He was lying on something soft.
He didn't feel as drugged as he had earlier.
Still numb, though.
He'd felt the numbness before…numb was good, it was safe, because he didn't care whether he lived or died.
The numbness had been drowned out by pain.
The pain hadn't let him breathe, and he'd bolted.
He sat up. He was in his old room at his dad's house.
Doc was sitting in a chair, reading. Stupid suicide watch.
"Doc?"
Doc put his book down, turned to look at him. "Hey, Danny. How're you feeling?"
He shrugged.
"Were you able to get some rest?" He nodded. "Nightmares?"
"Not really."
"How's the nausea?"
"Better." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, reached for the second bottle of Gatorade Gramps had left, and drank some.
"Are you hungry?"
He shook his head. "What time is it?"
"A little after two; you slept for two hours." Doc gestured at the dresser. "Your sister left a thermos of soup here for you a few minutes ago."
He'd get a lecture if he didn't eat, so he stood up, swayed, steadied himself on the bed, and walked over to the dresser. The thermos was still warm.
He sat back down on the bed, opened the thermos. "What the hell is this?"
"Clam chowder, pureed so it'll be easier on your stomach. And, yes, it's the New England version, because Erin didn't think your stomach would handle the tomatoes."
He glared at Doc, but sat down, took a cautious sip. It wasn't half-bad.
Doc talked quietly…about the weather, the basketball game two nights ago…while he drank the soup, and he finished half of it.
"Do you feel up to talking a bit?"
He put the lid back on the thermos, set it down on the table. "You're not going to listen if I say 'no.'"
"Actually, Danny, I will listen. But I would like to know why you don't want to talk right now."
He shrugged.
"May I make a guess?"
"Sure," he whispered.
"I'm going to guess you're feeling very out-of-control, maybe a little scared?"
Danny nodded. "Yeah. How…how long is this…suicide watch gonna last?"
"Do you think it's safe to leave you alone with your thoughts right now?"
"No."
Doc was looking at him as if he wanted more words, and he cursed. "I…I'm still…I don't know if I'm pissed at you for talking me off the roof, or…or not."
"I can work with that, Danny. To answer your question, I'd say it'll be a few days before either your family or I are willing to let you out of our sight."
He flinched. Doc wasn't pulling his punches. "I…I'm tired of being in pain."
"I know."
"No, dammit, you don't know! Stop saying that! You don't know what it's like!" Tears pricked his eyes, and he cursed. He couldn't even get properly mad before the damned waterworks started.
"I'm sorry, Danny. What I meant was: I know you're tired of being in pain. You're right; I don't know, firsthand, what you're going through. So tell me what it's like."
"Why the hell did you come after me? Why didn't you just let me…?" His voice broke, and he looked away.
Doc didn't say anything, and Danny chanced a glance to see if the younger man looked angry. Maybe he regretted saving him, regretted all the time he was spending here with Danny, with his family.
But there was no regret, no anger, in Doc's eyes. He said, firmly, "I came after you because you do not deserve to die. You deserve healing."
He looked away. Doc could keep saying that, but it wasn't going to make him believe it.
"The second reason I came after you is…because I care about you. I know that you can get through this."
He shook his head.
Doc leaned forward. "Danny, can you tell me what happened last night? What you were thinking between the time you walked out of my office with Linda, and the time I came up onto the roof?"
He shuddered. He wasn't sure if he could talk about it…
"Take your time, Danny."
He cursed under his breath. If he hadn't been so dizzy, he would have gotten up and paced till the jumbled-up thoughts straightened out. Was it the panic making him dizzy, or the drugs they'd pumped him with?
He let out a shuddery breath. "I…had a flashback. It wasn't…any different from…the ones I've been having since the case. Except this time…it hurt, and the pain was…ripping my heart out of my chest. I couldn't breathe. I had to get away from the pain, so I…bolted. And then I was on the roof and…I…I still had to get away from…the memories and everybody's questions, and…I climbed up on the wall. I could breathe, then…"
He squeezed his eyes shut. "I…wanted…I just wanted the pain to stop, and it…wasn't stopping. I'm not sure how I didn't slip, 'cause I was already dizzy, and I'm scared of heights."
He bit his lip. "I knew that…what I was about to do…was wrong. But I just wanted the pain to stop! I can't live like this, Doc! I was…I was praying the Act of Contrition when you walked up on the roof, and I…I was about to…let go."
"Why didn't you?"
He opened his eyes. Doc had sat down next to him—somehow without him noticing. He looked straight at the younger man. "You walked onto the roof. I…didn't know then, but now…I think…I told you to leave me alone because…I didn't want you have to see… I mean, I've been a total wreck since John Russell fell, and…I don't…you shouldn't…have to live with that."
He flinched at the hand on his arm. "Thank you for that, Danny. I'm going to have to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer. Will you do that for me?"
He nodded.
"Do you still want to kill yourself?"
The pressure in his chest was strangling him again. He couldn't…
"I don't want to hurt anymore," he muttered through clenched teeth.
"I know. But there is a difference between not wanting to be in pain, and wanting to kill yourself. I will help you learn how to deal with the pain in healthy, non-self-destructive ways; but I need your help. So I'm going to ask you again: Do you still want to kill yourself?"
He wanted to yell at Doc, to curse him for his patience, for not leaving him, for fighting to keep his head above the water. But all of that required energy, and his was rapidly disappearing somewhere under the bed on which he was sitting. "I…I don't know."
"Not good enough, Danny. Yes or no?"
He let out a shaky breath, counted to 100 in his head. If Doc were telling him the truth…Doc hadn't lied to him, not once…
He couldn't swallow. The lump in his throat was growing, choking him. He took a tiny sip of Gatorade. Somehow, it went down around the lump in his throat.
"No," he whispered, and hoped it was the truth.
"Thank you for telling me."
He nodded. Doc was wearing him out, with all this emotional crap. "Where is everybody?"
"Linda went to take a nap in Erin's room, but she's probably awake now. Your father had to go to his office, so he's dropping Jamie and Erin off at my office to pick up your car and my car; and then your father's going to pick the boys up from school before he comes home. I'm not sure where your grandfather is."
"Your car? Are you leaving?"
"I promised you I would stay until you ask me to leave. I'm not going back on that promise, though I had planned to go home for the night. You need to lean on your family, Danny. I'll be back at 10 a.m. for your session tomorrow."
He frowned. "You're…coming here?"
"I don't think it would be good for your emotional state to be anywhere near my office for a couple weeks, Danny."
"So I'm on house arrest?"
"Only for your own safety, for a few days. It'll be okay, Danny. I promise you: you will get through this, you will get back to your precinct; and in good time, you will get back to full duty."
Full duty. His badge. He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled it out. "My dad gave this back to me, temporarily; I found it in one of my socks."
He held it out.
Doc looked at it, smiled slightly. "Your dad has faith that you can fight this; you need to have a little faith in yourself, Danny."