Fic: That Midnight Hour (WAT, Danny/Martin, PG)
God, I love how incestuous DeCoteau movies are. He recycles the same actors over and over until they're so mixed up in your head that you might as well just write RPS, because you can't remember who had chemistry with who in which movie.
Or maybe that's just me. But having said all that, Final Stab is an incredibly boring movie. Not even the combined 'talents' of Forrest Cochran, Michael Lutz, and the infamous Bradley Stryker (in his boxer briefs, of course) could save this one. Such a pity, because it could have been decent. Psst...David. Call me.
But that's not why I'm here. I actually come bearing yet more fic. I have no idea what possessed me to write this. A combination of the contrelamontre hospital challenge and nekosmuse's New Year's challenge getting sort of rolled together in my head, I guess. The New Year's bit is all Neko's, I just bent it to fit the hospital challenge. I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be posting anything at this hour, let alone fic. But that's never stopped me before. I'm sure any day now I'm going to crash and suffer through a couple weeks of writer's block, if that makes anybody feel any better.
He knows he's in a hospital as soon as he wakes up. The stark white walls, the squeak of rubber against linoleum echoing in the hallway, the steady beep beep of machines monitoring his every bodily function are all clues even someone who doesn't solve mysteries for a living could figure out.
The part he doesn't really remember is how he got here. There are hazy flashes -- the sound of Danny's voice shouting something, then he remembers turning, and a blaze of heat across his shoulder before everything goes dark. He thinks he remembers Danny's hand on his shoulder, then his cheek, but he has to be imagining that part. All he knows for sure is that they were on a case, that they were working late and he'd spent the whole afternoon listening to Danny bitch about how his plans for the night were going to get messed up because Jack had them out on a wild goose chase.
He doesn't remember getting shot, although he's sure that's what must have happened, because when he tries to move his right arm he can feel the bandages keeping him immobile. As soon as he stirs he hears movement to his left, and he turns his head slowly, half expecting to see his father sitting there just waiting for him to wake up so he can deliver the lecture on how unequal Martin is to his job.
Instead he finds Danny watching him, his usual smirk nowhere in sight and Martin has to blink a few times to make sure he's not hallucinating. When the spectre Danny refuses to disappear Martin frowns and tries to sit up, but before he can move at all Danny's hands are on him, easing him back onto the pillows.
"Whoa. You need something?"
It would make more sense if Jack were here. Jack's his supervisor, after all, and he's the one who would get his ass chewed by Victor if anything serious happened. Martin's pretty sure getting shot counts as serious, if only because it would give Victor more ammunition in his ongoing crusade to end Martin's career in Missing Persons. Then again, maybe his parents haven't heard yet; maybe it wasn't serious enough for anyone to call them, which means there's really no need for Martin to stay in the hospital when he could be home in his own bed.
Alone. With no Danny sitting next to him looking like he's trying not to look terrified.
"What..." He stops and swallows against the dryness in his throat, and when Danny pours a cup of water and lifts it to his lips Martin wants to push his hand away. He's thirstier than he is proud, though, so he takes the help and swallows a mouthful of water, wincing as it burns on the way down. "What are you doing here?"
"You got shot," Danny reminds him, and later Martin's going to have to ask him for the details, because so far all he remembers is another dead end and Danny shouting something before the world went black. "What, did you think I'd just leave you here by yourself?"
"You...your date," Martin says, and he knows it's not really an answer but his head feels kind of weird and he's just hoping Danny can follow him enough to figure out what he's trying to say.
Then Danny does smirk and the familiar sight makes Martin feel a little better. "Cancelled," Danny answers, sinking back into his chair and scooting it a little closer to the edge of the narrow hospital bed. "That whole thing wasn't working out anyway."
"I thought..." He has to stop and clear his throat again, and when Danny offers him more water he takes it as much for the feeling of Danny's hand on his face as for the water that eases the burning in his throat, "...thought things were going okay with the fireman." Firewoman. Whatever, he thinks, because he's been shot and he's pretty sure that gives him license to be politically incorrect.
Danny smirks again as he sets the cup down and turns back to Martin, leaning forward so his elbows are resting on the edge of the bed. "She's a fire inspector, actually. And she keeps regular hours, so that was part of the problem."
"And the rest?"
Danny shrugs and Martin can tell he's missing something, but he doesn't have the strength for the argument he knows he'd have to start to drag the truth out of his partner. "Let's just say my heart wasn't really in it. Besides, it's just one date, right?"
"It's New Year's Eve." Meaning Danny should be at some party, being the center of attention and kissing his date at midnight. He shouldn't be keeping vigil by Martin's side just because he feels guilty that he wasn't the one who got shot.
"It wasn't your fault, Danny," he says, even though he has no idea if it's the truth or not. He trusts Danny, though, so he means it when he says it. "You should...keep your date."
"Too late," Danny answers, reaching for the cup and sliding a hand behind Martin's head this time, lifting it a little to help him swallow. A drop of water escapes his lips and slides down the corner of his mouth, but Danny catches it on his finger, letting the tip slide over the edge of Martin's bottom lip before he pulls his hand away. "Besides, I've never been a big fan of noisy parties."
He wonders if that has anything to do with the fact that Danny doesn't drink, but he doesn't ask. Even if he felt like he had the right he knows it's not the time, because he's too groggy to focus and he knows it would take a lot of coaxing to get Danny to open up about that.
"So what...you expect me to entertain you?" Martin says, the corners of his mouth turning up when Danny laughs. "Because I'm not really feeling up to it."
For a second Danny just looks at him, and Martin struggles against the fog of painkillers to figure out what the look on his face means. "You scared the hell out of me tonight, Martin."
His voice breaks a little on Martin's name, and without thinking about it Martin reaches out with his good arm and closes a hand around Danny's where it rests on the mattress. "I'm okay."
"I know," Danny answers, squeezing Martin's fingers as though he's afraid Martin's going to let go.
He wishes he wasn't so full of drugs, because he'd take the pain if it meant he didn't have to struggle against the fog in his head just to figure out what Danny wasn't saying. He can feel the shift in the air between them, though, and he has a feeling he's missing something important. And it would just figure that it would take him getting shot for Danny to open up about...well, anything.
The sound of noisemakers and laughter floats toward them from down the hall, the interruption breaking whatever tenuous hold Martin had on what he's missing. In that moment he hates the entire hospital staff, because they're out there celebrating while he and Danny are...he's not even sure what they're doing, and that's the whole problem.
"Guess it really is too late," he says as they listen to the nurses wishing each other a happy new year. And he's not thinking about the fact that Danny's still holding his hand, because it can't mean what Martin wants it to mean.
"It's not too late," Danny answers, and when Martin looks up at him again he's positive he's imagining things. But a second later Danny's leaning over him, his smirk replaced with a genuine, affectionate grin, and his thumb brushing across Martin's cheekbone. "Happy New Year."
His words hit Martin's mouth a second before his lips do, soft and warm and insistent, so Martin parts his lips and hopes to a God he's never had much use for that he isn't hallucinating. He's still not sure when Danny pulls away again, settling back into his chair with Martin's hand still clutched in his. Martin wants to ask a hundred questions, things like what just happened and why Danny never said anything, and whether or not he's really going to be okay. But Danny's still holding his hand, and he feels warm and alive and exactly the way Martin always imagined, and that's enough for now.
I've been super spammy today; I apologize. Well, I don't know if the fic posts count as spam. Right. Going now.
Or maybe that's just me. But having said all that, Final Stab is an incredibly boring movie. Not even the combined 'talents' of Forrest Cochran, Michael Lutz, and the infamous Bradley Stryker (in his boxer briefs, of course) could save this one. Such a pity, because it could have been decent. Psst...David. Call me.
But that's not why I'm here. I actually come bearing yet more fic. I have no idea what possessed me to write this. A combination of the contrelamontre hospital challenge and nekosmuse's New Year's challenge getting sort of rolled together in my head, I guess. The New Year's bit is all Neko's, I just bent it to fit the hospital challenge. I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be posting anything at this hour, let alone fic. But that's never stopped me before. I'm sure any day now I'm going to crash and suffer through a couple weeks of writer's block, if that makes anybody feel any better.
He knows he's in a hospital as soon as he wakes up. The stark white walls, the squeak of rubber against linoleum echoing in the hallway, the steady beep beep of machines monitoring his every bodily function are all clues even someone who doesn't solve mysteries for a living could figure out.
The part he doesn't really remember is how he got here. There are hazy flashes -- the sound of Danny's voice shouting something, then he remembers turning, and a blaze of heat across his shoulder before everything goes dark. He thinks he remembers Danny's hand on his shoulder, then his cheek, but he has to be imagining that part. All he knows for sure is that they were on a case, that they were working late and he'd spent the whole afternoon listening to Danny bitch about how his plans for the night were going to get messed up because Jack had them out on a wild goose chase.
He doesn't remember getting shot, although he's sure that's what must have happened, because when he tries to move his right arm he can feel the bandages keeping him immobile. As soon as he stirs he hears movement to his left, and he turns his head slowly, half expecting to see his father sitting there just waiting for him to wake up so he can deliver the lecture on how unequal Martin is to his job.
Instead he finds Danny watching him, his usual smirk nowhere in sight and Martin has to blink a few times to make sure he's not hallucinating. When the spectre Danny refuses to disappear Martin frowns and tries to sit up, but before he can move at all Danny's hands are on him, easing him back onto the pillows.
"Whoa. You need something?"
It would make more sense if Jack were here. Jack's his supervisor, after all, and he's the one who would get his ass chewed by Victor if anything serious happened. Martin's pretty sure getting shot counts as serious, if only because it would give Victor more ammunition in his ongoing crusade to end Martin's career in Missing Persons. Then again, maybe his parents haven't heard yet; maybe it wasn't serious enough for anyone to call them, which means there's really no need for Martin to stay in the hospital when he could be home in his own bed.
Alone. With no Danny sitting next to him looking like he's trying not to look terrified.
"What..." He stops and swallows against the dryness in his throat, and when Danny pours a cup of water and lifts it to his lips Martin wants to push his hand away. He's thirstier than he is proud, though, so he takes the help and swallows a mouthful of water, wincing as it burns on the way down. "What are you doing here?"
"You got shot," Danny reminds him, and later Martin's going to have to ask him for the details, because so far all he remembers is another dead end and Danny shouting something before the world went black. "What, did you think I'd just leave you here by yourself?"
"You...your date," Martin says, and he knows it's not really an answer but his head feels kind of weird and he's just hoping Danny can follow him enough to figure out what he's trying to say.
Then Danny does smirk and the familiar sight makes Martin feel a little better. "Cancelled," Danny answers, sinking back into his chair and scooting it a little closer to the edge of the narrow hospital bed. "That whole thing wasn't working out anyway."
"I thought..." He has to stop and clear his throat again, and when Danny offers him more water he takes it as much for the feeling of Danny's hand on his face as for the water that eases the burning in his throat, "...thought things were going okay with the fireman." Firewoman. Whatever, he thinks, because he's been shot and he's pretty sure that gives him license to be politically incorrect.
Danny smirks again as he sets the cup down and turns back to Martin, leaning forward so his elbows are resting on the edge of the bed. "She's a fire inspector, actually. And she keeps regular hours, so that was part of the problem."
"And the rest?"
Danny shrugs and Martin can tell he's missing something, but he doesn't have the strength for the argument he knows he'd have to start to drag the truth out of his partner. "Let's just say my heart wasn't really in it. Besides, it's just one date, right?"
"It's New Year's Eve." Meaning Danny should be at some party, being the center of attention and kissing his date at midnight. He shouldn't be keeping vigil by Martin's side just because he feels guilty that he wasn't the one who got shot.
"It wasn't your fault, Danny," he says, even though he has no idea if it's the truth or not. He trusts Danny, though, so he means it when he says it. "You should...keep your date."
"Too late," Danny answers, reaching for the cup and sliding a hand behind Martin's head this time, lifting it a little to help him swallow. A drop of water escapes his lips and slides down the corner of his mouth, but Danny catches it on his finger, letting the tip slide over the edge of Martin's bottom lip before he pulls his hand away. "Besides, I've never been a big fan of noisy parties."
He wonders if that has anything to do with the fact that Danny doesn't drink, but he doesn't ask. Even if he felt like he had the right he knows it's not the time, because he's too groggy to focus and he knows it would take a lot of coaxing to get Danny to open up about that.
"So what...you expect me to entertain you?" Martin says, the corners of his mouth turning up when Danny laughs. "Because I'm not really feeling up to it."
For a second Danny just looks at him, and Martin struggles against the fog of painkillers to figure out what the look on his face means. "You scared the hell out of me tonight, Martin."
His voice breaks a little on Martin's name, and without thinking about it Martin reaches out with his good arm and closes a hand around Danny's where it rests on the mattress. "I'm okay."
"I know," Danny answers, squeezing Martin's fingers as though he's afraid Martin's going to let go.
He wishes he wasn't so full of drugs, because he'd take the pain if it meant he didn't have to struggle against the fog in his head just to figure out what Danny wasn't saying. He can feel the shift in the air between them, though, and he has a feeling he's missing something important. And it would just figure that it would take him getting shot for Danny to open up about...well, anything.
The sound of noisemakers and laughter floats toward them from down the hall, the interruption breaking whatever tenuous hold Martin had on what he's missing. In that moment he hates the entire hospital staff, because they're out there celebrating while he and Danny are...he's not even sure what they're doing, and that's the whole problem.
"Guess it really is too late," he says as they listen to the nurses wishing each other a happy new year. And he's not thinking about the fact that Danny's still holding his hand, because it can't mean what Martin wants it to mean.
"It's not too late," Danny answers, and when Martin looks up at him again he's positive he's imagining things. But a second later Danny's leaning over him, his smirk replaced with a genuine, affectionate grin, and his thumb brushing across Martin's cheekbone. "Happy New Year."
His words hit Martin's mouth a second before his lips do, soft and warm and insistent, so Martin parts his lips and hopes to a God he's never had much use for that he isn't hallucinating. He's still not sure when Danny pulls away again, settling back into his chair with Martin's hand still clutched in his. Martin wants to ask a hundred questions, things like what just happened and why Danny never said anything, and whether or not he's really going to be okay. But Danny's still holding his hand, and he feels warm and alive and exactly the way Martin always imagined, and that's enough for now.
I've been super spammy today; I apologize. Well, I don't know if the fic posts count as spam. Right. Going now.