Danny's dozing in the uncomfortable hospital chair when the IV starts beeping. He grunts at it.
Linda groans, and he startles awake, and is at her side and holding the basin and lifting the bed for her to sit up. "I'm here, I've got you," he says, afraid she's going to be sick again.
Linda pushes the basin away. "What…where?"
"We're at the hospital, babe. You were dehydrated and I brought you in. They gave you some fluids and something for nausea."
"'Time izzit?" she slurs.
He looks around for a clock, but doesn't see one, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. "Quarter after 7 a.m."
"Where are the boys?"
"They're with my dad, they're fine."
Linda sits up, rubs her eyes with the hand that doesn't have the IV in it. "Ugh. Tastes like something died in my mouth."
"I'll see if they can get you something for that. How's your stomach feeling?"
She puts her hand on it, thinks about that for a minute. "Better, I guess. Don't think I wanna eat anything anytime soon, but I think I could stand up without puking."
She starts to swing her legs over the side of the bed.
"Woah, there, Linda, slow down," her friend and fellow nurse Amelia says, coming in with papers and pushing buttons on the IV pump that make it stop beeping.
Danny half-listens to the two nurses talk, most of the words over his head, then winces as Amelia takes the IV out of Linda's hand. He knows that's gotta hurt, and he hates seeing her in pain.
He lets out a sigh when he parks in front of their house. "Babe, we're home," he says to Linda, who's asleep with her head on the door. He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Babe?"
She groans and sits up, wincing, hand going to her side. "Sorry. Are you…are you okay, Danny? You look…"
He nods, stretches across the console to kiss her. She tastes like hospital mouthwash. "Now I am. Now that you're okay. Come on, let's get you inside and get some food in you."
"I ate, Danny. They made me eat Jell-O and crackers while you were on the phone with work. I just want to take a shower and sleep in my own bed next to you."
He nods and helps her inside.
Her knees buckle, and he guides her to sit on the couch. "Babe, I really think you should try to eat something more. It's been a few days since you kept anything down. What if I make you some really dry scrambled eggs, and some toast?"
She sighs, her hand going to her side. "Okay."
He puts the coffee on—for himself, he's not going to offer her coffee, not after almost three days of no solid food—and cooks breakfast. At least this is one thing he knows how to cook.
When he carries the food into the living room, she's doubled over on the couch, one pillow pressed to her side, the other on her lap, sobbing.
Afraid she's torn her stitches or is sick again or is in pain, he sets the plates on the table and drops to his knees beside her and lifts her head. "Babe, what's wrong? What happened?" He didn't think he'd been gone twenty minutes…
She shakes her head, and he pulls up the edge of her shirt to look at the bandage. There's no blood leaking through it that he can see. He runs his finger over it, glad that it's dry surprised (and hurt) when she slaps his hand. "Don't."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…I just, I was afraid you'd torn your stitches. What's wrong, babe? Did I do something?"
"I'm so stupid," she sniffles.
He frowns. Linda? Stupid? Not in a million…
"Babe, no, you're not. You're smart and funny and sexy and…why in the world do you think you're stupid?"
"I went through nursing school and I didn't realize it was the pain meds making me sick? What kind of a nurse am I?"
He gets up from the floor and sits down next to her, pulls her close. "The smartest, most caring, compassionate, and considerate nurse I know. There's no one else I want taking care of me when I get shot."
"And you know why I can't—I can't treat family members," she sniffles.
He nods. "Babe, you've been a…patient for the past…ten days. Or eleven days. You can't be expected to remember everything you learned in nursing school, when you're in pain. Now, breakfast is ready, will you please try to eat a bite or two?"
**
She eats one scrambled egg, and half a piece of toast. It's less than he'd like to see, but he doesn't push her.
When they're finished, he cleans up the kitchen and helps her up the stairs. "What are you going to do for pain meds since you can't taek that one?"
She yawns. "They gave me an anti-emetic-that's to prevent nausea-to take before I take the pain pills. If that still doesn't work…I'll just take Tylenol and use ice-packs."
He doesn't think that sounds like a good idea, but he doesn't fight her on it. They get to their room, and Linda groans. "It stinks in here."
"I know, I'm sorry. Let me take out the trash and spray some air freshener while you lie down."
When he comes back from taking out the trash, Linda is standing in front of their full-length mirror with only her sleep pants on, staring at herself with eyes full of tears.
He slips behind her, wraps his arms around her, and holds her. "What's wrong?"
"The scar. It's so ugly."
"Babe, it's still bandaged—you can't see it. It might heal and be nothing. Some of mine are…barely noticeable."
She shakes her head. "It's gonna be ugly and you're…not gonna want me."
He bites back a sigh. No wonder she gets mad at him when he gets shot and refuses to let her see him without a shirt on. That idea…coming from her…sounds ridiculous.
"Linda, that isn't true. I'll always, always want you—even if you were missing both legs or your hair or…anything. Two bandages on your side and back…do not make you ugly."
She shakes her head. "There's a bullet still in my back, Danny! That's ugly! I think…I think I can feel it in there, and I…I'm scared!"
Glad that the boys are at Frank's, Danny closes the bedroom door.
He stands in front of her so she can only see him, not the mirror, and wordlessly undresses. If he's very careful and very gentle, he thinks he can show her that he still thinks she's beautiful.