With Danny safely occupied with Doc, his dad in the kitchen, and Linda napping, Frank Reagan called his detail and asked to be taken to the 54th precinct.
He dropped Jamie and Erin off at Dawson's office.
He hurried his way through the bustle of saluting officers. "Detective Baez, I'd like to see you for a minute." He gestured to Sergeant Gormley's office, and followed her.
In Gormley's office, he locked the door and closed the blinds. "Commissioner?" Gormley asked nervously.
"As you were. I'm sure both of you noticed that Detective Reagan did not come in to work today."
"Yes, Sir."
"Is Danny okay?" Baez asked.
"No. Anyone asks you where he is: he has a nasty virus…I'm sure both of you have noticed the weight falling off him, and the not-eating, the vomiting at work?"
They nodded. Frank knew it was the truth.
"His doctor doesn't want him back at work…even modified duty…until he's put some weight back on; that'll take at least two weeks." That at least was true.
"And the truth, Sir?" Baez asked.
"The truth is for your ears only. If I hear that there are rumors circulating, or that anyone else knows, I will have your badges. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir."
He sighed. "You both know Danny's been…struggling since the Russell case; that's why he's been on modified assignment for the past two weeks. Two weeks ago, he was diagnosed with clinical depression. Unfortunately, what none of us could see, because he hid it so well under his anger, is that he's been depressed for a much longer time—possibly since his time in Iraq."
Another sigh. "Last night, Detective…Danny…my boy…"
His voice broke—the last time that had happened in public was after Joe had been killed—and he walked to the window. His back safely to Gormley and Baez, he said, quietly, "My boy tried to kill himself last night."
A muttered curse from Gormley, a gasp from Baez. "How?" Baez whispered.
"He went up on the roof of his therapist's office. Dr. Dawson was able to talk him down safely."
He turned, looked them in the eyes. "Danny, Linda, and the boys are staying at my house for the time being; Danny can't be alone right now. When he's up to seeing anyone, I'll let you know. In the meantime, keep all of us in your prayers. And remember: this gets out to anyone, I will personally take your badges and guns. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Yes, Commissioner."
They saluted him, and he left the 54th precinct. He had grandsons to pick up from school.
Linda slipped in the room as Doc slipped out. "Hey, babe."
"Hey." He couldn't meet her eyes, not after…not after last night, and his breakdown earlier.
She sat down next to him. "Did you get any sleep? Did you eat the soup Erin brought up?"
He nodded.
"Then how come you look worse than you did earlier?"
He shrugged. "Rough session with Doc."
"I'm listening," she said, and rubbed at his back.
He shook his head. "Doc asked me…if I still wanted to kill myself. And I told him no. Because right now, here, at Dad's…I don't. But I can't…there's still this nagging thought in the back of my head that the pain would stop if I…just ended it all, that you would be better off without me."
"No. Never, Danny."
"I'm so scared that…the…urge…to make it all stop…will come back."
"And that's why you're here, surrounded by your family. You come to one of us, you call Doc…when you start thinking that…okay? You're not alone, Danny." She kissed him gently. "Tell me about… the pain, Danny; let me bear it with you."
He pulled away, leaned his chin in his hands, and tried not to tense up when she wrapped her arm around his back. "I don't deserve to be alive. I should have died over there in Iraq, not them."
"Look at me, Danny."
He turned, slowly.
"That's the depression talking, the PTSD. It's not the truth, babe. I promise you."
He shrugged. Doc and Linda saying the same words over and over again wasn't gonna make him believe it.
"Doc said Dad went to get the boys?"
"Yes. They'll be home in an hour or so."
"What do they know?"
She rubbed his back. "Jamie took them to school this morning; they think your dad had an emergency at work and it kept him out all night. They were already at school by the time we got back here this morning, and they don't know we're here. They still think we're…having a quiet weekend."
A quiet weekend. Dammit. It was Valentine's Day. He'd gone and ruined Valentine's Day for his wife.
"I ruined Valentine's Day. I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Look at me, Danny." He turned to face her, and the love in her eyes took his breath away. "You did not 'ruin' Valentine's Day. You're still here, with me…that's all that matters, Danny."
She kissed him, and he clung to her and tried to block out everything else.
They had just come downstairs and were sitting hand-in-hand on the couch, talking quietly with Doc, when the front door opened.
"We're home!" his dad called, and the boys sprinted into the room.
"Dad, Mom, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be on vacation?"
"Have a seat, boys. We need to talk to you," Linda said.
They settled down, Jack squeezing between Danny and Linda, and Sean on the other side of Linda.
"You remember Dr. Dawson?" Linda asked.
"Yeah," Sean piped up. "You're the guy who makes Dad talk about stuff that upsets him."
"Sean," Linda warned.
Doc just smiled. "Guilty as charged, Sean. But sometimes, if you talk about things instead of keeping them inside, it makes them hurt less."
Sean frowned, but Jack nodded knowingly.
"Boys," Linda began, "We're going to be staying here for the next couple of weeks. Your dad…" Her voice broke.
Danny looked helplessly at Doc, who looked straight back at him. You can do this, his eyes said.
He sighed. At least, with the boys next to them on the couch, he didn't have to look them in the eyes, see the hurt and disappointment.
"You know how Mom told you I'm taking medication to help my brain so I won't be so angry and sad?"
"Yeah, you said it was called depression," Sean sulked.
"That's right." He let out a shaky breath. Doc had given them advice on how to tell the boys, but he'd hoped Linda would do the heavy lifting.
"Sometimes…depression can make a person so sad that they think…that they shouldn't be alive. They might be so sad they…try to hurt themselves. I had to go to the hospital last night, boys, because…I almost did something… that would've meant not coming home to you and your mom ever again."
Jack looked up at him. "Did you…were you going to kill yourself? After Grandpa already took your gun away?"
He let out a shaky breath. He couldn't lie to his boy. "Yes, Jack. I was hurting last night, and I was scared; and…I just wanted to stop hurting. Doc…talked me out of it."
Jack burst into tears and buried his face in Danny's chest.
"I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm so, so sorry," he murmured.
Doc slipped out of the room, and Danny pulled his family into his arms. Both his boys were sobbing, and it was all his fault, and maybe they needed him as much as he needed them, and maybe Linda had been right.
When the boys' tears had slowed, Linda said, "It's okay if you don't want to talk about this right now, but if you need to talk, you can come to me or your dad, or Grandpa, or Pops, or call Uncle Jamie or Aunt Erin. Okay?"
Jack nodded, wiped at his nose.
"Dad's still going to be talking to Dr. Dawson, and I am, too…to talk about how scared I am for Dad. And if you boys need to, we can go see Dr. Bell"—the child psychologist they'd gone to…had it only been two weeks ago?
"Are you gonna be okay, Dad?" Sean asked, and the innocence of the question broke his heart.
"I…I'm trying, kiddo. I'm…still hurting and I'm honestly kinda scared; but…I'm trying."
"Is that why we're staying with Grandpa, because you're scared and you need your dad around?"
"Something like that, kiddo."
He swallowed hard. Doc had said to reassure them…
"Boys, I want both of you to know that this is not your fault." He made eye contact with Jack. "It's not anyone's fault, okay?"
Except…it was his fault, but he couldn't tell the boys that.
"Can I go play now?"
"Not until your homework's done, Sean," Danny said, and kissed the top of his son's head.
As the boys walked off, he was surprised to see Jack put his arm around Sean's shoulders, and even more surprised when the younger boy didn't shrug it off.
"That couldn't have gone much worse," he muttered.
"Actually, I think it went well," Doc said, walking back in. "You told them the truth, you reassured them you're getting help, you let them know they could come talk to you…good job, Danny."