Chapter Text
Dana Evans pulled into her driveway shortly after ten that night.
She reached up and punched the button on the garage door opener, cursing softly when nothing happened. The second time was the charm, and the dim overhead light blinked on as the door yawned open slowly. She parked her Tiguan next to her husband’s old Camry, her brain still humming from the unrelenting chaos of the last four hours. As soon as she realized she’d pulled too far forward, she slammed on the brake, and the lurch made her throbbing temples throb even harder. Backing up a few inches until her mirror lined up with Benji’s, she threw the gear shift into park and cut the engine. Expecting silence, she heard buzzing, and it took a few seconds for her brain to realize that the white noise that filled her ears was that of the clothes dryer, and not the tinnitus of a concussion.
Before she could reach for the knob, the door to the kitchen swung open. Benji’s smiling face and broad shoulders filled the doorway. “Hey.”
She turned towards him and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the deep purple bruise hugging her left eye and the smaller violet marks on each side of the bridge of her nose.
“Shit, what happened?”
He caught her satchel as she slid it off her shoulder and gently nudged her inside. She had phoned him as soon as the alert came over the dispatch radio about the MCI, so she knew that’s not what he was referring to.
“Oh god,” he whispered, his hand flying up to touch her cheek.
“Don’t ask,” she snapped, batting his hand away, recoiling from his touch. She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and she shucked her jean jacket, draping it over one of the high-top chairs next to the island. Their eyes met for a moment before she looked away again.
Benji walked around to the other side of the island and opened the refrigerator, pulling a half-empty bottle of Pinot Grigio from the inside of the door next to the iced tea. His mouth hung open, his jaw shifting as he studied her face. “You should have called me,” he said gently, setting the bottle on the counter as he reached into the cupboard for a glass. “I could have come and picked you up.”
She tilted her head and shot him a glare, shaking her head once before the throbbing behind her eyeballs began again. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Just a hairline fracture of the nasal bone. Robby ordered a CT and it came back clean. I’m fine.”
Benji responded with a quiet grunt, having heard that from her a thousand times before. “I’m glad he encouraged you to get checked out,” he said. Her eyes narrowed at the implication. “You must be exhausted. Want me to heat up some dinner for you? I made beef stroganoff.”
The mention of food suddenly reminded her how little she had eaten since leaving the house at a quarter past six that morning, and she reached up to brush an errant hair from her forehead, acutely aware of how her hand trembled as it crossed her field of vision.
Dana blinked, the soft bwup, bwup of pouring wine drawing her attention as she looked up. “Is that for me?”
“If you want it to be,” Benji replied, jerking his chin in her direction as he picked up the glass. “In which case I’ll pour another for myself.”
After thirty-six years in nursing, she knew that she probably had at least a mild concussion, notwithstanding the fact that the head and maxillofacial CT imaging came back with no indications other than a single nondisplaced nasal fracture, and she knew that the responsible guidance was to avoid alcohol as long as symptoms of a concussion (e.g. headache, tinnitus, confusion, and fatigue) were present. But she also knew that she had just endured one of the worst fucking days of her life, and if there was ever a day to finish the day with a glass of wine, it was this one.
So she nodded, and Benji poured another. “Here.”
He passed her the slender-stemmed glass, his gaze observant but light and free of judgment as she swirled the straw-hued wine around the glass. Sixteen years of marriage had taught him that she would open up in time, so he held back, tugging at his goatee as he watched her bring the glass to her lips. She hesitated for a moment, then brought her shimmering green eyes up to meet his.
They raised their glasses, toasting all of the things yet left unsaid, every one of which would be waiting for them in the morning: what happened, and why, and what came next. But in that moment, it was just them, and that was enough.
Clinking their glasses together, they exchanged silent nods and drank.