here when you wake up

Who: Danny and Janey
Where: The McKinnon Apartment
When: Late afternoon

Janey bustled around the kitchen, her mind only half-focused on the task at hand, preparing a pot of Danny's favorite soup. It felt so good to have him home, and she couldn't wait to simply lie down in bed beside him when the night finally came. But right now she just needed to take care of him. At least having him home for a few days to care for would take her mind off of everything else, and maybe give them a chance to figure some things out. Maybe. She sprinkled a bit of salt into the pot, a little extra for good measure, and covered it, leaving it to simmer and going down the hall to the bedroom.

Danny was in some mix between a horrible mood and a good mood. He was happy they'd let him out of the hospital, but already regretting the lack of the morphine drip. He was glad he was at home, but he really wanted a drink and Janey wasn't about to get him one when the doctor told her not a chance with his pain meds and now he was stuck in bed until tomorrow. There were stitches from where they'd fished the damn bullet out and the doctor was certain that if Danny left the bed until tomorrow morning he was sure to rip them. Ridiculous.

So here he was stuck in bed, but at least not a hospital bed, equal parts annoyed and pleased.

Janey entered the room and pulled the curtains halfway open to let in some sunlight. "You hungry, sweetie?" she asked Danny, crouching over him beside the bed. "I've got some soup on the stove. Can I get you anything?" She laid a hand cautiously on his good shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She wanted to comfort and caress him, but she had to be so careful of hurting him.

"Anything's better than hospital food right?" Danny said with a strained smile. He wasn't in that much pain, he just felt useless sitting here like this. He wanted to be back out there, back on the job. "I'm alright," he lied, needing that drink something awful. "I'm sorry again baby. I hate to put you out like this." Danny didn't mind it though, he liked having Janey around, fussing over him, but he wouldn't tell her that.

"Don't," Janey said warningly, only half-teasing. His apologies for the situation were far too frequent and and equally unnecessary. "Actually," she said, hesitating, "while I wish it weren't for the reasons that it is, it's nice...having you around," she confessed.

That hurt a little. Danny knew he avoided being at home. Not as much as he used to when Stella was alive, but he hadn't really improved that since she'd died. "I know baby," he told her, reaching out to touch her cheek. "But even when I'm not here, you know I'll always come back, and if you need anything, I can be home as soon as I can." And he would. Damnit, Danny would go to the moon and back for her, but she didn't ask that sort of thing of him.

If only Janey could bring herself to admit how much she'd been needing him there lately--and how distant he'd seemed. Hearing him say that struck a nerve. It was the reaffirmation she'd needed, to know that he still cared, but she wasn't completely certain that she believed it. "I know you've been busy lately," she said, keeping her voice as casual as she could. "But...I've been starting to worry that maybe I'd done something wrong, or..." She trailed off and turned away from the hand on her cheek, needing a moment to clear her head.

Danny let his hand drop when she turned away. "It's not that at all, you know that," he said, voice still gruff despite his attempt to make it sound tender. "It's just me, I'm busy." And I'm a damned fool, he thought.

"I know you're busy," Janey said again, suddenly defensive. "But even when you're here, you've just been...different."

"Different?" Danny asked, shifting a little and wincing. "What's different?" He was wondering what she'd noticed, if she'd known all along. He doubted she knew about his affair, but then again it's not like she would have left him or thrown him out.

"You've seemed distant--both physically and emotionally," she said, blushing a little. "And quiet, not telling to me as much."

Danny reached for her again, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, but doing his best to drag her closer. "I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair. He was sorry. He knew he'd done it, and he knew why, but that didn't make it any easier when he was looking at her. There were secrets he still needed to keep from her, things about the raid, things about Cheyenne, but maybe he'd shut down too much.

Janey couldn't help but soften a little at the sincerity of her husband's apology, but it could only do so much. It didn't change how lonely she'd been feeling. "You haven't been to mass in a while," she said, looking back at his face. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time he'd come with her. He'd never been very religious, but knowing how much it meant to her, he'd attended every once in a while. It was always a comfort to have him there, and sometimes they'd go by the cemetery afterwards, to see the small monument they'd erected for the children they'd lost. She knew, as a mother, that it made sense for her to be more affected by the losses, but that knowledge didn't make the wrenching, empty feeling in her gut any less painful.

Mass. Of course she'd want him to go to Mass. "I can probably go this week," he offered although not as enthused about it as she'd probably want. "I've been working Sundays lately." Mostly that was on purpose. He wasn't a fan of church. You sat there for over an hour while some old guy bitched at you for living your life the wrong way. Not his idea of a good time.

"Only if you feel up to it," Janey replied. She didn't want him to feel forced into it, and hated feeling like he only did it to satisfy her, even if it was true. She wasn't sure why she'd brought it up, though--the issue was bigger than that.

"I'll be fine baby," he told her, smoothing her hair with his palm. He'd do it for her, as much as he couldn't stand it. If she wanted it enough he'd even stand around for coffee and doughnuts with those horrific busybodies that always met after church.

A pungent odor reached her, and Janey instantly recognized it as that of the soup she'd left on the stove. She jumped to her feet, saying, "Just a minute--the last thing we need is the stove to start a fire."

Danny laughed lightly, relieved that the intense moment had ended. The empty feeling that it left behind had him itching for a drink again. Leaning his head back against the headboard he waited for Janey to come back, knowing she would.

In the kitchen, Janey got to the pot just before it boiled over, sliding it over to the cool burner. She fussed around the kitchen absently for a few minutes while it cooled, while wondering mostly about what she should say when she returned. She served a bowl of soup and brought it back, still completely undecided as to whether it was worth broaching the subjects she wanted to discuss.

He'd grown used to hearing her move about their apartment. It came with being married for as long as they had. As Danny lay there with his eyes closed he could picture exactly where she was, how she moved, fretting over this or that. He heard the creak as she came down the hall and by the time she was there his eyes were open again, looking at her.

"I've got soup--but it probably needs a few minutes to cool," Janey told him, setting the bowl down and sitting cautiously on the edge of the bed beside him. She fiddled with her wedding ring, twirling it around her finger. Every muscle in her body was tense and anxious. "Can I ask you something?" she began, her voice catching.

Danny reached his good hand for hers, closing over the fidgets with a small squeeze. "Sure baby. What is it?" His voice was even, some of that cop in him covering up his nerves. He had no idea what she wanted to ask, and the not knowing was worrying.

His hand enveloped both of hers, and instead of feeling comforted like she should have, she felt slightly trapped. What the hell was her problem lately?
"Danny--are you happy?"

He had to frown at her question a little. "Not particularly no. But I got shot a few nights ago which sort of puts a damper on most things." And his girlfriend was murdered, he owed a debt that wasn't even his to the mob, and he hadn't had drink in twenty-four hours. "Doesn't mean I'm unhappy though." That mood didn't seem to fit him either.

"I didn't mean now. I meant, overall--with where you are in your life, with us..." with me, she thought. She couldn't just come out and say how miserable she was--that was too selfish. He didn't need that burden. But if she could give him the right clues...she was just sick of keeping it all to herself.

"I'm happy with you baby," Danny said, jumping on that part of the question. He squeezed her hand again leaning forward despite the searing pain in his arm. "Don't doubt that Janey.

Janey felt the hot tears spilling down her cheeks suddenly. She hadn't even felt them coming, they were just there. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she moaned, without any prompting or explanation. "I don't know. I'm sorry," she continued, taking deep breaths and trying desperately to reign in her emotions.

Danny had no idea what to do with that. He'd not been expecting tears or whatever was happening with Janey at the moment. Wrapping his good arm around her, he pulled her close cooing sweetly in her ear. "Baby, what's wrong?" There wasn't much he could do with his busted shoulder, or the pain he was trying to ignore.

Janey fit herself into the crook of his arm, curling as close as she could without putting too much weight on him. "I'm...tired," she said, meaning it on so many levels. As she went on to explain, the words just kept tumbling out, all the fears and sorrows of the past few months erupting in the space of a few moments. "I'm tired of not having anything. You have your job--it may not be everything you ever wanted, but it's something; it's enough. The only thing I ever wanted was to be a mother--to have a child with you--and it hurts every day that I can't. Sometimes I think even God has decided I'm not worth it--and he's abandoned me. And no matter how much I do--no matter how much I pray and how much I give--I still know there's a space inside me that just aches, and there's not a damn thing I can do to make anything right."

If Danny had no idea what to do before, he was at even more of a loss now. His idea of comfort amounted to what he was doing now, giving her someone to lean on, but he could tell she needed him to say the right thing. The problem was, he had no idea what that would be. He doubted that God had given up on her like she felt. If he had, then Danny was more than right to lose faith in him. "Baby, I..." Danny started but trailed off, wondering if he was better off saying nothing at all. He settled on it being better than saying the wrong thing and opted for stoic silence.

As soon as she'd finished speaking she regretted it, but it didn't matter. What she thought, logically, didn't matter, because it was as though she'd shattered the walls around everything she was feeling. She found herself shaking uncontrollably as she cried, and she couldn't stop if she wanted to, which she did want to. She didn't want to scare Danny, didn't want him to worry. She didn't know what she wanted.

Danny had seen Janey cry before, it wasn't a new thing, but every time she did he had no idea how to react. When they were younger he was better at being comforting, believing that enough love could cure even the deepest hurts. With age comes cynicism and he knew there was no amount of love that he could show here that would help what she was going through. The best he could do was hold her and wait it out.

Janey poured her prayers out in the form of tears, instead of using those empty, age-old words to suppress everything else as she often did. There were no coherent thoughts or words, just the feelings. And, for once, the feeling that it was okay to cry--in the safety of Danny's embrace. She cried more than she thought she had in her, but when she finally stopped, her head felt clearer, and she found herself breathing easier than she had in a long, long time.

He hadn't moved through the whole ordeal except to brush her hair back a few times and whisper soft shhing noises in her ear. When she finally stopped crying he bit back the sigh of relief. "You okay baby?" He hoped so because he wasn't sure what else he could do if that didn't work things out.

She laid her head against his chest and sighed, closing her eyes. "Better," she admitted. Nowhere near perfect, but better. The soup had probably gone cold, and she was sure Danny was hungry, but she couldn't motivate herself to move, afraid to break from the comfort she'd found.

At the moment, Danny didn't really care about the soup. Despite everything that had gone wrong in his life, there was something to be said for just being close to his wife. "Good," he murmured into Janey's hair.

Pressing herself closer against Danny's warmth, Janey found her eyes closing against her will, falling prey to the exhaustion that plagued her constantly. "I love you," she murmured, her voice thick with oncoming sleep.

"Love you too baby," Danny said gently as he felt Janey start to drift. He loosened his grip on her a little, moving to rub his hand along her back. "Just rest. When you wake up I'll be here." And he always would.