4:30 a.m., Mount Sinai Hospital, Queens
He'd dealt with the local cops as quickly as possible; they'd filled him on the couple's story as they gave him a ride to the hospital. He didn't give a damn, but he knew Martin would want to know. The throbbing in his arm had subsided to a dull ache by the time a nurse pointed him toward the emergency room's waiting area. As time crawled by, he would forget about it until someone jostled him or he shifted in his chair—then the pain would flare and he'd welcome it, focus on it, let it sharpen his mind.
When he couldn't bear to look at the faded posters advocating safe sex and prenatal care anymore, he leaned forward on his elbows and shielded his eyes from the harsh lights. His world became a semi-circle of scuffed linoleum and the flash of an occasional shoe as someone walked past him. To his right, an elderly lady in a light blue uniform—hotel maid, his mind automatically categorized—settled beside him with a low huff of discomfort. He widened his world to take in her sagging support hose and bright white shoes, so bright they hurt his eyes, so he had to reduce the curve of his hand and concentrate on the linoleum once again. He picked up the familiar ticking sound of wood on wood followed by the quiet litany of the rosary recited in Spanish and began mouthing the ingrained words, finding no comfort in them but they at least let a tiny portion of his tired brain slip into oblivion.
What he really needed to do was move, to get up and pace, but that would take him too far away. He was already too far away because there were walls between them, walls he couldn't breach. They wouldn't let him in to see Martin and they hadn't told him anything, aside from some palliative reassurances that he clung to despite his patent disbelief in them. He focused on the toes of his shoes again, suppressing a spurt of impatient anger that it had been so long that the smears of blood on the once shiny leather had dried into flaky brown patches.
Scrubbing one hand over his burning eyes, he fished in the pocket of his jacket and fingered his cell phone. He'd have to go outside to make a call unless he wanted to use the pay phone in the lobby; either option seemed impossibly hard but he knew he had to do it. He didn't question the unfairness of it all—they'd both known that this day would come and Jack was no idiot. With the slow movements of a man in pain, he rose from the plastic chair and walked down the hallway toward the small lounge area where he'd been told an outer courtyard was available if he wanted to smoke. That would have to do—he wouldn't go any further.
The air gathered around him like an icy cloak as he stepped outside. At four o'clock in the morning, there was no one else outside, no one sitting in the uncomfortable-looking wire chairs grouped around equally unfriendly tables. Already the cold was working its way beneath his clothing—or maybe it was already there, pushing out from the emptiness inside him. A deeper than normal inhalation of frost-scented air took him by surprise and he choked a little, then tried to cover up the sob-like sound with a cough, even though there was no one nearby.
He'd been afraid before, plenty of times, but he'd never felt like this, never so elementally terrified that it was suddenly hard to remember how to breathe. As he buttoned his coat to the top, he fought back a shiver. No, there'd never been fear like this, fear of losing everything—the only thing—that mattered to him now. But apparently nothing so good could ever survive unharmed—nothing good in his life ever had.
And this—oh, yeah, this had been the best of all. From instant attraction covered up by teasing and competition, to a wary friendship that flourished over the course of too many cases to remember, to the realization that resting inside the unexpectedly warm gaze of the other was an answer to the most intimate question. An accidental—or not so accidental—touch, a locking of glances, the clumsy first kiss that made them both laugh self-consciously—Danny recalled it all, each memory sweet and special and unsullied.
He would give it all back if someone would just tell him that Martin was going to be okay.
Fingers clumsy with fatigue stabbed at the buttons and he hoped he had Jack's new number programmed correctly because he knew he couldn't stand outside much longer—he had to get back to his chair and his linoleum world and guard it until someone let him in to see Martin.
The phone rang in his ear—once, twice—and then a draft of warmth made him look up. A nurse stood in the doorway, motioning him to come inside. Not waiting to disconnect the call, he turned the phone off and followed the nurse down the corridor toward the emergency wards. The doctor who'd spoken with him briefly when Martin was brought in was walking toward him, her expression unreadable as she watched him approach.
"Agent Taylor?"
He had to swallow twice to get enough moisture in his mouth to answer. "Yeah."
"He's resting. We'll be moving him to a room in a little while, so you can go and sit with him until the orderly comes."
Five hours earlier, Queens
"You don't have any eggs."
Strong arms embraced Danny from behind, protecting his bare midriff from the cool air pouring out from the refrigerator. Arms and chest still damp from his shower, Martin carried the scents of mint and juniper on his skin, scents Danny had come to associate with everything good in his life. "Told you I hadn't had time to go shopping lately."
Danny tipped his head to the left, his silent request answered as Martin dropped a kiss behind his ear. "Yeah, I know, but everybody has eggs. All you've got is bottled water, some margarine and a half a loaf of bread and it's probably moldy. You are a cliché, my friend. A stereotypical New York bachelor."
Martin unwound one arm from his Danny's waist and reached past his shoulder to pull open the freezer. Two inches of frost and an empty ice cube tray greeted them, alongside a tilted carton of ice cream with the lid half off, revealing more frost inside.
"This is not good," Danny observed sadly.
"I take it you're hungry?" Martin had embraced him again after closing the freezer door and now spoke in his ear, his voice rife with lazy amusement.
"Of course I'm hungry. I'm always either hungry or sleepy after we've made love. And you'll notice we're not in bed."
Martin's arms tightened and Danny smiled; it had take so long for them to get together that just "having sex" was something they'd agreed to never do. It always touched Martin in some way when Danny made the distinction, his own covert reaffirmation of an unspoken bond. Danny let the refrigerator door swing shut and shifted around, slinging his arms over Martin's hips and clasping his hands at the base of his spine.
"So, any suggestions?"
A considering frown creased Martin's forehead. "We can make toast."
"You don't have a toaster."
"Use the broiler."
Danny rolled his eyes and moved reluctantly out of Martin's embrace. "No, man, I want food! C'mon, you know I missed dinner."
Martin shrugged and turned away, speaking over his shoulder as he rummaged in a cabinet. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. Hey, look, I've got cereal." He held up the box of Wheaties and shook it, the sound revealing how little remained inside.
Danny reached over and snapped the waistband of Martin's shorts.
"Hey!" he protested with a laugh.
"That is not food, Martin—that's mouse bait. Look, there's that twenty-four hour grocery store around the corner. I don't have to be at work until Monday and I have no intention of starving for the next two days."
"It's almost midnight," Martin pointed out pedantically, even as a twitch of his mouth betrayed his amusement. "We could eat out."
"Every meal? No way. I'm not leaving this place at some indecent hour because you want a cheeseburger for breakfast." Danny crossed his arms over his chest. "So make a list, G-man."
Martin lost the battle to keep a straight face and grinned. "G-man? That's not what you were calling me an hour ago."
Danny sidled close to him and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "And if you want to hear that again, Agent Fitzgerald, we'd better lay in supplies."
Martin took advantage of his nearness and tilted his head to press home a lingering kiss. "It's gonna snow," he murmured against Danny's lips.
Danny's eyes had closed with pleasure but he managed a coherent reply. "All the more reason to get food, right? We may get snowed in. Our survival may depend on microwave popcorn and Dove bars."
Martin kissed him again and nodded. "All right, good point, you win. Let me get something to write with before I send you out to forage."
In the end, they both dressed and went to the store, arguing amiably about the contents of Martin's grocery list. Danny had found it when Martin had gone looking for his shoes and had added half a dozen suggestions of his own. The temperature had dropped since they'd left work, filling the streets with a chilling mist that pressed down on them as they walked the two blocks to the store.
"Pesto?" Martin groused as they entered the strongly lit, sparsely populated grocery. A synthesized version of Strangers In The Night was playing too loudly over the speaker and they shared an amused wince. "What are we going to do with pesto?"
"I can see you've never developed a sense of adventure with food." Danny grabbed two shopping baskets off of a stack near the flower stand. "Any food that can be spread can serve two purposes." He handed one basket off and winked, watching with evil enjoyment as Martin's questioning expression dissolved into embarrassed understanding.
"You are twisted, man," Martin muttered, fishing out the list from the back pocket of his jeans. He tore it in half and handed the bottom section to Danny.
"Yeah," Danny replied blithely, looking over his portion. "That's why you love me. Okay, I'm gone—back here in fifteen."
When they met back at the checkstands, Danny peered into the contents of Martin's basket. "Uh hunh, I see you've added some things not on the list. Oh, caramel sauce, very nice."
"C'mon, it's for the ice cream."
Danny brushed a finger along the skin of Martin's neck where a flush was beginning to build. "Of course. Rocky Road always gets me hot and bothered, too."
Martin swatted away the teasing touch. "You are so gonna pay for—wait a minute. Do you hear that?"
Danny turned toward the large bank of windows at the front of the store. He couldn't see anything, but he also heard muted yelling and the faint sound of someone's high-pitched pleas.
"Yeah, I do. Let's check it out."
They set the baskets aside and trotted out the front doors. The mist had thickened and lowered past the level of the lights, filling the small parking lot with a pale green glow. Pausing at the edge of the asphalt, they looked around for the source of the noise. Danny spotted it first and pointed toward the far end of the lot where a man and a woman stood yelling at each other beside a green Torino wagon. The man's words were loud and slurred, the woman's voice broken and pleading, their breaths pluming to mingle with the low-hanging moisture.
"Oh, great," Danny mumbled. "Drunken domestic."
"Yeah, my favorite. Let's see if we can't head this one off before it gets any uglier." They glanced at each other, acknowledging the approach they would take with quick head movements. Martin veered off toward the right and kept to the shadows of the building while Danny loped toward the fighting couple.
"Hey!" he called out.
At the sound of Danny's voice, the man turned and swayed, falling heavily against the hood. The woman screamed as he lunged forward and slapped her before grabbing her arms and throwing her into the driver's side of the car. He crawled in after her and Danny started to run, looking to the right to see Martin circling swiftly around the far edge of the parking lot. Danny was still fifty feet away when he heard the car start, watching in horror as the driver threw it into reverse and accelerated backward toward where Martin was advancing from the far side. He lost sight of the car as it shot behind a bread delivery truck but he heard the sickening crunch of metal on metal, a sound that hit him like a blow to the stomach.
"Martin!" Danny sprinted to the right as the car reappeared and drove over a landscaped divider, sideswiping a Toyota parked beside it. The front bumper hit a small tree and the driver put the car in reverse, rocking off the concrete curb before starting to careen wildly across the parking lot.
"Okay! I'm okay!" Danny heard over the roar of squealing tires. His heart pounding in his ears, he pulled his weapon but kept it low as the car swerved toward him. He could see the man and woman through the windshield, struggling for control of the wheel and he knew one option—a risky one—was to take out a tire. Before he could make the decision, the car banked sharply and skidded to a stop near the front of the store, grazing a concrete support with a loud screech.
He brought his weapon up and approached the passenger side door. Martin was now on his left near the driver's side, his own gun held in a two-handed grip as he skirted the ice vending machine. They shared another glance and Danny gave him a nod, signaling his readiness.
"FBI! Turn off the engine and throw the keys out the window! Now!"
They both waited for a response to Martin's command. Out of the corner of his eye, Danny could see a small crowd gathering outside the storefront. He motioned them back with little hope of them cooperating, but kept his focus on the car in front of him as he tried to peer through the glare falling across the windshield.
Martin stepped closer to the car door. "Toss the keys and get out of the car! Hands where I can see them!"
Two hands, flailing wildly, thrust through the open driver's window. One was retracted and the door was opened far enough for the man to stumble out onto the pavement. His own weapon still drawn, Danny watched as Martin holstered his gun and grabbed the man's arm to swing him down to a kneeling position on the ground.
"You got him?" Danny yelled. He could hear the wail of a police cruiser coming closer and felt a surge of relief—if they could hand this off quickly, there was still a chance to try out that caramel sauce.
"Yeah, yeah, I got him, I got him." Martin looked up toward him. "You bring cuffs?"
"No—hey!" he turned to the spectators. "Somebody go get me some rope!"
He didn't wait for a reply as he navigated around the front bumper of the still idling car. As he reached the open door on the driver's side, he could see that the woman had slid across the bench seat and was now sitting in front of the wheel.
"Ma'am? I need you turn off the engine and hand me the keys, okay? Nice and slow."
She stared up at him through a tangle of greasy blond hair, her cheeks streaked with dirt. There was a strong odor of alcohol coming out of the car and Danny's stomach twisted in disgust. He was reaching for the door to open it further when the woman yanked it closed.
"No—wait!"
She looked at him again and he could see the malevolent intent in her bloodshot eyes. He lunged toward her, trying to reach inside for the keys, but she shifted the car into reverse, cranked the wheel and hit the accelerator. The side mirror hit his upper arm and the momentum drove him downward, his knees and hands skidding painfully against the rough blacktop. He raised his head just in time to see the long back end of the Torino fly backward and strike Martin across the midsection, ramming him into the ice machine.
"No!" Danny tried to regain his footing but the car was moving forward again. To avoid it, he rolled to the right, colliding with a bank of grocery carts. The man kneeling on the ground tried to scrabble out of the way but the back left wheel rolled over his leg as the car skidded forward over the curb. He screamed in agony but Danny's eyes were only for Martin, who sat crumpled against the ice machine beneath an arcing smear of blood, his palm splayed against the gray metal.
"Oh God, ohJesusGod." Danny choked on the words as he lurched to his feet and holstered his gun, the retreating Torino forgotten as he stumbled past the writhing body of the man they'd taken from the car. He was making so much noise that Danny didn't spare him a second thought aside from waving over the onlookers to help him. Martin's weapon had fallen into the gutter and he grabbed it, stuffing it into the waistband of his pants.
He reached Martin's side just as he began to slump forward to the pavement, catching him in his arms and gently easing him back against his chest. His throat closed as Martin's head rolled to the side, revealing a ragged gash that traveled from the corner of his temple to just above his ear. Blood had already soaked the collar of his turtleneck, running down the nylon sleeve of his jacket to splash onto the pavement.
"Shhh, shhh, you're okay, you're okay, I've got you," Danny soothed as Martin let out a broken moan. His own hands were becoming slick with blood and he knew he had to stanch the flow and keep Martin warm until help arrived. He looked up and saw a man wearing an apron with the store's logo on it trotting toward him.
"Can I help?" he called.
"Yeah, yeah, get me some—some diapers and something to keep him warm—blanket, jacket, anything. Hurry, okay?"
"You got it."
"D-Danny?" Martin's voice could barely be heard above the twin wails of approaching emergency vehicles.
"Yeah, I'm right here, I'm right here, you're okay, you're gonna be fine."
"Got a little...banged up."
Danny's entire body tensed against the pain in Martin's voice. "Yes, you did, but you're gonna be okay."
"...head kinda hurts."
Grimacing through the veil of tears that clouded his vision, he carefully hugged Martin closer. "I'll bet it does, mi corazón. But you just relax, okay? Help is coming."
"You...all right?"
Danny looked at his blood-smeared hands where they clutched Martin's jacket. A single tear escaped and slipped off his chin onto the soft curve of Martin's ear. "You know me, I'm good to go."
"Okay." The word was carried on a wavering sigh and Danny tasted thick panic clogging his throat.
"No, no, c'mon, c'mon, stay with me, Martin. Stay with me."
He knew he'd receive no answer—Martin's body was heavy in his arms. He wiped one hand on his pants before feeling for a pulse in the cold skin of Martin's neck, finding it easily. Eyes tightly shut in profound thankfulness, he rested his cheek on Martin's hair and began to gently rock.
"Okay, okay. You just rest. I'll be right here."
5:00 a.m., Mount Sinai Hospital, Queens
Part of Danny wanted to rush to Martin's side, but he needed answers, no matter how harsh the truth may be.
"Is he going to be okay?"
At the first nod of the doctor's curly gray head, Danny felt his insides begin to unknot. "Yes, he's going to be just fine. His head took a few of stitches but there's no concussion. I'm more concerned with the bruising around his kidneys and ribs, but the x-rays were clear. He's gonna be sore as hell for a while, that's for sure."
"But, wait—there was so much blood."
"Yep, scalp lacs are like that. EMTs said it looked like he cut it on the edge of the ice machine door. He's lucky the tail end of that car caught him at an angle or we'd be in surgery removing his spleen right about now." She glanced over her shoulder toward the ward. "I need the space down here and we've got a free bed in neuro so we'll keep him upstairs for a couple of hours for observation. Barring any nasty surprises, he should be released by noon."
Relief swamped Danny so quickly he became lightheaded. He barely acknowledged the doctor's pat on his sore arm as he slumped against an empty gurney.
"Thank you," he muttered. She nodded and moved on, leaving him alone to gather himself. Then the instinct that he'd been denying since he'd seen Martin loaded into the ambulance asserted itself and he suddenly he couldn't move quickly enough. He dodged an orderly and barely avoided knocking over a supply cart as he rushed into the emergency ward. There were six beds, three with the curtains drawn, but Danny spotted Martin in the far corner and hurried to his side.
Martin was awake, his head turned toward the door. Danny nodded at him as he neared the bed, though the relief he'd felt in the corridor had evaporated as he took in the forlorn figure watching him approach. As he stepped close to the bed, he grabbed a handful of curtain and drew it behind him, creating a small island of polyester-wrapped privacy.
"Hey," Martin said, his voice hoarse. He lifted his right hand and then dropped it when a metallic rattle reminded him that it was hooked to the IV. His movements were stiff and painful, his forehead furrowed with discomfort. A long, blue bruise stretched from the outside corner of his right eye and blossomed out into his cheek; there was a small cut on his upper lip that Danny instantly wanted to sooth with his fingertip, but instead he dug his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.
"Hey." Danny's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. Martin was watching him closely, his gaze tinged with wary embarrassment. Danny thought about lying, about saying it wasn't so bad, but then he remembered who he was dealing with—a man with a lot of pride but not a lot of vanity.
He inclined his head with an air of confession. "Man, I hate to tell you this, but you look really terrible."
The lines between Martin's tired eyes smoothed out as his mouth quirked upward in a genuine grin.
"Thanks for breaking it to me gently." His smile faltered and he looked away. They'd put him in a blue hospital gown and the poorly fitting cotton hung off his neck at a crooked angle, exposing his collar bone and making him look far too vulnerable to Danny's worried eyes. Danny struggled to find something else to say, something funny to make Martin laugh, but he lost the battle to maintain his casual façade when he noticed Martin's fingers trembling slightly where they lay on the thin blanket. He gathered in the shaking hand as if collecting a wounded bird, bending over the metal railing to brush his lips against the cold skin of abraded knuckles. He felt Martin's hand contract tightly around his and he allowed himself another quick caress before straightening up and meeting Martin's warm gaze.
"They, uh, shaved my head." Despite the dry tone, the smile had returned, this time with a shy tilt to it that cut at Danny's already embattled emotions.
"Yeah, I can see that." Danny tilted his head to the side as if considering whether or not it was a good fashion choice. In fact, he was aghast—not by the patch of shaved hair but the horrific damage it revealed. A row of neat black stitches began at the edge of Martin's temple and followed the slope of his skull almost to the top of his ear.
"I like it," he proclaimed. "Gives you character. Besides," he added with a wink, "chicks dig guys with scars."
Martin snorted and then moaned, pulling his hand away from Danny's to cradle his sore ribs. "Don't make me laugh, okay? Hurts too much."
"Sorry, sorry. Look, the doc said you only have to stick around for a while and then I'll take you home. How's that sound?"
Martin lowered his gaze to the blue blanket puddled around his hips. "Sounds great, but probably isn't a good idea."
"Why not?"
Martin looked up at him, the glow in his eyes fading to weary acceptance. "You know why. We're going to be answering enough tough questions about being together in my neighborhood in the middle of the night. You taking me home is only gonna make things worse."
He sighed and leaned back into the pillows, his gaze raised to the ceiling. "Better call my folks—no, wait, they're in France. Call my uncle instead."
Danny pinched his lower lip. "Maybe," he said slowly, "maybe we should just let this play out. You know, let people draw their own conclusions. We won't deny or confirm anything and pretty soon no one will care."
Martin started to shake his head but stopped with a sharp wince. "We can't, you know that. It's not just us that'll take the heat if the truth comes out."
Danny felt his jaw tighten. He knew Martin was right but he also knew that it drained them both to constantly pretend to not be something they were. For a brief moment, he entertained the thought of telling the world to go to hell, but in the end, the only real hell would be theirs. If they chose—or were allowed—to stay with the FBI, they'd be separated and the team dissolved. What he knew—and maybe Martin recognized—was that someday it was going to come to something like that. Danny knew what his choice would be, if it was a choice he was given instead of a pink slip. He loved his job and was proud of what he'd become—but it was still just a job.
Oh yeah, the day was coming. But it wasn't going to be this day, not if he could help it.
He smiled at an anxious Martin and reached down to reclaim his hand, chafing the clammy skin with his thumb. "Yeah, you're right. But I still gotta call Jack."
Martin closed his eyes with a moan. "Jesus, I knew you were gonna say that."
"Can't be helped."
"Just make sure he doesn't come down here, okay?"
"I'll give it my best shot." Hearing footsteps behind him, he released Martin's hand and took a step away from the bed. The curtains opened with a rattle and a middle-aged nurse approximately half Danny's height glared up at him, hands on her hips.
"You're in the way, sir. You'll have to wait elsewhere until we get Mr. Fitzgerald settled upstairs."
Danny offered her a smile full of charming apology. "Yes ma'am, I'm leaving." He gave Martin a two fingered salute. "I'll catch you later, okay?"
He was perfectly aware that Martin wasn't fooled by his casual farewell—they both knew Danny would be beside him as soon as they allowed him into his room. As he stepped past the nurse, he bent down to whisper loudly into her ear. "Are you guys gonna cover up his head? 'Cause that's really ugly."
He turned back with a look of pure innocence, shaking his head with insincere regret.
"Cut's pretty nasty looking, too."
8:00 a.m.
"What the hell happened?"
Danny's first thought when Jack burst into the third floor waiting area was painfully simple.
Martin's going to kill me.
He turned away from the window and rubbed a hand over his head, further disordering already tousled hair. "Jack, I told you you didn't need to come down here."
"Yeah, I know you did. So what. Two of my guys get caught up in some domestic scene and one of them ends up in the hospital. What the hell did you think I'd do?"
Pretty much exactly this,, Danny thought with a tired sigh.
The past couple of hours had been frustrating for Danny; even though they'd kicked him out of the emergency ward, it had taken over an hour for the hospital staff to move Martin to the third floor and even more time to get him settled. Separated from Martin with nowhere to go, Danny had found the cafeteria and washed down some aspirin with three cups of bitter coffee. He'd called Jack again—and after getting his ears blistered for calling him in the middle of the night only to hang up and turn off his phone, he'd managed to give him a brief rundown on what happened. He'd assured him that Martin was going to be fine and was cautiously optimistic that Jack was satisfied.
Jack wasn't satisfied. He wasn't anywhere close. The way Jack stomped into the waiting room, Danny figured it was a lucky thing there was no one else in there that early, but something to divert Jack's attention would have been welcome. Jack was looking more harried than usual in jeans and a maroon windbreaker that struck Danny as miserably inadequate for the threatening weather.
As he leaned his hips against the window sill, Danny took a steadying breath and crossed his arms over his chest. The contusion on his arm pulled and he bit his lip as he rubbed at it, looking up just in time to see Jack watching him closely.
"You okay? You said you were okay." His tone was vintage Jack Malone—half accusatory, half concerned, wholly pissed off.
"I am. I just haven't had any sleep in two days and—"
"Yeah, we'll get to that in a minute. They got any coffee around here?"
Danny hung his head in resignation. "Yeah," he mumbled with a jerk of his head. "Over there."
Jack gave him another hard look before helping himself to the self-serve coffee cart. He fixed his cup and brought it over to stand next to Danny, looking out the window while he took a loud slurp.
"Okay. From the top."
Danny scrubbed his hands across his face. All he wanted to do was take Martin home, crawl into bed with him and sleep for two days—none of which was going to happen.
"Right. From the top. We'd gone out to get some food, we heard something going on outside the store. We see a man and a woman going at it in the parking lot and we try to intervene. Drunk guy slaps drunk girl, they drive around the parking lot, guy crashes into front of store. Guy gets out, girl backs car into Martin and runs over boyfriend. Girl is apprehended two blocks away by local P.D. and blows a point oh nine on the breathalyzer."
Jack glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Tell me about his injuries."
A vision of Martin in his hospital bed swam before Danny's eyes. "Bruised ribs and hip. Various cuts and scrapes, including eight stitches on the side of his head."
"That was good, Agent Taylor. Very good. Very succinct, very professional." Jack took another slow sip of his coffee. "Now do what I told you and start at the beginning."
That was when he they were in trouble. Any thought he'd had toward glossing over the circumstances that had brought the two of them to that grocery story in the middle of the night faded away.
"Jack—"
Jack held up his free hand. "Don't try and bullshit me, okay? Look, I'll make this easy for you. You know what I think? I think you two guys are screwing each other between girlfriends. Unless you want to give me some crap about watching a game or catching a movie together but if you go down that road, you'd better have your facts straight."
Danny's head snapped up and he stared at Jack, struck dumb by the harsh assessment. He knew Jack could be a cold bastard but he'd never had that tone of contempt directed at him. Jack glared right back and Danny took a deep breath, trying to regroup. He'd never lied to Jack about anything and he wasn't about to start.
"All right, I'm not going to lie to you. Martin and I, we're—"
Jack slammed his palm against the window. "Ah, God damn it. Jesus, Danny, what the hell are you two thinking?"
"Wait a minute—"
Jack crumpled the empty cup and threw it aside, not bothering to aim for the waste basket. "No, you wait. Normally I don't care what agents under my jurisdiction do on their off hours, but you two idiots seem to think that a casual fuck between co-workers is acceptable. How long, hunh? My guess is that you've probably been doing it off and on for a while and figured you were too smart to get caught. Well, guess what—you've been caught and now I have to figure out what to do about it."
Danny swallowed against the sharp spike of anger at the back of his throat. Maybe Jack had a right to be pissed off but he didn't know the whole story yet. "Jack, you got this all wrong. We're—"
"You're what? Oh, c'mon, don't try and tell me this is some great love affair going on here, 'cause I'm not buying it. Neither of you strike me as the kinda guy who'd throw over his career for something as stupid as so-called true love."
It was too much. The combination of pain, lack of sleep and worry sliced through the caution that had tempered Danny's attempted responses to someone he considered his friend, not just his superior. He stood up to his full height, his weight balanced evenly on spread legs as he crossed his arms over his chest. Jack took a step back and squared off against him, his speculative gaze in odd contrast to his callous words.
"Know what, Jack? Screw you. You don't know anything, okay? Nothing. My feelings for Martin and his for me are none of your damn business. You don't like it? You want my badge because this makes you uncomfortable? Fine. I don't need—"
Jack held up his hands. "Okay, okay, hold on a minute—"
"—you making judgments about my life or how I conduct it outside of work. It's not like you're squeaky clean yourself here, Jack, so don't get all—"
"Will you shut up for two seconds?"
"—pissy with me now. In case you hadn't noticed, the way we handle ourselves on the job hasn't—"
"Danny! Shut up!"
It was Jack's sharpest tone and it brought Danny up short. He was angry, so angry he barely recognized it, but he still snapped his mouth shut.
Jack started to say something but stopped. Danny rubbed his fingers over his chin as he tried to come up with a way to salvage a situation he really didn't want to deal with at the moment. Although he realized he'd run off at the mouth again, he wasn't sorry. There was no way he was going to deny his feelings and now that things were in the open, he was relieved. Possibly unemployed, but he'd learned long ago that living a lie was no life at all. Jack was still watching him, so he inclined his head in mock encouragement.
"So go ahead, man. Say what you need to say."
"Gee, thanks." Jack's tone receded to mild irritation as he rolled his shoulders. "Okay. Apparently, this is something you feel passionately about, whether it's wise or not. Something that's so important to you that you're willing to walk away from your job in order to protect it. Is that an accurate assessment?"
"Yes."
"Martin feel the same way?"
It was Danny's turn to shrug, although the question had his stomach churning. It was the one thing they'd never discussed. "You'll have to ask him."
Jack grunted and bent over to pick up the discarded cup. "Don't worry, I intend to. You call his folks yet?"
"He's says they're in Europe. I'll call his uncle, let him know what happened."
"Great," Jack muttered. "He's gonna need help—"
"Excuse me, Agent Taylor?"
They both turned to see a nurse standing in the doorway, looking between them expectantly.
"That's me," Danny said. "Can I see him now?'
"Yes, he's all set. If you'll follow me—"
"I'll go."
Danny turned to Jack in surprise.
"You? Why you?"
"Because I said so. You eat yet?"
"No, I—I'm not hungry."
"Go find some food. Be back here in half an hour. Not a minute before."
Danny recognized the sound of a command, but he still hesitated. He felt like he was letting Martin down somehow but he couldn't figure out a way to avoid Jack confronting him.
A hand landed solidly on his shoulder. He looked up to see Jack watching him, the craggy lines of his face softened with something that looked suspiciously like compassion.
"Go on. I'll try not to upset him but I want to see for myself that he's okay."
"Is that all?"
"No, that's not all." The hand dropped away but the compassion remained. "Listen to me. Personally, I got no problem with the two of you. Hell, I shoulda seen it coming, the way you two bickered all the time. On the other hand, I think you're committing professional suicide, even in this enlightened day and age."
Danny stiffened. "I said you could have my badge—"
"Yeah, I know you did. I don't want it. This is my team and we'll deal with it between us. What I do want is for you and Martin to toe the line—don't give OPR even the slightest reason to question your relationship. It ever comes out in the open, I can tell them I knew about it and advised you against it. That way, they can't blindside me with the news and you guys won't be accused of concealing anything."
Danny turned his head away to stare blindly out the window. It was almost too much to take in. "Jesus, Jack. I—I don't know what to say."
He felt a sharp nudge on his shoulder. "Don't say anything. That's the whole point. Go on, get out of here. I'll tell Martin you'll see him in a little while."
Danny nodded and started to walk past Jack but paused. "Should I be thanking you?"
Jack shook his head. "Don't go thanking me yet. Martin has a say in all this and you may not like his version of your story. "
Thirty minutes later, Danny stood outside the door to Martin's room. He'd taken his enforced break to bolt down a stale bagel and a glass of watery orange juice before contacting Martin's uncle. He'd never been happy with the idea of turning Martin's care over to anyone else, so he'd felt surreptitiously relieved when his uncle had said they were all down with the flu at his house. After another round of assurances that Martin was okay, he'd hung up and stared at his cell phone, wondering if there was someone else he should call.
As he waited for Jack to emerge from behind the closed door, Danny shied away from trying to imagine the conversation occurring only a few feet away. Jack's warning rang in his ears as he slumped against the wall and closed his eyes, fighting the weariness that seemed ready to overcome him. The bagel and orange juice puddled uneasily in his stomach and he thought wistfully of the two baskets of food left sitting in the grocery store before the night had gone to hell.
The door opened across from him and Jack walked out. Their eyes met and Jack smiled a little as the door swung closed behind him.
"I still think you guys are nuts," he said abruptly.
Danny used his palms to push away from the wall. "Yeah? Why?"
Jack jerked his chin toward the closed door. "He was even more adamant about this than you were and even less careful with his language. Choir boy looks and the guy has a mouth like a sailor when he gets going. Anyway, at least I know you're both looking at this the same way."
Danny felt a warm flush as he filed that information away for a moment when he was able to savor it. "So what are you saying, Jack?"
Jack looked up and down the corridor before stepping closer to Danny and prodding him lightly in the chest.
"I'm telling you to be discreet." His voice shook with an intensity that Jack usually reserved for suspects. "I'm telling you that you're risking everything you've both worked for professionally to have this—this relationship or whatever the hell you call it. And I'm telling you that I'll fire both your asses if it starts to interfere with your work."
Danny nodded. "Okay. That's fair."
Jack backed off to let an orderly pass between them, then he was right back in Danny's face.
"And I'm also telling you that when this thing between you blows up—and I fully expect it to—I don't want to know about it until a month afterwards. That's how far off the radar I want this to be. I don't want to hear so much as a snide remark and one of you pulls a hissy fit about working with the other? You're both gone. Is that clear?"
Danny's eyes followed a doctor entering Martin's room. "And if it doesn't?"
"Doesn't what?"
He returned his gaze to Jack. "Doesn't blow up."
Jack stared at him and it was clear to Danny that his world had just been rocked. It was obvious by the look on Jack's face that the thought hadn't occurred to him and he didn't know how to deal with it. It almost made him smile, but his desire to see Martin was suddenly overwhelming. He took a step toward Martin's door.
"We done here?" he asked, his tone bordering on insolence.
"Not quite." Jack looked away briefly. "First, get your arm looked at. You've been rubbing at it off and on since I got here. Then you take him home and hunker down for the next couple of days. I'll clear it with Van Doren and make up some excuse about why you two were together. You show up at the office no later than Thursday, right on time, and we'll take it from there."
"What about Viv and Sam?"
Jack gave a short, barking laugh. "C'mon, you know them. They're probably already onto you." He glanced at his watch. "Look, I gotta go. My dad's expecting me. But—I gotta ask you one more thing. As a friend."
"As a friend? Sure, go ahead."
"You, uh—you need a drink?"
Danny grinned. "Jesus, Jack, I always need a drink." His smile faded as he pushed at the door with his shoulder. "Look, if it gets bad, I'll call my sponsor. But right now, all I really need is behind this door."
2:00 a.m., the Bronx
He awoke easily, coming out of a meaningless dream and orienting himself by the red numbers of his alarm clock. That threw him a little—he was accustomed to sleeping on his back or wrapped around Martin, but tonight he was turned on his right side so that he wouldn't jar Martin in his sleep. It felt good to be in his own bed but the ache in his left arm reminded him all too vividly that things were far from right in his world. He was also exhausted and strung out on worry, but at least he had Martin beside him.
They hadn't released Martin until almost four, time enough for Danny to run back to Martin's apartment and grab some clothes and his shaving kit. Martin had taken some convincing that being alone wasn't a great idea; once he'd heard about his uncle's unavailability he'd insisted on going back to his own place, but Danny had been immovable on the subject.
He blinked to clear the fog from his eyes and noted the time—almost twenty-four hours since he'd watched Martin be driven away in an ambulance. Rolling carefully onto his back, he stared up into the shadowed ceiling and rubbed at his bare arm. He'd seen it in the mirror earlier, a deep purple and red welt that went from elbow to shoulder.
"Danny? You awake?"
The whisper startled him—he'd assumed Martin was still asleep.
"Yeah, barely," he replied. He sat up and turned toward the middle of the bed, reaching out to run his fingers along Martin's forearm. "Why are you up?"
"Why are you?"
Danny heard an odd tone in Martin's voice and slid his fingers down to capture his hand. "Close your eyes. I'm going to turn on the light."
He smothered a grunt of discomfort as he twisted around to switch on the bedside lamp. When he turned back, he saw that Martin was facing away, eyes squeezed shut. He also saw the sweat that coated his forehead, the clenched jaw muscles—and the gauze bandage that stood out starkly against the pale green pillowcase.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
Martin draped his forearm over his eyes and shifted toward him on the pillow.
"My head's killing me, man. It really hurts."
"Aw, why didn't you wake me up?" Danny admonished him gently as he pushed the covers away. "Let me get your—"
Martin's hand shot out and landed on Danny's thigh. "No, I don't want any drugs."
"Martin—"
"I'm still nauseous from the last round, okay? And the idea of throwing up with the way my ribs feel right now isn't very appealing." The blue eyes opened, blinked and squinted up at him. "Just—talk to me for a while. Distract me—please?"
"Oh yeah," Danny whispered, stricken by the lost look that Martin quickly masked. "I can do that. How about I get you some ibuprofen, though—that'll be easy on your stomach."
Martin nodded and slowly reached for the blanket and sheet covering his bare chest. "Yeah, sounds good, but I'll get it. I gotta get up anyway."
Danny slid off the bed and came around to Martin, slipping an arm around his waist to ease him to his feet. Martin swayed and Danny put out a hand to steady him but pulled it back when Martin shook his head, giving him a swift smile. Danny tried to take a step back but instead found himself wrapped in a loose embrace.
"Well, hi there," he murmured in surprised delight against Martin's hair as he gently folded the battered body in his arms. As if inexpressibly weary, Martin rested his forehead in the curve of Danny's throat.
"Hello," Martin said on a broken laugh. "Come here often?"
Danny tightened his arms with exquisite care. "As often as possible."
He felt the unsteady caress of Martin's hand as it danced up his back. "I—uh, I wanted to just say—you know, thanks for—"
Danny leaned back and stroked Martin's cheek with his knuckles. "No, no thank yous between us, Martin. Okay? You and me? We're beyond that."
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Martin's nose. "Now, I'm going to go get you some milk and then you're gonna take your medicine like a good boy. All right?"
Martin rolled his eyes but couldn't prevent a sheepish smile from making a brief appearance before stepping gingerly toward the bathroom. Danny watched him go, his gaze falling involuntarily to the contusions that littered the pale skin. Even as he watched, Martin stopped and hitched his breath, pressing his palm against his ribs as if to support them. When the bathroom door shut, Danny roused himself and went into his kitchen, the irony that it was well-stocked hitting him again as he poured two glasses of cold milk. He'd thrown together some soup and sandwiches after the cab had dropped them off at Danny's apartment, but Martin hadn't eaten much and now he knew why.
As he rummaged in his pantry for some saltines, he tried not to let his imagination dwell on what he couldn't change. Martin was going to be okay and Martin was here—albeit with the unenthusiastic blessing of Jack Malone—but right now, that's all that mattered.
He was setting the glasses and sleeve of crackers down on the nightstand as Martin emerged from the bathroom. He looked up and raised an inquiring eyebrow.
Martin shook his head. "Nothing gross to report, Dr. Taylor. No blood, no burning." He eyed the bed with apprehension. "Man, I just hope I can sleep."
"Here." Danny handed him one of the glasses. "You find the ibuprofen okay?"
Martin nodded, opening his palm to reveal two brown capsules. As he placed them in his mouth and took a deep drink of the milk, Danny pulled back the bedclothes and reached for the pillows. He plumped them both and then stacked them together against the headboard.
"What are you doing?"
Danny held up a finger. "Trust me, you're gonna like this. Can you hang on for a sec? Be right back."
He dashed out of the bedroom and returned carrying a pale yellow blanket. After quickly rearranging the covers like a half opened envelope, he climbed into the bed and propped his back against the pillows. The blanket ended up across his bare midriff and chest, one corner tossed over his shoulder like a toga. Arms and legs flung wide, he looked up at Martin with a grin.
"C'mon," he said as he flapped his hands encouragingly. "I promise I'll be more comfortable than the mattress."
One corner of Martin's mouth twitched. "You're not gonna try anything funny, are you?" he asked as he leaned on knee carefully on the bed.
"No, that only happens in really bad romance novels."
Martin paused, looking down on Danny with a raised eyebrow. "What happens?"
"You know, when the hero gets the crap beat out of him? And then somehow manages to not only rescue but make love to the beautiful heroine? Happens all the time in those things."
"You, uh, read a lot of 'those things'?"
"Not me, my grandmother." Danny smiled slightly. "Spent a lot of time at her house after Mom and Dad died. Raffy was already boosting cars by then so he was out of the picture and I was pretty much all she had left. She loved her historias but her eyes were weak, so I'd read to her after school. Then she'd send me back to my foster family with tamales and biscochitos because she was sure they weren't feeding me enough."
He blinked away the memory and looked up to see Martin smiling down on him with tender amusement. Crossing his arms over his chest , he scowled back.
"What are you looking at?"
"You." Martin's smile widened, then faltered as he raised a hand to his bandaged head. His next words were strained but full of affection. "You're kind of a big ball of mush, you know that?"
"Only where my grandmother and one slightly beat up FBI agent are concerned. The rest of the world is on its own. Now, c'mon, lay down before I have to pick you up off the floor."
Danny leaned forward and helped him, gentle hands guiding his legs beneath the covers and pulling them up over Martin's hips as he leaned back stiffly onto Danny's blanketed chest. He held still as Martin nestled against him to find the most comfortable spot, absurdly pleased with himself when Martin finally sighed with contentment and went limp.
"How's that?" Danny whispered. He slipped his arm along Martin's uninjured side and pulled in his legs so that his body supported Martin evenly. Martin settled his head against Danny's shoulder and nodded.
"I'll never repeat it in front of witnesses, but this was brilliant."
"Wait. It gets better." He stretched a long arm over to the nightstand and grabbed the crackers to toss them onto the bed. He followed with Martin's glass of milk that he handed off before picking up his own. "But first, we have a little two a.m. snack to go with the good drugs. Here, eat a cracker. I won't kick you out if you leave crumbs."
"Can't ask for more than that."
Ten minutes later, the glasses and crackers had been set aside and the light turned off. Martin lay within the cradle made by Danny's body, arms hooked comfortably over Danny's thighs. His thumbs made tiny circles where they rested on Danny's knees, mirroring the rhythm of Danny's fingers as they rubbed his head in long, calming strokes.
"I heard they cancelled the forecast for snow." Martin spoke quietly, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Yeah, I know." Danny's fingers brushed over Martin's eyelashes, ruffling them lightly. "Try closing your eyes, mi corazón. You need to rest."
Martin continued as if Danny hadn't spoken. "Always liked the snow, you know? I missed it when I was in Seattle—doesn't snow there very much."
Danny shifted, enveloping Martin deeper into the curve of his body. Although his gritty eyes reminded him how little sleep he'd had, he acknowledged the pleasure of the moment with a pang of guilt. Martin lay uncharacteristically docile in his arms, having offered no more than half-hearted resistance to Danny's subtle mothering since they'd left the hospital. It wouldn't take long for Martin's typical self-possession to return and since it was one of the things that had attracted Danny in the first place, that was fine by him. But until then, he appreciated the opportunity to demonstrate his feelings for Martin in a more practical way, knowing he was only borrowing a little bit of heaven until then.
Sliding his fingers through the hair at Martin's unhurt temple, he tried to pin down the wistfulness in Martin's voice.
"Yeah? What do you like so much about snow?"
A minute shrug tugged at the blanket on his chest. "Lot of things, I guess. The way it mutes everything, mostly—sound, color, texture. Even though you know it's not true, you almost feel like the world just—I don't know, takes a breath or something."
Danny smiled. "Yeah, and don't forget, it's fun to play in, too."
"Not in the city, it isn't. Takes about two seconds for the grime to ruin it."
Danny's smile widened at the annoyed little boy tone in Martin's voice. "Well, then you just have to find places where the grime isn't so bad. Central Park, for instance."
"Too full of tourists."
"Well, okay, I'll give you that. But there's lots of other places."
"Like?"
"I don't know—Vermont, maybe?"
Martin's chuckle was quickly swallowed by a yawn. "Okay, Vermont it is," he murmured, his voice slurring a little. "You're driving."
Danny lessened the pressure of his fingertips until his touch was no more than a whisper of a caress to Martin's forehead.
"Okay, G-man," he murmured to an already sleeping Martin. "Next time it snows, it's you, me and maple syrup."
Ten days later
Danny watched Martin pull down the head shot of their last case, a twenty-two year old woman declared missing by her father and found four blocks away holed up with a husband unknown to the rest of her family. While it wasn't exactly a feel good ending—the father had been furious, leading the team to believe that she'd had good reason to hide her marriage—it still went in the win column.
It'd been Martin's first field case since coming back and it made Danny twice as happy that the case had gone the way it had. Even though they both knew that Jack would be watching them, he'd treated them no differently; neither had Vivian or Sam, and Danny was pretty sure they knew the score. Having a cream puff assignment allowed Martin a chance to settle back into his job easily, even though he'd groused about wasting his time on what amounted to little more than a family argument.
But as he turned back to his monitor, Danny couldn't suppress a tiny grin. Martin looked good—the stitches were out and prickly-soft hair was already covering most of the damage. The bruises had faded, the cuts had healed and not surprisingly, Martin had returned to work early and was promptly put on desk duty, much to his vocalized annoyance. The rest of the team had been working a case away from the office that had left the two of them little time for anything other than shared meals and even those had been scarce. Martin had gone back to his own place the day Danny had returned to work and although Danny understood his reasons, he still missed seeing him at home.
It had been a strange three days together but three days that Danny would remember fondly for the rest of his life. Having Martin beside him the entire time hadn't been the burden he may have imagined it to be before the incident—they were both fiercely independent and that was a quality they'd recognized in each other before more tender feelings had grown between them. Danny wondered if it had been the obvious constraint against any intimate contact beyond holding each other at night and slow, affectionate kisses at odd moments during the day that had suffused their down time with unexpected serenity. They argued about baseball and politics but there was no heat to their disagreements; they spoke quietly late into the evenings about their families, about failure and expectation and paths not taken. Danny ached as Martin haltingly described his arid childhood, his descriptions for once stripped of their bitter tinge and replaced by bewildered hurt. In turn, he saw a resonant sadness reflected back at him as he talked about the death his parents, his grandmother, even Rafael and his confused feelings about the nephew he was just coming to know.
Waking up on their last day together with Martin tangled in his arms, Danny had been once again been struck by the feeling that he'd been awarded some small piece of unearned paradise. Trying to sustain it, knowing it was unwise, that night he'd tried to talk Martin into staying longer, and had been gently rebuffed. There was nothing wrong with Martin that time wouldn't heal and with the likelihood of Danny getting swept up in a case fairly high, Danny had eventually agreed it was for the best. He'd put Martin in a cab the next morning before leaving for work, wringing a promise out of him to rest and not do any of the things his healing body told him it was ready to do. His only other admonition had been to make a quick—emphasis on quick—trip to a grocery store.
Since then, they hadn't been together alone for more than an hour at a time and even then, it was during work hours and usually involved a cheap lunch. A single glance had confirmed that they now shared a sense of heightened awareness, not only from the time they'd spent together but from the knowledge that they were being watched, even if those who watched them did so without malice.
But now they had the luxury of time, as their latest case was in the books and the next one still on the horizon. Danny logged off and began to neaten his desk, his mind clicking over ingredients he wanted to pick up for dinner.
"Hey, it's really snowing." Sam turned away from the windows, her expression one of carefully constructed displeasure that didn't completely conceal the anticipatory gleam in her eyes. "That'll mean getting home tonight will take three times longer than usual."
"That's not so bad," Vivian chimed in. "What's really difficult is trying to get Reggie to go to bed when he'd rather be outside making snowmen. His father's no help—he's just as bad."
"You know, I think Reggie has the right idea." Danny stood up and stretched before reaching for his suit jacket. "You gotta enjoy the snow before it gets all covered in dirt. You know, go to a park or someplace like that. Now, since it's quitting time, I'm gonna head for home. Night, everyone."
A chorus of goodnights echoed back at him, including a laconic version from Martin who never raised his eyes from the report he was reviewing. However, the knock at his door a few hours later was entirely anticipated and Danny opened it with a flourish to see Martin on his threshold, his athletic bag in one hand and the metal hanger of his plastic-covered suit wrapped around the fingers of the other.
"Well, if it isn't Frankenstein's younger brother. C'mon in."
Martin stepped into the small foyer and set down his bag. "Ha, ha, funny. But Frankenstein was the creator, not the monster, remember?" He opened the hall closet and hung up the suit before beginning to shrug out of his wool pea coat.
"Not really. I was more into Wolfman flicks—hey, hey, don't take your coat off. We're going out."
Martin yanked his jacket back onto his shoulders. "Out?" he repeated dubiously. "But it's snowing and it smells really good in here." He sniffed the air and cast an imploring look on Danny, who dodged it easily.
"Food can wait, because right now I'm going to prove to you that there are still wonderful places to go when it snows, even in the Bronx. But first—"
He slid his arms inside Martin's coat and pulled him close. Martin came easily, framing Danny's face with his hands as they paused on the edge of their first kiss in days. It was always like this after they'd been separated and Danny felt the telltale lifting of his heart as normally stern eyes softened and warmed, just before a snow-cooled mouth was set against his own.
Closing his eyes at the moment of gentle contact, Danny kissed the chill from Martin's lips, searching out and dispatching the remnants of the cold night with sweetly insistent sweeps of his tongue. Martin sagged against the wall and pulled Danny with him, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns through the hair at Danny's temple and nape.
"God, I've missed you," Martin murmured, pulling away just far enough to look into Danny's eyes. Danny fought the reflexive desire to veil his emotions, so often afraid that he'd reveal more than Martin was ready to see. But after the intimacy they'd shared—intimacy beyond sex—his fear had eroded to the point where he could look back into Martin's eyes and communicate his heartfelt response without saying a word. What Martin actually saw in his eyes he didn't know, but the cherishing kiss that followed was also a communication that words would have only cheapened.
"C'mon," Danny finally whispered against Martin's wind-roughened cheek. "Let's go play."
There was a quick gathering of additional outer gear—hats, gloves, Danny's coat—then they exited the apartment. But when Martin moved toward the elevator, Danny grabbed his arm and swung him the other direction, toward a door at the opposite end of the hallway.
"What—?" Martin let himself be led, his enjoyment of Danny's obvious excitement multiplying Danny's own pleasure. Martin could be stubborn about surprises, but tonight he seemed eager to be caught up in Danny's plans. Danny could tell his reluctance to ascend the stairs leading to the roof of his building was feigned—Martin's mouth was never so relaxed when truly annoyed.
And as he had hoped, the three long flights of stairs had been worth it. He'd checked earlier to make sure the door leading onto the roof was unlocked, so he was able to smoothly guide Martin through with an exaggerated bow.
His reward was exactly what he'd hoped to see—a look of pure enchantment on Martin's face as his brightening eyes swept over the winterscape that an ordinary rooftop had become.
"Wow." Martin spoke reverentially, the white wisp of his breath immediately lost among the fat flakes that already coated their shoulders. Danny beamed proudly as he looked where Martin looked, not seeing the industrial planes and angles of city buildings but a rolling meadow of muted white. The falling snow picked up the lights around and below them, turning it into pastel confetti before it settled into low drifts that softened the sharp edges and erased the filth.
Danny slid his gloved hand around Martin's elbow and eased him forward. "Okay, now walk where I walk 'cause there's transoms and vents and we really should avoid them, otherwise Yussef the super will be very mad at us if we break one."
"Got it."
Danny took Martin along a path he'd already determined, across the main portion of the roof to the other side. There, leaning carefully over the metal-spiked edge, they looked down on the street, sharing a grin at the chaotic traffic caused by the storm. Even though the street and sidewalks were clogged with people making their way home, the snow dampened the noise down to little more than a faded drone. From there they walked the perimeter of the building, checking out the view from all sides, talking and joking quietly until they had come full circle. Martin paused with his back turned to Danny, leather clad hands idly brushing away the accumulated snow from his shoulders as he stared up into the laden sky. He'd just turned back to say something when Danny struck, and whatever Martin was going to share was stifled by a mouthful of snow.
He spat it out and stared at Danny, who spread his hands wide with an air of utter innocence. With exaggerated care, Martin took off his knit cap and shook it out before placing it back on his head, arranging the thick wool band low over his eyes. His stare still fixed on Danny, he made a show of cracking his knuckles, his mouth twitching as Danny took a large step backward. Fighting back a rising tide of laughter, Danny raised his hands in surrender.
"Now, now, c'mon, remember you're still recovering from your little two-step with the Torino and I realize you're probably pretty out of shape—"
It was a relatively short fight. The snow was dry and hard to form into decent snowballs, so even when they got one to hit, there was no impact. Soon they were both dusted with fine snow, not even bothering to go for cover as they stood there laughing and flinging handfuls of powder at each other.
"Okay, okay," Martin finally cried out. He leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees, chuckling between big gasps of air. "You win, all right? You win."
Danny grinned as he swiped at the snow on his face with his forearm. "All right, for that gracious concession to my snowball superiority, I'll take you back downstairs and feed you. Sound fair?"
Martin nodded as he straightened up. Danny's eyes narrowed as he watched one hand come up to brush against recently injured ribs, but it was no more than a passing touch before Martin grabbed the lapels of his coat to shake off the snow. He ran quick hands over his own body and dislodged as much as he could before joining Martin at the access door. He opened it and stepped through, but when Martin didn't follow him, he turned back.
"Martin? You coming?"
Martin had paused beside the door, his gaze focused outward on the snow that was falling heavier than ever. Danny took off one of his gloves and laid his bare hand on Martin's shoulder.
"Hello? Anyone home?"
Martin shook his head and glanced back. "Yeah, I'm here. Just—enjoying it."
Danny tightened his grip. "I know it's not Vermont, man. But next time, I promise."
"Doesn't need to be Vermont," Martin said quietly. His gaze swept once more over the roof before traveling back to Danny, bestowing on him a half smile that warmed Danny and chilled him at the same time. Only a few minutes ago, Martin had been screwing around like a kid—and now his eyes were clouded, even as he mustered up a grin and jerked his head toward the staircase.
"Let's eat. I'm starved."
Danny nodded and started down the stairs, wondering if he'd only imagined the shadow of misery that had passed through Martin's eyes.
F.B.I Missing Persons Bureau, Manhattan
It was an innocent phone call two days later that allowed Danny a glimpse into the current mindset of Martin Fitzgerald—and what he saw there scared him and eventually made him mad as hell at Jack Malone.
He'd come back from the labs to find a pink message slip on his desk, written in Martin's slanted hand. There was a phone number he recognized and beneath it, the word 'dinner' followed by a question mark. It was the fire investigator from the arson case last year; they'd struck up a friendship that had bordered on flirtation, but Danny'd never taken it seriously, even before he'd become involved with Martin. It never occurred to him that someone on the outside might have seen something more in their occasional lunches and so he returned her call immediately. They chatted for a while but when she'd suggested meeting after work some time for an early dinner, he'd declined. Free time had only one purpose as far as he was concerned, and it centered around the guy in the brown plaid suit now returning from his own errand.
"Get your message?" Martin asked as he passed by Danny.
"Yep, got it." Danny threw the paper away and swiveled his chair to face Martin's desk. Seeing Jack approaching from his office, he shelved what he was planning to say and went in another direction.
"I don't think you met her—she was the lead investigator from the F. D. when those guys set that fire last year."
"Nope." Martin sat down and hunched over his keyboard. "Don't remember her. She sounded cute."
Danny's gaze flickered from Martin's back to Jack, who's head was bowed over the central table, apparently lost in thought over their current case of two missing stock brokers.
"She is cute," he said neutrally. He picked up a pen and balanced the tips between his two forefingers. There was an undercurrent here he didn't like. "Nice, too. You'd like her."
"Bring her by sometime." Martin rose and went to Jack's side, talking to him quietly. Danny watched them, noticing Martin's stiff posture as he pointed out something he'd written on his notepad. Jack looked relaxed by comparison as he listened to whatever line of reasoning Martin was trying to explain. He eventually nodded and Martin pivoted away to stalk out of the bullpen toward the communications lab. Danny tossed the pen aside and got up, aware of Jack's eyes on him, the expression in them unreadable.
"Martin onto something?" he asked.
"Yeah. Maybe. He noticed a phone number in the missing woman's Palm Pilot that had the same area code as our suspect. He's gone to check it out."
"Ah, okay."
"So." Jack's voice was dispassionate as he rearranged some of the photos they had of the missing couple. "You seeing that arson investigator again?"
The unease that had teased the back of Danny's mind grew stronger. He swallowed before speaking, suppressing the defensive words that automatically sprang to his mind. "Nah, I never was seeing her. She's just a friend."
"Okay. Listen, Sam and Vivian are headed over to the guy's apartment. I want you to meet them there—that's a big building and a lot of doors to knock on."
Danny wanted more from Jack, but he wasn't sure what he was looking for. The vibe between him and Martin had been strained, even formal. But the case was hot and there just wasn't any time. "Yeah, okay. We'll call you later."
The little scene played over and over in Danny's head over the next few days as the case unfolded. With the implications of something violent having happened to the missing pair, sleep was rare and down time non-existent for the team. That ticking clock meant Danny and Martin went home separately and had no time for personal conversations, but Danny never forgot it.
It ended up being one of those few cases that resolved itself without any of Jack's team being present—the bodies were found in the Harlem River early that Friday morning, the evidence that they'd been following a murder-suicide proved out. Jack and Vivian had taken on the distasteful task of on-site follow up, leaving Danny, Martin and Sam to close down the case at the office. Deconstructing the case and filing the reports always took a couple of hours, but during that time, Danny had come up and discarded half a dozen suggestions to Martin about getting together later. He normally wasn't so hesitant, but the case had kept them separated and after that strange conversation earlier in the week, Danny wasn't sure of his reception.
When his email program beeped at him after lunch, he brought it up and his heartbeat quickened. Martin's subject header was simply titled and to the point.
7:00 B?
There was no text. Danny hit the reply button. Y. Q = starvation.
Nothing in the past week had sounded quite as sweet as Martin's low laugh thirty seconds later.
10:00 p.m., The Bronx
They were stretched out together on Danny's couch, watching some sci-fi flick that they'd found on pay-per-view. Danny was pressed up against the back cushions, one arm supporting his head and the other draped across Martin's midriff. Martin's head rested on a small pillow held in place with one hand—the other was resting slightly behind him on Danny's jeans-clad hip.
The movie was a bust but Danny didn't mind; he had Martin in his arms, the clean, spicy scent of him filling Danny with contentment on every indrawn breath. As the movie credits began to roll, a heavy sense of longing began to swell inside him as his body anticipated the rest of their night together.
"Danny? Can I ask you something?"
Danny picked up the remote and turned the TV off. "Uh, hunh. Ask me anything you want."
Despite Danny's mumbled protest, Martin levered himself into a sitting position. Danny shifted until he was flat on his back and let his hand fall onto Martin's knee.
"Okay." Martin took a deep breath and rubbed at his jaw. "I was wondering—do you want to—do you see—other people?"
Danny stared up at him, nonplussed. How could Martin not know how he felt about him?
"No."
"No? That's it? Just no?"
"No," Danny repeated firmly. "No to both questions—I don't see anyone one else and I don't want to."
Martin closed his eyes briefly. "Okay."
"No, no, it's not that easy. Do you?"
Martin's denial was gratifyingly swift. "God—no, of course not."
Digging his elbows into the couch, Danny pushed up until he was nose to nose with Martin. He wrapped his fingers around the base of Martin's neck, gently forcing him to look up.
"What made you ask me that, Martin?"
He could feel Martin's throat work at swallowing. "It was just something Jack mentioned at the hospital—"
"Ah, damn it." Danny dropped his forehead against Martin's shoulder. "You know, sometimes, I really just want to shoot that guy. D'you think I'd get time for that?"
He felt the brush of fingers over his head. "Yeah, pretty sure they lock you up for killing the boss. Why?"
"Tell me what he said."
"It wasn't anything—"
"Tell me."
A gust of air blew past his ear and he raised his head. In the low lamplight, Martin's cheeks were golden pink, as if the whole subject now embarrassed him.
"It was when you were getting something to eat. You know how he is—he'd just asked me if I knew what I was doing."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, he sort of indicated that he'd known you longer than I had and that you had this rep about—relationships."
"Oh, really. What kind of rep?"
Martin squirmed. "Just—that you liked to, you know, play the field. Didn't like to be tied down. That kind of thing."
"I see." Danny fell silent as he tried to quell the anger inside him. He'd no doubt that Jack had planted this seed of distrust in Martin's head as a test; when Martin had taken that call earlier in the week, it must've seemed like Jack's misgivings had their basis in fact.
"I didn't believe him," Martin continued. "I mean, not really. But it wasn't anything we'd ever talked about. I just took it for granted, I guess. Until he mentioned it—then I couldn't get it out of my head."
"Jesus." With a twist of his body, Danny maneuvered from behind Martin and dropped to his knees on the carpet. Placing one hand of each of Martin's knees, he separated them and placed his body between them. Then he took Martin's face in his hands and kissed him, the touch hardly more than a chaste, closed-mouth caress.
"You go right on taking it for granted, you hear me?" Danny smiled as he backed away. He dropped his hands to embrace Martin's hips and hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his Levi's. "Like I told Jack to his face that morning, he doesn't know squat. And if he'd asked for my resignation—I'd have given it to him."
Martin's eyes widened, warming Danny like the spring sun that was still months away.
"Great minds, man," Martin whispered. "I told him the same thing."
An exhilarating sensation of victory filled Danny as fingers tangled in his hair. Martin drew him close and this time, their lips met with passionate intent. Martin's mouth opened to him demandingly and they kissed for long moments, swaying toward each other again and again as though afraid to be parted.
Finally, Danny grabbed a wandering hand and unbuttoned Martin's cuff, then caught the other and repeated the action. His mouth still on Martin's, he undid the buttons on Martin's shirt and then slid it off the broad shoulders to reveal the white tee shirt beneath.
"Bed," Martin muttered against his neck, his own fingers busy yanking at Danny's sweater.
"No." Danny grabbed two handfuls of Martin's undershirt and pulled it over his head. When Martin's flushed face was clear, Danny kissed him hard. "Right here. Right now."
"...'kay."
Making love with Martin never stopped feeling like a gift. The smooth skin of his chest, the strongly delineated abdomen now blessedly free of bruises, the trail of soft, pale hair that arrowed downward, all of it—all of Martin—was infinitely treasured by Danny. They helped each other remove the rest of their clothing as they moved to the floor, their movements slow and measured as each patch of uncovered skin was greeted with kisses—nothing went unnoticed. Scars were given special attention, especially the ones with stories behind them. Martin brushed his fingertips against the rigid pucker on Danny's stomach, his touch suffused with tender regret. The reverential touch of his tongue to the older, meaner scar on Danny's wrist brought a mist to Danny's eyes that he quickly blinked away—then it was his turn to touch and to consecrate with lips and hands.
Remembering the hateful damage done on a night not so long ago, Danny spent a long time on the healed skin of Martin's chest, his fingers roaming downward past the sharp pelvic bone as Martin panted in soft moans. Their mouths met again briefly before Danny gently turned Martin's head aside, revealing the faint pink line that time had yet to completely obscure. As Martin had before him, he used his fingers to trace the scar, the horrifying memories replaced by the sweet reality of the man in his arms.
And underneath it all grew the familiar urgency, the desire to bring pleasure to each other that couldn't be ignored. The carpet was rough on their bare skin, but they felt nothing beyond the burning in their blood and the necessity of giving expression to that which words could not. Martin's long legs spread and Danny settled between them, bringing them the proximity and friction they longed for. Later, beneath the warm covers of Danny's bed, they'd make love again, but as their bodies writhed together now, they breathed unintelligible vows into each other's mouths, promising everything, withholding nothing. Hands reached blindly, were captured and guided, and a rhythm was born that brought the scalding pleasure that never failed to tear them to the bone. Between one breath and the next they were caught aloft, straining toward each other, lost in each other's eyes. The room around them was swept away and one cry toppled upon another as release came, filling them, emptying them—and inevitably separating them. Their eyes connecting with regret, they shared one more kiss as Danny's shaking arms gave way and he was folded into an equally trembling embrace.
The brief silence that filled the room broke on twin sighs as Danny buried his face into the sweat-slickened haven of Martin's neck. Even though they'd made love on the night of the snowstorm, to Danny this evening had a rare significance. As he lazily pressed his mouth against the warm, yielding skin of Martin's throat, he realized that heaven wasn't something you borrowed—it was something that was given to you. And once given, it was yours to keep or lose—or give away.
They lay in silence for a few moments, exchanging slow, calming caresses as their breathing settled down. Then Danny sat up, pulling Martin to him, sharing one more lengthy kiss before rising to his feet and offering his hand.
"I really don't think Jack meant any harm," Martin murmured as he was pulled upward.
Danny slid one arm around Martin's waist and nuzzled the ball of his shoulder. "Yeah, I know. In his own misguided way, I think he's trying to look out for the two of us."
He felt Martin's chest lift in a short laugh. "Yeah, well, you, anyway. Me, I think he could do without."
Danny raised his head to look down into Martin's sated gaze. "Just 'cause I don't have a father who could have him fired at the drop of a hat doesn't mean he likes me better, you know."
"Nah, I know," Martin agreed. "It's your sparkling personality and blinding intelligence that gets 'em every time."
"Exactly. Hey, know what?"
"What?"
"I'm hungry."
Martin rolled his eyes. "Oh, God. Here we go again."
With a laugh, Danny took Martin into his arms, reveling in the freedom to do so.
"Not this time." He slid one hand into Martin's hair, the other down the smooth skin of Martin's back until it rested on the tender swell below his hips. Martin returned the hug, his own arms wrapping around Danny and pulling him close.
"Why not?" Martin sounded amused. "What's different this time?"
"Aw, don't you know?" Danny whispered. "Can't you guess?"
Martin looked up into Danny's eyes, a teasing smile tugging at his mouth as if he really did know, even as he shook his head.
"Because this time, mi corazón, we don't have to go anywhere." Danny's grin softened. He tightened his arms, dropping his head to onto Martin's bony shoulder.
"Everything we need, you and me? It's all right here."
For Tricia—my Crate and Barrel Goddess—sometimes thank you isn't enough.
Blessings upon Aithine's head once more, for her never-ending support and dear, dear friendship.
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