Ten days since he crashed into the concrete barrier.
Six days since he was locked into the inpatient psychiatric ward at St. Victor's.
He shuddered when Linda parked the car in front of his dad's house. The last time he'd walked out of the house…it had been to buy milk. "Did Pops ever get his milk?"
"I…I don't know, Danny," Linda said, her voice thick with tears. "We weren't thinking about milk."
He slowly got out of the car, tugged on his sling. He hated it, but it did help support the cast. He winced, followed her inside.
His grandfather was sitting at the kitchen table.
He wanted to run.
Then the older man was standing in front of him, a gentle hand on his right arm. "Danny. O thank God."
"Careful of the left side, Gramps."
He had thought bruised ribs had hurt.
Broken ribs…were a whole new circle of hell.
His grandfather gave him a gentle hug. "Sit down before you fall down, Danny. You look like crap. Didn't they feed you in there?"
He sat down slowly. "Yeah. Doc and Padre snuck in food, too. Just…hard to eat in the environment."
The older man sat down. "Danny, I…I owe you an apology."
He shook his head, cursed when that made it pound more. Linda set a glass of water and a Tylenol next to him, kissed the top of his head. "I'll be upstairs."
He nodded.
When she had left, he took a sip of water. "No, Gramps, you don't. What happened…is not on you. Not by any stretch."
"Daniel, listen to me."
He picked the Tylenol up, dry-swallowed it.
"What I said Friday, Danny…I was out of line."
He closed his eyes, remembering that night.
They had been eating dinner when his grandfather starting talking about one of his old cases. It had happened thirty years ago that night, and had been connected to a Marine with whom Henry had served in Korea. For the first time in his life that he could remember, Danny had heard snippets—uttered tersely, coldly—about the horrors his grandfather had seen.
That had brought back his own memories of Fallujah, which he'd been trying to push into the background; and then the memory of John Russell's face; and he had had a flashback.
He had jolted back to the present with his grandfather shaking him. He had seen the faintest flash of pity in the old man's eyes, and he had bolted.
He had stood in his room, staring longingly at the punching bag but knowing it wouldn't even touch the pain.
He had failed. He was supposed to serve and protect, and he had failed. Why was he even bothering anymore?
He had heard his grandfather grumbling about being out of milk.
He shuddered. "No, Gramps, you weren't. I…"
He took a sip of water. He did not want to remember the details of that flashback.
Flashback? Hell, it had been more a hallucination mixed in with a flashback.
That was why he had taken the first opportunity to get the hell out of the house.
"I shouldn't have let you leave the house, Danny," his grandfather interrupted.
"Gramps, that night…you couldn't have stopped me." He stood up shakily. "Are we done?"
"Not until you accept my apology."
"Gramps, you got nothing to apologize for. It wasn't your fault!"
"Maybe not, but I should have tried to keep you safe. And I didn't, and for that I am sorry."
His ribs were killing him.
He sat down again.
"Gramps….even if…you'd forced your way into the car with me—I mean, I wouldn't have crashed the car with you in it, but—short of handcuffing me to this table, you couldn't have done anything."
"I could have talked to you. I could have not raised your father to think that going to therapy is a weakness. I could have tried to get you help when you first came back from Fallujah. But I didn't do any of those things, and for that I am sorry, Danny."
He couldn't talk about Fallujah.
He couldn't handle any more words. "Apology accepted."
He stood up again, swayed, steadied himself on the table. This whole one-handed thing was getting old.
He dragged himself up the stairs.
He found Linda sitting on the bed folding laundry.
He sat down next to her, closed his eyes against the pain in his ribs.
She gently curled up against his right side. "I missed you."
He nodded. "I missed you too. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was so selfish."
A sob broke from her. "Danny…you weren't…"
He buried his face in her shoulder. "I don't want to die, Linda! I'm just so tired of being in pain!"
Feet thundered on the stairs, then the door about broke down from hands pounding on it. "Dad! Dad!"
He sat up, swiped at his face.
It was wet.
Linda looked at him, and he nodded. "Come on in, boys," she called.
The door burst open and Jack and Sean ran in.
"Careful of his left side," Linda said.
They skidded to a halt.
He held his right arm out. "Come here, come here, I'm not gonna break."
They crashed into him.
He caught his breath at the pain.
He held them as tightly as he could.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I love you boys so much."
"Then why'd you do it, Dad?" Jack asked through tears. "We were so scared!"
"I…I was scared," he admitted.
That at least was the truth.
"Nothing scares you!" Sean looked at him. "Why are you crying?"
"Because…because some things do scare me, Sean."
"Like what?"
He swallowed. "That's…for another time, Sean. When I'm feeling better, I'll tell both of you."
He kissed the tops of their heads. "Get outta here, go do your homework before dinner!"
They left, and he looked at Linda. "How much do they know?"
She shrugged. "The bare details. But I didn't lie to them."
"Dinner's ready!" he heard his grandfather yell.
So much for the boys doing their homework.
He stood, followed her downstairs.
He froze when he saw his entire family at the dinner table.
"We thought since you missed two Sunday dinners, we'd make up for it," his dad said.
Linda had mentioned it; but seeing their faces…the tears in Erin's eyes, the sober look on Jamie's face…he wanted to bolt.
He sat down slowly.
"Welcome home," Jamie said.
He couldn't look at him.
"We're not mad, Danny," Erin said firmly.
His dad led grace.
They'd made his favorites.
He served himself.
He started to take a bite, but all of a sudden the food looked revolting.
He pushed his plate away.
Linda slipped her arm around his waist.
He glanced at his dad. "How's the car?"
"Don't worry about it, Danny. All that matters is that you're okay."
He hit the table with his good hand. "D-t, Dad! Is it totalled, or not?"
Jack burst into tears, stood up, and fled.
Linda put a hand on his arm. "Danny!"
He took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"We're not the ones you need to apologize to, Danny," his dad said firmly. "The car is in the shop. It needs a new door, and that is being taken care of. When you get your cast off, and you're cleared to drive, you will have a car. Don't worry about it."
He stood up slowly, pushed his chair back, went up the stairs.
He found Jack lying on his bed, sobbing.
He sat down, put his good hand on his boy's back. "I'm sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry."
"Why are you so mad, Dad? Are you mad you're not dead?"
He shook his head. "No, kiddo. I…I'm mad that…" He took a shaky breath. "I'm mad at…myself."
"Why?"
He shook his head. How to tell his 13-year-old that he was mad at himself for wanting to kill himself?
Jack sat up. "You lied! You promised me, the day after Grandpa took your gun! You promised me you wouldn't kill yourself!"
That had been just over a month ago. Not that he was counting. He didn't know why he could remember that, considering how much he'd struggled with the date for the last ten days.
He wanted to leave.
But he forced himself to look into his older boy's eyes.
"I'm sorry, Jack. I…wasn't thinking about you, or Sean, or your mom. I was tired of being in pain. But…I got help, that's why I've been in the hospital. And I'm trying really hard to fight this. Because I don't want to die, kiddo."
Not anymore.
Jack sniffled, and wrapped his arms around him.
Danny held his breath to keep from crying out at the pain.
Jack hugged him for a long minute.
When he pulled away, Danny stood up slowly. "Let's go finish dinner. I thought I saw a cake on the counter."
"Yeah. Aunt Erin made your favorite."
He swallowed down the nausea. "Think she'll let me have any even if I don't finish my dinner?"
Jack shook his head, and Danny went downstairs with his boy.