Got this idea last night when my roommate's boyfriend kept me up half the night with his snoring. So if you think it's stupid or undeveloped, now you know why...lol. Figured it deserved a look. Also, if some of the events I talked about aren't quite right, let me know and I'll fix it...unfortunately I do not own any of the seasons, and my memory of episodes I saw months ago is not perfect, although it's close enough for my purposes, so there are bound to be mistakes. Tell me what you think; you know how I feel about feedback…lol.
I don't own the characters mentioned or events (that pertain to the show itself) discussed. I do however own the plot and Danny's thoughts…in the fic, obviously. So don't sue.
Danny dreamed.
Sometimes he dreamt about big-breasted women in skimpy clothes doing things to him he couldn't even describe. Sometimes it was Lindsey, sometimes it was Aiden, but more often than not it was some unrecognizable girl. It didn't matter much; it was more about the what than the who anyway. He'd wake from these dreams to sticky sheets and a tightness in his boxers, and would take a cold shower and wash the sheets, chuckling as he did, reminded of the times a similar situation had happened when he was a teenager. He did the same then as now, washing the sheets in the bathroom sink, although then it was more out of embarrassment than necessity.
Dany dreamed.
Sometimes he dreamt about his childhood, growing up in a "family under surveillance," as the euphemism went. He dreamed about growing up in a family with three uncles and a brother in Tanglewood, about the lessons Louie taught him about the street, things that seemed important at the time, but which Danny thought now, while helpful in his job, by and large unnecessary. He dreamed about how much he had idolized his brother, how much he had wanted to be accepted by him, and how crushed he was when his brother ran him out of the group. He knew now why he had done it; Louie had seen more in Danny then Danny had seen in himself at the time, and hadn't wanted him to get mixed up in it all. It was all water under the bridge by now, Danny finally understood why, but it hurt nonetheless. He woke from these dreams with a wry smile on his lips, nostalgia washing over him, and he wished things were as simple now as they had seemed then.
Danny dreamed.
Sometimes he dreamt about hazards of the job; exploding bombs, gunshot wounds, a knife between the ribs, whatever. If it was possible, he had dreamt about it at one point. They were worse when something actually happened; after getting shut in a panic room for a few hours he had nightmares for weeks about it, only in his dreams there was no one to let him out, sometimes no one even noticed. Sometimes Stella showed up, like she had, assuring him they were working on it, but no one came back, and he was left in the dark room by himself. He'd throw himself against the door countless times, but the door was solid, and it wouldn't budge even an inch. Sometimes Mac would show up, telling him how it was punishment for being a disappointment, giving a laundry list of reasons, some things that had happened and some that he had wanted to but hadn't and some that hadn't even been a thought in his mind, but Danny accepted them all silently. He woke up from these dreams tangled in his sheets, his body slick with sweat and a yell on his lips, and he'd have to get up and pace his small apartment to clear his head until he could get back to sleep.
Danny dreamed.
Sometimes he dreamt about failure. Failure to apprehend a suspect, which led to more deaths, and the guy could never be found again. Failure to search a scene properly, missing the paperwork or getting evidence illegally, only to be told it couldn't be used, and the guy was going to walk, and it was all his fault. One day going too far and doing something Mac, with all his seniority, couldn't sweep under the carpet for him, and getting fired. Failing to keep in touch with Aiden as much as he knew he should have; on some level, he blamed himself for what had happened to her after she left. Maybe if he had talked to her more, kept in contact more, she could have let the case go and wouldn't have gone after the guy. Never mind that during the day he knew that it wouldn't have helped; at night it was all maybes and should haves, and there was no escaping from them, despite all the logic he threw at them. Failing to get fucking Sonny Sossone put away the first time. Not that it was his fault; the evidence was sound, and he hadn't really even been allowed to be part of the investigation, since he was connected to it, no matter how tenuous the connection. But maybe, if he had pushed a little harder, he could have been put away the first time, and Louie wouldn't have ended up in the hospital. He blamed himself for that one, too; Louie had come out of the woodwork to keep him out of it, and after he learned why Louie had pushed him out of the gang when he was a kid he felt even worse; all those years he had held the grudge, avoiding him because of old wounds that opened up every time he heard his voice, and Louie had been protecting him, not acting all high and mighty like he had thought. These dreams were the worst; he'd wake tangled in his sheets, sometimes finding himself on the floor depending on how bad it was, and he could never go back to sleep, no matter how much he tried. He ended up making a pot of coffee at one in the morning, and would watch some old movie on TV until it was time to go to the lab, silently praying for a call. When he got to the lab, the rest of the team always noticed the circles under his eyes, the slight decline in his usual comments, but they didn't say anything; they knew what kind of a night it had been without even asking, since they all had nights like it every once in a while.
Danny dreamed.