Work Text:
Dani’s a private person, she’s been this way as long as she can remember. It seems ironic that she’s so opinionated when she works on keeping emotions so close to her chest—it’ something she’s learned from experience, something formed from habit. No one gets to see you cry, she remembers her father telling her that. Can still hear the words in his voice when she concentrates. A lesson in keeping her chin up because when raw feelings are shared, you’re giving someone permission to have power over you.
To somehow use it against you.
It all works well in theory, until it doesn’t.
Past friends have told her that she has trouble opening up, that she has trouble sharing the parts of herself that matter, that she needs to learn how to trust. And maybe they’re right, maybe it’s a defense mechanism, but it’s one that’s worked for her entire life.
She puts up this wall of composure that keeps her safe that she doesn’t allow anyone to climb over; it’s reinforced after years of practice. Dani keeps people at arm’s length; she’s friendly, she does her job well, she shares just enough details about herself so it feels organic, so it feels like people are getting to know her.
Often they don’t realize they’re staring directly at the wall she tries so hard to maintain without noticing. If they’re observant, they see the wall, they recognize it’s there and attempt a breach even though they never quite make it.
She’s used to the pattern, the routine of upkeep, until she meets Bright.
Malcolm somehow sees the wall she has up, but instead of digging underneath or climbing overtop, he slips right between the cracks. Between the brick and mortar with little to no effort; which is somehow impressive and extremely frustrating all at the same time.
She’s never quite liked the idea of profiling; it’s important for the cases they work and of course she sees the value—but Bright doesn’t seem to know when to use his skills for a job vs. stepping over boundaries that he shouldn’t. He does this without her permission, a symbolic autopsy as he digs between her ribs and pushes tissues aside and tries to figure out what exactly makes her tick.
He blows the whole damn wall down.
It doesn’t make her easier to talk to, it just forces her to put other barriers up that aren’t as sound even though she knows he’ll eventually get through those too. The thing is, Dani wants to let him in, completely, but doesn’t know how. All she’s ever known is how to shut people out—she’s good at it, she understands it, it’s a process that never lets her down.
She may never have experienced what Bright’s been through, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have her own set of emotional wounds and bruises that she doesn’t know how to take care of. There are things she doesn’t know how to talk about with anyone.
What he doesn’t understand, is that by slipping in-between her walls, he’s exposing raw bundles of nerves that haven’t healed.
--
It starts out slow, like someone forgot to turn a faucet off, a consistent drip, drip, drip. It doesn’t bother her, not really, because it’s easy for her to get used to it. The feelings are just visitors as they slip down the drain, even though there are things she hasn’t thought about in a long time; they come and go.
--
Dani isn’t often distracted when she’s at work, it wouldn’t make her a very good cop otherwise. Distractions meant mistakes and that’s not something she can afford for herself or her team. It’s very obvious that she’s preoccupied, a date towards the end of the week on a calendar staring at her from a wall next to the white-board like it has eyes. It follows her around the room, it burns a hole into her skin when she sits in one place.
She crosses her arms over herself and leans against a small ledge near the window, the cool weather from outside pressing calmingly against her back. She needs to concentrate or go home, and the last thing she wants is to buckle underneath that pressure.
Gil’s eyes are on her, she can feel him even though she refuses to look, focuses instead on their pool of evidence as Malcolm buzzes around the white-board. He’ll have that talk with her sooner or later—it’s only a matter of time.
“My guess is that our killer really struggles with trust just by the sheer…” He makes a slow stabbing motion with his hand using a pen as the murder weapon, over and over, as he stares at the crime scene photos, “Ferocity of the wounds. They’re quick, emotional,”
Bright turns to look at the group, his hand dropping with a sheepish tilt to his lips as he realizes he did that hand gesture in front of people instead of just in his head. He clicks the pen nervously a few times before putting it in his pocket, eyes flickering over to Dani.
“They don’t know how to control their anger. I’d go with a quick diagnosis of BPD but we should consult a psychiatrist.”
She leans up off the window, clearing her throat, needing a task to get involved in. She can see Gil out of the corner of her eye, beginning to say her name.
“I’m on that. I think I still have an old contact in my desk that we used on another case,” Dani moves quickly, walking out of the room before anyone has a chance to stop her.
A breath of fresh air kisses her cheeks as she opens the door, closing it after to walk towards her desk. She leans against the harsh, olive green metal for a moment, gathering herself together and focusing on her hands not shaking as she pulls one of her drawers open.
She knows that the distraction will be a good thing, she just has to give herself time to settle into it.
“You okay?”
She doesn’t mean to jump because she really should be used to Bright sneaking up on her at this point. He always seems to manage slipping close to her unnoticed, a gentle hand on her back or a soft word to get her attention. Her concentration is a little frayed and he clocks that almost immediately when she turns to look at him.
He doesn’t comment on it though, not yet, just sweeps a gaze over her and pockets the reaction for later. “Sorry,” The tilt of his lips are a little guilty.
Dani takes a short breath into her lungs before turning to rifle through her desk again, “I’m fine, just tired. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” She finds what she’s looking for, a business card with a phone number scribbled on the back…but part of her wants to keep her attention in her drawer so she doesn’t need to meet his eyes.
Bright hums, moving to sit on the corner of her desk, watching her fiddle with the business card before eventually pulling it out to put in her pocket. She keeps her hands there, so he can’t see them trembling.
“You could have called me,” He says after a moment, a soft smile drawing her to step closer to him. “We both know I’m awake.”
She chews on her lower lip, nodding, “Well, I think the guy I was fooling around with in my apartment was trying to get some rest, so.” She shrugs, trying to slip back into something more comfortable by joking. Dani squeezes her fingers into the palm of her hand in her pockets before taking them out, a slightly calmer sensation sitting on her shoulders.
A short laugh leaves Bright’s mouth, “Ah, right.”
He watches her for a moment, eyes warm and expression open. She could tell him, she realizes, she could tell him right now what’s going on…and he’d get it. He wouldn’t judge her for feeling, wouldn’t think she was too soft or too broken—but she doesn’t.
They both got a job to do.
Malcolm stands and reaches for her, his hand gently squeezing her arm. “Can I get you some tea?”
Dani smiles and nods softly, the concept warm and inviting as if he’s embracing her and it’s enough for now. Bright leans in and presses a kiss to her temple, a quick brush of the lips because they’re at work and disappears towards the staff lounge.
--
She keeps a picture of her father in her sock drawer, which feels like a weird place, but it’s something she uses every day—so she always sees him. In it he’s wearing his uniform, but it’s not her favorite photograph.
--
She’s asleep for a few hours before the sound of gunshots wake her.
Dani bolts from bed and grabs her gun on her nightstand, knocking over a glass of water that shatters on the floor. Her heart is pounding in her ears as she aims in the darkness, half-sleep weighing on her like tar. It takes her longer than it should for her to realize it was just a nightmare—that there were never any real gunshots and that she’s not in danger.
She feels her knees knock together, fatigue heavy as if she’s carrying a cinder block in her chest and sinks onto her mattress. Dani turns the safety on and puts her gun away, pinching the bridge of her nose before the mess near her feet grabs her attention.
“Fuck.” She mutters under her breath and moves to slip out of the other side of her bed. She toes her boots on before grabbing paper towels, a broom and a dustpan. It takes her a few minutes to clean up her mess; she wants to make sure to get all the glass before she crawls back into bed.
She presses her face into her pillow, tries to close her eyes and will sleep to come. It doesn’t.
Dani picks her phone up and unlocks the screen, the time of 2 AM glaring back at her and burning the numbers into her retinas. She shouldn’t, even though she knows he’s awake.
She goes back and forth about five times before finding his number in her contact list and pressing on his name. The phone rings twice, three times and she’s about to end the call because she feels foolish when he finally picks up.
“Dani?” Malcolm asks, gentle surprise tilting his voice. “Are you okay?”
The moment presents itself again and she nearly spills, exhaustion lowering her inhibitions—but then she catches herself, “Yeah, I was…I was thinking,” She swallows, “About the case. I had a theory.”
“You’re thinking about the case at two in the morning?” He sounds skeptical but amused, like he’s glad he’s not the only one who’s up at this hour, working out the details in his head until they make sense—until he can see the killer’s story printed out before him.
“Couldn’t sleep.” She lies but because he’s just getting to really know her and because he can’t see the micro-expressions on her face, he believes her.
“I think I’m starting to rub off on you,” Dani can hear the smile on his face and the soft sigh he makes as he, maybe, settles down on his couch. “Go head, what is it?”
“I called the psychiatrist and she made a good point that it might not be Borderline Personality Disorder but HPD instead?”
Malcolm’s quiet, turning the profile over in his mind. She’s thankful for the silence and allows her eyes to close. When he speaks again, it almost feels like he’s in her apartment with her, “Histrionic Personality Disorder wouldn’t account for the anger. They’re often dramatic and overemotional because they want to be the constant center of attention but—”
“It’s just a theory,” She cuts him off, running a hand through messy curls. She already knows she won’t be able to get back to sleep tonight.
He hums but doesn’t say anything for a moment, time passing even though the silence isn’t uncomfortable. She can hear the soft pattern of his breathing, traffic outside his window, Sunshine occasionally making chirp noises.
“Is this really why you called me?” Malcolm asks, peeling a layer of her back without trying very hard.
Dani feels something scratching inside her chest, wanting out, but she buckles down with a fake yawn. “Yeah, I just figured why not. Thought she might be on to something. I’m going to go, have to be up in a few hours.” She licks her lips. “You should try and sleep too, you know.”
“You first.” Bright teases but she can tell he’s being a little pointed about it, he means it. “Goodnight Dani.”
She smiles a little and hangs up, running her thumb over her home screen; 2:30 AM and counts down the hours until her alarm goes off.
--
The sound of her own gun bothers her.
It’s something she realizes later, after they pursue a suspect on foot in the woods. She’s running with her gun raised, jumping over fallen trees and trying not to catch herself on soft ground that doesn’t support her boots well. She announces her warning three times, very clearly, before she fires, the sound echoing in the empty space.
She winces almost instantly, her eyes closing, a second almost too late as the perp raises a gun back at her.
But JT and Gil are there, Bright coming up behind them—they got her back.
Which is good, because her hands are shaking too bad to fire a second time.
--
As a cop, she’s taught to use her weapon like an extension of herself, it’s a part of her. She vaguely starts disconnecting from that at certain moments when she looks down at her gun and it feels alien.
The gun range sometimes fixes this problem but it doesn’t always work.
If anyone notices the more-frequent trips, no one says anything to her.
--
Sometimes the nightmares are quiet. Sometimes she wakes up screaming.
Her throat hurts as she collapses back into bed, breathing heavily, trying to greedily gather oxygen into her lungs. Her hand falls onto her chest, heartbeat erratic underneath her fingertips. You’re okay, she breathes, you’re okay. She repeats it over and over again until it feels the smallest bit real and pulls the covers off herself.
Dani stands on wobbly legs and wanders into her bathroom, her face pale and drawn. She turns on the water and splashes her face, pulling her hair back into a loose bun that doesn’t stick. She then wets a washcloth, putting it on the back of her neck.
She allows her eyes to close a few moments, trying to slow her pulse by breathing in and out through her nose. Dani barely remembers the dream, pieces sticking out in her mind, clouding her ability to sink back into bed and catch the REM she so desperately needs.
Bullets hitting the ground with soft metal pings and blood splatter across olive green walls.
She leaves the bathroom and turns the light out, pausing in front of her nightstand, a small square photo grabbing her attention and yanking. She’s 14, standing with her father outside of her school—she has a ‘Student of the Month’ award in her hands. Their smiles are blaring, so bright that it takes her back to that exact moment where she can taste strawberry Jolly Ranchers on her tongue and feel the heat of the sun on the back of her neck as she poses for the photo.
Dani thumbs at the corner, swallowing down a lump in her throat.
He’s not in his uniform and for some reason she prefers that, can feel the soft sensation of her father’s dress shirt and nearly smell his cologne. The weight of his arm presses down around her shoulders, the weight of his pride even heavier as he pulls her close.
She tries to force these thoughts into the forefront of her memory but the gunshot is loud and the blood is scarlet red.
--
As days dwindle closer, emotions spill in faster. Dani has a harder time adapting and moving on. Things linger; like the sink is clogged and a dial is turned, a stronger stream of water filling her up. She contains everything in her ribcage like a glass jar—now she just has to concentrate on things not spilling over.
Or breaking.
--
She messes up and somehow, she thinks she should have seen this coming.
She’s been testy all morning from not getting enough sleep and she knows the team can sense it, despite her trying to balance out her annoyances by drinking a lot of coffee. Dani lets comments slide, JT especially with his brotherly poking about waking up on the wrong side of the bed. She ignores Gil’s concerned gaze as he tries to wait for her to come to him first to talk to him. She expects Bright to avoid her, especially since he can’t quite pick out what’s got her so riled up, but he doesn’t.
Instead he makes sure she has refills to her coffee and doesn’t pry, a strong hand on her lower back when they walk room to room or a gentle pressure to her fingers while they work on different tasks.
Unfortunately, none of it quells what feels like a building pressure inside her, waiting for the wrong moment to explode—it just so happens to be at a crime scene they show up late to.
It’s at a prominent law building in downtown Manhattan and while Gil and JT talk to a few witnesses, Bright and Dani head towards the body in one of the corner offices. It’s the same M.O.—brutal stabbing, quick and violent and angry. Edrisa is seven minutes out with her team and when Dani turns the corner, she’s greeted with three beat cops wandering around the crime scene.
Her mouth falls open a little, and while she’d usually never say anything in public, something that feels like liquid lava begins melting from her ribcage into her veins— “You the head officer on duty?” She asks, drawing the attention of one of the guys who is practically standing in a puddle of blood.
He wanders over like it’s a Sunday morning, sticking his hands in the belt at his waist with a sigh, “Yeah that’d be me, Officer Peters.”
Dani tries to swallow down the frustrated pins and needles she feels beginning to build at the top of her throat. She distantly knows that they might not realize how they’re contaminating a crime scene, that they’re street cops that deal less with murder and more with common misdemeanors.
But there’s a wave of anger that won’t recede, fed by too many nights of not getting enough sleep and a day circled on her calendar that hasn’t passed yet.
“Officer Peters, you shouldn’t have let your men trample around an active crime scene—or did they not teach you that at the academy?” Her voice hangs in the air a moment and she can feel Bright tense beside her.
Peters’ attitude changes almost immediately, his eyes narrowing at her, “Oh here we go. Why don’t you untwist your panties, darlin’.”
She’s not sure whether the condescension, the pet name or the sexist comment bothers her the most.
Malcolm’s reaction is more immediate than hers, his head snapping towards the conversation like a rubber band breaking, “Don’t talk to her like that.”
Dani doesn’t need him to fight her battles for her but she’d be wrong if she said she didn’t like the weight of his support beside her. “So, you got a problem with women or just female cops that know more than you do?”
She can feel the tension crackle in the room like a wildfire, which isn’t going to recede any time soon. Especially when the officer leans into her space, practically gritting his teeth as he sneers out, “I got a problem with bitch cops.”
There’s a roaring in her ears that reminds her of the ocean and she feels her fingernails dig into the palms of her hands as she steps forward, fully intending on throwing her fist because she can’t think of anything else she’d rather do.
Before she can move, Bright wraps an arm around her, stopping her right in her tracks. Her gaze finds his, the calmness of blue in his eyes dousing her flame almost instantly. She lets out a short breath as he shakes his head, says something only she can hear, “He’s not worth it.”
The officer laughs but it barely registers as Malcolm pulls her back, his hand firm on her waist, “Looks like you need a leash for your partner.”
They’re almost three steps away, intending on going downstairs, to find Gil—when Bright stops abruptly at the comment. Dani sees the decision play out on his face, amusement tilting the corners of his lips as the muscle in his jaw clenches.
He turns and throws a punch, clocking officer jackass right across the cheekbone.
--
Gil’s furious to say the least and Dani can’t say that she blames him.
Bright’s sent home early, apparently this is one too many times he’s punched an officer of the law, and she’s left to pace in Gil’s office while he does damage control. She feels like she’s waiting to be picked up by a parent at school because she gave an attitude to a teacher; those same sort of nervous butterflies fluttering against the walls of her stomach.
She runs a hand over the lower half of her face, all the irritation she felt boiling up inside of her receding like a wave over the shore as it heads back into the ocean. Once the anger is gone…all she feels is tired.
And incredibly empty.
Dani lifts her head up as Gil walks into his office, his expression pinched but calm. He lets out a long sigh as he walks past her to his desk, standing in front of it but using it as a barrier between them.
“You need to go home.”
She bites the tip of her tongue, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for the conversation to get so out of hand—” Everything just sounds like excuses, even to her own ears. “Tell me what I have to do. I can apologize if that helps.”
“What you can do is go home, get some sleep.” Gil sounds tired himself, running a hand over his hair before he sits down at his desk. Dani wonders what he had to do exactly to smooth things over with Officer Peters.
She isn’t sure what to say, so many words caught in her throat, all wanting to come out at once while at the same time nothing happens. She sighs and bites down on her lower lip, looking out the window so she doesn’t have to see the look in Gil’s eyes.
“What would he say if I started slackin’? Going home early and everything?” There’s a gentle smile to her tone of voice but she’s serious, lets it hang in the air to fill the silence.
Gil moves out from around his desk, reaching a hand to squeeze her arm. He waits until her eyes find his, “He’d say he was proud.”
That comment hits her directly in the chest like a bullet, burrowing deep, unable to be dug out. Her gaze mists over with unshed tears and she clears her throat, swallowing down a wave of emotion threatening to overtake her.
“Probably wouldn’t be thrilled I almost punched another cop.” She mumbles but Gil shrugs his shoulder, a gentle laugh following.
“I wouldn’t be too sure.”
She smiles a little and puts her hand over Gil’s, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Thank you.” She whispers, hoping he knows how much weight is carried in those simple words.
Dani knows that she wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.
Gil hums, hand slipping down until he lets her go, crossing his arms across his chest. “Go home.”
She nods, not going to argue with him even if she wanted to. She grabs her jacket from the back of his office chair and slips it on. When her hand is on the door, twisting the knob, he calls her name.
Dani turns back to look at him, waiting.
“You should tell him what’s going on.” He holds her gaze and she swallows, tilting her chin down in affirmation before she leaves.
He can only be talking about one person.
--
She takes a detour before heading to Malcolm’s apartment. It’s not exactly on the way but it’s somewhere she knows she has to go.
Bronx Park always feels new and somehow the same every time she goes; it’s where she remembers her father best. Popsicle walks and ice cream by the river, soccer balls and bicycles and moments where Dani knew she wanted to be a cop. Just like him.
She sits on a bench for a long time and stays until it just begins to get dark.
--
Dani lets out a slow breath as she waits for Bright to answer his apartment door, stuffing her hands into her pockets because her coat wasn’t warm enough to sit in a park for a few hours. When he opens up, she gives him a soft smile upon seeing the ice pack on his hand.
“Hey, tough guy.”
He rolls his eyes but his lips are twitching into a smile as he lets her walk in. “You look half frozen.”
She hums in reply and toes off her boots by the front door, leather jacket following and rubs her hands together. Malcolm disappears into the bedroom a moment before bringing her his Harvard sweatshirt and she quickly pulls it over her head even though her hair feels frizzy afterwards.
When she follows him into the living room, Dani takes a moment to watch him as he sits down on the couch, checking his knuckles underneath the ice pack. She chews on her lower lip and plops onto the cushion next to him, reaching for his wrist.
“You didn’t need to do that, you know. I can handle myself.”
He nods softly as she pulls the ice pack aside, her thumb gently coasting over the bone that’s turning a little bruised. “I know, I wanted to.” He leans his shoulder against the couch, turning just a bit to face her.
Dani avoids his gaze as long as she can by looking at his comfortable clothes instead, a pair of soft joggers and a black t-shirt. She wishes she had leggings but at least his sweatshirt is warm.
“Gil making you take a few days?”
She replaces the ice pack with a soft sigh before she nods, inching closer to him until her bended knee presses against his leg. “Probably best.”
There are things that he wants to say, to ask, she can see that he’s struggling with words in-between his teeth, stuck under his tongue. She expects him to pull it out of her, to try and pry her open and read between her ribs, to yank the words directly from her veins.
He does none of those things.
Instead, he brushes a hand through her hair and offers her a patient smile. “Do you want dinner?”
The fact that he’s allowing her space, that as frustrating as it may be for him not to have all the answers, that he’s letting her sit with whatever’s bothering her until she’s ready to tell him—that means more to her than he can possibly know.
Dani shakes her head, moving until she’s pressed up against his chest. Bright adjusts his position on the couch, lying down so that she sinks between his legs. She says nothing else, her face finding the crook of his neck and she lets out a slow breath that tells him she intends on staying there for a while.
Malcolm pulls a blanket down from the back of the couch and covers her with it, an open palm running up and down her spine until she falls asleep.
--
She thinks it’ll be a slow crack, a chink in her armor, a piece of ice fracturing until the freezing, dark depths are exposed to swallow things whole.
Dani’s wrong.
She shatters.
--
The nightmares don’t stop just because she’s not at home.
This one feels particularly violent; her father’s voice mixed with the sound of gunshots. He’s ripped from her arms, he’s torn from her life, the footprints she leaves behind are bloody as she walks to his casket.
Dani realizes at one point that Bright’s hands are on her shoulders, trying to get her to wake up as her eyes flutter open. Her fingers come down on his wrists, squeezing, trying to pry him away—she has to get up, she has to move, she feels like she’s going to choke on her own tongue she’s breathing so heavily.
Malcolm lets her go and she stumbles off the couch, rushing into his bathroom and barely slamming the door closed before she’s leaning on the sink. Dani tries to calm down, feels the pinprick of a black fuzziness threatening to overcome her vision as she stands there from getting up too quickly.
She snaps her eyes closed, swallowing, forcing her lungs to take oxygen in and holding it so her heartbeat is no longer thudding in her ears. Her fingers dig so hard into the porcelain sides of his sink that her knuckles turn white.
Dani turns the water on, splashing her face, getting rid of the sheen of sweat that’s kissing her forehead. She can still feel her father’s voice, the echo living against her eardrums, skittering in her veins and carrying a wall of emotion that almost threatens to drown her.
She hears Bright open the door very gently and leans against the frame, waiting, not speaking until she’s ready.
“Please tell me what’s going on.” He says, it’s calm but she knows that tone of voice, senses the underlying concern that makes something warm blossom in her chest.
She sniffles and looks at him, finally opening her eyes when the fainting sensation quells. Her gaze washes over his stature, patient and open, waiting. She swallows down a bout full of hesitance, turning to face him as she leans her hip against the sink.
“Do you…remember when I told you about my father?”
Malcolm’s mouth opens a little and then closes, her speaking acting as permission to enter the room. He takes a few steps towards her and nods but doesn’t say anything else, letting her take the time to work through exactly what she wants to say to him.
Everything in her body is telling her to stop, to leave the bathroom and maybe even the apartment. Her walls shudder, warning her what will happen if she keeps moving forward; even though he’s already burrowed between the bricks. He’s there, she’s not getting him out.
She wants to trust him.
“I told you I lost him when I was sixteen but I uh, I never really told you what happened.” She pulls down the sleeve of the sweatshirt she has on, covering her hand and fingertips and anything to distract her from the words coming out of her mouth.
“He was a cop,” She smiles a little, can’t help it, even when her voice catches. “All I ever wanted when I grew up was to be just like him.”
Dani’s quiet for a long moment, trying to gather a string of thoughts that suddenly feels tangled. She swallows, pushing away tears that are collecting in her eyes and convinces herself that they have everything to do with exhaustion. Malcolm’s hands are shaking, she can see them out of the corner of her gaze, fingers flexing down by his sides as he does his best not to touch her.
He knows that giving her space is important, even if he wants the exact opposite.
“He always came home with donuts from his shift and…smelled like stale coffee. Paper and ink, you know?” Dani curls her hair around her ear, “Until he didn’t.” She draws her lower lip into her mouth, the skin feeling raw as of late with the consistent nervous habit, “He was working a narcotics case, went into the house with his gun raised and he…finds this kid, couldn’t have been older than I was.”
She hastily wipes away a tear that slips down her cheek and lets out a breath that flutters some curls near her face.
“He thought he was unarmed, dropped the aim of his gun for…couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.” She thinks about that every day, how fast that is, how it doesn’t take much—a few seconds, that’s it. “Kid shot him three times, close range, right through his vest.”
Dani shakes her head, trying to force the emotion away as a choked laugh leaves her throat.
“That’s why I’ve been a wreck for a fucking week,” She tries her hardest to get herself together but the raw understanding on Bright’s face causes her to break in half—she can feel her face begin to scrunch together, “Because every time, I think I can handle the anniversary of his death and I just can’t.”
Malcolm doesn’t wait a second longer, he crosses to her and wraps an arm around her waist. “C’mere.” He whispers, drawing her into his chest. Her face instantly falls to his shoulder as his other arm snakes up her spine, clasping the back of her neck.
She feels him hold her tighter when a hiccupped sob leaves her body, her fingers gathering up the material of his shirt as she tries to breathe him in. She catches the combination of cedar and his skin and closes her eyes, his fingers occasionally rubbing her back and combing through her hair.
Dani isn’t sure how long they stand there but Bright doesn’t move until she pulls back, avoiding his gaze as he runs a thumb over her blotched cheeks.
“You are handling it, even when you think you aren’t.” He presses their foreheads together for a long moment, “Thank you for telling me.”
She nods softly, too exhausted to say anything else, the words like cotton on her tongue. Her body sways just slightly, eyes slipping closed again as he gathers her into his arms to hold her.
And with that, she finally feels like she might begin to heal.