She waits until she's sure Danny is asleep—his breathing even, lines of pain and stress on his face smoothed out, fingers no longer gripping her shoulder—before slipping out of bed, padding into the bathroom, and dialing a number that has become entirely too familiar.
"Hello?" Dawson says on the fourth ring, sounding slightly tired but not like he'd been asleep.
"Dr. Dawson, it's Linda. I'm sorry to call you so late, but Danny said you're a night owl, and I'm worried about him…he's in such a foul mood, and he won't talk to me, I mean he'll give hints here and there, but he won't open up and he…I'm afraid he's going to wait for one of these days when the boys and I are at the pool or something, and…do something. Not like permanent, but…do something to hurt his ankle, like…make himself fall down the stairs. He…scared me earlier; he was getting ready for bed, and I heard a thud, and when I went upstairs he was lying on top of his gun. He said he was just cleaning it, but…"
"Did you ask him if he was going to use it? Or even thinking about it?"
"No," she sniffles, suddenly teary.
"I want you to ask him in the morning. Don't leave him…stay with him until he wakes up, and then ask him that."
She sniffles. "Okay. I…I can do that. I just…things have been tense between us since I got shot, and now Danny's hurt, and he's shutting down faster than…faster than a bank at closing-time, and…"
"Linda, when's the last time you talked to Dr. Bennett?"
She shrugs even though Dawson can't see her. "It…it's been a few months. I thought I was doing better, and Danny and I had a really good talk a couple months ago, and…"
"I want you to call her in the morning, set up an appointment. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to do a phone session if you don't feel comfortable leaving Danny alone. But I think you need to talk to her."
"Okay. But how can I get him to open up to me?"
Dawson yawns—but not so quietly Linda doesn't hear. "Sorry about that. Danny mentioned a talk you two had, where he told you that losing you scared the hell out of him. I think that might be a good starting-place. Remind him you're still afraid of losing him, and part of…part of what the two of you agreed to work on is communication, so he needs to try to open up a bit more. If that doesn't work, he's supposed to call me Thursday for a phone session, and I'll talk to him."
She can tell Dawson is trying to wind down the conversation, but there's something else that's been nagging her, and she wants his confirmation. "Do you think…I'm not saying I don't believe Danny's in pain, but…maybe the pain is being made worse by…him thinking he deserves it?"
"You might have a point. Try to get him to open up a little, and let me know how that goes."
"Thanks, Dr. Dawson. I…I'll let you go. Thanks again."
"You're welcome. Call Dr. Bennett tomorrow. Take care, Linda," Doc says, and hangs up.
She lies down next to Danny again, smiles when he throws his good leg over hers in his sleep. He knows she's there, even in sleep, and that thought, plus what Dawson told her to ask him, makes her want to cry.
But she doesn't want to wake Danny up, so she bites her lip and draws patterns on his chest until she falls asleep.
After a restless night, she's woken up by Danny kissing her.
His eyes say he's in pain, but he smiles at her as she kisses back groggily. "Babe, are you okay?"
"Think I should be asking you that," Danny smirks. "You tossed and turned all night."
She sits up. "Because I called Doc last night, and…I need to ask you something."
He reaches down to move his ankle in circles with his hand—one of the passive motion exercises he's supposed to be doing, but hasn't been, but also one of the exercises that hurts him.
She puts her hand over his, worried he's trying to use the pain to distract himself from what he knows will be a difficult conversation. "Danny, look at me, please."
He sighs, turns to face her. "What?"
She bites her lip. "You had your gun out last night, Danny. And I know you have to clean it regularly, but…you were beating yourself up for the death of a fellow cop, and then you get your gun out, and I know your PTSD has been stirred up by this ankle injury…"
She can't bring herself to ask the question.
"Just ask me, Linda," Danny sighs.
"Were you…thinking about using it?"
He shrugs.
"Danny, I need to hear you answer me," Linda says, her voice breaking in spite of herself.
"It…crossed my mind for a second. Give my life for the one I took. But I also…did need to clean my weapon. So…yeah, I thought about it, but not seriously. Not after…everything I put you and the boys through after…after the Corporal Russell case. Not after…almost losing you, what that did to me, to …to us."
She lets out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "Promise me, Danny? Promise me you're not gonna kill yourself just because this ankle injury has stirred up all sorts of memories and PTSD?"
He finally meets her eyes with his own—which are watery and pained. "I promise, Linda. And I…I'll try to…"
He trails off, shakes his head. "I don't know…what is it you want from me, Linda?"
He's not angry; he sounds…confused. She takes his hands in hers and looks him straight in the eye.
"I want you to come talk to me when you start thinking that you need to even the score. I want you… if you can't tell Doc about Fallujah or Officer Bradley, or all the dark thoughts that you're trying to hide…talk to me. I think…and Doc agreed with me…part of what's keeping you from healing is you're blaming yourself. You think you deserve to be in pain, so you're…deliberately trying to make your ankle hurt more, and you're not doing the exercises you need to do to strengthen, and…"
His lips on hers stop her from finishing that sentence.
"I'm sorry, Linda," he says when they break for air. "I'm sorry I scared you. I…I can't promise I'll stop blaming myself, but I…I can promise to try."
"That's all I want," Linda says, and gets up and hands him his crutches.