Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin!

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

And here comes the full-on angst. You didn't really think I'd leave them be without some trouble? Insert evil laughter here. :)

I apologize to Danny for yet more heartache, and I apologize to Audrey for the same. It's all their fault, anyway. They've become real to me, and what real people have a smooth sailing when it comes to love:)

No worries, though. I do not intent to let them suffer forever. :)

And, as usual, thank you to all the lovely people who posted reviews.

"So, "Moses" delivered something, I take it?"

Vivian pored over the notes spread on the conference table. Danny noticed that she was drinking tea. Not black tea, but one of those yellowish, weird-smelling concoctions one always felt vaguely uneasy about. It was strange. Vivian was almost as addicted to coffee as Danny himself, and watching her drink something which she once alluded to as "Green Piss" filled him with apprehension. She answered his concerned look with a shrug and a smile, which Danny read as "not now, and don't worry."

"Well, he didn't deliver us to the promised land, but he did give as a map, so to speak." Jack flashed that exited smile that he reserved for those moments in their cases when they were just about to break and the resolution was in the air. At these times Jack resembled a veteran dog, picking up a scent where a younger, lesser pup would never have dreamt of searching, and making a run for it with a fire in his eyes, looking like the youngest one of them all.

"Turns out, Mr. Markham has made his acquaintance through a man named James Wheaton. Mr. Wheaton and our guy played poker together most Wednesday nights, and he informed me that Kevin Markham kept confiding in him over the course of several years how difficult it has become to carry the burdens of his life, and how he would wish that he can just disappear. He also told his poker buddy that he kept thinking more and more about Wildwood, where he and the late Mrs. Markham had honeymooned all those years ago. Clearly, the place is a sanctuary in his mind. He was happy there once. It was a short respite after the early toils of his life, and before the new ones presented themselves. And being the kind of a man that he is, he couldn't just go there to rest every now and then, because he couldn't allow himself even that short a luxury. Therefore, the memory of the place has probably taken on almost mythical romantic proportions."

Jack drummed his fingers energetically on the table. "Wheaton tells us he was the one who suggested the whole thing. He knew a fellow, who knew a guy, who needed to disappear for some far more sinister reasons than Mr. Markham's. The guy had financial troubles and no desire to deal with them. Long story short, "Moses" was mentioned, and the rest is history."

Martin helped Jack unroll a large map of Wildwood.

"Took us some time, considering the record-keeping in the late 50s, but we found where the Markhams stayed all those years ago. It was an old Inn called "The Crest," and, not surprisingly, it no longer exists. But there is a large, modern motel there now, and it's as good a place as any to look."

Half an hour later, and Jack was off to Wildwood, New Jersey. He took Sam with him. Danny knew he would never admit it, but Jack liked those long road trips with Sam.

Martin, stoic and silent, was poring over more phone records, seeing if anything connected to Wildwood. Vivian left early, for the second time this week.

Both Danny and Martin watched her leave with a fixed cheerful smile on her face.

"Did you notice? She doesn't look like herself these days."

"Yes." Danny was torn. He wanted to discuss this, see if they could make some sense of it and may be do something to help, but he was also aware that Vivian would scorn any such discussion, and he wanted to respect her wishes.

Martin persisted: "She looks distracted, too." And when Danny didn't answer, he smiled. "And so do you, Danny, though in a different way."

"God, I hope so. I would be very disturbed if it turned out Viv was going though the same kind of distractions I am. She is happily married."

"Happily married. Now there's a contradiction in terms."

"Wow, Martin, that was awfully pessimistic of you."

"Why? You are the one who always says that."

"I know," Danny nodded, "I said it was pessimistic of you! I am the cynical one and you are the idealist. Something's wrong in the Universe when I float in the clouds, and you are hunched over with by the world's sorrow."

"Are you? Floating?"

"Yes, and that's as far as I am willing to discuss it." Danny couldn't quite hide the grin, though. "What gives with you?"

"Ah, nothing. Everything is just fine."

Danny knew better, but, for the third time this week, decided not to press.

He contemplated the peculiarities of their group dynamic. Danny knew they all cared about each other deeply. They were all prepared to take a bullet for each other, if such a drastic step should become necessary. That much was the nature of their work coupled with the long-standing, time-seasoned trust and affection. And yet, how little did they really know about each other.

They knew the visible, factual things, of course: immediate families (or lack of thereof), an occasional parent, birthdays celebrated or ignored, sometimes shared troubles with the kids. However, things, like Jack's volatile divorce, came as a surprise, especially on the heels of his supposed move to Chicago. Not that it wasn't known that the Malone marriage was shaky, but still, the outward presentation was that they were making it work.

Or take Martin and Sam, for example. Danny found out about it only by chance, and from what both of them let drop, going public with it, even if only inside their small circle, was now a bone of contention.

Danny considered Vivian to be his closest friend within the group, and yet, the fact that she felt she couldn't confide in him - or anyone else, it seemed - filled him with a chilling kind of apprehension.

May be it was essential to their survival as a functional unit to not be in each other's lives, to not really get personal. And Danny knew he couldn't complain, not really, because, after all, he, himself, shared very little of his outside life with his coworkers-come-friends.

He let things drop here and there. Jack knew, of course, because he was privy to his personnel file. Not that Jack ever did or would pry or even mention anything. Danny felt sometimes that Jack, being a gifted psychologist, has profiled him and mentally mapped out the areas around which he should treat very carefully with Danny.

Danny told Vivian about his brother. Not the whole story, mind, but a selective, revisionist kind. Bare bones, really, and only because she happened upon him when he was signing some recommendation papers for Raphie.

Maybe being guarded came with the job. Maybe it took a certain kind of people to qualify for it in the first place. Not exactly a secretive kind, but the type that compartmentalized well.

And it was fine, Danny decided, most of the time. Being someone's friend meant that one provided what was needed, not what one thought was needed. And sometimes it was discretion, and patience, and something as simple as staying out of the way. Other times it was listening and helping.

Danny waved good-bye to a very thoughtful Martin, who was eating a hamburger at his desk. Martin didn't say it, but Danny knew he wasn't going home, but waiting for Jack and Sam to come back.

Danny's thoughts went to Audrey, as they inevitably did these past few days. His heart flattered. God, it was amazing to have these feelings, unencumbered by doubt, by jealousies, by the ghosts of feelings past. Ever a realist, Danny whispered to himself that this was a honeymoon high, and that the encumbrances would inevitably present themselves the moment he and Audrey got a little more settled and a little less euphoric. That those fears, difficulties, and, yes, ghosts - more his, probably, than hers - would make themselves known. And that it wouldn't matter how much courage they swore they'd employ. The very fact that they would need courage could get them down.

Danny stepped out of the building and inhaled the damp New York night. He will not borrow trouble, he decided. He will not let fears - his or other people's - kill his happiness. It was a rare, almost unrecognizable thing for Danny, and he would nurture it and not look for the exit signs.

XXXXXXX

She was a small woman. Danny didn't know why it should have surprised him, but it did. She was no taller than Audrey, and just as trim. The close resemblance, however, ended there. Mrs. Mills had dark hair and dark eyes, her make up and her clothes were impeccable. The kind that fit and suit so well you almost don't notice them. She also smiled a lot - a fact that also caught Danny by surprise. Though, perhaps, her smile was a little too genial and rarely reached her eyes. She didn't have the dimples or the freckles, and Danny, unaccountably, was glad about the fact.

She also didn't strike Danny as a frightened, sad, or particularly broken woman that he expected to encounter, judging by what Audrey had said. In fact, she was cordial, comfortable, and projected that quite confidence that puts other people at ease.

"I apologize that I insisted on meeting you, Danny. You see, I am here only for a short time, and Audrey has been talking about you nonstop, and in such glowing terms. I just wanted to make your acquaintance, and I hope you won't begrudge this to a concerned mother."

"Not at all, Mrs. Mills. It's a pleasure to meet you." Danny flashed her his mega-smile. Truth be told, he didn't feel anywhere near as confident as he appeared. Partly, because, in his experience, meeting the parents was a nerve-wracking and often unpleasant event. The experiences, of course, were from years ago, when Danny was very young and his estimation of his own worth was rather low. He knew who he was now, and a parent did not seem such a great and imposing figure. Still, the memory smarted somewhat.

Danny pushed it into the subconscious. He would give Mrs. Mills the benefit of a doubt. He owed it to Audrey, and to the woman in front of him, to meet her with an open mind.

"So, Danny. . . . Does everyone call you Danny, by the way?"

"Yes, why?"

"It's just, it seems to me, that a man of your age and in your position merits a full name. Do they address you as Danny at work?"

"Mother!" Audrey's voice came quietly but ominously. They were all seated in Audrey's bare kitchen, and she at the moment was pouring coffee into mismatched cups.

"Dear, I am just talking. I didn't mean anything by it." Mrs. Mills sounded genuinely troubled.

"It's perfectly all right, Mrs. Mills. People call me Danny because I prefer it that way. It's not a comment on my supposed juvenile demeanor, but simply a testament to the ease with which I would like to communicate with others. However, I can see how you may not be comfortable with that, and I wouldn't mind in the least if you called me Daniel."

"Thank you, I will. So, Daniel, Audrey tells me you are a Federal Agent. That must be interesting."

Audrey whipped around, almost spilling coffee on the floor.

"Mother, stop! Could you sound any more condescending?"

Danny began to worry, and not necessarily because of Mrs. Mills and her interrogation techniques. It was Audrey that surprised and perplexed him. The grounded if whimsical girl that he has come to know was gone. This Audrey was tense, watchful, and raw. Like a live wire that you can't quite bypass. It was as if nothing that was said by either him or her mother was to be taken at face value, and instead was to be regarded with suspicion. That sense of humor Danny knew she possessed seemed to have deserted her. As did her philosophical outlook.

Danny also noticed, with some shock, that Mrs. Mills was just as apprehensive of this Audrey as he was, though, perhaps, less surprised.

"Dear, I know you think I interfere, or that I came here to ruin your life. All I can do is to swear to you that it is not my intention. I would like to talk to Daniel, because I want to know your life. I am sure no one can object to that."

"Fine. Whatever. . . . Milk?" Audrey eased a little and took a carton of Milk out of the fridge. The situation was defused, but for how long, Danny wondered?

The evening after that was rather uneventful and short. They skated over some dangerous areas, like Danny's upbringing, his job, and Audrey's future, with relative, if pretended ease. That is, nothing was revealed of any importance, and the really weighty things were avoided.

They even laughed at some jokes Danny made, and, after a while, he got up and excused himself. Early rising, and the mother and daughter would want to spend some time alone. . . .

Truth was, he wanted out of that kitchen. The underlying tension and the insincerity of it all pressed on him like lead. He wanted Audrey back, he wanted her mother gone, and, most of all, he wanted out of that proverbial middle he found himself in. A precarious place to be in any circumstances, Danny felt that this particular middle was fraught with things unsaid and feelings boiling. And he didn't understand half of it.

He was prepared for a fight. He was ready to defend himself to any draconian parent. What he wasn't prepared for was the unaccountable feeling that he somehow had to defend the parent.

XXXXXXXX

Danny sighed heavily as he shooed Oscar off his couch. He turned on the TV, watching it for a while with unseeing eyes. He didn't want to go to bed. He didn't want to go there alone. Not after the past several nights. And even though his reason told him that this was just one time - an unavoidable, temporary separation due to the presence of her mother - his heart was filled with fear. He couldn't tell why, but the pesky, nauseating feeling that he was losing Audrey has shredded his cloud into a thousand pieces.

He must have finally dosed off, because the sharp knock on his door has startled him off the sofa.

She looked over her shoulder when he opened the door. Like a thief who checks to see if someone's watching the act of theft.

"Mrs. Mills!" Danny wasn't as surprised as he sounded.

"I am sorry to bother you, especially at this hour. Audrey's asleep, and I wanted to talk to you. I don't feel as if we got to say what really needed to be said."

He let her in with a heavy heart and a resigned expression.

"Can I offer you anything to drink? I don't have anything alcoholic, but I have a variety of teas. A soda, perhaps? I've got Orange Juice. . . ."

"Thank you, Daniel, I don't want anything."

She set on a high stool, tucking her legs underneath her. The position would have been almost comical, if only either of them felt like laughing.

"I'll be blunt. What I really wanted to ask you was this: what are you doing with my daughter?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Audrey is the sweetest girl in the world, when she wants to be. And I am a biased mother. But even I can see that she is hardly your type."

"I don't have a type. . . ."

"Of course you do. You are an attractive, self-contained young man, possessing a certain charm and not afraid to use it. I can see you with a long-legged blond. I can see you with an assured, worldly, collected woman. I do not see you with Audrey."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Mills, you don't know me. . . ."

"But I know my daughter. Like I said, she is a sweet girl, despite of that display in her kitchen earlier. But she is not a glamorous girl, or particularly together girl, or even a very self-aware one. I tried, but she has two left feet, very few defined aspirations, and little natural grace. And it's not just the fact that her hair will never be tamed or that she refuses to let go of those glasses of hers. It's that being that way serves her purposes. And that's just the external part. I am not even talking about her personality. For many reasons, the best she can count on is to be considered cute and entertaining. Believe me, I don't mean to insult you, Daniel, but you don't seem to me like a "project" type."

Danny took a deep breath.

"Mrs. Mills, you cannot insult me - you haven't even met me. And, apparently, you haven't met your daughter, either. Because the Audrey I know is nobody's "project." She is whip-smart, she is full of grace that cannot be defined by some dance moves or makeup application, she takes my breath away every time she smiles or every time the sun catches that unruly hair of hers. And she is brave in a way I can't even aspire to. I haven't known her for long, but so far, every day I know her she fills me with awe. And, by the way, she is, in fact, cute, in the simplest, textbook definition of the word: delightfully pretty and full of charm."

Danny paused and added with a smile: "Whether by design or by accident, whether you admit to it or not, you did a great job raising her, Mrs. Mills."

She shuddered a little, as if cold or afraid. Somehow it unsettled Danny more than any tirade she could have thrown at him. He leaned forward, his voice low and reassuring.

"Mrs. Mills, I understand that you want to protect your daughter. . . ."

"No, you don't understand. I am actually trying to protect you."

"Sorry?"

"You've met Audrey, what, four days ago, five? You have no idea. I don't mean that she does this deliberately. I don't even think she realizes that she is doing it. But that's inevitably what happens. . . . Anything that would shock, disappoint, or otherwise defy me is what she'd attempt to do. And that wouldn't be so bad if she at least followed though. . . . She thinks I'm stunted, and frozen, and bitter, and she would try to do things from what she considers to be the opposite vantage point. She's done that all her life. Another child, with lesser imagination, would have perhaps taken to drugs, or bad company, or any otherwise destructive behavior. Not Audrey. She would simply asses my fears and then proceed to act upon them, as if defying them would make her immune to my outcome."

She paused and Danny didn't interject, not knowing what to say. Mrs. Mills continued:

"Did you know I didn't want her to teach? Public schools in this day and age. . . . Guns, drugs, kids with nothing sacred. She stuck it out for five years, even though she hated every day of it. Not to prove anything to me, mind you, but rather to prove to herself that she wasn't me. That she wasn't afraid. I wanted her to go to graduate school right after College. She finally goes, five years later, and, of course, she goes in New York, because I hate it. She knows the crime rates, the crowds, the crammed living spaces would terrify me. I offered to pay for a decent apartment: a loan, mind you, she'd never take a handout from me. She said no, and you should have seen the hole she called home before this place."

"Mrs. Mills, all I'm hearing is a tale of a rather headstrong girl who doesn't want to end up like her parents. I knew that already. Not in such detail, but I got the gist. Nothing you have told me makes me fear Audrey or think less of her."

"I don't want you to think less of her or even fear her. I want you to understand what you are getting into. You say she is brave, but in fact, she is anything but. She is just as incapacitated by fear as she always supposed me to be, but her symptoms are of the active nature. Her fear, instead of paralyzing her, propels her to jump into things only to abandon them eventually. You see, I got left, so she has to leave. To leave first, before the frightening possibility of being left is even presented. She takes on pursuits that she thinks I would never have taken. She then abandons them as soon as she realizes they are not to her liking and that I don't mind. She would like to be a writer, but she doesn't write, not really, because I've been urging her to. . . . It's the same with her relationships. She brought a boy home when she was 14. A gangly, spiky-haired boy that she swore she couldn't live without. I was terrified, but I allowed the relationship, because I knew that any action on my part to control or terminate it would push her into something incredibly stupid and distractive. As it was, the boy disappeared after a few weeks. She no longer needed him to concur her fear."

"Mrs. Mills," Danny felt fatigued down to the bottom of his soul, yet he felt he should show some reaction. "She was 14. All kids try to defy their authority figures at that age. . . ."

"She had a boyfriend last year. He was 42, twice divorced, a minor executive at some lesser corporation. A nice man, by the way, not the shark that comes to mind with those statistics. He adored Audrey. I mean, worshipped her. Would have done anything for her. She got engaged to him. It lasted six months, and every time he would ask to set a date, she'd get upset. I knew from the start she wasn't going to marry him. But no matter what I said, it just fueled her on. . . . She gave up, finally, and we had a rare moment where we could talk without the barriers. She admitted that it was a mistake, and, to her credit, she didn't want to torment a decent man just to satisfy some craving. Not long after that she quit her job and applied to Columbia."

"So, she made a mistake. People make them all the time, especially when it comes to relationships."

"Yes, they do, but Audrey's mistakes are pointed, driven, and stem from the same fertile ground. I often wonder if her father's leaving didn't do more damage to her than it did to me. Yes, I am alone, but she is the one who suffers. . . . I finally thought she'd settled, you know. This school is good for her. She is doing what she truly wants, not that she might think I don't want her to do. I was so hopeful only last week. . . . And yet, here you are."

"And you think I am just another stroke in her pattern? Is that it, Mrs. Mills?"

"I don't think so, Daniel. I know."