He didn't want to sit down. He didn't want to talk. He'd just talked for an hour…well, he hadn't done that much talking…and it hadn't solved anything.
He wanted to be left alone. Problem was, he didn't know what he'd do if his family did leave him alone. No alcohol—couldn't drown the pain. No car keys—couldn't run away from the pain.
If he bolted—his dad would have the NYPD on his heels in five seconds. If he turned from the sink—he was afraid he'd hurt Linda.
So he stood there and held on to the sink as if it were the only thing keeping his head above water.
Linda was still talking, trying to get him to sit down. He shook his head. "Leave me alone!" he tried to yell, but his voice broke, and he cursed under his breath.
"I can't do that, Danny. Come sit down, try to eat something."
"Why aren't you mad?" he whispered. "I had a freaking panic attack; I couldn't even tell Doc about my flashback. I'm pathetic!"
"You're not pathetic, Danny; you're in pain. There's a difference."
His shoulders slumped, and he didn't resist when she gently turned him to face her. "It's okay, Danny."
"It's not…I'm not…it hasn't even been forty-eight hours, and I still can't breathe, and I want to run, or drink myself into oblivion, or get in the car and drive until I can't drive anymore…but I can't do any of those things, and I don't…" He shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Danny. I wish I could take the pain away, but I…" Linda's voice broke. "I can sit with you and try to help you bear it, if you'll let me."
"I can't…you shouldn't…"
"Shhh…it's okay," she soothed. "If you can't eat, do you want to go upstairs?"
He nodded, followed her woodenly up the stairs. His vision was starting to blur, and he hoped he wasn't on the edge of another flashback.
Then he was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to breathe, and Linda was holding him. "I'm here, Danny. You're not alone."
He wanted to scream, or cry, or somehow let the memories from Fallujah out so maybe, maybe they would stop hurting; but he didn't have the breath or the tears or the words, and he just sat there.
He was shaking. Pathetic excuse for a Marine, for a detective.
"We can talk later, Danny; I'm not going anywhere. Right now, though, you should lie down, try to get some rest."
He shook his head, even though his bones ached with tiredness, and he was so foggy he could hardly see straight. "I can't…"
"I'll wake you up the second you get restless, try to head off the nightmares."
He shrugged. "Okay, sure."
He lay down, buried his face in her chest, and finally fell asleep to the sound of her heartbeat.
Linda had had to wake him three times, and it was just after 2 p.m. when they went downstairs.
Jamie came in the kitchen door just then. He had a large bag on one arm, and two chocolate milkshakes in his hands. "Hey."
Danny nodded to him, sat down. "Thought you had a tour today."
Jamie shrugged, set the milkshakes on the table. "Nah, switched up with Rollins; he owed me."
"You changed your work schedule so you could take a shift of 'Danny-Babysitting-Duty'?"
His kid brother set the bag on the table, turned to face him. "It's not 'babysitting,' Danny; we're just trying to keep you safe."
Linda squeezed his shoulder. "Play nice," she whispered, and kissed him. "I'm going out to do the shopping for dinner tomorrow; call me if you need me. I love you."
"Love you more," he said, and kissed her.
"Love you most."
She left, and he heaved a sigh. He was alone with his kid brother for the first time since their fight Tuesday.
Jamie sat down, leaned his elbows on the table. "Honestly, Danny, if we left you alone with your thoughts and the car keys…where would those thoughts lead you, right now?"
He looked away, stared at his shoes. After a minute, he whispered, "Probably off a bridge."
"Which is exactly why we're not letting you be alone 'till those thoughts ease up."
Danny gestured at the bag. "What do you have in there?"
Jamie pushed it over to him.
He opened it, cursed when the object inside started to blur a little before his eyes. "Is that…?"
"Yeah. All this time, I thought you had it, but Dad said it was in the attic, with some of…Joe's things."
Joe. Damn, he missed his brother. "All this time, I thought you had it. What'd you bring it down for?"
"I screwed up the other day, so I owe you a re-match."
He flinched, picked up his milkshake, and followed Jamie into the living room, where his kid brother hung the dart-board up. "You start."
He aimed, threw, missed, cursed.
Jamie missed his first dart, too. He cleared his throat. "I need to tell you something, brother."
"Game first, talk later."
He won—he was pretty sure Jamie had let him win, because his bandaged hands were totally screwing with his aim—and they settled on the couch.
Jamie leaned his elbows on his knees, stared at the floor. "I owe you an apology, Danny. I had no right to bust your chops for calling Dr. Dawson. I…didn't know you were hurting so much, Danny. You're my big brother, and…seeing you trapped in that flashback, seeing you vulnerable…scared the hell out of me, and…I guess, I was trying to hide that I was afraid. I was out of line, and…I'm sorry."
He took a long drink of his milkshake. "Apology accepted," he said, and cleared his throat. "Trying to hide that you were afraid…sounds like there's a lot of that going around." Jamie glanced at him, looking confused, and he explained, "Doc's told me over and over again that people …use anger to hide a million other feelings that they don't like. Fear, pain, whatever the hell it is."
Jamie stared at the floor again. "I hope…I hope what I said didn't…contribute in any way to you going on the roof, making you feel like you had no one to turn to."
He shook his head. "It wasn't you, Jamie. I had a flashback, and I panicked. I haven't even been able to tell Doc what the flashback was about, because…thinking about it makes me panic. It wasn't you."
"Regardless, I shouldn't have said what I said. I'm sorry, Danny. Forgive me?"
Jamie held out his hand, and Danny took it. He didn't resist as Jamie pulled him in for a quick hug. "Yeah, sure."
"What…can I do to help?" He shook his head, and Jamie went on, "Where's your head at, Dan?"
"Later, Jamie. I've done enough talking in the past day to last me a lifetime." Except for that morning. He'd hardly told Doc anything, and Doc was sure to be pissed at him.
The door opened and he heard his boys bounce in; then his father and grandfather's measured steps; and then the boys came into the room. "Uncle Jamie, Uncle Jamie! Grandpa said you weren't working today and you could take us to our hockey game! Come on, we're gonna be late!"
Jamie shot a glance at him—either he hadn't known or he'd forgotten—but rose, tousled the boys' hair good-naturedly. "Of course. Do you boys have your gear?"
They dragged him out of the room, and Danny sighed when his father walked into the room. "You aren't being very subtle about not letting me be alone."
"You heard the doctors, Danny. We're doing what we need to keep you safe." He sat down in his armchair. "How are you doing, son?"
He kicked the table. "Sick and tired of everyone asking me that! I just…wish you all would leave me alone! I get why you're not, but…I just want everybody to treat me like normal, instead of like I'm going to break if you look at me sideways!"
"Danny, none of us thinks you're weak," his dad said firmly.
"Great." Like he believed that. "Now, can we please do anything other than talk about how I'm doing?"
"Of course. Wanna play chess?"
"Sure," he whispered.
When the game finally ended in a draw, he relaxed just a bit when he realized it had lasted two hours. Somehow his dad had gotten him talking about the boys and Linda and anything except work, and his thoughts hadn't turned dark once.
He slogged through darts with his boys, dinner with 5/8 of his family, and after-dinner watching the game.
After the game, Danny headed straight for the stairs without a word to anyone, and Linda followed him.
He was changing into his pajamas, his movements harsh, angry, and she grabbed his hands to still them. "What's wrong, Danny?"
He shook his head, tried to pull away, and then sank onto the bed when he couldn't. "Nothing's wrong. I just…"
"You're angry. What's you got you so worked up?"
He kicked at the pile of clothes he'd just taken off. "My stupid, stupid brain! I can't…"
She wrapped her arms around him. He was shaking with fury. "Leave me alone, Linda! I don't wanna hurt you!"
"You won't hurt me, Danny," she said, and tightened her grip. "Tell me what's wrong."
He tried again to pull away from her, then suddenly stopped, his shoulders slumping in despair. "I'm so f-g sick and tired of not having five seconds alone! And I'm pissed at that. But…at the same time…if I had five seconds, I wouldn't be able to talk myself out of walking out the front door and not stopping until the Bay went over my head. And that pisses me off even more! That I'm so blasted weak, I'm even thinking of ending it all!"
She pulled his head to her shoulder, ran her fingers through his hair. "I won't let you drown, Danny."
"What if you can't stop me?" The words were muffled, broken. "What if this is something I have to fight on my own, and none of you can help me?"
"It's not, Danny. Doc told us…the depression is going to tell you that you're all alone, that no one cares, that you're a burden. But it's lying, Danny. You're not alone. I'm here. Jamie changed his tour so he could spend time with you this afternoon. Erin's going to come over for a couple days next week."
"All you just told me was that I'm messing with everyone's schedules and being a burden!"
"No, Danny, no. None of us thinks you're a burden. We love you! I hate seeing you in pain. I want…" Her voice broke. "I want you to live, Danny. I will do anything you need me to do to keep you from drowning, to let you know you're not alone. Just…don't ask me to leave you alone. Please."
He shook his head. "I'm tired." He pulled away from her, kissed her, and lay down. She pulled him close. "Love you," he whispered.
"Love you more," she said.
"Love you most," he said, and closed his eyes, snuggled into her.
Linda bolted upright, heart racing. She'd dreamed that Danny…that Danny…
She reached to his side of the bed.
The sheets were cold, wet, empty. He wasn't there.
"Danny!" she called, and stood up, nearly tripping over him.
He was sitting on the floor, his head in his hands.
She dropped to her knees, pulled him into her arms. His pajamas were soaked.
"Danny, what's wrong?"
He shook his head, clung to her.
He was trembling, and his tears were hot on her skin, though his own arms were wet with a cold sweat.
She rubbed at his back. "I'm here, it's okay, you're okay."
He shook his head, and she held him, whispered quiet reassurances into his ear until the tears stopped. Then she pulled him to his feet. "You're freezing, Danny. Let's get you warmed up and in some dry clothes."
A hot shower until he stopped shivering, a clean pair of his warmest USMC sweats, and dry sheets because his side of the bed was soaked with sweat; then she tucked the blanket around both of them, and put her arms around him. "I'm listening," she said quietly.
"Nightmare," he sighed, and shuddered. "About a month into my first tour…we'd seen some fighting but nothing too bad…we'd just cleared a house. I'd gone in first, so I was the last to leave. The four guys with me were about twenty feet away. All of a sudden a grenade landed in the middle of them. I yelled 'grenade!' and dove for cover. They were blown to bits before they could even try to run. I fired at the insurgent, and then I ran back inside the house we'd just cleared, up the ladder to the roof, and emptied my weapon into the roof."
He shuddered. "I don't know why I remembered that, but…that's why I bolted Thursday night. If I'd been quicker, if I'd been closer…"
"If you'd been any closer to them, you would've been blown away, too. It wasn't your fault, Danny."
Fear stabbed her in the heart when he didn't respond with his usual outbursts of "It was my fault!" or "It should have been me!"
She rubbed at his back. "Where's your head at, Danny?"
"I'm tired. I want to stop remembering, I want to stop hurting, but if I stop remembering…then I'm betraying the guys we lost."
"Talk to Doc. I know there are techniques he can teach you so that you can remember without having a flashback or a panic attack every time something reminds you of Fallujah."
He nodded, and she kissed him. "Do you think you can sleep?"
He shrugged. "Don't leave me?"
"Never, Danny," she said, lying down and pulling him close.