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

This took longer than I thought. Simply because I found myself not quite knowing how to end this. Or, may be, I just didn't want to. 

Once more, with feeling: thank you, all of you, who read and reviewed. You've given me inspiration, not to mention, conceit, to write this. LOL. In all sincerity, though: I would not have been able to see this through without your kind and generous encouragement.

Danny woke up with a start, not sure what it was that made him do so. His first reaction was panic: he was alone in bed.

He steadies his breath and took stock of his surroundings. The pillow smelled like apples and the smell gave him tremendous reassurance that the events of the previous evening weren't just a pleasant dream.

Other smells filtered in slowly: Seshuan sauce and lemon peel. Danny reached for his alarm clock. 3: 54 a.m. It was dark in the room and outside, but a thin sliver of light found its way through the cracked door.

Danny smiled as he got out of bed and headed for the kitchen.

She was standing barefoot, wearing one of his dress shirts that reached just above her knees, sleeves rolled up, and precariously held together by only two buttons. It looked enormous on her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, wisps of it already coming loose and getting into her eyes. Her face bore an expression of extreme concentration as she was trying to load a large dish into Danny's somewhat outdated microwave.

Danny felt his breath catch. She was the sexiest and the most adorable thing he ever saw.

"You know your microwave sucks only slightly less than your coffemaker?" Audrey informed him.

"You know it's 4 o'clock in the morning?" Danny countered with a smile.

"And your point is?" She arched an eyebrow at him as if truly perplexed by his observation.

"My point it: it's 4 o'clock in the morning. You are cooking at 4 in the morning. You. Not a morning person."

"I got hungry."

"Did I mention it's 4 in the morning?"

"I believe you did. Several times, in fact. Did I mention I have a vigorous boyfriend with whom I just burned a week's worth of calories, and now I am starving?"

Danny chuckled as he approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair.

"Smells good."

"What, me or leftovers?"

"Both."

Audrey smiled and rubbed his stubble cheek with her hand.

"What would you like: Seshuan noodles or General Tzo with Steamed Broccoli?"

Danny swallowed hard. "Ah, actually, nothing, thank you. I am not hungry."

"Well, that's no good! I must have not exercised you enough. An oversight I intend to correct as soon as I have some food myself."

"Is that a promise?"

"You bet your cute ass!" Audrey punched the microwave buttons vigorously.

Danny settled on a stool, broad smile permanently fixed on his face. "I'll take that offer, even though I have to reassure you that you've exercised me well. Believe me. It's just that nuked General Tzo in the middle of the night is a bit not my style."

Audrey looked at him thoughtfully. "Or in the middle of the morning," she noted. "Middle of the day, as well."

"What do you mean?"

"Mama Arevalo was right: you don't seem to eat much. I haven't known you for long, but I notice you seldom eat a full meal. You take bites, and you grab things on the go, but you don't consume a decent amount of food in one sitting."

She stroked his shoulder affectionately.

"May be it's just this week, but it looks like a habit to me. Is that because of your job? Because it's so hectic?"

Danny was silent for a moment.

"It's part of it, yes. But it's a longer standing habit than that. . . . I eat, I do. I am not starving myself by any means. I have my favorites and I can sometimes overindulge with the best of them. . . . But, on the whole, I don't need much to sustain me, and I can simply forget to eat and not miss it for a while. Stems from my childhood. . . . It's a long story." Danny sighed.

"I've got time," Audrey reached over and kissed him tenderly. "It's Sunday. It's early. I've got nothing but time."

"I, sadly, have to go to work at some point. I have faithfully promised to my boss to spend at least part of Sunday doing paperwork. . . . But I can tell you some things now."

He paused.

"Do you know how I became an alcoholic? . . . I was eleven when my parents died in a car accident. . . . I was in that car."

"God, Danny!"

"No, that's not why. . . . I mean, part of it. . . . Our grandmother took us, my brother and I. She wasn't that old, but she wasn't healthy, either. It was difficult for her, but she was raised in a culture where you held on to your own, no matter what."

Danny looked at the kitchen top, as if suddenly discovering something very engrossing on it.

"Problem was, she could barely take care of herself, even if she could hide it well in front of the DCF people. She was calm, collected, and smart. She was also forgetful, often oblivious, and easy to get around. Not that I wasn't grateful not to be sent to a group home. . . . I was eleven, Raphael - my brother - 16. She assumed Raphie could take care of both of us on most counts, and he didn't contradict her. She had her small pension and some savings that grandfather managed to leave her, and everything that DCF was providing for me and my brother she basically turned over to Raphie to manage as he would. Grandma would leave it to him to do the mundane: food shopping for the two of us, getting to and from school, or getting the books or clothes that we needed. . . . She'd cook occasionally, but mostly she was too tired to do it. She lived by her own internal clock, often being up at nights and sleeping through the days. . . ."

Danny stopped and fiddled with a solitary fork that rested on the counter. Audrey slid next to him and threaded her arms underneath his, around his body, making a sort of a safety net of a hug.

"What she didn't realize was that by that time most of the money that the DCF payed for our upkeep went to support Raphie's drug habit. Grandma would get the checks, cash them, and give the money to him - for our expenses. And it wasn't as if Raphie was completely selfish. He'd give me some cash, usually at the beginning of a month, for what he termed "mad expenses." A few bucks here and there that he assumed I spent on candy and baseball cards. But the bulk of it he'd turn into a fix for himself and his so-called friends. Food wasn't essential for him, you see. He wasn't a "munchies" kind of guy. His was a serious cocaine addict, even then, and this particular drug didn't require chasers of edible sort. . . . Me, I could get by most days on leftovers here and there, but I was growing, and I was hungry practically all the time. And there are only so many times you can go visiting your friends and kindly neighbors during dinner hours if you want to keep your dignity. And it was terribly important for me to keep it. To make sure no one was pitying me. Not even grandma. . . . I still don't quite know why I haven't told her. It wasn't as if I were particularly protective of Raphie. He could take care of himself, or so I thought in my 11-year-old naivete."

Danny turned to look into Audrey's face and was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

"Oh, God, don't, honey! It's been a long time! I am fine. I turned out fine. The only reason I am telling you this now is to explain my weird relationship with food." He smiled at her reassuringly, gently wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

"There wasn't much food in the house, but there was no shortage of alcohol. Beer that Raphie's buddies brought in by case-loads, and cheap tequila on the upper shelf of the closet in our room, hidden from grandma and an occasional, visiting DCF. . . . And it didn't take me long to discover that alcohol could kill an appetite like nothing else. A bottle of beer before school, a few swigs of tequila during recess. . . . I had this thermos thingy that grandma gave me. . . . And lots of peppermint gum to mask the smell. Gum was cheap and I could stock up on it when Raphie gave me a few bucks here and there. . . ."

A loud beep startled them both.

"I think your General is trying to tell you something," Danny smiled and nodded toward the microwave. Audrey sighed.

"Suddenly, I am not hungry at all."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Danny shook his head at her in mock indignation. "Someone promised me an exercise session and that someone should keep up her strength."

More to appease him than anything, Audrey took the plate out and pocked the chicken with a fork absentmindedly.

Danny sighed and continued: "By the time grandmother died - two years after she took us in - I was a full-fledged alcoholic. Not that I realized it then, what with being 13 and quick to recuperate after every binge, and having an uncanny ability to hide the effects from others. I also found out that alcohol, besides being an excellent appetite suppressant for me, had a very welcome side-effect of making everything seem unimportant. My parents deaths, grandmothers rapid demise, Raphie's gang-related drug activities. All I needed was a few sips of tequila to make all of it seem OK and perfectly acceptable. . . . It's strange. I knew my brother was an addict. I knew it beyond any doubt. But I completely ignored the signs when it came to myself. Just another amazing demonstration of how subjective a human perception can be. . . . You are not eating your chicken."

"Yeah, I really don't want to anymore," Audrey pushed the plate away. "All I want to do right now is hold you. God, I feel so guilty!" She sounded exasperated.

"Why?" Danny was puzzled. "Non of it is your fault."

"Not that. The fact that I enacted this huge drama out of the effects of my childhood, that I almost ended our relationship because of it, and here you are, with something real, something truly traumatic in your past. And I had no idea! I feel like a complete, selfish, narcissistic drama queen!"

Danny laughed and drew her closer.

"You are none of those things. And it doesn't matter if the childhood trauma is of a more visceral or emotional sort. Or if it's great or small. To a child, it's all larger than life."

He buried his face in her hair once again.

"Besides, what does it matter now. We are here, both of us. I am sober, and you stayed. That's what matters. . . . So, I think you should eat your chicken. And, what the hell, I'll even join you."

"You are not just doing this to make me feel better, are you?"

"Nope. All this past rehashing made me hungry," Danny took out an extra plate and a fork. "Besides, would that be bad: making you feel better? You do that for me."

"I do? How?"

"Just by being here, and by being you."

"Oh, that I can do!" Audrey perked up. "I can be me to the hilt."

She wrapped her arms around Danny's neck and brought her face to his. He thought she was going to kiss him, but she pressed her lips to his ear: "Do you know why I really stayed?"

"Why?"

"Because I hate cleaning!" Audrey announced triumphantly.

"OK, interesting non-sequitur. I am waiting for an explanation." Danny was kissing her neck now, not terribly concerned with whatever revelation she was about to make.

"I was leaving, but my heart was breaking, you see. And it occurred to me that, when it finally does break, I would have to clean up all the debris."

Danny laughed at that. "Unexpected, I'll grant you that. So, basically, what you are saying is that staying with me was simply a housekeeping decision?"

"Absolutely. I weighed my options and staying and begging you to take me back, and working on my relationship skills still seemed like less of a hassle."

"It's amazing how much work we are sometimes prepared to do in order to avoid doing other work."

"Speaking of work, you don't have to be there all day today, do you?"

"Hopefully not. And when I get back, may be we could do something fun." He chuckled at her speculatively raised eyebrow. "Not that kind of fun . . . . Wait, what am I saying! That kind, too, but may be we can go somewhere first."

"Where?"

"I'll think of something. This is New York, you know. Fun can be achieved here at any time. We can stick with tradition and do a dinner and a movie. Or, we can buck traditions and do something completely unexpected." Danny smiled mischievously. "I know this guy: he is an actor. Used to be a neighbor of mine, by the way, years ago. We still get in touch now and then. He is in this off, off, off Broadway company. They put on the craziest things. The acting is atrocious, and the plays are hysterically funny without intending to be. You'd enjoy that. He gave me the tickets the last time I saw him, and I believe one of the shows is tonight."

"So, your idea of fun is basically mocking your friends?"

"Sure, isn't everybody's?"

"For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors and laugh at them in our turn?" Said Audrey with a smile.

"That's poetic."

"That's Pride and Prejudice."

"Yours or Jane Austen's?"

"Jane's, I'm afraid. Mine is nowhere near this poetic. Nor is my writing this good."

"You want to hear bad writing? Let's go see that play. I guarantee you: you will come out of it with your faith in your own abilities completely reinforced."

"Wow. I can't possibly turn down an opportunity like that."

"Good, it's a date. And now, we should finish that chicken and go back to bed."

"How about we leave the chicken for Oscar and streamline it straight to bed?"

"Works for me," Danny laced his fingers with Audrey's, leading her out of the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway, though, looking up at his face.

"I am not afraid," she said as if continuing a thought. "It's strange, because I am not used to this feeling. I know I claimed not to be before, but that was more of a wishful thinking."

"And now?" Danny held on to her hand and she looked at their intertwined fingers with wonder.

"And now, for the first time in my life, I don't feel the need to be brave. You did this for me."

"You did this for yourself, I just cheered you on."

They stood there, framed by the door, supporting each other.

A/N: The ending is completely corny, I know, but I just couldn't help myself. I felt like a proud mama. LOL.