He was that man…
A few days ago, I received a writing prompt that said … safe haven in her eyes … and this is the image that came out of it, and obviously what I wrote from that image.
As always, the characters of CSI NY do not belong to me…
Sometimes the road home could seem so long.
Danny stepped wearily off the subway car and just kept going. One foot in front of another. He'd taken this path, walked these same steps, for years now.
He knew the scratches on the tile. The cracks in the cement stairs. The familiar odor of spices from the Middle Eastern restaurant whose door opened feet away from the entrance to the underground world. Even early in the morning, when the door was closed like it was now, the scents still drifted in the air.
Usually. At least … he had recently taken in a deep breath as he passed, just to enjoy the moment.
But not tonight. Tonight he smelled nothing.
How many times had he walked home feeling just like this?
It had happened less at different points. When he'd first got the place, having been handpicked by Mac. When he and Lindsay had finally gotten together.
Most recently since Lindsay had come home from Montana and as Lucy finally made the appearance in their lives.
He looked up at the night sky high above the lights of New York. It didn't look so dark. Light was captured by the clouds. But you didn't have to see the darkness to know it was there. Sometimes … sometimes you could forget … still, there were the points in between. He'd never been able to gain his father's … pride. His approval, yes, but not his pride. He'd wanted Louie's approval, and had always felt pushed into the minor leagues. He'd lost the respect of his coach—all people who mattered.
Then he'd met Mac, and for awhile he'd felt like … finally. Finally he wasn't that screw-up.
And then he'd gone and messed up. It hadn't occurred to him, really, that he'd done so, until Mac had turned the table on him, took him off the promotion grid. Danny had seen the disappointment in Mac's eyes. Had felt it in his heart.
Possibly more than he ever had before.
He'd carried that feeling with him for two years. He pushed it back, let it rest, but it was there until the day he followed Lindsay to Montana, and she'd looked at him like …
He was worth it.
Sitting on that courtroom stand, she'd seemed so lost. So afraid. All of those emotions that had rolled through her for months, emotions she had not trusted him with, were all on her face.
And in one moment, she'd looked at him … the look of relief in her eyes, the instant and deep appreciation and connection …
For a few sweet months, his way home had seemed so perfect. So right.
Danny stopped outside his apartment building and looked up. She was up there waiting. Lucy was up there.
He couldn't find the energy to make his way up the steps. He didn't want her, his baby girl, to look at him and see what he saw. He didn't want her near what he felt. He just… he couldn't.
He couldn't be what she needed.
Not even a year ago, he'd screwed everything up so bad he nearly lost his chance to have a daughter, watched a mother grieve for her son, because he hadn't followed through. Took something that wasn't really for him. Threw away what had seemed so … perfect.
He'd watched it all unfold, unable to stop it all. Unable to feel anything … until she'd said she loved him, and then he'd felt it all wash over him again. He didn't deserve her. He couldn't be what she needed.
Yet, he couldn't stay away. Even as he'd called her, part of him had told him he was only screwing things up for her again.
He was hard to love. She'd said so.
But he could be loved. She did love him.
She took him back, but there was that feeling.
It hadn't been the same. He hadn't let himself feel the connection. He couldn't, not with this blasted, stupid feeling of waste he felt within himself. He expected himself to hurt her again. He thought she'd give up on him, walk away. He was afraid that one day she would look at him and she would really see him.
Everything had changed when Lindsay had told him she was pregnant. Even as she doubted him, love had bloomed, so fast and hard that it had covered everything else. This was his. His moment, his day. All the mistakes he'd made…
He'd still ended up right in the middle of the best thing that had ever happened to him.
It was … where he had been headed right along. There had to be something good inside of him …
Or so he'd thought until now.
Lindsay set the phone down on the counter, her brow furrowed. They had talked about finding another place, one of their own, where they could start their new life. One, Lindsay had thought, that was away from the memories that had hurt him so much.
But maybe it was a good thing to be surrounded by people who knew her husband so well.
She hadn't been worried about the follow up meeting with IAB. Even Mac had assured her it was just a few papers. Flack had said it only took a few minutes to sign off on everything. Someone would have called her if …
Pushing back the worry, she picked up the front-worn baby carrier and walked into the nursery to collect Lucy. "Come on, baby girl," she murmured, even as Lucy continued to sleep. "You're daddy needs us."
Danny hadn't known how long he'd stood outside his apartment building. His mind just churned. He nearly turned around to grab a taxi, but he couldn't even do that. Either way, no matter which direction he went, he was only going to hurt her … them. Either way, he was a failure. As a husband, as a father.
As a friend.
"Danny?"
Her voice broke through.
He looked up, stared at her. Stared at them. They shouldn't be out there, on the street. Not now, in the early morning.
"Lindsay—"
The words didn't come. He couldn't tell her to go inside. He couldn't look her in the eyes.
"What happened?" She stepped closer, put a hand on his arm. "Danny—the meeting …"
"They brought my file—" the words came out riding a breath. He let out another, a broken laugh. It really was ironic, wasn't it, that he cared so much?
He could still see the file—his file—sitting on the table. All the papers resting between the worn manila folder. An inch, or nearly, of documentation. On him.
"You should have seen it. He opened the folder and started turning pages, this last thing with Elgers, and before that a report from Sinclair. And then from personnel, and Deputy Inspector Whitmore. The Blue Flu. Three different documentations. The last year, IAB's been watching me … they even had things on Reuben."
"They told you this?" Lindsay asked.
"I saw it. I watched him as he turned the pages, scanning it as I … he had told me to read the paperwork he gave me, but I couldn't take my eyes off …"
"Danny," Lindsay closed his fingers around his arm, but he still couldn't look at her.
"Danny," she said more firmly.
Then she reached for his hand. Her fingers closed warm around his.
He was cold, he realized.
He hadn't realized how cold he was.
The warmth of her hand was hard to ignore. She drew his up, placed his wrist so that it rested on the carrier. He felt Lucy's warm finger slowly closed over his. Heard her soft coo.
It caught in his chest. His breath. He couldn't …
Slowly he lifted his eyes. He couldn't help it. Lindsay was watching Lucy, watching her tiny hand hold his long finger.
Little by little, Lindsay lifted her gaze, those rich brown eyes wide open to her soul.
There was no condemnation.
Slowly the old feelings just rolled off of him. He let out the breath.
And drew another one in.
"Lucy," Lindsay smiled, her gaze not leaving his. "Look—Daddy's home."
For a moment, Danny followed her gaze. Lucy, her face lit by the street light, looked up at him with such love, such trust, something inside felt cleansed.
So bright and full.
"I am," he looked back at Lindsay and reveled in her gaze. Then, he leaned forward; eyes wide open, and brushed her lips with his. Found it easier to breath. He wasn't that screw up—not with her. Maybe because of her, because of Lucy. It was as if he had never been.
He felt safe.
It felt right.
He was husband, father, friend … it was all there in her eyes. In their eyes.
He leaned back and let his free hand find hers.
"I am home."
So …I have to say that as I finished this, I kind of wanted a doctor to give Danny a prozac or something :p …as he kind of depressed me. Or it could be the episode I watched in the middle of finishing this up …I know it's kind of heavy.
But hey—this was the first intentional writing prompt "assignment" I've ever finished, I think. (I've worked off of ideas before, but never just from a prompt from some unknown entity sent to my twitter…) I've tried to work this into the "Their" series, if it is a series … but I just couldn't get a title to fit (in editing I did), and it didn't really (and still doesn't, or maybe it does) seem to fit. So, let me know what you think. :p And … I didn't use the word haven in the story (I don't see it as a Danny word), but I hope that's what it feels like at the end.