A/N: I stole the idea of Linda's minor in psychology from visionsofdazzlingrooms. Also, this was going to be a happy, relaxing day for Danny…and then it ran in a totally different direction. Next chapter will be his birthday!
He's very sleepy by the time they're finished with their bath.
Linda gives him a massage like he's never had before—she rubs out every single knot in his back and shoulders and legs, and yeah, he cusses, but he's not cussing her out, he's cussing at the pain that rubbing the knots out caused—and then she does something to help "relax" or "release" or do something to the scars on his back, and it simultaneously tickles and arouses and hurts him, and he makes love to her passionately.
He's dozing when she whispers, "Happy Birthday, babe."
"Huh?" he says.
"It's after midnight. Happy Birthday, Danny."
"You too," he whispers groggily, and falls asleep.
He's on a rooftop in Fallujah, readying their own RPGs to send after the enemy, when someone grabs his leg.
He shakes it off, thinking it's one of the guys messing with him.
"Danny!"
Why is he hearing Linda's voice in this hellhole?
"Danny, let me help you."
"You can't," he mutters.
He fires the RPG, and it comes back straight at him.
Linda shrieks his name.
He tries to push her out of the way…if he's going to die, he's not taking her with him…but he can't move.
It tears right through him, and the pain…
He doesn't know why he's still alive.
He should be blasted to smithereens, but he's sitting upright on the rooftop, fascinated as he watches himself sit there in excruciating pain.
Linda's holding him, and he doesn't understand how he's sitting there with a f-g hole in his head and in his heart, and she's fine.
He tries to pull away from her arms. She shouldn't be here. She's going to get hurt because of him.
"Danny, I'm fine. You need to worry about yourself. You're bleeding out."
"Danny, look at me. You're safe, babe. I'm right here."
Linda!
He has to make sure she's safe, that she isn't…
He bolts upright.
He's in his bed, at home.
Linda's sitting up next to him. "Danny, babe, I'm right here. You're safe. Look at me."
He blinks, pulls her into a bone-crushing hug. "O God…I thought…I dreamed…you were there. You were trying to help me, and…there was an RPG and it hit me and I couldn't push you out of the way, and somehow…you were fine, but I had this gigantic hole through my body, and you…"
He shakes his head, kisses the top of her head, and holds her tight. He could have lost her.
"Sounds like your subconscious has been reading too much Freud and dream interpretation," Linda says with a smile.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" he asks, letting go of her and looking at her face, afraid fo find pity or a joking smile there. Downside of being married to a nurse who minored in psychology.
"It means that you should call Doc and get his view on the nightmare."
"It's too early, and I'm not calling him today."
"It's after 8 a.m., Danny. And I seem to recall you saying that Doc told you to call him any time. You've been tossing and turning and yelling in that nightmare, for the past two hours. You need to talk to him."
"Why, when I have my own nurse who minored in psych right here?" he asks, pulling her down and beginning to unbutton her nightie.
"Because…I'm not…because…"
They make love until the boys start calling for Linda over the baby monitor.
Linda gets them while Danny goes to shower. He takes a "Marine shower," finishing in less than two minutes, then gets dressed and stares at himself in the mirror.
That nightmare did a number on him. He's got bags bigger than Linda's purse under his eyes.
He should have shaved.
He gets his razor out, then leaves it on the counter and goes to grab his phone from the bedroom.
His heart's racing again, just thinking about the nightmare, then he locks the door and dials Doc's number.
"Good morning, Danny," Doc says cheerfully.
"Uh…morning, Doc. Sorry to…to bother you," he stammers.
"You're not a bother, Danny. Where are you?"
"Sitting on my bathroom floor."
"I want you to unlock the bathroom door."
How the hell did Doc…?
He stands up with a groan…he's exhausted…unlocks it, cracks it open so Doc can hear Linda and the boys chattering down the hall. "It's unlocked. I had a helluva nightmare this morning; Linda said I was tossing and turning for two straight hours."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Can you tell me about it?"
He does, hesitantly, ashamed that he's calling his shrink at 8:30 a.m. on a Wednesday—on his birthday, no less.
His heartrate's picking up and the walls of the bathroom are starting to close in on him. He tears off his t-shirt, his phone going flying.
Breathe, Danny! some voice in his head…Doc's or Linda's, he isn't sure…says.
He takes slow, deep breaths, ten in all, before he's able to pick up his phone.
"Sorry, I…I'm here, Doc. Had a…panic attack."
"And you talked yourself through it? Reminded yourself to breathe?" Doc asks.
"Yeah," he whispers.
"Well done, Danny."
The praise from his shrink is unexpected. What would his father have said to him if he'd witnessed the panic attack instead of Doc?
He shakes his head. "So, what's the deep psychological significance of this nightmare, Doc? I never have nightmares where Linda's in Fallujah."
"Linda's there because she wants you to let her in, to open up to her. By trying to protect her from your memories of Fallujah, you end up hurting yourself more. You need to open up to her.
"Would that have saved me from getting RPG'd to pieces?"
"I don't know, but both of you would have been hit by that RPG instead of you taking the brunt of it. Let her share your pain, Danny."
He wants to yell at Doc, to say that that's what he's been doing all along, and it isn't helping; but he doesn't say anything.
He's about to hang up when he hears Doc say, quickly, "And happy birthday, Danny. Eat some cake for me, and call me if you need to."