Linda throws a chicken into her shopping cart, then marches off to the produce section. She is pissed at Danny for getting himself thrown out of PT, but she is not going to let him waste away to skin and bones just because he's a bad patient and he's frustrating as heck. She is going to make him chicken noodle soup if it kills her, hangitall!
She grabs a bag of carrots and some celery and garlic, and throws them into the cart. She shouldn't have left, but Danny acting like an overgrown two-year-old throwing a tantrum…getting himself kicked out after two sessions—two freaking sessions!—of PT…just made her so mad.
"You never leave your partner alone…I can't lose you."
His words from a few weeks ago float through her brain, and she skids to a halt on the noodle aisle.
She did it again. After Danny told her how much he didn't want to be left…she left. Never mind he isn't home alone—Doc is there—but still…
She races through the store, grabbing everything else she needs for the soup Danny had requested, plus breadsticks and ice cream, and rushes through self-check-out.
When the car's loaded, she sends a quick text to Erin—who'd picked the boys up at an ungodly hour to go on some semi-educational field trip—asking her to keep them until after dinner.
When she parks the car, Doc is just walking out the door. "Linda, I wanted to talk to you before I left. First, I wanted to apologize for snapping at you at the hospital after Danny threw me out of his room. That was unprofessional of me, and I am sorry."
She has to think for a minute before she remembers what he's alluding to.
"Doc—Dr. Dawson—you didn't snap; you were mad because Danny had thrown hot cocoa at you. And, you were right that I kinda violated doctor-patient confidentiality by asking you to come see him, behind his back. I shouldn't have done that. Apology accepted." She bites her lip. "What's the other thing?"
Doc looks uncomfortable. "I…realize you were angry with him this morning, but…don't storm out like that. I know I was here, but…go do a load of laundry, clean the boy's rooms—anything that keeps you in the house. Once I got the full scoop of what happened at PT, we talked about you leaving—and Danny is afraid you are going to up and leave him for good over this. It took all of my therapeutic powers of persuasion to keep him from hurting himself."
"What do you mean?" she asks, her mouth going dry with fear.
"I…think you need to hear that from Danny. Call me tonight if you need to, Linda," Doc says, and goes to his car.
Leave him for good? He can't mean…Doc couldn't have been talking about divorce. No way would they… But Danny did say he's afraid of being left.
She walks inside.
Danny is stretched out on the couch, holding a small framed picture of them on their wedding day. He doesn't seem to notice she's home.
She goes into the kitchen, puts the ice cream in the freezer, and very quickly gets the soup started, then goes back into the living room and sits on the edge of the couch next to him. "Danny, babe…I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left."
"You can't just leave," he whispers, meeting her eyes; and the look on his face tells her he's thinking of the time he stormed out of the house after he got mad at her for doing her job.
"I'm sorry, Danny. I…I told you I was going to the store."
He shifts on the couch, a flicker of pain crossing his face. "Yeah, after chewing me out for the entire drive home—telling me I was acting worse than Jack did when he was a toddler!"
"Danny, I was frustrated, okay? You've been doing everything you can to…sabotage your healing. And I am scared stiff I'm going to wake up one of these mornings and you're gonna be gone—not gone like out of the house, but lying on our bed with your gun in your hand and a bullet in your brain, and…this is gonna sound stupid, but…"
She takes a deep breath, looks at her hands. "I—that thought scared me so much it made me angry, just like you get when you're scared, and I…I was afraid I'd…say something I couldn't take back. I knew you were safe with Doc, and I…I didn't wanna tell you, so…I left. I'm sorry."
He sits up, carefully swings both legs off the couch, and pulls her into his lap, pressing her head to his chest—almost like he doesn't want her to see his face. "You…you thought I was suicidal, and… you left?" he asks, sounding hurt.
Phrased that way—by him—it sounds ten million times worse than it had in her head. "Danny…I wouldn't have left if I thought you were an…imminent danger to yourself. I didn't leave you alone; I…I knew you were safe with Doc. I was hoping you'd open up to him—apparently, you did—and I…I was afraid I would say something that would push you too far."
"Doc changed the code to my lockbox," he says quietly. "I don't know what he changed it to. He said he'd tell you later."
She nods her head against his chest, bites her lip. "I'm not leaving you alone again until you're back to full duty."
"You're going to go crazy—we both are—if you're stuck inside these four walls with me 24/7."
"I didn't say we weren't leaving the house. And, besides, today's the last day of the boys' busy summer schedule. They'll be around more."
"Can we afford…you not working?"
She had thought about that long and hard, and done the calculations a few days ago. "Yes. You're on sick leave—and getting full pay. I've been working two shifts a week, so I haven't used up all my paid time off. Plus, some of my friends at the hospital have given me their sick leave and vacation leave so I can stay home."
She pulls away from his arms then, looks him in the eye, feels tears drip down her face. "Danny… why would you even…? Is it because I left?"
He shakes his head. "No. I'm just…frustrated with myself, and I know I'm being a difficult patient and you're frustrated with me, and…if you didn't have to worry…"
She puts her hands on either side of his face, pulls him close, and kisses him until she feels his fingers on her jeans zipper.
She pulls away gently, bats at his hand. "Later, babe."
He pouts like a little boy, and she says carefully, "Danny…yeah, I was frustrated, but I do not want you ever thinking that I would be happier, or better off, or…anything like that, without you. You need to talk to me if you start thinking that…you're better off dead than living with a broken ankle—which is going to heal, in time—and PTSD and survivor's guilt. Do you hear me?"
He nods. "I might not be back to work for six more weeks—longer if this stupid ankle doesn't heal."
She's confused for a bit, by his sudden subject change—then it hits her: he's hit his limit on emotional conversations for the day. She nods, kisses his nose gently. "Maybe shorter, if you find a good physical therapist and actually work with him."
"Actually, Doc recommended one. I was gonna call him…"
She gets him an ice-pack for his ankle, then goes to check on the soup, while Danny dials the physical therapist.
A/N: I think this is about the half-way point of this story. (Which was never going to be this long. Whoops… I really need to plot out the rest of it. I'm going to try to bring the boys and the rest of the family in a bit more, as well as Danny's new PT, and some discussions of PT to try to get Danny to see why he needs to cooperate with it. Any and all suggestions are welcome!