Spoilers: Couch, couch, couch, couch! Couches in my fics tend to lead to happy things...
Disclaimer: Nup. Whatever, not mine.
Author's Note: Relatives. Ah, the joys of Christmas-time... Kill me.
Danny jumped slightly as he felt weight against his shoulder and looked down to see a few messy tufts of sandy hair against the black of his overcoat. He smiled at the sleeping lump that was Martin until he felt all the worst parts of the car door digging into his side, prompted by Martin's extra weight.
As much as the idea of Martin sleeping against him was appealing, being squished into the back door of Vivian's car was not particularly comfortable. Grinning, he nudged Martin, who was probably going to be mortified to have fallen asleep on Danny in the first place.
Martin's eyes were wide as he looked up at Danny's smirk.
They had just taken Samantha home, which Danny was thankful for, because otherwise Martin wouldn't be here, leaning into him. Danny tried to remember the last time he'd actually sat in the back seat of a car. Maybe 'sat' was the wrong verb, he thought with a smirk.
Martin grunted as he tried to stay awake.
"He needs caffeinating; badly," Danny mock-diagnosed when Martin inadvertently leaned a little harder against his shoulder again. Vivian laughed from the front seat.
"What he needs is sleep," she corrected knowing that despite the mocking tone, Danny was only half-joking. Vivian and Danny laughed while Martin tapped Danny on the shoulder, half-awake.
"'Caffeinating' isn't a word," he told Danny, words slurred by sleep. Danny just stared in amusement and annoyance. He hated being wrong – or corrected – but only Martin would correct his grammar while half-asleep on his shoulder.
"Martin?" Danny asked pointedly. Martin struggled to open his eyes, failing by just a little.
"Yes, Danny?" Martin answered with a slight smile on his face and Danny wondered if he knew exactly what he was doing.
"Shut up and sleep," Danny ordered.
Martin groaned as Danny poked him in the shoulder. He heard Danny's distinctive laugh and felt another nudge. Hearing Danny's voice but not being able to make out the words, he opened his eyes; which met Danny's almost instantly.
"No," he said automatically, seeing the question in Danny's eyes. Martin felt more than heard the groan his partner emitted.
"We're here, Fitz," he told him, only amusement in his voice.
"Oh," Martin grunted, suddenly realizing his position – somewhat on top of his partner – and righting himself. He now knew the cause of Danny's amusement.
Clearing his throat, he spoke directly to Vivian. "Thanks for the ride," he said without emotion – old Martin was back. Awake Martin was back.
"Yeah, Martin, you're welcome," she said back, and by her tone of voice, he really was. "Get some sleep," she ordered, her no-nonsense face firmly in place.
Turning to Danny, he smiled tersely.
"Thanks for the shoulder," he said deadpanned.
Danny couldn't believe it; his stalwart partner was actually making a joke. The second in less than an hour, even. And a funny one at that. He smiled back, his grin showing Martin that he got his joke. The terse smile flickered with sincerity for an easily missable moment before he turned and left, heading towards his apartment with an unreadable gait.
A gait that faltered at the front door. Danny vaguely registered that Vivian was talking to him until she nudged him rather impolitely from the front seat.
"Aren't you going?" she asked as if she had asked the question before. Danny just stared at her; she was serious.
"What?" was all he could think of saying. Vivian rolled her eyes at him with a small I-know-everything smile; her favourite as far as Danny could tell.
"He can barely stand, Danny," she pointed out, rather motherly. Danny glanced at the slowly but determinedly retreating figure of his partner, then back as Vivian. She looked at him expectantly, as if knowing that he was wavering.
By the time he got out of the car, Martin was out of sight. Cursing softly in Spanish, he sent a half-goodnight-half-glare at Vivian and made his way to his partner's apartment. Once Vivian and her power of persuasion were out of sight, Danny let his shoulder's drop before squaring them again as he pressed the elevator button.
For all he – or that damned Vivian, for that matter – knew, Martin was happily passed out on his bed, or couch, and Danny's interruption would only be cause for a day or two of being ignored by an embittered Fitzgerald. Just what he needed; grumpy Martin was about as entertaining as an octogenarian on Valium.
Smirking at the imagery, Danny stopped in front of Martin's door and knocked.
After a minute or so, a semi-clothed Martin answered the door with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth and a frown plastered on his face. The frown soon turned to surprise when he saw who it was. A fair amount of the annoyance came back after a second of shocked staring.
"What are you doing?" Danny asked incredulously. Martin's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Me?" he asked indignantly. "What are you doing?" His voice was muffled by toothpaste. Danny snorted; only Martin would brush his teeth after a near collapse from exhaustion. Still, Martin was looking rather testy, so Danny figured he had better answer.
He could always make fun of him later.
"Viv sent me up to make sure you hadn't passed out in the elevator, or something," he teased. Martin rolled his eyes unsuccessfully then blinked deliberately. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped aside, motioning Danny in.
Trying not to let his surprise over Martin's hospitality show, Danny smiled – with not a little bit of cockiness – and followed the prompts. Martin flicked a hand at the couch – which, of course, was clutter-free – and disappeared into a hallway or doorway of some sort.
Taking a deep breath and removing both coats, Danny suddenly realised how tired he was. He'd been too busy worrying about getting Martin home before he collapsed of exhaustion, and not getting chastised by Viv, that it hadn't occurred to him that he had only had about three hours more sleep than Martin in the past few days.
Though, admittedly, that was a grand total of three hours, which meant that Martin hadn't slept at all in almost four days.
And now the man was brushing his teeth.
Danny snorted, amused and disgusted by Martin's habits. The man was going to run himself into the ground through OCD.
Spotting a television sitting on a cabinet across from the couch he was slumped on, he searched for a remote. He found it on top of the television – a highly illogical and impractical place for a remote, Danny thought – where it obviously spent most of its time.
The places that Danny would have thought to house the remote were all empty except one – the easiest to reach from the couch – which was occupied by a very well-read novel. Interest peaked, Danny flicked a glance to the place to which Martin had vanished before picking up the novel.
Not bothering to read the blurb, he opened it to the first page.
He was asleep by the second.
Martin slogged into the bathroom, feeling like he was wading through knee-high mud. It was quite possible that he was, when he thought about it; it wasn't like he could actually see properly. His vision had been so bad, so muddled and fuzzy from exhaustion, that when he opened the door to find Danny standing there, he had thought he was just seeing things. Or, perhaps, that he had passed out after all, and was dreaming again. And that thought had given him pause.
Grunting himself awake, and forcing his focus onto his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he took hold of his toothbrush again and began to think. How was he going to get Danny – politely – out of his apartment? Martin knew that Danny wouldn't go until he knew that he was okay; though whether for his sake or for Danny's or for Vivian's he didn't know.
After sticking his toothbrush back into its rightful place – a place for everything and everything in its place – Martin threw some cold water onto his face, shivering as it ran mutinously down his bare chest, to wake himself up for long enough to kick Danny out.
Since he was a child, Martin had always found it difficult to sleep with someone else in the near vicinity. Perhaps it had been the fact that his parents were so rarely home that he had grown up sleeping alone; or that their bedrooms were in an entirely different wing of the house that left Martin alone even when he wasn't; or maybe it was just his inherent mistrust of people as a whole that left him nervous, knowing there was someone else in his house.
Whatever it was, Martin was so rarely in that situation that he didn't really bother thinking about it much. That and the fact that it was too painful to psychoanalyse himself on a regular basis.
Martin's sleep-addled mind made mince meat of those thoughts while he stumbled without grace into the lounge room. When he saw Danny, however, he was hit with a strange mix of annoyance and affection.
The other man lay sprawled across the couch – gracefully, damn him – with Martin's novel in his hands. His tie, suit jacket and overcoat were flung over the back of the couch.
He stood, staring at his partner with totally conflicting emotions as he decided what to do with him. It was either wake him and send him on his way, wake him and let him leave himself, or not wake him and let him stay. Letting Danny choose wasn't really an option. He had a feeling he knew exactly what Danny would do – or perhaps that was what he hoped Danny would do – if he were to choose.
He'd smirk; he'd give Martin that look that drove him insane on a very regular basis; he'd inevitably talk Martin into letting him stay.
Sighing, Martin decided that waking him up was, after all, not an option. Which left him with the one he both loved and hated.
He really didn't want to go into the reasons why Danny sleeping on his couch was an idea he found appealing. He remembered his earlier thoughts – muddled as they were - as to why he hated having people around while he slept, but now...
The idea of that vulnerability, of that invasion, didn't occur to him. He trusted Danny, he knew, but he never expected to want him.
Groaning inwardly at the thoughts, and telling himself that they were simply those of a fatigued insanity, he moved over to his partner, prying the book from his hands as gently as he could. He grabbed the blanket that he kept on the end of the couch – he knew there would someday be a reason for that – and placed it over Danny awkwardly, positioning it over his shoulders as one might a child.
Martin resisted the urge to touch him further, kiss his forehead. And God...
What the hell was happening to him?
He made a mental note to never go this long without sleep again.
Feeling a weight on him that had not been there before, Danny forced his eyes open in the way only a trained FBI agent could after four days without sleep. All he saw was pale skin. Eyebrows drawing together, he shook himself out of sleep more forcefully and lifted his head. His eyes fell on blue eyes and quickly reddening cheeks. Danny smiled, realising who it was and just how close he was.
"Christ, Martin," he chastised. "Go to bed!" He blinked heavily but smiled; he'd learned that Martin usually needed to be told when Danny was joking. Judging by the almost painfully slow smile he received in return, he was right.
As his eyes held Martin's he realised that Martin's hands were on his shoulders, gripping a blanket. And apparently Martin hadn't realised yet, because they were still there. Risking a glance down, he noticed that his partner was, indeed, still not wearing a shirt. Oh Hell.
Danny inhaled as his eyes met his partner's again; unfortunately, not helping the situation, all he could smell was Martin. His eyes looked totally conflicted, everything from terror to desire. His jaw was set, and Danny could feel tension in his hands and arms; had to force himself not to look at his chest.
Just as Danny was about to speak – though he had no idea what he intended to say – he felt the grip on his shoulders weaken, and Martin's eyes fluttered closed. Suddenly, Martin was falling forward.
With a surprised grunt, Danny reached out to grab Martin, landing them awkwardly on the couch, Danny still half-sitting.
As he lay his passed out partner on the couch and tried to tap him awake, he both thanked and cursed Martin's timing.
"Martin," he said impatiently. "Wake up, man."
It didn't work. At least the man was breathing; that was something. But now he had a half-naked Martin, half-on top of him, and totally asleep. He wormed his way off the couch and frowned at the sleeping form. Now what? How was he supposed to deal with this? He figured the best thing to start with was covering his partner. The bare chest wasn't helping Danny's thoughts clear from their sleep-fogged state. Not at all.
He groaned and pulled the blanket out from underneath Martin, earning an undignified grunt that under any other circumstance would have had Danny in fits of laughter. All he could manage now was a half-hearted smirk. Martin shifted slightly on the uncomfortable couch, curling into something resembling a foetal position. Danny's smirk turned into an affectionate smile before he could stop it. Dammit.
Danny wasn't supposed to feel like this. Ever.
Still, though, the issue of where he was going to sleep seemed more important, so he momentarily pushed the thought to the back of his mind. It had to be at least midnight, so - damn the weekend - getting a cab was not going to be easy. Walking was totally out of the question, considering that Danny wasn't sure he could walk a block, let alone across town. Vivian was probably asleep in her own bed by now, comfortable and no doubt pleased with herself.
Basically, Danny had the option of Martin's bed, or the floor. And he knew very well which sounded more enticing. That said, he was pretty sure he could easily fall asleep on a fire escape at the moment.
As he stood, thinking about where to sleep, he heard Martin grunt again and looked down. The man looked totally peaceful; already he looked less tired, less haggard. So far, his sleep seemed to be unmarred by the nightmares Danny was sure Martin had. They all had them, he knew; the team. Hell, most every law enforcement officer did. As far as Danny was concerned, those who claimed they didn't were egotists, liars, or sociopaths.
Danny sighed, his mood changed by these thoughts. He frowned as he watched Martin sleep – partially because he was watching Martin sleep – then turned toward the rest of the apartment. He'd sleep in Martin's bed. He knew his partner would probably have some sort of fit when he found out, but, at the moment, he couldn't care less. The idea of inevitable nightmares had put him in a sombre mood, making him all the more tired than he had been before.
Which made turning towards where he thought the bedroom was a very slow process. As he took one step away from the couch, a voice brought him back.
"Danny," Martin whispered. Danny stopped; he'd never heard that tone of voice before, and the last person he'd ever expected to hear it from was Martin. Especially saying his name. The combination of all three things made Danny's heart beat faster than it really had any right to.
Danny turned considerably faster than he had before only to see Martin still asleep on the couch: eyes closed, lips parted just so, blankets hanging off the couch revealing all too much. He wasn't sure whether he was glad that Martin was still asleep, or disappointed.
Perhaps it was some twisted combination of the two. On the one hand, Danny would have very much liked Martin to be conscious of having said that, in That Way. On the other hand, what the Hell was he dreaming about? Danny vaguely wondered how many times he'd said Martin's name That Way in his sleep. He didn't doubt it had been at least a few.
As Danny stood, staring at his partner, Martin said his name again. This time, though, it was questioning, as if he were looking for him. His heart beat a little faster, but this time out of something like fear. Martin almost whined in his sleep, and Danny took a step closer, worried.
These were the nightmares he knew were coming. He'd had enough of his Martin-dreams evolve into something sinister before, he didn't see why the same wouldn't happen to Martin. Only, Martin didn't have Danny-dreams. He couldn't.
Martin winced; sleep taking away all the masks he usually had in place to hide his feelings. He looked pained, and all Danny could think about was how to stop it.
"Fitz," he said weakly, not sure how to act. 'Comfort' was not a particularly common part of Danny's emotional repertoire. Especially when it came to personal matters. After a second of indecision, Danny sat on the edge of the couch, Martin's knees touching his back, his head almost in his lap.
"Fitz," he said a little more calmly, more reassuringly. "Martin... Fitz," he prodded as the man's breathing became laboured. Martin groaned in something like pain, and Danny had to force himself not to panic. A shootout he could handle, but a scared Martin? He was pretty damn sure no one had ever even seen one of those before, let alone handled one.
"Wake up, Fitz," Danny ordered pathetically. He didn't comply, only shifted and whimpered again. Now Martin's face was buried against Danny's thigh. Frowning with worry, Danny put a hand to Martin's hair; his frown softened.
"Fitz," he murmured, shocked by the amount of desperation in his voice. Martin jerked a little against him, stilled, then relaxed. Danny sighed with relief, leaning down to place his forehead against Martin's shoulder.
"Danny?"
It was his turn to jerk, now. Martin was on the brink of wakefulness, eyelids fluttering, and Danny wondered whether to get Martin into his bed or let him sleep where he was. Feeling a dull ache in his own back, he made up his mind and nudged Martin.
"Yeah, Fitz," he said, voice barely above a whisper, and Danny couldn't for the life of him figure out why. "Come on, get into bed. That couch is hell, man," he added, joking because it was comfortable.
Martin managed a wry smile. "Don't diss my couch," he complained mockingly. Danny laughed and tugged on Martin's arm just enough to get him up. Once standing, Martin seemed to be almost coherent as he let Danny support him on his way to his room.
Pulling back the covers, Danny all but pushed Martin into his bed; Martin went willingly, though he shuffled across to the other side of the bed. For a terrifying second, Danny thought that Martin might be making room for him.
Apparently Martin had that same worry, because he heard a quiet, "I sleep on the left," muffled through pillows. Danny had to laugh at that before making a decision without actually realising he was trying to decide something.
He flopped unceremoniously onto the bed, kicking his shoes off. He lay on his back, careful not to actually touch Martin, another thought hit him.
"Fitz?" he asked, wondering if his partner was still awake. Martin grunted. "'Diss' is not a word."
"Danny?" Martin asked absently. Danny had a feeling he knew what was coming next.
"Yes, Martin?"
"Shut up and sleep."
Okay, I'm undecided. Another chapter?
Because this could work as a oneshot, or as a chapter story.
It's up to you!
