He didn't want to go home, but he had no choice. There wasn't a current case to return to and Danny didn't need him anymore, so there was no place he had to be—and still Martin didn't want to go home.
It was where he ended up anyway.
He tossed his keys onto the small table in the foyer, followed more gently by his hip holster and wallet. The coat jacket ended up across the top of the couch but his tie made it all the way to the kitchen before being discarded on the counter by the coffee maker. He was hungry but almost too tired to eat, and he wasn't sure he had anything worth eating in his kitchen.
A quick raid on the refrigerator yielded some leftover Chinese food that didn't smell too bad, so he placed it in the microwave. He went through his mail as his food was heating, finding nothing there of interest, so he wandered into the living room and grabbed the remote.
He discarded it almost immediately. It wasn't distraction he wanted—what he wanted was to help someone who thought he no longer needed Martin's help.
Martin thought differently. He could read it in Danny's eyes when they'd parted with a hurried handshake, the eyes of a man who suddenly had the weight of the world on his shoulders and not a friend in sight. But Martin also understood—had the tables been turned, he too would have shuffled Danny out of the mess his life had become. Danny had a lot of pride, but pride had taken a back seat to ugly necessity over the last twelve hours.
Three bites into his lukewarm sweet and sour pork and Martin threw the container away. He changed into a tee shirt and a pair of Levi's before grabbing a bottle of water and settling into his couch, the TV off and the apartment eerily silent. He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, opening them again almost at once as images of the previous day crowded into his over-tired mind.
He'd noticed it almost immediately. Their team worked so closely that they all knew each other's moods and tweaks, but Martin knew he was a little more attuned to Danny Taylor than was professionally necessary. He'd been sitting in the bullpen with Jack when Danny had shown up and Martin had seen right away that he was in trouble. Jack had filled him in about Danny's missing brother and Martin had kept an eye peeled for him, hoping that Danny would come in with good news.
It hadn't happened that way, and now, countless hours later, Martin couldn't stop wondering how Danny was doing.
He got up from the couch and drained the water bottle as he wandered into the kitchen. As he tossed the bottle away, a small envelope attached to the front of his refrigerator caught his eye. He knew what was in it, but he still moved aside the New York Rangers magnet that held it and took it down, opening it up to pull out the tickets tucked inside.
The tickets had been a risk; he'd held on to them for a couple of weeks before finally taking the plunge and asking Danny if he wanted to see the Mets and Astros play in early July. He knew the answer would be yes—it was whether or not he wanted to see the game with Martin that was in question...
It'd been a miserable day weather-wise and they'd all been out in it, searching for a young husband who'd gone missing. They'd finally found him—alive and embarrassed for having been considered lost at all—but it was after midnight before most of the team had left. Danny and Martin had stayed behind—not by design but lately it seemed to happen that way—and eventually one of them would suggest a quick bite to eat somewhere close.
Martin had come to appreciate those late night/early morning dinners; they gave him a chance to unwind but more importantly, it allowed him time to get to know Danny outside of work. The beginning of their relationship—long before he would call it "friendship"—had been tough. But two men with a lot of pride and a lot of baggage had more in common that he'd expected, and as the knee-jerk competitiveness faded they'd started trusting each other in subtle, telling ways.
That night had gone longer than most; knowing Jack wouldn't require them to show up before early afternoon and the lack of other patrons in the 24-hour diner allowed them to spread out and drink just as much criminally strong coffee as they'd wanted. There was the usual comment from Danny about Martin's cholesterol-laden dietary choices—just before he sheepishly ordered the same thing—and the topics of conversation had been comfortable and far-ranging.
Inevitably, baseball had come up.
Growing up around D.C., Martin was a lifelong Orioles fan, no matter where his career had taken him. Confessing that to Danny had been a strategic mistake and ever since then Danny had taken every opportunity to remind Martin that the Mets had beaten the Os in the '69 Series. Martin didn't mind—the triumphant gleam in Danny's dark eyes was more than enough compensation for all the good-natured ribbing.
At least that's what he told himself that gleam signified—any other possible reason was strictly wishful thinking.
So he'd ordered the tickets and had invited Danny, making the whole thing sound offhanded, almost like an afterthought. Danny had responded with a look that said he saw through Martin's casual offer—but more importantly, he'd said yes.
Martin tucked the tickets back in their envelope with a sigh. He was just beginning to realize how much he'd counted on the game to—do what? His mind shied away from the possibilities that tantalized his imagination. He'd been down that road before and it always ended up being a dead end street.
The jangle of his cell phone broke through his thoughts. He fished it out of his coat pocket and glanced at the number, his heart giving a double thump at what he saw there.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked without preamble.
There was a brief pause, followed by what might have been a soft pant of laughter. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm good, but—I need a favor."
He closed his eyes, relief and some other strong emotion sweeping through him.
"Name, it man. What can I do?"
Martin braked gently as the light turned yellow, sparing a glance at the man beside him. It'd been a rough couple of hours and it showed on Danny's face, turned toward Martin as he dozed in the passenger seat. There was no relaxation in the furrowed forehead, no easing of the tense lines that bracketed Danny's mouth. Martin had to clench the steering wheel to keep from reaching out and smoothing away the cares so recently etched in the thin face.
Things hadn't been much easier for Martin—he wasn't accustomed to feeling useless. When Danny had phoned, all he'd wanted was a lift to take him and Sylvia to the booking facility where Alvarez was being held, stating bluntly he was too tired to drive. Martin could tell how hard it was for Danny to ask for anything at all, but he also knew that Danny wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Martin was perfectly willing to act as chauffeur, although after a few minutes he'd had more than enough of Danny's future sister-in-law; Sylvia seemed to alternate between blaming Danny for his brother's troubles and expecting him to fix everything.
It got even harder once Danny and Sylvia were allowed to see Rafael; Martin stayed behind but one look at the waiting room was enough to send him to the nearest empty corridor to make some calls. After that he played games on his cell phone until the risk of his battery going critical became too great. He was bored and frustrated but most of all he was worried about his friend—a friend who meant more to him than he felt ready to admit.
He'd just returned with his third coffee from a street vendor when Danny and Sylvia emerged from a side door; Sylvia's cheeks were streaked with tears and she held herself stiffly beneath the curve of Danny's arm. Martin shared a glance with Danny, one that he'd hoped conveyed his willingness to be whatever Danny needed him to be. Maybe he'd imagined it, but he'd thought he'd seen a faint lightening in Danny's expression, as if he was almost surprised that Martin had stuck around even after he'd promised he would.
With as little fuss as possible, Martin herded them out of the station and into his car. Sylvia had given him directions and after that she ignored Martin, managing a choked thank you when they dropped her off at her sister's. He didn't care—what he did care about was the stricken look in Danny's eyes when he returned from walking her to the apartment. He'd gotten into the car without a word and closed his eyes, his posture slumped with defeat.
That's when Martin had decided to take Danny home.
"I don't think this is a good idea."
Martin shoved his key into the lock of his front door. "Why not?"
Danny scrubbed a hand over his face. "What if Sylvia needs me? What if Jack—"
"They have your cell number and Jack knows you're with me." He opened the door and ushered Danny inside. "We'll hook it up to my recharger. You won't miss a call."
"Yeah. Okay." Martin watched as Danny stood uncertainly, obviously not quite aware of his surroundings or his purpose for being in Martin's apartment. He held out his hand and after a moment Danny dug out his phone and dropped it into Martin's palm, then continued to sway on his feet as Martin plugged it in.
"What do you want first? Food, shower, or a nap?" Martin asked as he faced him again. Danny blinked at him before covering a huge yawn with the back of his hand. "Okay, nap it is. Follow me."
Martin hid his amusement as Danny followed him, aware that only Danny's exhaustion had rendered him so docile. He turned on the light on the nightstand and bent down to pull back the covers, wondering if he should offer a pair of his pajamas when Danny spoke with quiet certainty.
"This is your room."
Martin gave him a crooked grin. "Hey, I don't know about you but a one bedroom's all I can afford on my pay."
Slender fingers scrubbed through dark hair, sending it off in every direction. "What about—I mean, where are you going to sleep?"
Martin's smile softened as he looked at Danny, wishing he had the right to offer more than a physical place to rest for a couple of hours. But he didn't, so he shrugged and headed for the door.
"It's the middle of the day, remember? Only people sleeping now are guys who work graveyard and FBI agents that haven't slept for three days."
He was rewarded with a tiny grin as Danny reached for the buttons on his shirt. "Okay, but don't let me sleep too long, all right? And if my phone rings—"
Martin held up his hand. "I'll wake you, I promise. Now, you need anything else?"
Danny paused, fingers resting lightly on his buckle. Eyes that had been drooping with fatigue sharpened slightly and Martin held his breath when Danny looked like he wanted to say something. But the moment passed when Danny silently shook his head.
"Right. I'll be out here if you need me, watching Jerry Springer."
He closed the door on Danny's tired laugh, once again wishing there was something else he could to help.
Food would be welcome eventually and he didn't have any. He didn't like the thought of leaving Danny—even a sleeping Danny—alone, so delivery would have to suffice. He went into the kitchen to find the pizza menu he kept tacked onto the refrigerator, trying to recall what kind Danny preferred.
As he removed the menu from its magnet the edge caught against the envelope that held the Mets tickets, knocking it to the ground. Stifling a curse he set the menu aside and scooped up the envelope, reflexively checking the two tickets inside.
The game was still weeks away; a lot was going to happen between now and then in Danny's life and chances were good they'd be in the middle of a case anyway. He toyed with the idea of selling the tickets and offering Danny a chance to reschedule but rejected it—Danny wouldn't appreciate Martin making decisions without discussing it with him first.
That thought made him bite his bottom lip as he replaced the envelope. Once Danny got past this thing with his brother, Martin had a feeling that all the walls Danny used to hide behind—the ones Martin had just begun to breach—would be back in place. It was ironic, but the recent intimacy they'd shared could likely cost him later; vulnerability wasn't something Danny did well and with their friendship on the cusp of turning into something more, Martin knew he'd have to work hard to show Danny that for him, nothing had changed.
Which wasn't entirely true. The man who was now hopefully getting some much needed rest had slipped a little deeper into Martin's closely held heart and that scared him, knowing that Danny had no time for him now, no energy to give that wasn't needed by his family.
But one lesson well-learned from their line of work was that circumstances change and lives move on. As he reached for his phone to place the pizza order, Martin knew what he had to do—when the smoke cleared and Danny had a chance to raise his head above his current situation, he needed to make sure that the first thing Danny saw would be him.
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