"Dad, is everything okay?" Jack asks quietly.
He clears his throat, tries to plaster on a smile to reassure the boys—but he can't bring himself to lie to them.
"Um, no, I…I don't know," he says, and that isn't the truth but it isn't a lie, and then he pulls them close, leads them back to the chairs they'd been in, and tries not to choke up.
"Your mom…the surgeon said she came through surgery fine; she's resting. But…" He clears his throat. "Sean, you said last week at dinner you were learning about the spinal cord in school? The things it does, and, um…what happens if it gets hurt?"
"Yeah, it can…" he starts excitedly, then falls silent at a look from his big brother.
"There…there's a bullet really near…near your mom's spine, and…"
"Mom has a bullet inside her? Cool!" Sean says. Danny wants to shake him, but he also remembers being that 11-year-old who thought that having a bullet or shrapnel or anything foreign in your body, automatically made you "cool" and a "hero."
Jack reaches across Danny, trying to punch his younger brother. "Shut up! If Mom dies because of this bullet, that won't be…"
Danny pulls them tight, leaning forward so his body is in the way of the boys pummeling each other. "Stop it! Mom isn't gonna die; you can't think like that, boys. That's why…they can't take the bullet out—because they wanna make sure she…stays that way."
"You mean the bullet might kill her?"
He's botching this explanation of medical stuff.
It should be him, not Linda, that had taken the bullet. He's a cop; he's used to bullets. She's a nurse; she's used to taking care of…of people who have bullets.
"Trying to take it out might, which is why they're not taking it out, and which is why she's going to be fine," he says firmly. "Now where are those snacks? Did you get your old man anything?"
Jack hands him change and a candy bar.
The Hershey's bar tastes like sandpaper, but he eats it anyway.
He doesn't know how much time has passed—his mind has been tormenting him with every possible scenario of Linda getting shot, of her realizing it, of her calling his name—when the surgeon comes back and says he can see her. "Only you. One visitor at a time. No kids," he adds sternly, glancing at Jack and Sean, who are looking at him and obviously trying to eavesdrop.
He nods. "Thanks, Doc," he whispers.
"Doc"… He should call Doc—his shrink, that is—but then Doc would want to know how he was feeling and all that b.s., and probably try to talk him down from his private plan to find the man who'd ordered the hit on Flores and kill him slowly and painfully…. Yeah, maybe he shouldn't call Doc.
He follows a nurse down the hallway, and the beeps and noises get louder until they're deafening.
If the nurse says anything to him about visiting hours, he doesn't hear it.
He blinks back tears when he sees Linda lying in the hospital bed, oxygen in her nose, wires peeking out from every possible angle of her hospital gown, her face scarily pale.
She's moving restlessly on the bed, and he hopes she isn't in pain. If she's hurting, and they haven't taken care of it—he's going to raise holy hell at the nurses' station…
"Danny?" she says weakly, and he takes her hand—the one that doesn't have the IV in it.
"I'm here, Linda. I'm right here."
"I need Danny," she whispers again.
Either she's still loopy from anesthesia, or she's dreaming, or…
"I'll be back to check on you in about…" the nurse says, but again…the numbers, the time, don't register in his brain. He breathes a sigh of relief when she leaves, closing the door behind her.
He toes his shoes off, looks around the room to make sure the officer posted at her door isn't watching and there's no nurse coming to chew him out, then lowers the side-rail and lies down next to her. "I'm here, Linda. You're safe now," he whispers.
She snuggles into his chest, and he holds her as tightly as he can, careful of all the wires and tubes and who-knows-what.
She groans, and he kisses her head gently, pulling the call button up from where it's hanging by the side of the bed and pushing it.
"Hurts," she says, and now he knows she's awake, and he hates it because she's definitely in pain.
"Shh. I know. Can you open your eyes and tell me where you are?"
She shakes her head against his chest. "You're Danny…I'm in the hospital…I was shot, and it's…May…"
She grimaces, her hand reaching down to her side.
He holds her hand gently—just like she does when he's been shot and he's trying to explore the bandages—and she hisses in pain.
A nurse comes in. "Excuse me, Sir. You can't be there…"
"She's my wife," he says, but at a look from Linda—even after having been shot, being in pain and recovering from surgery, she knows how to keep him in line—he gets up from the bed.
Ten minutes and a dose of morphine later, Linda's drifting. She keeps saying his name, and he holds her hand, runs his fingers through her hair. "Shhh, I'm here, babe. You're safe. Go to sleep."
He doesn't want her to go sleep, because deep down, he's afraid she won't wake up; but she needs to rest to recover…and he needs her to fall asleep so he can…
He could have lost her—he still could, if that bullet…
He bites his lip 'till it bleeds until her breathing has evened out and she's asleep, and then he leans his head on the edge of her mattress and cries his eyes out.