!" his dad called after him, but he ignored him and went back upstairs.
Not your fault…wasn't your fault…not your fault…the words rang in his head, over and over.
It was almost 4 a.m. when he picked his phone up, sent a text to Doc. How the hell is none of it my fault, Doc?
Did you push John off the ledge, fire the guns, or set off the missiles that killed your buddies?
No.
Can't be your fault, then. Try to get some sleep, Danny.
His dad's detail dropped him off at the precinct a little before 8. He had a text from Linda: Just got off. Will drop by to see you before I go home. Love you.
Love you more, he wrote back.
When she got there, he followed her to Sarge's office, closed the door, wrapped her in his arms. "I love you," he whispered brokenly.
"Love you more," she said, and held him.
After a few minutes, she pulled away, ran a gentle hand down the side of his face. "You didn't sleep last night, did you?"
He shrugged, winced. "Got a couple hours. Talked to Dad some."
"Did you eat?"
"Pops made pancakes."
"Danny…did you eat any of them?"
"Two." She didn't need to know that he'd eaten them dry, washing them down with a cup of coffee that made his already angry stomach churn more.
"Still nauseous?" He nodded. "I'm sorry. It'll ease up as your body adjusts to the Zoloft." She kissed him. "I tried to change my schedule, but I'm on nights again tonight and tomorrow. Call me if you need to, okay? I don't work Thursday night."
"Good. Bed's too empty. Can't sleep without you."
"I know. I'll pick you up at 5; we can have dinner with Frank and Henry before we head home."
"About that…I talked to Dad last night. He's okay with us spending tonight and tomorrow; that way we can go home as a family Thursday night. It'll mean less driving for you, too…if you're okay with that"
She nodded. "That's a good idea."
He wrapped her in his arms again. "Love you."
"Love you more."
He held her tightly, ignoring the stabbing pain that shot through his ribs. "Love you most."