A/N: TRIGGER WARNING: suicidal ideation, suicide attempt.
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He had to get away.
The pain was crushing him.
He couldn't breathe.
He couldn't think.
Linda didn't understand.
Doc tried but he couldn't.
When Linda turned to get on the elevator (Doc's office was on the second floor of a six-story building), he turned to the door marked "Stairs." He climbed…one flight, then another, then another.
After eight flights, the stairs dead-ended at a door marked "Roof."
He opened it, startled when an alarm went off. What the hell.
There was a bright orange door-stopper; he shoved it in the door. Always have an escape plan. Except he didn't have his gun anymore, and the bad guys he was running from couldn't be killed by a bullet.
The chest-high, graffiti-covered wall reminded him of the roof on which he had failed to save John Russell.
He couldn't breathe.
He needed air, and he pulled his tie off, threw it down.
He walked towards the wall. Maybe up here, away from people and their questions and away from memories and flashbacks and guns…maybe he could block the pain out. Maybe he could breathe.
Closing his eyes against the dizzying sight, he climbed up onto the wall.
Alex Dawson was locking his office when he heard a voice scream "Danny!" He dropped his briefcase, ran down the hall. Linda was standing outside the elevator, sobbing.
"What happened? Where's Danny?"
"He…he…I turned my back to hit the elevator button…five seconds, it wasn't even five seconds, Doc…and then the door to the stairs slammed and he was gone! What if he…?
She leaned against the wall. He put a hand on her shoulder, shook her gently. "Linda, I need you to breathe, and call your father-in-law. Okay? Call your father-in-law and stay down here until he gets here. Can you do that?"
She straightened, opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head. "I promise you I will do everything in my power to bring Danny down safely. But if he sees you like this…he can't handle his own emotional pain right now; he won't be able to handle yours. Can you do that?"
She nodded.
"Tell me what you're going to do," Alex said gently.
"Stay here and…call Frank…should I let him…?"
He shook his head. "No. I need both of you to stay here."
Then he ran up the stairs.
The door was ajar…propped open with a garishly bright orange door-stopper. That spoke of deliberation. Alex hoped that was a good sign.
He walked slowly on to the roof.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Danny sitting on a chest-high wall, facing him. One wrong move, and he would tumble backwards to his death.
Alex kept his voice quiet. "Danny. It's just Doc. I'm just getting some fresh air, thought maybe you and I could talk."
"Talk?" the detective scoffed. "That's all you ever want to do—talk! Let's try talk therapy, let's talk about it, let's talk about how you're feeling. I'm damned sick to death of talking!"
"What do you need me to do?"
"Leave me the hell alone."
"I can't do that, Danny." He was at the wall now, near enough to reach out and grab Danny, but he didn't make the move.
"Why the hell not?"
"Because you're my friend. You're in pain, and I want to help the pain go away."
"You can't."
"Danny, you just told me, twenty minutes ago, that you were afraid Linda and I would leave you alone in your pain. I'm here because I don't want you to be alone."
Danny cursed vehemently.
"Ten minutes ago, you were going to go home with your wife, and now you're sitting on a wall six stories above the ground. What happened, Danny?"
"I had to get away."
"What were you trying to get away from?"
"The pain, dammit!" He pounded the wall with his fists. The movement made him sway on top of the wall, and Alex saw a flash of fear across his face. Detective Daniel Reagan was scared of heights.
Alex grabbed his arm, but Danny didn't seem to notice.
He kicked the wall. "John Russell's face…in that split second before he fell…it was almost as if…as if he was changing his mind. But it was too late."
"It's not too late for you, Danny. You've carried all this pain for so long, it's time to get help to deal with the pain. You need help, Danny. You know that, don't you?"
"I need the pain to stop."
"This isn't the way to make it stop, Danny. I'll help you; I promise you, I won't leave your side until someone physically forces me to. Linda will help you." He held his other hand out. "Just trust me, Danny."
He couldn't breathe for what felt like hours, and then Danny held his hand out, gripped it so hard it hurt. "Okay, okay, I've got you, Danny."
Slowly, painfully, Danny inched forward on the wall, slid to the rooftop.
The minute his feet hit the roof, he doubled over, and vomited.
Alex caught him before he could fall, helped him sit down. "Have you eaten anything today?"
The detective shrugged.
"I need a verbal answer, Danny."
"Breakfast."
Alex flinched. It was close to 9 p.m.; that meant Danny hadn't eaten in over 12 hours. Herbal tea didn't count.
Very gently, he pinched some of the skin on the back of Danny's hand. It stayed pinched. "You're dehydrated, you need IV fluids."
"No! No hospitals!"
"Why not?"
"I don't wanna be locked up!"
"Just the ER, then, get some fluids in you."
"No…"
"Danny, look at me."
Slowly, the detective raised his head. Even in the dim light from streetlights many feet below, Alex could see that his eyes were blank, and he shuddered. "You're dehydrated; you need fluids. The only place you can get those fluids is the ER. You know I'm right, don't you?"
Danny sighed, nodded.
"Okay. We'll get some fluids, some sugar, in you. They're going to ask you some questions; why you haven't eaten all day, how'd you get dehydrated, what happened to bring you to the ER; and I want you to answer them honestly. So I'll let you practice the first one on me."
Danny looked away.
"Was this…coming up here on the roof, sitting on the wall…was this a suicide attempt?"
"I don't know," Danny whispered. "I mean…maybe. I just…couldn't handle the pain anymore."
"Danny, if I hadn't come up here…would you have jumped?"
Danny froze. Alex was about ready to remind him to breathe when he said very, very quietly, "Yes."
"Thank you for telling me," Alex said in the same quiet tone.
Danny was talking; he wasn't shutting down, so Alex thought he'd keep on with the script. "Have you wished you were dead, or wished you could go to sleep and never wake up?"
He knew the answer to that, and hoped to a God he hadn't prayed to in years, that the detective answered honestly.
"Yes," Danny whispered.
"Have you actually had any thoughts of killing yourself?"
Danny closed his eyes and nodded, but Alex didn't push him for a verbal answer. He was on the verge of complete collapse.
"Have you thought about how you might do this?"
Another nod.
"Have you had these thoughts and had some intention of acting on these thoughts?"
Danny shrugged.
"Have you started to work out the details of how to kill yourself?"
Danny sighed heavily. "No."
Thank God for that, Alex thought.
"Do you intend to carry out the plan?"
"I don't know! I just want the pain to stop."
"This last question refers to your whole life. Have you ever done anything, started to do anything, or prepared anything to end your life?"
"Once, 9 years ago," Danny whispered, and Alex frowned. He hadn't mentioned that once over the past four weeks.
"Thank you for telling me."
Alex stood up, and Danny shuddered.
"I'm not going to leave you, Danny; I just stood up to stretch. Will you come downstairs with me… please?"
He held his hand out. For a second Danny froze, then he took it.
Danny rose shakily, swayed, and Alex caught him before he could fall. "Woah there, Danny. I've got you. Lean on me, okay?"
Slowly, falteringly, they made their way back to the door. Danny froze at the door. "It's okay, Danny. Take your time."
It took several minutes, but finally Danny lifted one foot, stepped over the threshold. "You're doing good, Danny."
It took them ten minutes to get down the eight flights of stairs to the second floor.
He nearly hit Linda with the door when he pushed it open.
She didn't seem to notice, just threw her arms around Danny. His knees buckled and Alex helped as Linda sank to the floor with Danny.
Alex straightened.
Frank looked at him with raised eyebrows, and Alex shook his head. "Do you have your detail, Sir?"
"Yes, I do, Dr. Dawson."
"We need to go to the emergency room, Commissioner. Danny's dehydrated. They're going to have to assess him for suicidality, but I'm confident that they'll release him as long as he'll have 24/7 care for the next couple days."
Frank held out his hand. "You just saved my boy's life, Doc. Call me Frank."