Alex was talking quietly with Frank, Henry, Erin, and Jamie when an ungodly cry came from upstairs.
Everyone flinched, and Frank bolted to his feet.
Alex rose. "I'll be right back." He took the stairs two at a time. He was pretty sure that had been Danny's voice; but if it hadn't…if he'd gotten away from Linda and she'd… He shuddered. "Sweet Jesus, keep him safe!"
Sobs were coming from an open door, and he sprinted down the hall.
Linda was sitting on the floor, cradling Danny in her arms. He was sobbing—painful, noisy, gasping-for-air sobs.
Alex caught Linda's eye. She nodded at him through her own tears, and he held up his hand to say "I'll be right back," then ran back downstairs.
Frank was pacing. Jamie looked as if he were about ready to put his fist through the wall; and Erin was staring out the window, her shoulders shaking. Henry had his arm around her.
"Danny's okay. He's okay. He's…crying his eyes out. This will be a good thing, but he'll probably have a killer headache afterwards. He's already dehydrated…" He looked over at the Commissioner. "Do you have any Gatorade, Frank?"
"I'm not…"
Henry patted Erin gently, then turned to him. "Yes, yes, we do. Come on, Doc, I'll get it for you. Danny likes the blue kind."
Alex got the old man talking about stories from his days as Commissioner, and 20 minutes had passed before he took a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge. Henry opened the pantry and took out a package of saltines. "Actually, Doc, if you don't mind, I'll take the Gatorade to Danny, give Linda a break. She hasn't left his side for the past twelve hours."
"That's fine with me. I'll come up with you, though; I would like to check on him again."
Danny was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed. Linda was next to him, holding his hand. "Danny," Henry said.
"Gramps. What…what are you doing here?"
"Where else would I be?" He gestured at the floor. "I'd join you, but then you'd have to call the EMTs to get me off the floor."
Alex smiled, and Linda gave a watery smile, but Danny didn't react.
Slowly, Danny stood up. He didn't resist as Henry wrapped him in a hug. After a minute, he sat down on the bed. "I brought you some of that Gatorade you like," Henry said, and sat down in the armchair.
Satisfied that Danny was in capable hands, Alex gestured to Linda, followed her to the top of the stairs.
He paused there. "What made him break down?"
"He was getting his clothes, and found…his dad gave him his badge back. Not permanently-not yet-protocol requires Frank to take it back until Danny's restored to full duty; but…it was Frank's promise to Danny that Danny will get back on the job. Even after…"
Her voice broke. She shuddered, then visibly pulled herself together. "Henry will take good care of Danny. None of us has had breakfast yet; let's go figure that out, Doc."
They were finishing up breakfast when Henry called down, "Linda!" He didn't sound worried or panicked, but she still bolted up the stairs.
He met her at the bedroom door. "I'm sorry I shouted. Danny's okay. He ate some Gatorade and crackers. He's ready for that shower."
She nodded, feeling her heart-rate return to normal. "Oookay. Thanks, Pop."
She pulled her phone out of her pocket. "If you're going to stay with him while he naps, call Erin's number—it's in here—the second he needs anything. I don't want you to have to yell again; it scared the crap out of me."
He nodded, squeezed her shoulder. "Sorry about that." He lowered his voice. "I'll be back by the time you two get out of the shower; I'm going to go get the paper and a bite to eat."
He left, and she walked over to Danny, who was standing at the threshold of the bathroom. "Penny for your thoughts," she whispered.
He flinched, and she put a hand on his arm. "Wishing I could shower by myself, but I can't. I'm still so…weak." He cursed.
"Well, you haven't eaten anything in over 24 hours, other than Gatorade and crackers; it's normal that you're weak. Do you want me to help you with the shower?" She didn't remind him that he wasn't going to be allowed to go in the bathroom alone.
He nodded. "Sorry."
She turned to face him. "No apologies, Danny."
He was trembling, and she had to help him undress. Then she stripped, and stepped into the shower with him. Somehow, the shower chair Henry had used after his hip operation had made it out of the closet and into the shower, and Danny sat on it without complaint.
When they were both clean, she helped him out of the tub, wrapped each of them in a towel.
"I can't bend over…dizzy again. Can you help me dry my feet?"
"Of course, babe." She knelt in front of him, dried his calloused feet. "Danny?"
"Yeah?"
He wouldn't meet her eyes; he was staring off at the wall, and she waggled his ankle. "Hey, look at me, Danny."
Finally, he turned to her, and the pain in his eyes broke her heart. "I love you, Danny."
"But I'm…"
She stood, kissed him to keep the next words from coming out of his mouth. "You're the love of my life, Danny. I love you; I just hate that you're in so much pain."
He looked away. "Love you more."
She kissed him gently. "Love you most, Danny. Always."
He nodded dully, and pulled his tee-shirt over his head.
When they walked back into the bedroom, Henry was in the armchair, reading the paper. "I thought I'd sit with you while you got some sleep, Danny."
He nodded. "O…okay, Gramps."
Linda tucked him in, kissed his forehead. "I'll be downstairs, Danny, okay?"
He nodded, closed his eyes, and she slipped out of the room. Maybe now he'd get some drug-free sleep.
"Are we keeping you? Do you need to go back to your practice?" Frank asked after Linda had bolted up the stairs.
Alex poured himself a second cup of coffee. "Thank you for asking. No; I only had follow-ups today. My colleague will take care of any emergencies that arise. Plus, I told Danny I'd stay with him until he asked me to leave."
Frank nodded; they finished breakfast; and Alex quickly stepped in to help Jamie with the dishes.
They were all back in the living room when Linda came downstairs. She joined Jamie on the couch. Erin had gone back to the window, and Frank had settled in what seemed to be his armchair.
"How's he doing?" Jamie asked.
Linda shrugged. "He ate, took a shower, got dressed, and is sleeping now. Pops is with him."
"Good, that's good."
Alex had settled in the other armchair—a good vantage point to be able to see everyone's faces. There hadn't been much talking at the hospital—everyone was too tense—but now he'd offered to talk with them, make sure everyone was on the same page. He cleared his throat. "Ms. Reagan, I'm ready to talk to you all, if you'd join us."
She turned, slowly. "You talked to my brother for over an hour last night. How the hell did you let him walk out of your office and onto that roof?"
"Erin…" Jamie said.
"No, it's a fair question, Officer Reagan." He locked eyes with Erin. "Ms. Reagan; I've been asking myself the same question for the past"—he glanced at his watch—"twelve or so hours."
He sighed. "Come sit down, please." She didn't move, and he said, "I'd like to be able to look at everyone while we talk."
With a sigh of her own, she walked over to the couch, sat down next to Linda.
He paused, weighing the boundaries between confidentiality, and easing the justifiable fears and angers of his patient's family.
"Danny was upset when he came in last night. He almost walked out five minutes in—but he stopped when I told him I would admit him for a 72-hour psych hold if he left at that moment. He calmed down, really opened up. He called Linda to come pick him up, because he didn't think he could drive home. That's one of the reasons I let him leave with her—he was stable enough to reach out for help. When he left my office…close to two hours after the session began…he was walking next to his wife, holding her hand, going home for a quiet, no-kids weekend."
A dry sob broke from Linda, and he turned to her. "This is not your fault, Linda."
Alex crossed his arms over his chest, looked at his patient's family. "When Danny walked out of my office, he was shaky; but I do not think he was suicidal at that moment. It's possible he had a flashback and that's what made him panic, but I'll have to talk to him to find out—if he remembers."
"Why isn't he in the hospital?" Erin pressed. "Isn't that protocol for suicidal patients?"
"For some suicidal patients, yes. However, Danny does not meet the criteria that make hospitalization mandatory. He's not psychotic. His climb to the roof was not pre-meditated—it was a moment of panic—and he does not have a suicide plan. On the positive side, he was frightened on the roof, and he came down when I asked him to—I had to encourage him, but he came surprisingly easily; he's asking for help; and he agreed to outpatient therapy—including group therapy." That'll be an adventure, he thought, remembering Danny's attitude in his anger management group.
"The strongest reason for releasing him from the hospital was that he was not going home alone; he was going home to a strong family support system. He does not need to be in a sterile hospital where they don't know him; he needs to be surrounded by his family—by each and every one of you." He paused, looked around the room at Frank…Jamie…Linda…Erin.
"One of the things that has been triggering him is the fear of losing all of you; the fear that his PTSD would spiral out of control—as it now has—and that you would leave him. The fact that all of you came to the hospital last night at 11 pm; each of you obviously called into work today…I can tell you all are close. Danny needs you to close ranks and be there for him."
He took a sip of his coffee. "For all of those reasons, when the ER doctor asked my professional opinion, I told him Danny was stable enough to go home, and that his family—all of you—would provide 24/7 supervision for as long as he needed it. I don't expect this crisis to last more than a few days, and I will be in contact with him daily."
Erin nodded, her face softening for the first time. "Thank you, Dr. Dawson." She turned to Linda. "Come on upstairs; you can take a nap in my old room."
Danny's wife nodded, and followed her sister-in-law up the stairs.