A/N: Many, many thanks to Lindannylove for rescuing this story from an abrupt end. I did not give this story what it deserved—thanks for calling me out on it! (Also, Danny's birthday in here is the same as Donnie Wahlberg's; I'd decided August in my big timeline of everyone's ages and dates, and upon looking up Donnie's birthday, I figured…why not make their birthdays the same date [though different years]?)
After another sleepless night, comes another week of sick leave. Then, after what feels like more meetings than it took to get him discharged from the Corps, he worms his way back onto modified duty.
The summer drags by, 40 hours a week of desk duty…July, then August.
He gets home late one Tuesday night agitated and on-edge.
He unlocks the door, and two little boys in pajamas tackle him. "Dada, Dada, Dada!" they yell, as if they haven't seen him in years.
He picks them up. "How are my favorite little Reagans? And why are they up so, so late?"
"Dada! No nap!" Sean says sleepily.
He kisses his head. "Did somebody not nap today, Sean-o?"
"No nap," Sean yawns, and pops his thumb in his mouth.
"Mommy let us stay up to wait for you!" Jack says.
He reads two stories to them, then tucks them back in bed.
When he goes back downstairs, Linda's cleaning up the kitchen.
He pulls her close, kisses her deeply. "Hey, babe. Gormley gave me tomorrow off."
She kisses back. "You're home all day tomorrow? On your birthday?" she asks, teary.
"Yeah. Why are you all weepy?"
"Because…because last year I didn't get to see you or hug you or even talk to you…I didn't even know if you were dead or alive on your birthday last year!" she sniffles.
And now it makes sense that he's been agitated all day…this is his first birthday since coming home. His first birthday as the only surviving member of his unit. A birthday he owes to Bobby LaRue and Marcus Beale and the guys in his unit.
He pulls away from her, goes into the dining room and leans on the table. He is not going to have a flashback over this.
He counts to 100, takes a few deep breaths.
The sounds of exploding IED's dance around the edges of his brain.
He names five things he can see, and is trying to find four things he can feel, when Linda's arms come around his waist, her head resting over the scars on his back. "What's wrong, Danny? What'd I say?"
He shakes his head. "Nothing. I just…this is…it'll be the first birthday as…as the only guy who made it home."
She shifts so she's the one holding him, his lifeline in the storm. "I'm sorry…not that you made it home, but that you…blame yourself for that."
He nods, buries his face in her hair.
"I love you," she whispers fiercely. "And I am so, so happy you're here and that we can celebrate your birthday tomorrow."
He nods. "How were you planning to celebrate?"
She kisses him. "You'll have to sleep tonight if you want to find out."
He tenses a little…sleep still isn't easy for him. Some nights are good; and some…are not. If he focuses only on his family for the hours before going to bed, he can usually sleep. If he starts thinking about Fallujah close to bedtime…he usually has a nightmare. Which means, tonight is probably gonna be a bad night.
He kisses her. "You know what will help me sleep tonight? A nice hot bath with my even hotter wife in my arms."
She blushes, and he pulls her upstairs.