A/N: Thanks to LinDannylove for the 100-word suggestion that started this chapter. I hope I did justice to your idea!

Also, I listened to my first-ever NKOTB song today. I was trying to think of a song Danny would sing to Linda, so I googled the band and picked one that sounded lovey-dovey. Hope you like it!

"Do you need another blanket? More water? Your phone charger?" he asks, standing up and pacing the floor.

"I don't need anything that you can give me," she snaps, and he flinches a little, startled by her tone, then remembering she's in pain.

"I'm fine, Danny," she adds in a slightly gentler tone. "What I need is sleep, and more pain meds, and I can't take any more pain meds for four hours, so let me sleep. Please. You hovering like a…a …vulture isn't gonna make either of these bullet holes hurt any less."

A vulture? Ouch… She must still be high on whatever they'd given her before they left the hospital, if she's comparing him to a vulture.

He leans down to kiss her, and she holds her hand up. "Go back to work, Detective. Don't you have paperwork?"

"I'm not leaving you."

"Danny, I need sleep. Please go do something…sit on the couch and watch TV in your underwear for all I care. Just…let me sleep."

He drops a quick kiss on her forehead before she can stop him, pulls the sheet up, and slips out of the room.

He's closing the door when he hears her groan in pain.

He freezes, his hand on the doorknob.

This is his fault.

If he had caught Mario Hunt earlier, or seen that Curtis was clearly working for the gang…then Linda wouldn't have been shot.

He wants to go back in their bedroom and lie down next to her and hold her, but she'd asked to be left alone, and he's afraid he'll hurt her if he holds her… And watching TV in his underwear (why does she always tease him about that? He did that like once…when they were 18) seems wrong when she's in pain.

He goes downstairs and opens the fridge.

Damn, Erin had been right when she said their neighbors had been busy. The fridge is bursting… Mrs. Baldini's lasagna, shepherd's pie—in the same blue baking dish his mom always used; Pops must have made that—their next-door neighbor Janie's chicken bake. He and Linda won't have to cook for a week, which is good, considering she's healing and he can't cook a TV dinner.

He kicks the vegetable drawer in sudden anger, slams the fridge door shut.

He's a cop. He's used to bullets. He should have been the one in the line of fire, not Linda! She's never hurt anyone in her life—why did she step in the path of the bullet, why was she trying to protect Hector Florez?

He trudges back up the stairs, sits in the hallway.

She groans, and he's on his feet and in their room before he can think about it. "Babe? Do you want an ice-pack? Or would a bath help? Some Tylenol?"

"Ice pack sounds good. Can't get my stitches wet. Can't take any more meds. Thought I told you to let me sleep."

He kisses her head, runs downstairs, and is back with the ice-packs before she can groan again. "I can't…sit down there while you're hurting. And besides you're not sleeping right now anyway. Where do you want the ice packs?"

"I don't know," she says, sounding close to tears. "I can't sleep on my back, I can't sleep on my side…I can't get comfortable."

"Hey. Let me help. I'm gonna pick you up, okay?"

"Be gentle?"

"Always. We'll trade spots 'till you're healed. You can lie on your left side and still spoon me, okay?"

She nods, and he picks her up.

He's as quick and gentle as he can be, but her tears are dropping on his hands and arms as he repositions her on his side of the bed and lies down behind her.

He tucks an ice-pack and a pillow between her back and his body, holds the other ice-pack over her side. "Does that feel good?"

She nods her head against his chest, but she's still crying.

He can't stand it when she cries—especially not when it's his fault she's been shot.

He racks his brain for something to sing to her. He finally settles on the only NKOTB song he knows—"I'll Be Loving You (Forever)."

By the time he's done singing, she's sobbing in earnest, and gasping in pain.

He frowns. He screwed up.

"Babe, what's wrong? Did I mess up the lyrics? Did I sing the wrong song? Are you in pain? Do you need to go back to the hospital?"

She shakes her head and starts to turn onto her back.

Before he can comprehend that she shouldn't be on her back because it hurts her, she's kissing him fiercely.

Her tears are salty on his lips, and he kisses her back, finally pulling away to breathe. "What was that for?"

"Because I love you, Danny. Because you picked one of my favorite songs even though I know you're jealous of Donnie 'cause I used to have a crush on him. Because I know you're blaming yourself for me getting shot—and it wasn't your fault!"

He's not going to argue with her about him blaming himself—not while she's lying in their bed with two bullet-holes and a freaking bullet still in her body! He kisses her forehead. "I love you, babe. Let's get you back on your side so you're not hurting so bad."

"As long as you're holding me I'm not in pain," she says, snuggling into his chest—and then he knows she's definitely still high from whatever they gave her at the hospital.

He rubs her back gently until she's asleep.