#danny masterlis

When the front door opened, you groaned. You didn’t want Danny to see you like this — pale, messy hair, a sweatshirt three sizes too big. But of course, Danny noticed immediately.

“Whoa,” he said, shutting the door and giving you a once-over. “Looks like a tornado hit you.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, hiding your face in the blanket. “Exactly what every girl wants to hear from her boyfriend.”

Danny’s smirk softened into concern as he came over, crouching beside you. He brushed your hair back gently. “Hey, you know I’m just kidding. You’re still gorgeous. Just… a little soggy around the edges.”

You managed a laugh that turned into a cough. Danny frowned instantly, his cop instincts kicking in. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “Damn, Y/N. You’re burning up. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because you were working. I didn’t want to bother you.” Danny gave you the look. The Reagan look that was equal parts frustration and love. “You don’t bother me. You’re the first person I wanna know about if something’s wrong.”

He stood up, clapping his hands like he was gearing up for a mission. “Alright. Reagan to the rescue. You stay right there, don’t move a muscle.”

You watched him bustle around the kitchen, muttering to himself while opening cabinets. “Soup… where the hell’s the soup…? Ah, got it. Chicken noodle. Don’t say I never spoil you, sweetheart.”

When he returned, he had soup in one hand, tea in the other, and a smug grin on his face. “Nurse Danny at your service. Payment is accepted in forehead kisses.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned forward, giving him one anyway. “There. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, helping you sit up and holding the bowl for you. He blew on the spoonful like you were five. “Open up.”

“Danny,” you protested weakly, cheeks flushing.

“What? Can’t a guy take care of his sick girlfriend?” He nudged the spoon closer. “C’mon, you’ll hurt my feelings.”

You gave in, taking the bite. It wasn’t bad, actually. “Not bad,” you admitted.

Danny puffed up like he’d won a medal. “Told you. Hidden talent.”

After you ate a little, he pulled you against his chest on the couch, tucking the blanket around you. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back while the TV played in the background.

“You know, I’d arrest this flu if I could,” he murmured into your hair. “Put it away for twenty to life.”

You chuckled softly, your head heavy against him. “That’s the most Reagan thing you’ve ever said.”

“Damn right.” He kissed the top of your head. “And until you’re better, I’m not going anywhere.”

🦋🦋🦋

Danny carried you to bed despite your weak protests of “I can walk, you know.”

“Yeah, and I can wrestle perps twice my size, but I still let my partner back me up,” he quipped, laying you gently on the bed and tucking you in. “Teamwork.”

He disappeared for a moment and returned with a cold washcloth. “Forehead,” he instructed. You obeyed, and the coolness made you sigh with relief.

Danny smiled. “Better?”

“Much.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “You scared me today, you know.”

“Scared you? It’s just the flu.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen enough to know not to take anything lightly. Especially not when it comes to you.”

Your chest ached, but not from being sick — from the way he looked at you, all protective warmth and soft edges. “Danny Reagan, you’re way too good to me.”

“Damn right I am,” he teased, but his voice was low, tender. He leaned down to kiss you, feather-light so he wouldn’t catch your germs. “Now get some sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

As you drifted off, you felt him settle beside you, one strong arm pulling you close. His warmth, his steady breathing, his quiet hum of you’re safe wrapped around you like another blanket.