We're Gonna Go Through This Together

Chapter Eight

After what felt like an eternity, the nurse came out. Danny shot up, like he did every time a nurse walked by. "Detective Reagan?"
"Yes? What? How is she?"
"She's fine. She'll be shaky for a while, and she's got some stitches, mainly on her right temple, left shoulder, and on her ankles. She's gonna be looking pretty beaten up for a bit—"
"But she's okay?"
"Yes. She's been asking for you the whole time we attended her cuts."
"So she— she wasn't unconscious?"
"No, she was. When we were stitching her up, she was unconscious. But as soon as she woke up, she kept muttering 'Danny'. I'm assuming that's you?"
"I can see her then?"
"Yes."
Danny followed the nurse to the room his wife was in.
"Are you up for a visitor?" The nurse wondered.
"Danny?" Linda asked.
Danny walked past the nurse and straight to Linda. "Hey, babe. Are you okay?" He asked, with tears in his eyes. It pained him to see his wife like that.
Linda smiled a little, glad to see her husband. "Now that you're here..."
Danny moved his hand to push a piece of Linda's hair out of her face, but she swatted his hand away. He looked at her, confused and concerned.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered, tears beginning to fall. "I just.. I... I don't..."
"Shh...don't talk.." Danny carefully took her hand in his, hoping she would let him hold a part of her.
Linda squeezed Danny's hand, crying harder. Her husband let his silent tears fall.
"Linda, we're gonna want to hold you here for a few days, just in case." The nurse interrupted the poignant moment.
"In case of what?" Danny wipes his tears away.
"Just a precaution. Like when we keep people with bullet wounds an extra day or two. To make sure they don't get infections and such."
"Bullet wounds? Why would that come into your head?"
"Danny..." Linda looked at her husband. "Trust 'em, okay? They know what they're doing."
"Do you want some scrubs or something?" The nurse asked Danny.
"Who me? No, why?"
"Cause you're not wearing a shirt..." Linda put her hand on his toned chest.
"Oh. I don't care. I guess... she'll be okay, though, right?"
"Yes, she'll be fine." The nurse picked up her clipboard. "Can I be perfectly honest with you?"
"I wish someone would!"
"Linda'll be fine— but she could experience post traumatic stress disorder. You might wanna go to a doctor if she shows any signs of it."
Danny nodded, holding onto Linda's hand.
"Danny..." Linda coughed a little bit. "Please loosen your grip."
Danny looked down at their hands; his knuckles were white amongst the blood, and Linda's were turning purple.
"Sorry."
Linda turned to the nurse. "Can you please have his knuckles looked at? I'm pretty... pretty sure he... he broke 'em..." all of a sudden, she found it a little harder to breathe.
"Of course."
Danny reluctantly showed the nurse his hands.
"Oh my word! What did you do?"