Linda is doing laundry when her phone rings. "Hey, Linda, it's Maria. Danny's been hurt—he wasn't shot, he just sprained his ankle; but…he's acting weird."

She drops the wet clothes back into the washing machine and runs to get her purse. "Are you at the ER?"

"Yeah. He went down hard, and…stopped responding; he's having some sort of flashback, or…I don't know. He's refusing to let them do an X-Ray. He's barely talking, and you know normally he'd be trying to get back out on the street, but he didn't fight me driving him to the ER."

"I'll meet you there. Which ankle is it?"

"His left. Why?"

"Never mind. Tell the nurses to back off him. They can ice it, but stop pushing him for more. He is having a flashback, and I know why."

She hangs up and gets in the car.

It's been a few years since he'd told her about Bobby LaRue, but he'd injured this ankle before, back when Curatola was his partner, and had the same reaction. Not bad enough for his superiors to notice or send him to the shrink, but enough that…

He's lying on his back on the gurney, staring at the ceiling. Linda's heart breaks when she sees the pain on his face. He'd had a blanket at one point, but now it's twisted in a ball on the floor, and he's shivering slightly, thanks to the ice-pack on his left ankle.

"Danny? Babe?" Linda says, picking up the blanket and putting it on top of him.

"What are you doing here?" he asks without opening his eyes.

"Of course I'm here."

"Who's with the kids?"

"They're at school, Danny. Can I give you a hug?"

He nods, and she climbs onto the gurney on his left side, hugs him tightly. "What happened?"

"Twisted my ankle…next thing I know, I'm back in Fallujah."

"You had a flashback to when you sprained your ankle in Iraq?" she guesses.

He nods, scrubbing his face. "Can we go home now?"

"Not until they do an X-Ray and make sure it's not broken."

"It's not," he sighs.

"Can you move it?"

He shakes his head, and she takes a peek under the ice-pack. His ankle and foot are grossly swollen and discolored. "Babe, I'm pretty sure this is broken. You need to let them do the X-Ray."

A few hours later, they have the news: his ankle is broken and is going to need surgery. They can't operate until the swelling goes down, so Linda takes him home and gets him situated on the couch.

Danny balks at the ice-pack Linda tries to wrap around his ankle. "I don't like being cold, Linda. Didn't they ice it enough at the hospital?"

"Lie still and stop fussing, Danny. You're worse than the boys when you're sick."

"I'm not sick; my ankle's just freaking broken."

She gets the ice-pack wrapped around his ankle, sits down next to him, and smiles when he puts his head in her lap. "I had a flashback, Linda. Baez must think I'm a nutcase. I totally freaked out."

"She doesn't think you're a nutcase."

He looks up at her. "Why? Did you tell her?"

"I told her you'd hurt your ankle in Fallujah—nothing more, no details. Just enough so she'd understand." She kisses the graze on his forehead. "How are you feeling now?"

He tries to sit up, to move away from her. "No fair, you trying to get me to talk when you know I've had pain meds and I can't get away."

"And you know if you don't talk to me, you're going to wake up from nightmares once you do fall asleep."

"I'll take my chances," he says, and closes his eyes.