TITLE: NO PRETENSE
RATING: K
SPOILERS: PLAYING WITH MATCHES
DISCLAIMER: I own...well, nothing!
Thank you to SallyJetson for the beta.
Hope y'all like this one!
All mistakes are mine and no one else's
'Sorry' is too big a word for Danny Messer.
It's not because he is being egoistical about it. It's because he knows he is right 97 percent of the time. That's not to say he has never uttered the word before in his life. He wouldn't think twice about saying it when he knows he is in the wrong.
Like the time when he accidentally broke his mother's favourite teapot when he was eight. Or when he stood at Aiden's grave. And one time when he was out of line with Stella, frustrated with a case.
But never to his girlfriends. Not even Lindsay.
On the surface they look like a happy couple straight from a Disney fairytale. Little do people know that they fight at least once a week over the tiniest, little thing; like him forgetting to call her when he said he would. Or when she went out for a walk one night all by herself and left him worrying about her whereabouts because her cell's battery went dead. He didn't apologize for his actions or for yelling at her and neither did she.
On a good day, after a blow out, he will surprise her with a peace offering; an apple cinnamon muffin, her favourite, from the bakery two blocks from his place, nicely packed in a brown paper bag placed in the middle of her desk in their shared office. The sweet and spicy smelling aroma greets her when she walks into the room; a trace of a smile slowly making its way across her beautiful face. Without sparing him a glance, she walks to her desk, takes the muffin out of the bag and gently sniffs the muffin; letting out an orgasmic, satisfying sigh that make his jeans feels a little tighter than they're supposed to. Splitting the muffin into halves, she offers one half to him, a shy smile on her lips; her own peace offering. He returns the smile and takes his half of the muffin.
And that is it. Apology given and accepted.
But on most days, they will just sleep it off, separately, and pretend, on the following day, that the argument never took place.
Like they do today. They have become very good at pretending.
She more than him.
He can't deny or hide the fact that he misses being in close proximity with her. And he doesn't even bother to pretend otherwise.
He can't take his eyes off of her the entire day today. He stares down at her face, her lips when she is babbling about the case. He looks at her with longing eyes that convey his feelings, which she ignores completely. He has half the mind to kick everyone out of the garage, especially Kendall, and take her on that motorcycle.
He needs to be close to her again and no apple cinnamon muffin in the world is going to buy his way out this time. He has some major explaining to do, and he is prepared to do so in the middle of the lab for everyone to witness. And to snicker at. But first he has to find her.
He looks at his watch, 15 minutes to 9am. Their shift is almost up, which means she's most probably in the locker room, ready to head on home.
He formulates and rehearses everything he wants to say to her in his head as he marches down in full stride to the locker room. His palms are cold and his heart thuds as if he has just completed a marathon run.
He prays that she will be alone in there. That will make his groveling a tad easier and a little less embarrassing. As he walks into the locker room, her name dies on his lips as he witnesses the sight before him.
She's alone, all right. Alone and dejected.
Her jacket sprawls carelessly on the long bench, her forehead presses against her closed locker, her back to him, shoulders hunch in exhaustion, arms limp at her sides.
His mind shuts down. Seeing her like that, knowing he is the cause of it, makes him feel like a donkey. A stupid donkey.
As if in trance, he moves slowly and quietly towards her. He knows she knows he is in the room, even without lifting her head from the locker.
He stands directly behind her, so close that his chest brushes against her back. He can feel her warmth piercing through his thin shirt. Gently, he cups both of her shoulders in his hands. He can hear her inhaling a long and ragged breath.
She's tired of pretending too…
A lump catches in his throat.
He slowly rubs down her arms, a gesture meant to soothe and comfort rather than to seduce. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he wraps his arms tightly around her small waist from behind. He inhales the fresh scent of her skin which he has denied himself for the past three weeks.
He misses this. He misses her.
"I have no muffin for you this time," he whispers, his voice muffles against her neck. "This is for you. Just you. So you can't break it into two pieces and share it with me."
Lifting his head, he kisses her on her cheek. Long, sweet and solid.
He can feel some of the tension leave her body.
He leans his forehead against her temple and rasps, "I'm sorry."
She had felt the words as they formed on his lips against the side of her cheek. She shuts her eyes tight and nods her head slowly in acknowledgement. Clasping one of his hands in hers, she brings it to her lips. The moment her lips touches the back of his hand, a sob she can no longer restrain escapes from her.
One tear, and then two, fall on his skin.
And that is that. Apology given and accepted.
No pretense.