Spoilers: Meh. I can't even remember the last episode of WAT I watched. It hasn't been on in ages...
Disclaimer: I got my door back! Well, a new one, but it's there. I can officially close my door again. Thank God. I was beginning to go insane. hey! Longest chapter I've ever, ever written!
Author's Note: Well, haven't had a lot of time to write this week/month (or any time, for that matter) but I'm now babysitting two sleeping children, so all is well. Laptops are nifty... Ha, the first bit I wrote whilst babysitting, and the end I wrote while babysitting the same kids. Funny how things work out.
Danny surveyed the people sitting around them automatically. Years in the FBI had taught him to always be aware and subconsciously cognisant of his surroundings. It was a fantastic tool in the field, but socially, it was just obnoxious.
In front of him was a girl, maybe twenty, who had checked her phone eight times in the past five minutes with a hopeful expression. Danny, despite finding the anxiety rather amusing, felt quite sorry for the girl. Her slightly hurt expression told him just whose call she was expecting.
On a large table to his right sat a group of very Manhattan just-post-middle-aged women – each desperately trying to deny their age. Artfully dyed blonde hair, all decked out in pale pink and bone white, the occasional pearl string. Danny couldn't help the derisive snort he emitted. There was definitely something to be said for ageing gracefully.
Danny laughed as one woman left, then pulled up right in front of the bar five minutes later in a convertible, air-kissed a few cheeks, then returned to the car with a man previously unseen by Danny.
Danny grinned and cast his glance around his own group. Samantha, Elena, Viv and even Jack seemed to be happy just to be outside the office. Martin, who had previously looked somewhere awkwardly between bored and preoccupied, was now grinning privately, eyes glued to the couple in the convertible. He turned and met Danny's eyes, as if aware that they were gleaning entertainment from the same thing.
He flicked his head in the direction of the table of ladies.
"Quite a catch, that guy," Martin deadpanned. Danny smirked.
"Yeah," he agreed, pausing for effect. "He's only fifty."
Martin just about spat out his beer. The rest of the team cast a glance at the pair, then moved back to their conversation. Sam, Elena, Jack and Viv were discussing their children, albeit casually. Everything from diapers to schooling to hormones.
It seemed an incredibly unlikely topic for the group, but it was not only something very, very removed from work, but it was safe as long as it didn't get too personal. The peripheral 'stuff' was doable. It was also just about the only thing they had in common.
Well, all except Martin and Danny. Danny, really, was quite happy to stay out of the conversation; kids were not his strong point. He could talk to them, comfort them, even relate to them; but he could never parent them.
He knew, however, that it did affect Martin. Despite the small amount of information Danny had gleaned on Martin and Samantha's relationship, he did know that their breaking up had involved a white-picket fence and the benefits of suburban child-rearing.
Because of this, Danny had taken it upon himself to keep Martin away from the conversation topic as best he could. Not that it was working very well. Martin was Martin after all. It was hard to be an FBI agent if you could only focus on one thing at a time, and Martin tended to be keenly aware. Even when off duty, like now.
Danny wasn't the only one who found Martin's inability to shut off frustrating. Every time Martin heard Samantha mention her baby, there was this expression that adorned not only her face, but Jack's as well. It drove him insane.
It wasn't like he wasn't over Samantha. He truly was. Well, mostly. But what annoyed him was that Jack and Samantha could make it work when he couldn't. Martin Fitzgerald had never been second best at anything. That kind of failure wasn't allowed in the Fitzgerald lineage. Though, he thought, he couldn't imagine his father being too torn up about him losing Samantha. There was always something wrong with the women he dated.
Martin was torn between wanting to believe his father really did want what was best for him and truly believing that his father was just a high-achieving narcissist. He was glad, in a way, that he hadn't yet found a new girlfriend. It saved him the cruelty of introducing her to his parents; that wasn't a fate he wanted to inflict upon anyone. Least of all someone he was trying to convince to spend the rest of their life with him.
Martin looked back from Samantha to Danny with a contemplative frown. Danny's smile was sympathetic. "Want another one?" he asked, tipping his head towards Martin's beer. Marin regarded his beer as if he'd forgotten it was there.
"Uh, yeah, sure," he agreed. Danny smiled charmingly and stood up.
"Anyone else for another?" There were mixed responses from around the table. At least three of four included, "I have to get home". Danny winced inwardly. He and Martin: the pathetic bachelors. All Danny really had to get home to was his heater, which he suddenly remembered he'd left on. He was sure there was a game on tonight, too.
It wasn't the most desirable way to pass the time, but the most desirable way wasn't an option anyway. He cast a glance at Martin before walking up to the bar. As soon as the bartender moved, Danny felt someone come up beside him. He turned to find Martin leaning a haunch on one of the barstools with a lopsided self-mocking grin.
"Couldn't take it anymore," he said. Danny was shocked; Martin was actually acknowledging his discontent, if indirectly. Danny returned the smile.
"Yeah. Makes us sound pretty pathetic, huh?"
Martin chuckled bitterly. "Yeah," was all he said. Danny watched as Martin looked back over to the table, eyes pausing not-so-subtly on Samantha.
"Wanna talk about it?" Danny offered as casually as he could. Martin frowned only momentarily before taking in a deep breath.
"No, not really." He paused for a second as his mask slipped again into place. "I'm fine. Probably just tired." Danny debated arguing with him. He'd learned that Martin needed a little push, sometimes. Or, rather, a thirty-tonne shove. "I think I'm off."
Danny smirked. "Oh, come on! You can't leave me here," he decreed. Martin didn't look convinced. "Besides, who's gonna drink your beer? Me?" he asked pointedly. Martin looked at Danny as if for confirmation that he was indeed joking before smiling.
"Fine, but this is the last one," he said matter-of-factly. "I have to get home," he added cynically. Danny grinned and gathered the remaining drinks before heading back to his colleagues. Surprisingly, after a few contemplative seconds, Martin followed.
Danny smiled at this small victory, before sitting down and taking an inconspicuous sip of his soda. He felt half way between proud and pathetic with his soda. Though, when he gave his overactive ego a nice smack, he was definitely happy. He'd almost convinced himself he hated the taste of alcohol. Almost.
Being here, however, was easy. Well, compared to how it had been five years ago. Hell, five months ago. Besides, he had something just as desirable to focus on. And something just as untouchable.
Danny cleared his throat, dragging his eyes away from his partner. His meter swung swiftly further in the direction of 'Pathetic'. Being in the bar was making his head spin, sober or not.
Just then, to Danny's great relief, Samantha stood up. "I'm off," she said, feigning resignation. Jack stood up and placed a hand on her back automatically.
"I'll walk you out," he said to her, muttering a goodbye to the rest of the team. Viv chuckled at the not-so-subtle pair. Elena downed the rest of her drink.
"It's getting dark out: that's my cue to leave," she sighed.
"Bye," the remaining three answered appropriately before heaving simultaneous sighs. Viv smiled almost regretfully, though both Danny and Martin knew she was glad to be going home.
"Night guys," she said sweetly.
"Night, Viv," they answered together. Viv laughed and shook her head at the chorus before gathering her things and heading for the door. Danny looked at Martin, frowning.
"Why do I feel like we've just been ditched?" he asked rhetorically. Martin snorted.
"Probably because we have."
Danny smirked back in shared self-mockery. After a few seconds, the smiles faded, expressions becoming more serious. Martin broke eye contact, looking back at his empty glass. Danny inwardly rolled his eyes; he was sick of this. He made a decision.
Motioning to Martin's glass, Danny spoke up. "Hey, you wanna grab a coffee?" he offered casually. "You could probably use one if you're driving home," he added, seeing the indecision on Martin's face.
Both Danny and Martin knew that was a lie. Martin would never drink too much with his colleagues around, least of all Danny. Really, it was unlikely that he would drink too much outside the comfort of his own home. As FBI agents, they knew the dangers associated with inebriation in public, and they were usually smarter than to take the risk.
As it was, Martin regarded his glass then sighed. "Yeah, sounds good," he agreed with a crooked smile. Danny fought the urge to laugh; Martin had actually agreed. He pulled out a couple of notes and pinned them under one of the empty glasses with the rest of the tips from the team before grabbing his coat. It wasn't until he looked back to Martin that he realised that Martin was still watching him with the same half-cocked smile as before.
Danny frowned at him curiously. It reminded him of the conversation they'd had in the squad room that day a few years ago. Secrets – they're a bitch. Danny had seen this expression before, but had absolutely no idea what it meant. That, combined with the look itself, just about drove him insane. There were times when he would swear Martin returned his own... affections. But then he'd resign himself to the fact that he would never know. Which – if he was honest – was probably worse.
As Martin stood up, Danny snapped himself out of his own mind. It wasn't often a very safe place to be; especially around Martin. Considering most of these thoughts centred around Martin, he was pretty happy to be distracted. Unfortunately, the distraction always seemed to be Martin.
The fact that Danny had thought Martin's name four times in the last two seconds made this fact disturbingly obvious. To try and alleviate some of the awkwardness – though, Danny was sure he was the only one feeling it – Danny tried to focus on something menial.
"Where we goin'?" he asked, just a little too smoothly. Martin cast a glance at him as they left the bar.
"Where's close?" he asked in turn. Danny shivered as the cold pre-winter chill hit him full force, and he pulled his coat tighter around himself. To his shock, Martin's hand came to his shoulder, gripping it firmly, as if concerned. "You okay?" he asked.
Danny was glad for the fading sun as his cheeks reddened, only partially out of embarrassment. "It's cold," he said, shrugging it off, forcing all the images of what those hands could really do out of his head. "I'm not quite used to it yet. Seasonal transitions aren't my strong suit," he added with a smile. Martin returned it, patting Danny on the back cordially before shoving it in his own pocket.
Neither said anything as they wandered down the street to the nearest place with decent coffee; not surprisingly the same place they generally ended up in after work. Danny had to fight another shudder every time his shoulder brushed Martin's. It wasn't often at all that there was any physical contact between the two, but when there was, Danny was constantly amazed at the warmth that spread from wherever the contact was made.
He was also constantly amazed at his powers of self-control. As it was, he had a feeling that if he hadn't had FBI training he'd have jumped Martin a long, long time ago. He shook himself once more as he realised his train of thought had strayed to Martin again.
Danny had hardly registered that they were at the coffee shop until Martin's hand found his shoulder again, briefly ushering him through the door with a smile.
"Usual?" he asked Danny, who nodded with a smile. Martin frowned as he joined Danny at a small table in the nearly-deserted room. "You sure you're okay? You seem distant."
Danny was shocked. Martin wasn't usually one to ask such questions; at least not directly. He smiled. "Yeah, I'm just tired, I suppose," he lied obviously. "I'm just glad I don't have to work tomorrow," he added. Martin grinned in consensus.
Danny noted with fascination that the agreement between himself and Martin was very rarely spoken. He couldn't believe he'd never noticed it before.
There was a few minutes of silence as the two stared at each other, nothing to say. It wasn't often that they were alone together, and less often in a social situation. And usually that was a work function.
And those Martin tended to avoid as much as possible; a public hiding – or commendation, for that matter – was the last thing he needed from his father. Victor could be ashamed in the privacy of his own home.
Danny and Martin broke eye contact as the waiter placed their coffees in front of them, both muttering thanks. The waiter nodded in acceptance. Danny briefly wondered what had happened to the word 'yes'.
"You're working Monday?" Danny asked suddenly, lamely. Martin cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Yeah," he agreed. "Though, knowing New York, I'll probably get called in at two o'clock tomorrow morning," he added, a little more comfortably. Joking about work was easy; it was safe; it was a territory they both knew well. Danny thought it rather sick that they couldn't hold a comfortable conversation that didn't revolve around work, despite having a closer relationship than most couples he knew.
"God, that'd be horrible," Danny complained, leaning back in his chair and sticking his legs out under the table. "I really am tired." Danny yawned as he realised that he actually was. At least the excuse hadn't been a total lie. Martin, in a rare moment of comfort, mimicked his partner's position.
Danny nearly choked on his coffee as he felt Martin's leg slide up his own as he sunk in his chair ever so slightly. It took a few seconds for either to react, both dragging themselves up, hoping the other hadn't noticed the pause.
Or the sharp intakes of breath.
Fortunately for each of them, both had been so focused on covering their own reactions that they'd missed the other's.
To pass the time – and awkwardness - Martin picked up a laminated flyer from the table, advertising the coffee they were drinking. Reading the first few lines, he snorted, catching Danny's attention.
Looking up to meet Danny's curious expression, Martin read aloud, amusement having obliterated the awkwardness of before.
"...a bouquet of sensational flavours and a bitterness paradoxical to its sweet but pungent aroma..."
Danny grinned, but frowned cynically. "Oh, God save us," he groaned, looking accusingly at the offending coffees.
"Sounds like it's describing a wino's wet dream," Martin added dryly.
If only, Danny thought cynically as he remembered the feeling of Martin's leg against his. There was no doubt in Danny's mind that this would stick with him tonight. All night. This thought caused a spasm of laughter in Danny.
Martin suddenly looked guilty. "Sorry," he apologised meekly, misconstruing Danny's outburst and reaching out to fiddle with the sugar pot.
Danny raised an eyebrow in the way Martin had grown so used to. Danny smirked.
"It's okay, man," he assured Martin. "I know my past, and I can accept it, even if I don't like it," he added with a smile. Martin's fiddling was beginning to make him uncomfortable; Martin really wasn't one to fidget. Danny wondered what had gotten him to act like this.
Martin, on the other hand, was slightly annoyed that Danny seemed so calm. He figured maybe, just maybe he had imagined the jolt of something he didn't want to name when their legs touched. If he was honest, it was less of a jolt and more of a current; he was still in the aftershock, proverbial sparks still flickering over his skin.
"Sorry," Martin apologised. "It's just-"
"I know," Danny interrupted, putting his palm on the top of the sugar pot and pushing it to the table, his fingers bushing Martin's.
Martin was now doubting – seriously – whether those sparks were proverbial after all. A totally different thing occurred to Danny as their fingers touched.
"Are you okay?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice. He kicked himself inwardly for not asking sooner, for not thinking of asking sooner.
Martin smiled and nodded, knowing where the concern had come from. The two of them shared a bond that no one else on the team understood. Very few people had a relationship as close as that partners shared, but the first time Danny noticed something was wrong with Martin, the first time Martin let Danny in, let him help; there was something more. It wasn't just a partnership, it was an understanding.
And that made everything so much more complicated.
Danny quirked an eyebrow. "Bowling? Really?" he asked, totally amused. "Your dad used to take you bowling?"
Martin grinned back, fighting the urge to hit Danny playfully as they wandered down the street to their cars. Though Danny had to admit, Martin looked almost embarrassed – but Danny knew better than that. Martin Fitzgerald did not get embarrassed.
"I said took me. As in once," Martin corrected. Danny chuckled. "I absolutely sucked," Martin added without shame. "Which was probably good considering how much I hated it."
They both laughed. "The great Victor Fitzgerald; bowling," Danny mocked with a smirk. "But never his son," he added, shaking his head.
"God, no. I was so bad that he probably wouldn't ever have let me play again," Martin said, pulling a face. Danny's smile turned from mocking to wryly sympathetic.
"A quick-fix solution to the 'Fitzgeralds-don't-fail' policy," Danny added, finishing Martin's thought. Martin snorted.
"You sound like you know what you're talking about." It was Martin's turn to pull a sympathetic face. Danny just smiled in his innocent-but-sceptical manner.
"I know you," was all his explanation. Martin smiled. It was true: Danny knew Martin better than anyone bar his mother – when she was paying attention.
"Yeah," Martin agreed quietly, a half-smile gracing his face. Yet again, there was no speaking while Danny and Martin smiled at one another.
Oh, God. Danny was really getting sick of this. There were only so many times in one night that this could happen and Danny maintain his sanity. Or at the very least his dignity. And he was already depressingly past his quota.
Suddenly realising how cold it still was, Danny shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders as they approached Martin's car.
"I'll see you Monday, then," he told Martin as casually as possible, giving him a half-smile. Turning around, he stopped when a hand gripped his forearm. He looked up at Martin's face, adorned with an unreadable expression.
"You parked far?" he asked cryptically. Danny was a bit confused by the question, but shook his head.
"I caught the subway this morning. My car decided to have a sudden attack of Frozen Engine Syndrome, and I was going to be late if I waited for a mechanic," he explained. At Martin's mocking eyebrow raise, Danny continued indignantly. "I can't fix my car. Anything pre-mechanical-systems that doesn't run on autopilot and GPS, I can handle. But these damn mechanical systems... Dude, I grew up in Florida."
Danny hadn't realised how much he'd said until Martin started to laugh. "Streetwise as ever," he said playfully. Danny snorted but otherwise remained silent.
"You wanna ride?" Martin asked casually. Instantly, Danny mentally debated the pros and cons of taking up Martin's offer. On the one hand, he didn't have to catch a train; on the other hand, Martin, himself and enclosed spaces never seemed to be particularly conducive to maintaining hormonal control.
But as a gust of wind ruffled through Danny's hair, chilling him right through, he nodded to Martin.
"Sure," he agreed before he realised what he was doing. Martin smiled crookedly as Danny waited for Martin to move; he was standing in front of the passenger-seat door. When he didn't, Danny shot him a questioning look. Just as Danny opened his mouth to ask Martin what was going on, Martin stepped aside.
Barely.
Danny knew that if Martin didn't move any further, one step towards the door would put him in a very compromising situation. He assumed that as soon as he moved, however, that Martin would follow suit, despite his suddenly weird behaviour.
Boy, was he wrong.
As Danny stepped forward, Martin smiled, as if he'd just made a decision before half-turning to gracefully pin Danny against the car. Their lips were inches apart, and Danny was almost thankful that he couldn't see Martin's eyes due to the lack of light. By the insistence of Martin's breath on his lips, and the fact that his body seemed to be pressed against Danny's in just the right places, Danny was pretty damn sure that whatever he might see in Martin's eyes would result in something wildly inappropriate for a public place.
Or colleagues.
Then again, he suddenly thought, it was Martin who had gotten them into this... situation. It had been entirely of Martin's volition that the car's doorhandle was digging into the back of his leg; that he was gripping the side mirror so hard he was afraid it might shatter.
The fact that Danny could not form one coherent thought that didn't revolve around all the things he wanted to do to Martin at that very moment was a testament to the effect his partner had on him.
He was screwed.
Danny's eyes snapped shut as Martin leaned in a little closer; he could taste Martin's coffee on his tongue. Just moments before Danny lost all self-control he felt Martin's breath again, but now at his ear.
He jolted as he felt Martin smile against his cheek as he spoke.
"Shotgun," he whispered.
And suddenly the superb weight that was pressing him into the car was gone.
Another chapter? I'm leaving it up to you guys!
Love.