The days dragged by.
He blinked, surprised, when he stumbled into the kitchen Friday morning to see Erin sitting there.
He poured himself a cup of coffee. "It's after 8 a.m., sis, shouldn't you be at work?"
"I'm taking some personal time. How are you?" she asked softly.
He sat down, winced. "Bored. Doc doesn't want me sleeping all day—not that I can sleep, anyway. I can't read or watch TV for more than 30 minutes at a time, or my head gives me hell—and daytime TV stinks, anyway. I can't help Pops or Dad around the house because of the arm. What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm stuck here—or at home, because eventually we have to go back to Staten Island—for at least six weeks."
"You could go for a walk with Linda. Where is she, anyway?"
"On her way home from dropping the boys at school; she texted me twenty minutes ago to say she was leaving the grocery store. And we went for a walk yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that."
He sighed. "I'm supposed to have a routine, and I sorta do—I go to bed at the same time, get up at the same time." Whether or not he actually slept for those full eight hours was a totally different matter. "I eat my meals, take my pills, and go for a mid-morning walk with Linda. The rest of the day…" He shrugged.
Speaking of eating…
He stood up again, made himself two pieces of toast.
He was buttering it when his kid sister said very, very quietly, "How are you—really, Danny?"
He snagged a hard-boiled egg out of the fridge, sat down.
"I don't know, sis. I don't want to die. Struggling with trying to find things to live for. Don't think Doc will like any of the reasons I came up with. Not sure how I slumped into depression or how I'm going to get out of it."
He said grace, took a bite of his toast. "So, you here because Linda's not? Babysitting me or something?"
"No, Danny; I'm here because we haven't had a chance to talk since…your accident. I wanted to see my big brother, make sure you're okay."
He wasn't okay, but he didn't know how to say that.
He flinched when she slipped her arm around his shoulders.
"I…I need to stay busy, or I'm just gonna get stuck in my own head—which isn't a pretty place right now."
"How 'bout I tell you about my most recent case?"
He nodded, listened half-heartedly.
By the time Erin had finished explaining all the ins and outs of her case, he felt a little less apathetic to life. He'd also managed to eat all of his breakfast.
He needed the job.
Regardless of whether or not Doc thought he needed a reason to live that was not the job, he needed the job to live.
How was he going to survive two months on sick leave?
Maybe he could convince his father, or Gormley, or someone, to sneak in some cold case files to him. Reading them for thirty minutes at a time would make it slow, but then they'd last longer.
"Thanks, sis" he whispered, as Erin put a chaste kiss on his cheek.
Linda came in.
He sat there, frozen, while she and Erin put the groceries away.
Erin left.
"Danny?"
From the tone of Linda's voice, that wasn't the first time she'd called him.
"Yeah?"
"Where's your head at?"
"O, wondering if I can convince anyone to give me cold cases to work on."
She slipped her arms around him, and he winced. "You're on sick leave. You already told me you can't read because of your head…you're supposed to be recovering, not working."
"I'm going crazy here, Linda!"
She moved her hands to his neck, began massaging out the knots.
He groaned.
"Your brain and your body need to rest, Danny."
"If I'm stuck in my own head, with my own thoughts, for much longer, I'm going to drown again."
He couldn't believe he'd said the words out loud.
He stood up abruptly and wandered into the living room. He'd had to learn to shoot with both hands, so maybe he could throw darts with his right hand just as well. Only the darts weren't there.
"Linda, can you find Pops, please?"
His grandfather came downstairs. "What's wrong, Danny?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Was going to play darts, but the darts aren't here. Staring at the board isn't gonna cut it."
"Give me a minute." His grandfather went upstairs, came back.
He sighed. "What, you all locked the darts up now? Afraid I'll stab myself with them?"
"Just trying to keep you safe, Danny. Mind if I join you?"
He shook his head, took the darts, threw the first one.
The motion pulled on his ribs, and he doubled over. Maybe that hadn't been such a bright idea…
"Danny!"
He couldn't breathe.
A firm hand was on his shoulder, rubbing his back; strong arms led his wobbly legs to the couch.
When he could speak, he said, "That was stupid. Stupid ribs."
He took a slow breath. "Going stir-crazy here, Pops. Can't work, can't read, can't play darts."
"Linda's doing laundry, go fold socks with her."
He shook his head. "Mind-numbingly boring."
"It'll give you something to focus on, Danny…making sure the black socks don't get mixed up with the navy blue."
He supposed the old man had a point.
He trudged up the stairs, took the boys' socks out of the basket, folded them.
"Boys have a lacrosse game tonight," Linda said.
He couldn't remember the last one he went to.
He should go.
"Really don't feel like going out."
"It'll make their day, Danny. And didn't Doc tell you that you needed to start socializing?"
"Yeah, because I want their friends' parents to see me and think 'We're never gonna let our kids play with Reagan's kids again, because he's that detective that tried to off himself twice.'"
"Danny!"
"What? I'm just being honest."
"No, you're being confrontational."
He sighed. "No one is gonna want to see me, Linda. Hell, I don't even wanna see or be around myself most of the time. They're just gonna…look at me and see the depressed, suicidal cop, who can't even muster up a smile for his kids."
She rubbed his back. "Danny, no one's going to be expecting you to yell and carry on. Just…be there for the boys, okay? Can you try? For Jack and Sean's sake?
He nodded.
As he'd expected, Doc did not think he should be working on cold cases, and the younger man was not pleased with the one (well, one-and-one-half) reason(s) for living Danny had come up with.
"We've talked about this enough for you to know you're avoiding the real issue here. You're giving me superficial answers in the hope I won't try to dig deeper."
He leaned his head on his hand. "Doc, come on, I stared at this for an hour yesterday and the day before and the day before. That's all I could come up with!"
"What are you afraid of, Danny?"
"Nothing."
"Yes, you are. Otherwise you wouldn't be resisting this so much."
He cursed the younger man vehemently. Somehow it was disappointing when Doc didn't react.
"What about your family, Danny? If you can't find a reason for yourself to keep living…can you tell me one reason that impacts your family?"
He nodded.
Getting the words out was harder than trying to swim against the current.
"It would…destroy them. Linda would probably have a nervous breakdown, the boys…" He trailed off.
He took a drink of water.
"I…I have to keep living for…for Linda and Jack and Sean, and Dad and Pops, and Erin and Nikki and Jamie."
"Write that down, Danny."
He shrugged. "Now that's an acceptable answer? It wasn't a few weeks ago."
"A few weeks ago, you weren't as deeply depressed as you are now. Right now we'll take what we can get."
Whatever that meant.
Danny sighed, opened the folder, pulled out the notebook.
He tore the top page out, crumpled it up.
On a fresh page, he wrote, carefully, slowly,
REASONS TO KEEP LIVING:
Because my family needs me in their lives.
Doc kept looking at him.
He sighed, wrote down more words:
Because I need my family.
"Good job, Danny," Doc said warmly. "Take some time between now and Monday to talk to your family, get them to tell you what positive things you bring to their lives."
He nodded.
"And think about what positive things they bring to you. I want to see both lists Monday."
Doc left, and Danny went upstairs to see if he could sneak in a nap or two before the lacrosse game.