Each of us angels
Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.
"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - Titus Lucretius Carus
OK, I am continuing this, due, in part, to all the kind and generous things that were said in reviews. I appreciate it so much! Thank you, guys. :)
Anmodo, please don't cry. LOL. I read your stories and they are largely what inspired me to write this in the first place! Believe me, you've captured Danny amazingly well! I can't wait to read more of your Danny:)
They made their way home in almost complete silence. The silence was, if not altogether uncomfortable, at least charged. They were both suddenly nervous.
Oscar greeted them at Danny's door with a look and a hiss so full of wounded feelings that both Danny and Audrey laughed with relief. It was good to have this diversion. It made the occasion less of an event and more of a natural thing.
"I think he doesn't like me. I believe he is jealous." Audrey said.
"Oh, Oscar doesn't really like anybody. Not even Mrs. Fuller. However, he grudgingly acknowledges our general usefulness as food and shelter providers, and looks upon you as an unnecessary destruction." Danny rubbed the indignant tabby behind his ear, and reached for the can of cat food.
"Am I? A destruction?"
Danny looked up from his sitting position by the cat bowl, his eyes suddenly so dark Audrey had to catch her breath.
"You have no idea."
The charged atmosphere was back in full force. Oscar, perhaps sensing something, turned his back to the couple and proceeded to eat his food with an air of an injured dignity.
Danny got up and straightened out, hands tagging at his jacket nervously as if on their own accord.
"Before we do . . . anything, I need to tell you something."
Audrey felt an uncontrollable panic, more so because of the look of grim determination in his eyes than the tone of his voice. She should have known. There's always something.
"I am an alcoholic."
Audrey took a deep breath. "Is that all? God, I thought you were going to tell me you were married, or used to be a woman or something! This, I kind of suspected already. No beer or anything alcoholic in your fridge, water at the restaurant. . . ."
"You make light of this, but you have no idea of the risks inherent to getting involved with an addict!"
"No, I can't say I do, but I am willing to find out. Are you drinking now?"
"No, but that's not. . . ."
"How long have you been sober?"
"Eight years, four months and 3 days. And I am still counting the days. I will be counting them, realistically, for the rest of my life. I've made my peace with that, and I go to the meetings twice a week like a clockwork, even though I am not certain that they are any longer necessary. But, it's a routine by now, and I find that routine helps, and I can't take a chance of being wrong on this."
"Are you missing a meeting tonight?"
"No. Monday and Thursday nights is when I go. If work permits, and if not, I take a Sunday meeting. But I never miss a week."
"See, you are able to commit to this. . . ."
"Not able, forced to, and it's still a huge risk, Audrey."
"Yes, it is. But so is practically anything in life. I took a risk quitting my job and taking out loans to go to graduate school. I took a risk coming to New York. Hell, I take a risk every time I cross a street. Doesn't mean I shouldn't do it! I hope I am always able to take a risk for something that's worth it!"
"You say that now. . . ."
"It's all I can say. Now is all we have. I can't see into the future. If I waited for that kind of a confirmation, I would never do anything. All relationships are risks, Danny."
"Yes, they are, without compounding my kind of problems onto them. I am a risk with diminished returns."
Audrey looked at him with a discerning smile. "Are you trying to discourage me or yourself?"
"You. I am beyond discouragement. I want this. But I also want . . . no, I need you to be fully aware of what you are signing up for."
"I stand fully warned."
"Audrey, please, be serious. This is too important. . . ."
"Yes, it is. But what do you want me to say? That I believe in you so implicitly that I am not worried? That we can absolutely brave come what may? That I am not petrified out of my mind? I can't! I won't stand here and lie to you that I know what I'm doing and that I am confident of the outcome. I don't know if we can do this. I don't know if those overwhelming feelings I have for you will even last! I don't know anything! God, there are so many things, so many mundane, little things that can destroy the best of relationships! I am often amazed anyone is willing to start anything at all! People fall out of love all the time, without some cataclysmic events or tragic flaws inciting them. . . . Danny, I can't promise you anything. I can't say that I won't freak out should you fall off the wagon. All I can swear to is that I want this . . . want you . . . more than I am afraid of any future possible consequences."
Danny stood in the middle of the kitchen, his face unreadable, his eyes half-shut, his hands clenched in front of him.
Audrey closed the gap between them.
"Danny, say something!"
He opened his eyes. There were tears in them. He reached for her face with both hands, cupping it gently. His thumbs stroked her temples as he pressed his lips to hers. Lightly but insistently.
"Let's go to bed."
"So, end of discussion then?" She was kissing him now fully, letting him know that contentious tone in her voice was basically a foreplay.
"Not even close. But we can continue this very enlightening conversation later."
"Are you sure you'd want to?"
"Probably not. I should probably keep going now, talk you out of this, save you from yourself. But, see, my powers of reasoning, as well as my ability to talk at all, are sadly deserting me just this moment."
"Good! There are much better things you can be doing with your mouth right now."
They were laughing as they hit the bed.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Danny walk up with a start. It was dark, and a glance at his alarm o'clock told him that it was just after 3 a.m. It wasn't unusual for him to wake up in the middle of the night. His job and his natural habits rendered him a light sleeper.
What was unusual was the feeling of something pressed against his back. Something warm, soft, and breathing. Memories hit him like a flood: soft, hot lips against his neck; fingers full of tension pressing into his back; whispered words that made absolutely no literal sense, but were the best and most endearing sounds he could ever hear; that intoxicating feel of bare skin against bare skin that made him light-headed; the smell of her hair - like apples, Danny thought - that overwhelmed him and made him want to cry for some reason; and the frantic, and ultimately futile, desire not to leave any bruises or marks. He failed miserably at that, Danny thought ruefully. Then again, she left her share of marks on him, and she dismissed any attempts at apologies on his part.
He felt her stir and kiss him somewhere between his shoulder blades. Danny laughed and turned to face her.
"You are awake!" He said accusatory.
"So?" She squinted one eye at him. "You didn't invite me here to sleep, did you?"
"But you let me sleep! That's not fair. You should have woken me."
"No way. You are too cute when you sleep. Do you know you mumble in Spanish? I don't even know what you said, but it was hot!"
Danny smiled and propped himself up, getting a better view of her face. With an index finger he started to trace the bridge of her nose.
"What are you doing? Do I have something there?"
"Sure you do. Four most adorable freckles I've ever seen. I am playing 'connect the dots.' with them."
"You can see them in the dark?"
"Not very clearly, but they are forever burned into my memory."
"Damn it. And I was so hoping you wouldn't notice! I've tried so hard to get rid of them!"
"Why? Don't you dare! They are endearing! And so absolutely you." Danny never stopped tracing them with his finger.
"They are me, all right! I've been battling them my entire life! These four are nothing. Wait 'till spring. Then you'll really be able to play 'connect the dots.'" But she said it with a smile, letting him know that she wasn't considering them as big a grievance as she pretended.
"I can't wait." Danny pulled her closer, kissing the offending specs on her nose.
Audrey sighed.
"So, that conversation you threatened to continue. . . ."
"Yes?"
"I just have to ask: do you issue such cautionary statements to all the women you get involved with?"
"I don't normally get involved."
"Huh. I see. Are you going to tell me you lead a celibate life? Because, my friend, I won't believe that for a second."
"No, I just lead an unattached life. Or, rather, led. I usually have encounters, not relationships."
"I see. A "drive-by" guy."
"No. That would imply malicious intent, and I never intent to hurt. Which is exactly why I tried not to get involved lately. I simply sought out women who wanted the same thing I do: someone to be with some of the time, without the messy complications that inevitably accompany a deeper commitment."
"Hmm. And how do you know that these women wanted just that? How do you know they didn't tell you what they thought you wanted to hear, hoping all the time that they'll be able to change your mind later on?"
"I don't. But I trusted them to take me at my word. I didn't lie to them, I didn't promise anything, and if they chose to think that I wasn't being sincere, that was their issue, not mine."
"And you say, you didn't intent to hurt?"
"Never. And your assumption that I hurt them nonetheless and simply ignored that fact is wrong. I am not naive. Like I told you before, there are some things I've done that I am not proud of. But I hope I am never callous enough to promise something I can't deliver and then just walk away. . . . No, Audrey, I do not hit and run. Or drive by. Or whatever vehicular metaphor you chose to use. And the tangible proof of this is the fact that tonight was my first time in seven months."
Audrey lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up into his face with mock horror.
"Why, Danny, seven moths? You are practically a virgin! I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No." He smiled back, his smile fading slowly. "You didn't hurt me. But I'm afraid you might."
"I sense that." She wasn't joking anymore. She ran her fingers through his hair. "And yet, here you are. Involved up to your ears. Because, Danny, I am not going anywhere. Setting aside the fact that I am literally next door and there's nowhere for you to hide, I am informing you that I have made up my mind to be brave, and you will just have to follow."
She set up, wrapping a comforter around herself and Danny - a dark green island of warmth.
"You know, my mother is probably the most frightened woman on Earth. She didn't used to be that way, or so I am told. But she allowed a disappointment crush her so profoundly, she is no longer capable of happiness. According to her, she and my father were so in love once! They met when they were both 24, and it was mutual, and it was right, and, more importantly, it was so suitable. ("Suitable" is a favorite word with my mother.) They were both ready for something serious and permanent. They were compatible. From compatible backgrounds. They liked each other's families and friends. They had similar interests. They were both active and lively. They traveled together. And they planned to have me about 3 years after their wedding. And I arrived right on schedule. . . . And then the problems started. Mother turned out to be one of those fiercely maternal types that throw themselves into the job to the total exclusion of everything and everyone else. Dad got pushed into a periphery, and he didn't like it there. May be it would have changed after some years, when I got older and could assert some independence, but he didn't stick around to find out. Like a lot of people, he realized that what he thought he wanted and what he really needed were vastly different things."
Audrey fiddled with a pillow corner absentmindedly. Danny didn't say anything. He simply stroked her arm in silent encouragement.
"I was too little to remember, but, the family tell has it, the shouting matches were legendary. Though, brief, apparently, because he left when I was 14 months old. Mother accused him of being a fraud, a philandered, a coward, an unfit father, and an all-around jerk. She kept expecting him to disgrace himself by hooking up with some fun-loving 19-year old that would go gallivating the world with him and won't think of having children for years to come. Who, in short, will give him the life that he once had with mother, minus screaming infant and a neglected house. And, for a while, it looked like she was onto something. I kept perpetually being introduced to the bright young things on my days with dad. None of them stuck, though, and then, when I was about 7, dad shocked everyone by marrying a woman 11 years his senior, with 2 teenage children and no social savvy, who made her own jam, for god's sake, and called everyone "pumpkin." . . . They are still together, by the way, and mother has never recovered. It baffled her so. That he would want with that woman - that inconsequential, unintelligible, older woman - what he didn't want with her? No, not even that! That dad would want something that's infinitely less glamorous and ultimately more difficult. I think it would have been much easier for my mom if father was out there living a cliche with some model-type half his age. That she expected and would have relished. As it is, she can make no sense of what happened, and, without sense, there's no order and no security for her. No comfort. No possible good outcome. And no justice."
Audrey slid down the pillow and burrowed her face in the nook of Danny's shoulder. He kissed her hair, inhaling that subtle apple smell he was growing addicted to, and tightened his embrace.
"I watched mother freeze more and more over the years. Not quiet into a complete icicle, but into that eternally cautious person that looks upon everyone as if silently asking: what horrible surprises have you got up your sleeve, and what god-awful disappointments will you inflict upon me if I let you near? She never remarried. She never so much as had a relationship again. She wears her bitterness and her mistrust as if they were badges of honor, and I cannot tell you the number of times she cautioned me against anything remotely or potentially interesting. Including every single one of my relationships. Of which, admittedly, were weren't many. . . . And the sad thing is, she is a gifted person. She could have offered so much, done so much, been so many things. . . ."
Audrey took a deep breath and smiled: "I'm sorry, I'm probably boring you with this."
Danny kissed her in protest. "Not at all. I want you to tell me things. I want you to feel free to tell me anything."
"God, you are nice! But I am painfully aware of how weird - if not pathological - it is to be lying in bed with you and talking about my mother. The reason I am telling you this is because I want you to know that what I said this evening wasn't said in grandstanding. I am no braver than the next person, but when it comes down to it, I am more afraid of fear and what it can do - what it can rob us of - than of anything else."
