Title - Rage Therapy
Disclaimer- Not mine, Chris Fedak and Sam Sklaver owns it
Summary- Dani finds an unconventional way of bleeding off her tensions.
Notes:-written for cozy_coffee for the prompt of Any, any, sometimes screaming "F*ck!" can be a good form of self care and International Fanworks day 2020
Dani hadn't wanted to come home but exhaustion wanted her to fall down on the floor just inside her door and sleep there. Instead she dragged over to her couch and threw herself down. She drummed her hands on the pillows and screamed a litany of fucks at the ceiling. Her neighbors might be wondering at what was happening in her place but Dani didn't care. She needed to let the rage out. She had been on the go for hours, would only be granted a few hours sleep and then would have to be back at the hospital.
She hadn't slept in over a day, too frazzled over the idea of Malcolm in the hands of a serial killer, lost to them. How the hell he ended up under his own home, she still wasn't entirely clear at. He was alive and they had Watkins. She could breathe now, at least. Dani couldn't pretend it was merely because Bright was part of the team or that no one should be subjected to what she knew Watkins could do. He'd become a friend almost without her being aware of it. The idea that he could be hurt or dying had tied her in knots. She had wanted to throttle Swanson and the rest of the FBI. Hell, she'd be tempted to let JT do it for her. It had been hard to bite the bullet and work with the FBI. It left her keyed up.
Just thinking about it, Dani let loose another barrage of fucks and the pressure eased. Swearing as therapy, she wondered what Bright's therapist would think of that? Well rage yoga was a thing, right? As good as the cursing made her feel right now, Dani considered sitting in on a session. She closed her eyes against the memory of the cabin, it's empty staleness. The realization that they had guessed wrong, that Malcolm was still out there and suffering had gutted her.
Dani struggled back to her feet, leaving her shoes by the couch. She stumbled into the shower but it wasn't going to wake her up. Falling into bed, she tried not to think about what Bright looked like in his mother's home. He'd been so pale, so small. He'd seized from the blood loss as the EMS workers tried to get him into the ambulance. That wasn't going to leave her any time soon. What she had to remember was he was alive. He'd made it through surgery just fine. Gil was there with him and Mrs. Whitly. Dani had stayed for a while, convincing herself Bright wouldn't die the moment she took her eyes off him. He'd been so still, so quiet, lying there with tubes going in his arms, up his nose, up places best left under the covers. It hurt her to see him like this.
Eventually Gil had sent her home, telling her she needed to take care of herself. Only now she was too worried to sleep. "Fuck, Bright, how do you always get into these messes?"
A few more invectives and some deep breathing let Dani relax into sleep.