Stone hands (noun): poor fielding ability.
"It was a righteous shoot, Martin, you know that. No, no, don't—no, listen to me. Viv was out of line, she shouldn't have—"
Shaking his head, Danny realized that what he was saying was having no impact on the distraught man on the other end of the phone. Glad that Martin had called his cell, he avoided meeting Sam's eyes and left the bullpen in search of some place more private. He found an empty interrogation room and after shutting the door, hopped onto the table and propped his feet on the scarred chair beneath it. "Okay, forget about Jack for now, all right? Look, we'll talk when this is over and Nelson is home safe, okay? Martin? Damn it!"
Danny closed the phone with an angry flip of his wrist, his stomach churning in response to the despondency he'd heard in Martin's voice. Familiar fury was beginning its burn low in his gut, but this time it was tinged with a pleasure that he barely dared acknowledge—the realization that Martin had phoned him after the devastating events of the afternoon. He was sure that Martin hadn't told him everything—the tightness in his voice as he'd described finding the little girl had pierced Danny to the heart, cutting through his defenses and forcing him to face up to some deliberately hidden truths about his feelings for Martin.
He chewed his lower lip in frustration—this case was hard on all of them, but having to witness that kind of torture—God, he wanted to shoot the bastard himself. As horrific as that was, Danny was harboring a real, personal grudge toward Vivian. He usually admired her straightforward, take no bullshit attitude, but even though Martin had downplayed it, Danny knew she'd crossed the line. It didn't matter to him that she didn't know that Martin was already raw over the senseless death of that kid a few weeks ago; only he'd been allowed close enough to see the toll it had taken on Martin. Remembrance of that night, when he'd held Martin in his arms and listened to confidences offered in trade for the comfort he was more than willing to give, suffused him with a frighteningly new kind of contentment that did nothing to override his anger toward Vivian.
Screw it—he wanted to see Martin now. Even if it was just to trade glances across the room, he knew Martin needed a friendly face. With Viv on his case and Jack never at his finest in these situations, Martin would be alone—and that was an intolerable situation as far as Danny was concerned.
He left the interrogation room and gathered up his suit coat, giving Sam a terse explanation of where he was going—but not why. There was a hint of wary speculation in her eyes but he ignored it, leaving her to believe whatever she wanted. Glancing at his watch, he estimated it would take him a good half hour to get up to the Bronx if the traffic wasn't too bad—but it usually took hours to deconstruct a shooting scene, so he knew he'd be there in time to offer whatever support he could.
In fact, it took him forty-five minutes of fighting difficult cross-town traffic to get to the scene and by that time his anger was flaming higher than ever, tempered only by his concern. Martin wasn't answering his cell phone—an act of either mild insubordination or pure defense at this point—but Danny wasn't deterred; there was no where else Martin could possibly be.
It took him another fifteen minutes to find a place to park and then work his way to the scene. There was the usual confusion—gawkers, an ambulance, news vans—but he cut through it with quick waves of his badge as he made his way up the stairs to the rat hole where the shooting had occurred. He knew that the little girl had long since been taken to the hospital and the body removed, but the CSU people were still crawling all over the place. The only person from his team present was Jack, speaking quietly to someone he didn't recognize. He didn't flinch when Jack looked up and saw him—he knew there was no reason to be there, but he returned the look defiantly. Jack excused himself and joined Danny near the stairway, a scowl crossing his face.
"What are you doin' here?"
Danny shrugged. "Wanted to see if I could help."
"You came all the way up town without calling first? Coulda saved you the trip, we're almost done here."
"Okay," Danny said evenly. "Anyone need a ride back?"
Jack shook his head. "Hell if I know. Martin's wandered off somewhere and Vivian's back where they found the girl. You can go ask her but I don't want you stickin' around, you hear me?"
Danny gave him a small smile and a two-fingered salute. Chances were that Viv knew where to find Martin, so he went in search of her first. Finding her in a back room of the labyrinthine space, he watched her silently for a few minutes. She was sitting on her haunches next to a pile of bloody rags, her face turned away from him. When he stepped unwarily on a small pile of broken glass, she started and turned around, rising to her feet.
"What are you doing here?" Her voice was sharp and unwelcoming. Coupled with the foul smell coming from somewhere nearby and his already frayed temper, his sidetracked anger was quickly refueled.
"Seems to be the question of the hour," he replied as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "You know where I can find Martin?"
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Why?"
Had it been any other situation, Danny would've let her sharp tone bounce off, but now it only served to sharpen and focus his irritation.
"Why?" he spat at her. "Why? Maybe because he killed a man today, or maybe because he found a little kid, practically a toddler, with her ear sliced off, laying in a pile of—of filth. Gee, Viv, maybe it's because he may need a friend right now instead of someone busting his balls over what some bureaucratic Monday morning quarterback may have to say about him shooting a man who could do that to a child!"
His voice had risen to just below a shout by the time he'd finished. Vivian stared back at him, her dark eyes glittering dangerously, and as he paused to take a breath, she pointed a shaking finger at him.
"You listen to me," she said, her tone starkly neutral, "you weren't here. No matter what Martin may have told you, you have no idea what went down here and I resent—"
Danny flung up his hands. "No, you're right, you're right. I wasn't here. But you know what? Doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because one child has been saved, one son of a bitch is dead and one member of your team not only has to deal with killing a man, but with you climbing all over his ass because of procedure!"
"Oh, really." Viv's small smile held no humor in it. "Does it matter to you that somewhere out there is another child whose life is still in danger and that we've lost our best chance at finding him because my so-called teammate couldn’t control himself?"
Noticing for the first time how pinched and sore her eyes looked, Danny forced a nod. "Okay, yeah, maybe you're right, maybe he shouldn't have—"
"And aren't you the one," she pressed on ruthlessly, "that just a few months ago was telling the rest of us to watch our backs because you were so sure Martin was giving us up to the OPR?"
Danny flushed in remembrance—and it wasn't all from regret at his lack of trust and overly energetic mouth. That day—no, that night—everything had changed between the two men, but it wasn't something they'd completely come to terms with between themselves, let alone shared with anyone.
"I was wrong," he said quietly. He dropped his eyes to the grimy floor as he wrestled with his past mistakes. "Martin isn't like that—but that's not what we're talking about here, is it."
"No. No, it isn't—and I'm beginning to wonder just exactly what it is you're saying, Danny—and why you really came up here."
Danny's head jerked up and he looked into Viv's eyes, startled at the speculation he saw there. He and Martin had been so careful as they'd felt their way through this new dynamic in their relationship, making sure they gave nothing away in the presence of others. Aside from the purely practical reasons for not advertising it, they shared a tacit but very real desire to protect what had become so precious so bewilderingly fast.
"Viv, I—"
"Martin said something about the bodega on the corner. You might find him there." Vivian started to brush past him, then stopped as she drew level with his shoulder.
"Listen to me," she said softly, the animosity in her eyes replaced by weary compassion. "You find Martin, you take him back to the office, make him eat something, at least get some coffee into him. With any luck, we can ride this out without causing too much of a stir with the brass."
"Yeah, okay. Hey, Viv?"
She paused at the threshold. "Yes?"
"Is it gonna be okay?"
There was no solace in her eyes as she answered him.
"I don't know."
The smells from the bodega evoked a familiar sense of melancholy for Danny as he pushed his way through the greasy glass door and walked up to the girl at the counter. She was young and pretty, her glances shyly flirtatious as she answered his question by pointing toward a curtained doorway in the back of the store.
Pushing the brightly patterned fabric to one side, he found himself in the store's crowded back room where boxes of spices, sacks of masa flour and produce crates were stacked haphazardly in the small space. He heard the soft rush of running water and followed the sound around a corner to find Martin dashing water on his face over the large work sink near the back door. Beside him on the grimy counter rested a small tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush leaning on its obviously newly opened package.
It was painful to watch; Martin's movements were slow, as if he were stiff after a long illness. One final handful of water was swept into his mouth, then neatly spit out before Martin reached for the roll of rough brown paper towels that hung over the sink. As he wiped his face, he turned, jumping a little when he saw Danny leaning against a tall metal shelf.
"What are you doing here?" Martin asked, his voice dull as he tossed the towel into the waste paper basket.
Danny straightened up and took a step forward, his hands loose at his side.
"You know, people keep asking me that," he said smoothly. "But to you, I'll tell the truth."
"Yeah? What's that?"
Martin was looking everywhere but at him, his shoulders slumped. Danny's stomach dropped—something was very wrong here, and only Martin and Vivian knew exactly how bad it was. Swallowing his apprehension, he smiled slightly.
"I was worried about you, so I had to find you, make sure you were okay."
Martin's eyes flew to Danny's, the bald statement startling him as Danny had hoped it would. In their business, it was crucial that the façade of professional detachment be maintained, even when something as devastating as a fatal shooting occurred. Only in private, only behind the protective wall of their growing affection for each other was it permissible to admit to something more. Martin would know that Danny had no business being in the Bronx—but he'd come anyway.
The ravaged blue eyes softened as Martin nodded, acknowledging more than Danny's simple declaration. He started to say something then stopped, seemingly adrift in the chaos of his emotions. Danny knew the feeling, but as much as he wanted to offer reassurance, it looked as though any show of tenderness would topple Martin's precariously balanced state of mind.
Danny clapped his hands together once, the loud sound reverberating in the small room.
"Let's go. Jack said they were almost done, so if they don't need you, I'll give you a ride back to the office. How does that sound?"
Martin nodded again, remaining silent but his eyes conveying his thanks. They left the bodega and returned to the scene of the shooting, getting the okay from Jack to head back to midtown.
Danny didn't attempt to make conversation on the way back; he knew that it would take time before Martin was ready to talk about it. They parted company at the elevator with an exchange of nods but when Martin would have walked away, Danny stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"You did the right thing. I don't care what anyone else says."
He let him go with a quick squeeze, hoping that it conveyed at least a portion of the comfort he wanted to give.
"C'mon, Martin, move it."
Danny tapped him on the head as he hurried past him to unlock the bottom drawer of his own desk. When he turned around, Martin hadn't moved except to use his long legs to swing his chair around.
"What's up?"
"It's going down. Nelson's at the chop shop—we gotta hustle."
Martin started to rise, then sat back with a disgusted sigh. "Damn it, I can't. Jack still has my weapon. Besides, you know as well as I do that I can't be on scene for something like that until I'm cleared from the shooting."
Danny had been expecting his objections and shook his head. "I know, but Jack and Viv are stuck in traffic and we're short-handed. It's you, me and Sam and some of New York's finest. Here."
In his hand was his back-up weapon. Martin stared at it before raising his eyes to Danny's face, his expression one of such confused anguish that Danny's stomach muscles clenched.
"I—I don't know if I can do this, man. Another hurt or maybe dead kid—"
Danny knelt down beside his chair. "I know it's been rough, but we have every reason to believe Nelson is okay—this has nothing to do with the coyote. Look, I'll explain on the way but right now, we need to jet."
When Martin still hesitated, Danny placed his hand on his neck, just above his shirt collar, hoping the intimate gesture would get shock Martin out of his inaction. Leaning close, he murmured words that he could only pray would be prophetic.
"Let's go get this kid and return him to his family, all right?"
For the space of another heartbeat, Martin kept his eyes downcast before looking up at him with a crooked grin as he reached for the gun.
"What the hell. They can only fire me once, right?"
Danny rocked back on his heels and returned the smile. "That's the spirit. C'mon."
There wasn't any time for finesse—they went in disguised in the SUV that Teo had been assigned to bring in and everyone had been quickly subdued. It didn't take much to get Smalls to reveal where the boy was hidden, but Danny made damn sure that Martin was in on the last part of the rescue. The look of gratitude on his face as they'd found a dirty, scared but unharmed Nelson was something Danny knew he'd never forget—but then he knew all about the power of one true act of redemption.
He kept track of Martin in the aftermath, even though they couldn't interact much. When a grim-faced Jack showed up late to the scene, he was given the assignment of seeing Nelson home. Although it hurt to see Martin's face fall when he was informed that he couldn't go along—an obviously punitive gesture on Jack's part—Danny wouldn't let it detract from his own excitement. This was what made the job worthwhile—to see the looks on the face of that family, their dime-store paper turkey attached to a front door flung open wide as they welcomed home their young son.
Danny knew all about home, too—and retained the hope that someday, he'd actually find one again.
With some instinct that he was beginning to recognize as Martin-centered, he didn't even try to contact him at home. He knew of Martin's habit of staying late at the office—after a day like today, he was likely to remain there all night, rehashing the incident and beating himself up endlessly. Sooner or later, Martin would need someone to talk to and Danny wanted to make sure it was him.
He was almost too late. As he got off the elevator and began walking down the corridor, he could see Sam near Martin's desk, and his throat dried up. Sam had just been through this herself—who better for Martin to talk to? But it didn't look like it was going to happen—Danny could tell by the expression on her face that whatever overture she'd made had been rebuffed. Deciding at this point it was better to avoid her, he slipped down the parallel glass-walled hallway and watched as she gathered up her things and told Martin goodnight. It wasn't until she was safely on the elevator that he allowed himself to approach Martin, making sure he bumped into a desk or two on the way so that his presence wouldn't be a shock.
Martin looked up and watched him draw near. Defeat and anger were equally mixed in his expression, and as Danny leaned against the edge of his cubicle, he took the pen he'd been holding and threw it on his desk.
"How'd it go?" he asked quietly. Danny noted the bluish smudges beneath red-rimmed eyes and made an internal promise to himself that he wouldn't be leaving alone tonight, no matter how stubborn the resistance.
"Went great. That's a nice family—they were ecstatic to have Nelson back."
"Good."
"Listen, why don't I go back with you to your—"
"No. I have to finish this report." Martin muttered the words like a mantra—it was probably the same excuse he'd just used to blow Sam off.
"That report isn't going anywhere and besides, you and me have an early appointment tomorrow morning and this will save me having to come pick you up."
That got his attention. "Appointment? Where?"
Danny smiled. "Hospital. Seems there's a little girl whose family want to thank the nice FBI agent who saved her life."
Emotions flew through Martin's eyes like storm clouds—and Danny could read every one of them. Surprise, appreciation, doubt and then finally dismissal, as though something so rewarding would never be given to him again.
"I don't think that's such a good idea," he murmured.
"Well, I do," Danny replied firmly. Not waiting for an answer, he pulled Martin's jacket off its coat hook and held it out like a valet, his eyes refusing to take no for an answer. With a sigh of surrender, Martin rose and allowed Danny to help him into his coat. He still resembled a whipped puppy, but it was progress.
Martin didn't make any confidences that night and Danny didn't press him. There'd be time later for them to deal with the fallout of the day's work, but reading Martin with growing accuracy, Danny knew that a few hours of respite from thinking were what he needed most. He made sure they had a decent meal before shooing him off to the shower; Martin moved like an automaton but there was gratefulness in his glance when Danny guided him into bed. Saying he wanted to watch the news, he gave the damp brush cut a quick caress and left him alone, figuring that Martin would rather not have to deal with someone in his bed on this particular night.
It was Danny's only misstep of the evening. Still a little wound up from the day's events, he decided to grab one of Martin's books and do some reading before turning out the light and sleeping on the couch. He'd found a blanket and was just plumping the sofa cushion into an acceptable pillow when Martin appeared in the doorway, running a hand over his already rumpled hair and looking confused.
"What are you doing?" he asked, a thread of hurt in his sleepy voice.
Danny sat up. "Hey—I didn't think you'd want company tonight. I just wanted to give you some space, you know?"
Martin stared at him before shaking his head with a small smile. "I'm not that fragile. C'mon."
Danny tossed the book aside and turned off the light, bemused and a little annoyed with himself for misreading the situation. He'd already stripped down to his shorts, so all he had to do was slip between the covers that Martin had pulled away. Still trying to give the illusion of allowing Martin some emotional if not physical room, he turned on his side, away from the middle of the bed—and was rewarded with the feeling of a strong arm wrapping around him from behind.
"I just need to hold on to something good tonight. Is that okay?" The question was whispered haltingly, as if asking for this one last favor was almost too much. Danny knew it was Martin's way of acknowledging the subtle and not so subtle protection that Danny had given him all day; he answered by pulling Martin's arm closer around his midsection and wriggling backward until their bodies were comfortably nestled together. Within minutes, he heard Martin's breathing settle into the rhythm of sleep and he soon followed, his last coherent thought that while there were undoubtedly dark times ahead, they could be survived—as long as they faced them together.
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