Everything was going really well for a time, until one day it wasn't.

The nightmares and trembling had been steadily decreasing, partly because of his recent increase in Zoloft dose, and partly because Danny was constantly there, poking and prodding and making sure Steve was eating, making sure Steve was taking his meds, making sure Steve was on the up-and-up and not sinking into God knew what, incessantly talking and moving and so distracting that Steve just didn't really have time for a relapse.

But it was good. Not like Steve was complaining or anything, except if he was complaining about Danny's ceaseless mother-hen tendencies.

Like, seriously. Steve could get into bed himself, thank you very much. He'd been shot in the shoulder, not had his legs broken.

Still, the concern was appreciated, even if unnecessary. Steve hadn't been lying in what he'd said earlier: having people around really did help. It took his mind off...well, his mind. It kept the memories at bay, and that was invaluable.

Then, one day, he tripped up.

It was a stupid idea, really, and he knew it, but it felt like there was something he needed to prove; not to Danny, or anyone else, because the Jersey detective had made it abundantly clear on the second day after Steve's hospital release—when he'd tried to raise himself into a sitting position without help and ended up on the floor—that Steve didn't have to prove anything to them, and would he shut up and stop pulling the stoic-super-SEAL shit?

No, it felt like he needed to prove something to himself, and that worried him. Because it felt like he was trying to assert that, yes, he could get through this, he was stronger than this, but in reality...Steve already knew he wasn't. He knew that it wasn't just automatically going to be okay, and that there would never be this a-ha after which he would never again experience a flashback.

He knew that that was stupid, misguided thinking. He knew there would be problems.

But for some reason, it still felt like that wasn't good enough, and that, that was what really scared him.

The thinking that, no matter what you did, it would never be good enough...that thinking had led him down dark, dark paths before, and he wasn't in any hurry to return to that place three years ago, when he would sit in the night with the barrel of his SIG Sauer pressed to his temple, trigger finger twitching, wondering which moment would finally, blessedly be his last-

It was just a really, really dumb idea.

Nevertheless, he found himself settling down on his couch—at the very end, because everyone else was taking up the remainder of it—careful to avoid jostling his shoulder too much, because he'd only been sling-less for about a week.

Kono had just popped in the movie, and returned to the sofa to nestle herself between Chin and Danny, pulling the bowl of popcorn into her lap as she did so, and Chin promptly proceeded to take half the bowl for himself.

As the movie started—and the cousins began squabbling—Danny, who was seated closest to Steve, leaned over, his hand a not uncomfortable warmth on Steve's knee. "You going to be okay with this movie, babe?"

Steve swallowed thickly, but nodded. "Yeah, it won't be too bad."

Danny looked at him seriously. "You don't have to put up the tough-guy act, you know that, right?"

"I said I was fine, Danny," Steve growled, irritated for some reason. He was an adult; it wasn't like he couldn't decide for himself what he could and couldn't handle.

Danny just shrugged dubiously, and turned to face the tv screen as the opening credits started rolling.

And Steve could handle it—right up until the main character got deployed, and the real combat began.

Danny could feel the ex-SEAL tensing up by degrees next to him, and whose dumb-ass idea had it been to watch a war movie, anyway?

Probably Kono; she and Steve tended to share the same psychotic fascinations, i.e. guns and physical violence. But this, this was not what Steve needed right now. Not so soon after this latest episode.

"You can leave if you need to, Steve," he murmured, but his partner just shook his head, eyes wide and glued to the screen. Stupid stubborn super-SEALs.

The tension progressed into fine tremors, and Danny found himself unable to focus on the movie while he was becoming increasingly worried about the man seated next to him. Steve hadn't said a word so far, and he hadn't left either, despite Danny's growing opinion that he really, really needed too.

Those tremors usually accompanied nightmares, which usually accompanied an exhausted, yet insomniac Steve, and a grumpy Danny. They brought with them nights of staying up late just to get Steve to the point where he could relax, could forget about everything he'd seen, and just sleep.

Steve really should've left about five minutes into the movie.

But the flick was almost over—the battered soldier, returning home from his tour of duty missing one leg, but having gained insight and experience, and Jesus Christ what kind of sappy, fluffed-up plot was this?—when suddenly Steve bolted up from the couch, looking sick, and darted out of the room.

Kono barely had time to manage a shocked, "Danny..." before the detective in question was on his feet and gone.

Sorry guys, I'm terrible at sequels... :/