I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm

Two

A/n This chapter was written by ancilla89 ! I'd add her as a coauthor, but I don't think you can do that on Wattpad...

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He takes the new, "improved," volume-adjusting, high-tech earbuds out of the package, slips them in his ears and plugs them into the laptop.

Linda had ordered them—he doesn't wanna know what she paid for overnight shipping—from Amazon after he said he couldn't hear Doc through the speakers on his laptop.

He powers on the computer and prays Doc finds some reason to cancel this session...

He logs on to his email, opens the link Doc sent, hopes his camera or microphone will crash or something.

But no, the light comes on, and he can see Doc looking tired but happy to see him, and then his own face appears in the little box in the corner of the screen. Gosh he looks like hell. He turns "self-view" off so he doesn't sit there for the entire hour thinking about how much he hates his face. And now he sounds like a bratty teen. Dammit.

"How are you holding up?" Doc asks, and he shrugs.

"Can you hear me okay?" Doc asks, a little more loudly.

He nods, and Doc raises his thermos in a "toast." "I know you hate this, Danny, but I need you to use your voice and actually talk to me."

"Why can't we just do a phone session?" he asks tiredly. "Why is it so damn important that you see me?"

"Because body language is important in therapy." Doc says this as if this is the first time instead of the ten millionth. "Now, how are you holding up?"

He wants to lie, but Doc would be able to tell, so he shakes his head. "Not good. I...there's a ton of work than I can do from home, but it's still not enough to keep me busy enough. I'm on the street 2, maybe 3 days a week—when they really need a detective there. I'm worried about Linda and Dad and Pops, and Jack says he's being careful—but who knows with college kids? And...I don't have any refills left on the Zoloft, and I can't get any without a doctor's visit."

"How long have you been off the Zoloft?" Doc asks sharply.

"Since...since September," he whispers, hating himself. It's the first week of December now.

"Danny, I want you to call your doctor's office and request an emergency virtual visit. You need to get that refilled. Your doctor shouldn't have to see you in-person; a virtual visit should be enough. And then call the pharmacy and get them to deliver it. Does Linda know?"

He shakes his head. "I...she's so stressed and exhausted, I don't want her to have to deal with..."

"She's been married to you for almost 25 years; I guarantee you, she's noticed something's off."

There's a loud clattering, then the power flickers, then Linda yells his name. "I...I have to go, Doc, something's wrong with...our power just went out," he says as the overhead light flickers again and then goes completely off. Thankfully his computer has good battery.

"I'll be right here when you can come back, Danny. I don't have another session 'till 6."

He promises lamely that he'll come back, and rushes downstairs. "What's wrong, babe?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt your session, but...I thought I smelled gas. I went outside to call the gas company but they said they have so many requests for service, they couldn't get here until this time tomorrow. I went to look at the heater, but I got turned around and bumped something in the breaker box—think I knocked the lights out."

He takes a flashlight and goes to the basement. There's a strong odor of natural gas coming from the heater. He turns the gas off, opens the breaker box and flips the switches for the lights back on.

He goes back upstairs, calling himself every name in the book for not investigating earlier when he thought he smelled something. If he'd checked then, maybe this could have been fixed. "Gas leak. I turned it off. Guess we'll have to freeze to death," he says with mock cheerfulness. He hates being cold.

Linda's arms come around him. "It's okay, babe. We have all those logs for the fireplace—remember? We can take a bath after you finish with Doc."

"The water heater's gas," he says. "So it won't be hot for long."

"Babe, go finish your session with Doc, and then we'll take a hot bath, and I'll make us hot cocoa, and we'll sit in front of the fire and watch a movie. Deal?"

He feels like he's going to break down crying, but he plods back upstairs.

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Doc makes him call his doctor about the Zoloft while they're on the video call. Then somehow—the magic of the Internet? Or of this stupid thing called "Zoom"?—he's staring at the computer screen with both his GP and Doc's faces side-by-side. The two doctors confer for a few minutes. He describes his mood for the past three months, and how he's just been too busy—despite not working 16-hour days anymore—to make an appointment.

Ten minutes later he gets a text from the pharmacy that his prescription will be delivered within two hours, and to maintain a six-foot distance from the delivery driver.

Now he really feels like he's gonna cry.

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"I hate being cold," he says to Doc when it's just him and Doc on the video call.

"I know. But that's not why you look like you're gonna cry. Is it the prescription? Something I said?"

"It's everything!" he sniffles. "It's gonna be cold, and...Linda has to work tomorrow, and Christmas is coming, and I don't even know if we'll be able to see my family, and...I'm going stir-crazy, and..."

"Danny, look at me," Doc says firmly.

He looks up, hating that Doc can see he's crying, half-tempted to hit the power button and force his computer off and end the call.

"I want you to call Linda up here, okay? And we're gonna end this session here. I hope it's a quick fix for your heat. Go take a nice hot shower with Linda, okay?"

He hollers for Linda, and doesn't cut the video feed until she's standing in the door; and then the computer goes black, and he stands up reaching for Linda through eyes blinded by tears.

Her arms come around him so tightly he can't breathe, but he doesn't care. he buries his face in her hair, hating himself for crying over a cold house and stupid pills and a stupid virus and stupid people who aren't taking simple precautions.

"I'm here, Danny. You're not alone. We're gonna get through this. I've got you, babe, I've got you. Come here, the tub's getting nice and full, and we'll stay there 'till you're nice and warm."

He follows her, neither of them knowing it's going to be almost a week before their heat gets restored.