Fire Fades Away, for farad
Title: Fire Fades Away
Author: silentstreams
Recipient: farad
Rating: R
Author’s Notes: Title taken from the song “Other Side of the World” by KT Tunstall. Other than that, you should all know that this is a work of fiction.
Summary: Post-ep for “All the Sinners, Saints”. Martin has lost his faith and Danny wants to know why. Angst and romance and SEX ensue.
It’s late at night and the rain is pouring down in sheets outside, the kind of time that would normally have Danny curled up beneath his covers - alone - in his small apartment, blissfully asleep after a difficult case. Instead, he finds himself standing in said rain, waiting outside of Martin’s apartment building for the younger man to let him in. He pushes the buzzer again and again, until finally a reluctant voice answers him.
“Who is it?” Martin grumbled, his voice crackling across the small speaker. Knowing full well that Martin’s sleep-heavy voice was a load of bullshit, Danny responded without remorse.
“It’s me, Martin. Now open the damn door already before I catch my death. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s raining out here.” A few seconds of silence passed, and just as Danny was prepared to ring the buzzer again, a beep and a clicking sound alerted him to the fact that Martin had decided to let him in. “About fucking time,” he mumbled under his breath, shivering as he stepped out of the rain and into the dark building.
By the time he managed to climb the stairs to Martin’s apartment, Danny had slipped twice and managed to bump his head on nearly every available surface. He must have made plenty of noise, because Martin was waiting for him, door open, when he finally made it down the hall. The younger man was dressed casually, wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants and a gray tank top that exposed tantalizing amounts of tanned skin. Amusement flashed across those shockingly blue eyes as he caught a glimpse of Danny, whose jeans, button-down, and leather jacket were completely soaked through. Martin’s gaze held Danny’s for a moment more than was necessary, and the simple action sent a shiver through Danny that had nothing to do with the fact that he was dripping wet and freezing. Apparently it seemed to shake Martin back into himself, and he motioned for Danny to come inside. The action did nothing to relieve Danny’s concern, because Martin still hadn’t said anything, seemed to be barely functioning on autopilot. But when he turned around, he caught the younger staring at him, long and hard, as if Danny was something he had never seen before, needed to admire, memorize, recognize. He was getting that far-away look in his eyes again, the haunted look that he had worn for months after he had been shot.
The mere thought had Danny thrown back violently into memories of that night, a while ago now but still as fresh as if it were happening right now. The rain poured down outside like it had then, the sky dark and unforgiving like it was as Martin’s blood, Martin’s life, had bled away into the pavement. “Martin,” he whispered, voice strangled with the pain of memory and the fear of loss. The sound, however soft, seemed to knock both men back into the present, and Martin shook his head briefly before turning away to fetch Danny a towel. He returned moments later with an old blue towel, which he handed to Danny, and the smell of coffee brewing steaming from the kitchen. Martin’s silence still bothered Danny, and he pondered it as he toweled himself off. Slowly, he stripped out of his jacket, his shoes, his socks, jeans, and button-down, forgetting for a moment that Martin was right in front of him, watching him again. Deciding that it didn’t matter, he bundled up his discarded clothing in the towel and placed it carefully by the door. When he was done, he glanced at Martin briefly and was struck hard by the intensity of his gaze. Danny shivered again, eyes locked with Martin’s, feeling the solemnity of the moment as if it were a tangible part of the air he breathed. Wordlessly, Martin dropped his gaze and turned away again, this time to grab a blanket for Danny, which he carefully draped around the older man’s shoulders upon his return. Danny clutched onto the blanket like it was a lifesaver, something to keep him grounded while he felt like his entire world was falling apart in this moment. Martin’s movements were too precise, his actions too calculated, his eyes too guarded for Danny’s liking.
“Martin,” he repeated, softly, as he stepped toward the other man. Martin’s eyes flickered up to his for a brief moment before the beeping of the coffee maker interrupted the silence and the other man backed away quickly to pour two cups. When he returned, Danny had made himself comfortable on the couch, legs tucked up under his body and blanket wrapped around him tightly. He smiled his thanks when Martin presented a steaming mug to him and watched as the other man made himself comfortable on the other end of the couch. They drank their coffee in silence, Danny falling into the dangerous territory of memory, until finally, finally, Martin spoke. “I didn’t remember her, Danny,” he said quietly, studying the mug in front of him, “I worked with her and I didn’t even remember her face.” Danny glanced up quickly, watching the pained look on Martin’s face as he spoke. “It wasn’t your fault, Martin,” he responded softly, “You can’t blame yourself for that.”
And of course Martin knew that, but knowing and believing it were two entirely different things - Danny could understand that if nothing else. He had known it from his childhood, when his father would get too drunk and go on a rampage, and all the time he felt like it was his fault, like he was the one to blame. Every scar that covered his body was a testament to his guilt, and it had taken him years to forgive himself for something he never did. Martin was treading on dangerous ground, he knew, but he didn’t know how to stop him. Guilt was one of those things people had to work through by themselves in their own time, and regardless of how much he wanted to help Martin, Danny knew he couldn’t. So instead, he did what he could - he talked. “You know,” he began, voice tinged with just a hint of nervousness, “All day I’ve been wondering about something, and I can’t figure it out.” When he looked up and found Martin studying him, he continued. “Earlier today, you said that you used to be Catholic but you lost your faith,” and here he paused, afraid that he would be digging too deep, “What happened, Martin? What made you lose your faith?” A few minutes of silence passed before Danny heard the intake of breath that signaled that Martin was about to speak. He glanced over at the other man, who was staring at the wall in front of him like it held the answer to everything, before returning his gaze to his coffee mug and allowing Martin to continue.
“When I was twelve years old,” he began, voice shaking the slightest bit, “I was an alter boy at my church. I did everything there, went to mass every week - sometimes more than once - participated in my youth group, led prayers…it was like a second home for me. My parents didn’t really mind - I’m sure they were just happy that I wasn’t around and they didn’t have to look after me.” Danny cringed at the bitterness that colored Martin’s tone in the last statement, because he knew that feeling, too, but remained silent so Martin could go on. “I…I used to think that nothing bad could ever happen to me in that church, that I was safe, that the doors could magically protect me from anything evil outside. It was stupid, but it was how I felt. At least, it was how I felt until something happened;” he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing, “One Saturday evening, I stayed after Mass to clean up a bit. I went through all the pews and straightened up the hymnals, and I was about to leave when I heard something going on in the library up front. Everyone else had left earlier, so I figured it was just the priest, Father Killian, on a phone call or something. So I walked up to tell him that I was leaving. He…he was with another one of the alter boys, James. James was down on his knees in front of Father Killian, and all I could hear were slurping sounds and Father Killian’s voice.” At this point, Martin’s voice wavered perceptibly, his eyes shining with the beginnings of tears and his coffee mug moving with the trembling of his hands. Danny felt like someone had punched him in the gut, watching Martin as the other man struggled to keep from falling apart. “He kept telling James how dirty he was, how he was going to go to hell for being a homosexual,” Martin spat out venomously, “When he was done, he cupped James’ face in his hands and promised him that one day he would exorcise the demons that were making him dirty. Told him that it would be okay, that he would make it okay.”
Martin’s whole body was shaking now, and the urge to touch cut Danny like a knife. He settled for resting a hand on Martin’s forearm, squeezing reassuringly, silently asking him to continue. “Realizing that people like Father Killian, people that I should have been able to trust, would take advantage of a confused child - that’s what made me lose my faith. Father was supposed to be a man of God. I trusted him, and the same thing that happened to James could have happened to me. For years I had nightmares of Hell, of Father Killian, worrying that I was going to end up there because I liked men more than women. I just couldn’t deal with the idea of a God who would let that happen. I haven’t been to church since,” Martin finished, placing his empty mug on the table and closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself.
Danny was off of the couch in a heartbeat, forgetting the blanket entirely and moving to kneel in front of Martin’s weary form. When the other man opened his eyes and looked at him, fear and hope pleading from the depths, Danny’s heart broke again. He reached up to cup Martin’s face in his hands, stroking his cheek softly, wanting to let him know he was loved. Martin held still for a moment, leaning into the touch briefly before doubt and hurt clouded his features. He jerked back roughly and quickly stood up. “You need to go, Danny,” he growled, refusing to meet the other man’s questioning gaze. Hurt and confused, Danny quickly dressed in his soaking clothes, worriedly looking at Martin once more before moving quietly out of the apartment. By the time he reached the unforgiving pavement of the street, he still hadn’t realized his mistake. Maybe Martin believed he was trying to take advantage of him, or maybe the other man just didn’t like him like that. If that was the case, Danny’s body-language skills needed some serious tuning-up, because normally he wasn’t so completely wrong.
Danny was so caught up in his silent pondering that he didn’t register the sound of the door opening and closing, didn’t realize the presence behind him until a tentative hand brushed his shoulder. And there was Martin, soaking wet and beautiful, tank top plastered to his skin and raindrops catching in his eyelashes. He looked entirely unsure of himself and so close to breaking that it made Danny’s breath catch in his throat. Unable to find words, he moved forward instead, encircling Martin’s narrow waist with his arms and pulling the other man close so they could press their foreheads together. They were both shaking now, chilled from the rain and emotionally drained. Slowly, so as to not spook the other man, Danny pulled back, cupped Martin’s face in his hands again, and leaned in for a heartbreakingly gentle kiss. Martin’s lips were cold and wet from the rain, but his mouth was warm and inviting as he gently sobbed against Danny’s mouth. Danny couldn’t get enough of Martin - how he tasted on his tongue, how he trembled under the feather-light touch of his hands. The younger man pulled himself even closer, clutching onto Danny as if he were drowning and needed an anchor to keep him afloat. When they pulled apart, it was Martin who spoke first. “Danny,” he whispered reverently, a light shining in his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier that evening. He still looked as if he couldn’t believe what was happening, as if he would suddenly wake up and discover that it had all been a dream. Danny leaned in once more, pressing his lips gently to Martin’s and twining their fingers together. He pulled back, squeezing Martin’s fingers softly and began leading the younger man back up the stairs to the apartment building. “Is this okay?” he asked, making sure. Martin met his gaze and nodded silently, squeezing back his reassurance.
The two made it quickly back up the stairs and through the door of Martin’s apartment, where they stood, hands linked, neither knowing quite what to do next. Danny noticed the slight trembles in Martin’s arm that alerted him to the other man’s discomfort, and not wanting to frighten the other man, began to slowly pull away. He was surprised when Martin’s grip on his hand tightened and his other hand shot out to grab Danny around the waist and tug him closer. “Don’t,” Martin growled softly, “don’t leave me.” Danny nodded, tightening his grip on the other man and pulling him into a comforting embrace. “I’m not going anywhere Martin,” he assured, “not until you want me to.” They stood like that for a few minutes, breathing in each other’s air and trying to calm their nerves, until Danny shivered again, a full-body shiver this time. Martin pulled back slightly, mouth quirked up in a small grin, and disentangled his fingers from Danny’s. He ran his hands up and down Danny’s arms in an attempt to warm the other man up before pausing at the hem of his soaked-through tee shirt. Holding the other man’s gaze, Martin solemnly slid the shirt up Danny’s torso and over his head, exposing the smooth tan skin that hid underneath. He slid his hands over the older man’s body, mapping out his skin and the scars that marred it. Danny trembled under Martin’s careful scrutiny, hands aching to reach out and touch. Finally he relented, halting Martin’s movements just long enough to remove the tank top from the other man. For a moment all he could do was stare at the beautiful pale body in front of him, just this side of too thin but muscular all the same. Near the center of Martin’s chest were two scars, almost circular in shape, the only lasting physical reminders of the shooting. At that Danny had to lean in and take Martin’s mouth in a desperate, bruising kiss, if only to remind himself that Martin was here, he was alive and everything was close to being okay now.
From that point onward their touches were desperate, hands clutching at smooth skin and ripping clothing off without care. They finally made it to the bedroom and then they were sprawled out together on Martin’s bed, bodies moving together and creating delicious friction and heat. Martin was still trembling, slowly falling apart under Danny’s loving touch. He began to babble incoherently, practically sobbing with pleasure when Danny slipped inside him. The feeling of Martin beneath him, around him, everywhere, was too much for Danny, and he felt himself falling apart a little bit as well. He couldn’t help it when the words slipped from his lips, fearing he had ruined the entire night until he heard Martin’s softly spoken response. “I love you too,” he whispered, reaching up to pull Danny down for a tender kiss. And when they came together, Danny’s name escaped from Martin’s lips and it sounded like surrender and salvation, like a new beginning for both of them.
Author: silentstreams
Recipient: farad
Rating: R
Author’s Notes: Title taken from the song “Other Side of the World” by KT Tunstall. Other than that, you should all know that this is a work of fiction.
Summary: Post-ep for “All the Sinners, Saints”. Martin has lost his faith and Danny wants to know why. Angst and romance and SEX ensue.
It’s late at night and the rain is pouring down in sheets outside, the kind of time that would normally have Danny curled up beneath his covers - alone - in his small apartment, blissfully asleep after a difficult case. Instead, he finds himself standing in said rain, waiting outside of Martin’s apartment building for the younger man to let him in. He pushes the buzzer again and again, until finally a reluctant voice answers him.
“Who is it?” Martin grumbled, his voice crackling across the small speaker. Knowing full well that Martin’s sleep-heavy voice was a load of bullshit, Danny responded without remorse.
“It’s me, Martin. Now open the damn door already before I catch my death. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s raining out here.” A few seconds of silence passed, and just as Danny was prepared to ring the buzzer again, a beep and a clicking sound alerted him to the fact that Martin had decided to let him in. “About fucking time,” he mumbled under his breath, shivering as he stepped out of the rain and into the dark building.
By the time he managed to climb the stairs to Martin’s apartment, Danny had slipped twice and managed to bump his head on nearly every available surface. He must have made plenty of noise, because Martin was waiting for him, door open, when he finally made it down the hall. The younger man was dressed casually, wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants and a gray tank top that exposed tantalizing amounts of tanned skin. Amusement flashed across those shockingly blue eyes as he caught a glimpse of Danny, whose jeans, button-down, and leather jacket were completely soaked through. Martin’s gaze held Danny’s for a moment more than was necessary, and the simple action sent a shiver through Danny that had nothing to do with the fact that he was dripping wet and freezing. Apparently it seemed to shake Martin back into himself, and he motioned for Danny to come inside. The action did nothing to relieve Danny’s concern, because Martin still hadn’t said anything, seemed to be barely functioning on autopilot. But when he turned around, he caught the younger staring at him, long and hard, as if Danny was something he had never seen before, needed to admire, memorize, recognize. He was getting that far-away look in his eyes again, the haunted look that he had worn for months after he had been shot.
The mere thought had Danny thrown back violently into memories of that night, a while ago now but still as fresh as if it were happening right now. The rain poured down outside like it had then, the sky dark and unforgiving like it was as Martin’s blood, Martin’s life, had bled away into the pavement. “Martin,” he whispered, voice strangled with the pain of memory and the fear of loss. The sound, however soft, seemed to knock both men back into the present, and Martin shook his head briefly before turning away to fetch Danny a towel. He returned moments later with an old blue towel, which he handed to Danny, and the smell of coffee brewing steaming from the kitchen. Martin’s silence still bothered Danny, and he pondered it as he toweled himself off. Slowly, he stripped out of his jacket, his shoes, his socks, jeans, and button-down, forgetting for a moment that Martin was right in front of him, watching him again. Deciding that it didn’t matter, he bundled up his discarded clothing in the towel and placed it carefully by the door. When he was done, he glanced at Martin briefly and was struck hard by the intensity of his gaze. Danny shivered again, eyes locked with Martin’s, feeling the solemnity of the moment as if it were a tangible part of the air he breathed. Wordlessly, Martin dropped his gaze and turned away again, this time to grab a blanket for Danny, which he carefully draped around the older man’s shoulders upon his return. Danny clutched onto the blanket like it was a lifesaver, something to keep him grounded while he felt like his entire world was falling apart in this moment. Martin’s movements were too precise, his actions too calculated, his eyes too guarded for Danny’s liking.
“Martin,” he repeated, softly, as he stepped toward the other man. Martin’s eyes flickered up to his for a brief moment before the beeping of the coffee maker interrupted the silence and the other man backed away quickly to pour two cups. When he returned, Danny had made himself comfortable on the couch, legs tucked up under his body and blanket wrapped around him tightly. He smiled his thanks when Martin presented a steaming mug to him and watched as the other man made himself comfortable on the other end of the couch. They drank their coffee in silence, Danny falling into the dangerous territory of memory, until finally, finally, Martin spoke. “I didn’t remember her, Danny,” he said quietly, studying the mug in front of him, “I worked with her and I didn’t even remember her face.” Danny glanced up quickly, watching the pained look on Martin’s face as he spoke. “It wasn’t your fault, Martin,” he responded softly, “You can’t blame yourself for that.”
And of course Martin knew that, but knowing and believing it were two entirely different things - Danny could understand that if nothing else. He had known it from his childhood, when his father would get too drunk and go on a rampage, and all the time he felt like it was his fault, like he was the one to blame. Every scar that covered his body was a testament to his guilt, and it had taken him years to forgive himself for something he never did. Martin was treading on dangerous ground, he knew, but he didn’t know how to stop him. Guilt was one of those things people had to work through by themselves in their own time, and regardless of how much he wanted to help Martin, Danny knew he couldn’t. So instead, he did what he could - he talked. “You know,” he began, voice tinged with just a hint of nervousness, “All day I’ve been wondering about something, and I can’t figure it out.” When he looked up and found Martin studying him, he continued. “Earlier today, you said that you used to be Catholic but you lost your faith,” and here he paused, afraid that he would be digging too deep, “What happened, Martin? What made you lose your faith?” A few minutes of silence passed before Danny heard the intake of breath that signaled that Martin was about to speak. He glanced over at the other man, who was staring at the wall in front of him like it held the answer to everything, before returning his gaze to his coffee mug and allowing Martin to continue.
“When I was twelve years old,” he began, voice shaking the slightest bit, “I was an alter boy at my church. I did everything there, went to mass every week - sometimes more than once - participated in my youth group, led prayers…it was like a second home for me. My parents didn’t really mind - I’m sure they were just happy that I wasn’t around and they didn’t have to look after me.” Danny cringed at the bitterness that colored Martin’s tone in the last statement, because he knew that feeling, too, but remained silent so Martin could go on. “I…I used to think that nothing bad could ever happen to me in that church, that I was safe, that the doors could magically protect me from anything evil outside. It was stupid, but it was how I felt. At least, it was how I felt until something happened;” he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing, “One Saturday evening, I stayed after Mass to clean up a bit. I went through all the pews and straightened up the hymnals, and I was about to leave when I heard something going on in the library up front. Everyone else had left earlier, so I figured it was just the priest, Father Killian, on a phone call or something. So I walked up to tell him that I was leaving. He…he was with another one of the alter boys, James. James was down on his knees in front of Father Killian, and all I could hear were slurping sounds and Father Killian’s voice.” At this point, Martin’s voice wavered perceptibly, his eyes shining with the beginnings of tears and his coffee mug moving with the trembling of his hands. Danny felt like someone had punched him in the gut, watching Martin as the other man struggled to keep from falling apart. “He kept telling James how dirty he was, how he was going to go to hell for being a homosexual,” Martin spat out venomously, “When he was done, he cupped James’ face in his hands and promised him that one day he would exorcise the demons that were making him dirty. Told him that it would be okay, that he would make it okay.”
Martin’s whole body was shaking now, and the urge to touch cut Danny like a knife. He settled for resting a hand on Martin’s forearm, squeezing reassuringly, silently asking him to continue. “Realizing that people like Father Killian, people that I should have been able to trust, would take advantage of a confused child - that’s what made me lose my faith. Father was supposed to be a man of God. I trusted him, and the same thing that happened to James could have happened to me. For years I had nightmares of Hell, of Father Killian, worrying that I was going to end up there because I liked men more than women. I just couldn’t deal with the idea of a God who would let that happen. I haven’t been to church since,” Martin finished, placing his empty mug on the table and closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself.
Danny was off of the couch in a heartbeat, forgetting the blanket entirely and moving to kneel in front of Martin’s weary form. When the other man opened his eyes and looked at him, fear and hope pleading from the depths, Danny’s heart broke again. He reached up to cup Martin’s face in his hands, stroking his cheek softly, wanting to let him know he was loved. Martin held still for a moment, leaning into the touch briefly before doubt and hurt clouded his features. He jerked back roughly and quickly stood up. “You need to go, Danny,” he growled, refusing to meet the other man’s questioning gaze. Hurt and confused, Danny quickly dressed in his soaking clothes, worriedly looking at Martin once more before moving quietly out of the apartment. By the time he reached the unforgiving pavement of the street, he still hadn’t realized his mistake. Maybe Martin believed he was trying to take advantage of him, or maybe the other man just didn’t like him like that. If that was the case, Danny’s body-language skills needed some serious tuning-up, because normally he wasn’t so completely wrong.
Danny was so caught up in his silent pondering that he didn’t register the sound of the door opening and closing, didn’t realize the presence behind him until a tentative hand brushed his shoulder. And there was Martin, soaking wet and beautiful, tank top plastered to his skin and raindrops catching in his eyelashes. He looked entirely unsure of himself and so close to breaking that it made Danny’s breath catch in his throat. Unable to find words, he moved forward instead, encircling Martin’s narrow waist with his arms and pulling the other man close so they could press their foreheads together. They were both shaking now, chilled from the rain and emotionally drained. Slowly, so as to not spook the other man, Danny pulled back, cupped Martin’s face in his hands again, and leaned in for a heartbreakingly gentle kiss. Martin’s lips were cold and wet from the rain, but his mouth was warm and inviting as he gently sobbed against Danny’s mouth. Danny couldn’t get enough of Martin - how he tasted on his tongue, how he trembled under the feather-light touch of his hands. The younger man pulled himself even closer, clutching onto Danny as if he were drowning and needed an anchor to keep him afloat. When they pulled apart, it was Martin who spoke first. “Danny,” he whispered reverently, a light shining in his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier that evening. He still looked as if he couldn’t believe what was happening, as if he would suddenly wake up and discover that it had all been a dream. Danny leaned in once more, pressing his lips gently to Martin’s and twining their fingers together. He pulled back, squeezing Martin’s fingers softly and began leading the younger man back up the stairs to the apartment building. “Is this okay?” he asked, making sure. Martin met his gaze and nodded silently, squeezing back his reassurance.
The two made it quickly back up the stairs and through the door of Martin’s apartment, where they stood, hands linked, neither knowing quite what to do next. Danny noticed the slight trembles in Martin’s arm that alerted him to the other man’s discomfort, and not wanting to frighten the other man, began to slowly pull away. He was surprised when Martin’s grip on his hand tightened and his other hand shot out to grab Danny around the waist and tug him closer. “Don’t,” Martin growled softly, “don’t leave me.” Danny nodded, tightening his grip on the other man and pulling him into a comforting embrace. “I’m not going anywhere Martin,” he assured, “not until you want me to.” They stood like that for a few minutes, breathing in each other’s air and trying to calm their nerves, until Danny shivered again, a full-body shiver this time. Martin pulled back slightly, mouth quirked up in a small grin, and disentangled his fingers from Danny’s. He ran his hands up and down Danny’s arms in an attempt to warm the other man up before pausing at the hem of his soaked-through tee shirt. Holding the other man’s gaze, Martin solemnly slid the shirt up Danny’s torso and over his head, exposing the smooth tan skin that hid underneath. He slid his hands over the older man’s body, mapping out his skin and the scars that marred it. Danny trembled under Martin’s careful scrutiny, hands aching to reach out and touch. Finally he relented, halting Martin’s movements just long enough to remove the tank top from the other man. For a moment all he could do was stare at the beautiful pale body in front of him, just this side of too thin but muscular all the same. Near the center of Martin’s chest were two scars, almost circular in shape, the only lasting physical reminders of the shooting. At that Danny had to lean in and take Martin’s mouth in a desperate, bruising kiss, if only to remind himself that Martin was here, he was alive and everything was close to being okay now.
From that point onward their touches were desperate, hands clutching at smooth skin and ripping clothing off without care. They finally made it to the bedroom and then they were sprawled out together on Martin’s bed, bodies moving together and creating delicious friction and heat. Martin was still trembling, slowly falling apart under Danny’s loving touch. He began to babble incoherently, practically sobbing with pleasure when Danny slipped inside him. The feeling of Martin beneath him, around him, everywhere, was too much for Danny, and he felt himself falling apart a little bit as well. He couldn’t help it when the words slipped from his lips, fearing he had ruined the entire night until he heard Martin’s softly spoken response. “I love you too,” he whispered, reaching up to pull Danny down for a tender kiss. And when they came together, Danny’s name escaped from Martin’s lips and it sounded like surrender and salvation, like a new beginning for both of them.