A/N: Sorry this is so short...trying to force myself out of writer's block.
He desperately wants to sleep but he can't because Linda is sitting on the couch with his head in her lap, and she won't be able to sleep sitting up.
And it's not fair to her if he sleeps and she doesn't.
So he starts talking.
The words come haltingly, each word sending another stab through his ankle, drawing another bead of sweat onto his forehead.
"A couple weeks ago, I told you that if I had known one broken ankle would stir up all these memories, I'd have… And then I never finished that sentence."
Her cold hands card his sweaty hair, and he groans. Her hands feel heavenly.
She stops. "Danny, what's wrong?"
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes squeezed tight so he can't see the…pity?...fear?... revulsion? ...in her eyes.
"Babe, please look at me."
He opens his eyes, and the only emotion in her blue eyes is sadness. "I'm sorry, Danny. It wasn't your fault. Now, what were you gonna say?"
"Don't stop rubbing my head?" he says.
She lifts his hand to her lips, kisses it, and goes back to running her hands through his hair. "Not that. The other thing."
"That…I wouldn't have broken my ankle?"
"Try again, babe; I know when you're lying or not telling me the full truth. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm listening, Danny."
He sighs. Gosh, this is hard.
"I tripped because I was ducking out of the way of a bullet. Got my foot caught in the ditch where we'd parked the car. And if I had known a broken ankle would stir up all this crap from Fallujah…I wouldn't have ducked the bullet."
"Danny!"
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
Now that the words are out of his head, it sounds pretty pathetic that he'd rather be dead than have to face memories of Fallujah…but it's the truth.
"Danny…I…I'm not trying to sound insensitive, but…you're suicidal after a broken ankle? After all the hard work you put in with Doc after the case with…Corporal Russell?"
"I'm not suicidal, Linda; I just…I don't want to remember any more."
He's afraid she's going to push, make him talk, tell him to stop bottling things up; but she simply gets herself out from under his head, sits next to him, and unbuttons a button on her blouse. "Then let me help you forget?" she says huskily.
He nods, and by the time she's done having her way with him, he doesn't even notice that his ankle is broken.