A/N: This chapter begins about half an hour after the previous chapter begins. For those keeping track, roughly 10:30 p.m., Friday, February 21, 2003.
Maybe it's not a good idea to bring the boys to the hospital at 10:30 p.m. But, in the show, they're there when various family members are in the hospital. And I'd think Linda would want them there in case Danny takes a turn for the worse. So they'll be there.
"Frank, what's wrong?" Linda asked in a panic when her father-in-law sat down next to her and Erin at the theater.
"I need you to come with me, now," he said.
She started to sob, but followed him out of the theater.
He turned to her and Erin. "Danny's in the ER."
"What happened?"
"He's 'not likely,' Linda, but it's not good."
She grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him. "What happened? Just tell me already!"
Frank gently pulled away, led her and Erin to the car.
They got in the car.
Henry had his head in his hands. He looked up as they climbed in. "I was complaining about being out of milk. Danny offered to pick it up for me. Thirty minutes later, Francis walks in the door. Danny got the milk—and then crashed the car into a concrete barrier at the pier. I shouldn't have let him go—or I should have gone with him. He wouldn't have crashed the car if I had been in it. I shouldn't have let him out of my sight. I'm sorry, Linda." A sob broke the old man's voice.
"But he's alive?"
"Yes," Frank said. "So far, all we know is that he's unconscious, probably has a concussion, and his arm's broken."
"I have to get the boys," Linda sobbed.
Frank put his hand on her arm. "They're probably asleep. They're safe at the Keenan's; we'll get them tomorrow. Let's head to the hospital."
"Doc. Someone needs to call Doc, he needs to know," Linda said.
Frank pulled out his cell-phone, found the number. He'd called this number way too frequently of late.
"Hello?"
"Dr. Dawson, this is Frank Reagan. Can you meet me at St. Victor's ER?"
"I'm on my way. What happened?"
"Danny…went out to get milk for my father. He was in a car crash. It looks…intentional."
"I'm on my way. Do you need me to pick up anything for you—clothes, food—or come with you to notify any of your children?"
"Thank you, but no. My father, Linda, and Erin are with me. Jamie's on his way. Danny's boys are at a sleepover, we're not going to tell them till tomorrow."
"Do not keep this from them," Dr. Dawson said firmly. "Go to their friend's house, wake them up, tell them. If they want to wait in the waiting room with all of you—let them. If they want to stay at their friend's house—let them. This is their father; they already know he's struggling. You cannot keep this from them."
Frank told his detail to go lights and sirens until they were a couple blocks away from the Keenan's house. Then they drove up quietly.
Linda went to the door.
JoAnne Keenan answered it. "Linda, what's wrong?"
"I need to talk to the boys. Something happened…Danny…"
She started to cry again.
JoAnne wrapped her in a hug. "I'll get them. Wipe your eyes; you don't want the boys to see you like this."
Linda took a few shaky breaths, trying to calm down.
Then the boys ran down the stairs and into her arms. "Mom! What are you doing here? What's wrong?"
"It's Dad. Daddy's in the hospital."
"What happened?" Sean asked.
"Did he try to kill himself again?" Jack sobbed.
"I…I don't know yet. We need to go." She shot a grateful look at JoAnne, and led them to the car.
Alex called himself every name in the book as he dressed and got in his car. Why hadn't he seen it? He had known it was a possibility; he had warned the Reagans not to leave Danny alone—and he meant that strictly.
And now Danny was in the ER.
He pulled out his phone, dialed a number Danny had given him…was it only two days ago?
"Hello?" a groggy voice said.
"Father Donovan, this is Alex Dawson, Danny Reagan's…therapist. I thought you would want to know that…Danny's in the ER, after what appears to be an intentional car crash. Do you want me to pick you up? I think it would be good for Danny's family to see you."
"Yes, please. I'm staying at St. Andrew's." He rattled off the address.
"I'll see you in twenty minutes," Alex said.
It was close to midnight by the time they gathered in the waiting room.
The boys, faces streaked with tears, were asleep in Henry's arms.
Erin was crying quietly, Jamie's arm around her.
Frank was pacing. "Thanks for coming, Doc, Padre" he whispered.
Linda looked up. "What happened?" she sobbed.
Alex Dawson sat down next to her, leaned his chin in his hands. "I don't know, Linda," he said quietly. "He's still unconscious, so I can't talk to him. I was aware of the possibility of him making another attempt; I wasn't expecting it like this, though."
"What's going to happen now?" Frank asked.
"Once he's physically stable, they'll move him to the psych ward—and hold him for a minimum of 72 hours. They're calling this a suicide attempt—which I think it was. They'll probably decide to change his medication—which will extend his stay, until they find something that seems to work."
He stood up, took a turn around the room.
He paced, and prayed to a God to Whom he hadn't prayed in years, that Danny would wake up, that he would come through.
It was about 4:30 a.m. when Dr. Gillespie came in the room for the third…fourth?...time. "He's waking up. Linda, come with me?"
Danny had been unconscious for just under six hours.
Time dragged by, second…after second…after second.
It was 6:30 when Alex couldn't stand the tension in the room any longer. He tapped Jamie on the shoulder. "Want to go down to the cafeteria with me, grab some coffee and breakfast for everyone?"
Jamie nodded. "Yeah, sure."
Erin went with them. They came back with six coffees, hot cocoa for the kids and for Padre. Then they went back to the cafeteria to get breakfast.
Then they returned to the waiting room.
All they could do was wait.