Remember, for _elvie
Title: Remember
Author: soblonde1202
Recipient: _elvie
Author's Notes: Prompt: “A particularly harrowing case makes Danny turn to alcohol. Martin is there for him, even if Danny doesn't know it.”
Danny takes a good look around. He doesn’t remember getting here.
He does remember the case. He remembers the little boy who tried to protect his mother from his drunk, abusive father. He remembers how he found that boy: lying in the basement with his head bashed in.
Danny remembers losing it, wanting to shoot holes into the father’s skull until justice was found. Jack had different plans, ones that followed the law, and Danny quickly found himself being sent home to “cool off.”
Danny remembers that he did go home, but had too much energy surging through his veins to relax.
What Danny doesn’t remember is leaving his apartment. He doesn’t remember walking the streets or being drawn to the neon sign. He doesn’t remember walking into the smoke-filled room and taking a seat.
Danny doesn’t remember how the heavy glass filled with shimmering amber liquid found its way into his hand.
It will be his first drink in over a decade. All the hard work, the meetings, the close calls, the sacrifices: made worthless with a single sip. This thought should stop him.
It should, but it doesn’t.
It’s drowned out by the thoughts of that little boy who sacrificed himself to save his mother.
He sacrificed himself to save his mother, and Danny couldn’t even keep it together long enough to finish the job.
The bourbon burns on its way down his throat: a familiar burn, a devil he knows too well, even after all this time.
The second drink goes down easier, as do the third and fourth.
How many will it take to forget?
Martin worriedly checks his watch for the fifth time in so many minutes.
Ten more minutes. He has ten more minutes until he’s allowed to leave the office and look for Danny.
That’s ten minutes too many, as far as Martin’s concerned.
Danny had taken this case badly, worse that Martin had ever seen. Martin knows Danny should not be left alone now, as close to breaking as he’s been, which is what makes the last nine minutes of work such an unbearable idea.
What if Danny does something stupid?
What if he hurts himself?
What if Martin can’t find him in time?
Eight minutes.
Come on!
Martin pulls out his phone, deciding that six calls are better than five.
Ring…
Ring…
Ring…
“We’re sorry. 555-6321 was unable to answer your call. Please leave a message after the tone, or, to send a numeric page, press 1…Beep!”
“Danny, it’s Martin. Call me back.”
Well, at least that took two more minutes.
Could Jack really fault him for leaving six minutes early? He’s certainly arrived early enough to more than make up for it.
Plus, it’s not like he’s working right now, anyway. They’d arrested the father. The interrogation had taken all of a half-hour, in which he told the location of his wife.
They’d found the wife, alive.
Martin had written up the report, had set it down on Jack’s desk.
Four more minutes.
Why doesn’t he just leave?
Damn his sense of occupational ethics; this is Danny.
And, exactly what that just meant, Martin doesn’t want to think about.
Three more minutes left, and he’s seriously going to sit at his desk, watching the minutes tick by before making sure Danny is okay…
No.
Martin grabs his coat and backpack, and heads for the elevator.
“Good night, Martin,” Jack calls from his office, not even checking the time.
Martin’s going to let himself feel foolish later. Right now, he’s going to his car, where he’s going to drive straight to Danny’s apartment and knock until Danny answers.
Except, there is no answer, and now the panic is returning.
Martin tries not to think too much on his way back to his car.
Taking a quick look up and down the street, Martin notices that Danny’s car is not in its usual parking domain. Good: wherever Danny went, he probably drove there, and now Martin has something to look for as he searches the streets.
Upon starting up his car, that’s exactly what he does: scans the streets in search of Danny’s silver Honda. Making an ever-increasing perimeter around Danny’s apartment complex, Martin soon comes to the unfortunate realization that Danny is not residing in the local hangouts in which he usually ends up, which means he could be just about anywhere.
Martin ignores his own mind, refusing to give up hope.
Pulling up to an intersection, the light to go straight turns red. Instead of waiting, Martin takes a right. As he passes by a parking lot, a flash of silver catches his eye: Danny’s car, parked right next to the road.
Martin leaves his car next to Danny’s and enters the next phase: window-shopping. Passing by each building, he takes a quick peak through the glass panes for any sign of his partner. Hopefully, he will find him relaxing in some restaurant, see that he’s okay and this was all just paranoia on his own part, and leave without Danny ever knowing he checked up on him.
After determining that Danny is not in any of the small eateries lining the street, Martin looks up to see a neon “Marty’s” glaring down upon him. It’s a bar, and Martin’s gut sinks as he sees Danny sitting in front of a large collection of emptied shot glasses.
Martin doesn’t think about his next action. Throwing a generous wad of cash onto the counter, Martin just wraps his arms around Danny’s middle and hauls him from the establishment. The bartender doesn’t even offer them a glance.
Danny doesn’t protest, and Martin starts to think that he’s unconscious until he mumbles out a slurred, “Wha…Who…?”
Martin holds Danny up against the brick front of ‘Marty’s,’ “Danny, it’s me, Martin. You probably won’t remember me explaining this, but you’re drunk and I’m taking you home, okay?”
Danny just kind of blinks at him, but he’s not refusing help, and that’s all the agreement Martin needs.
Thankfully, Danny is extremely cooperative on the stumble back up the road, and they quickly arrive at their cars.
Danny pats his pockets, looking for his keys, as he aims his body for his front seat.
Martin shakes his head as he grabs Danny’s arm, “If you think you’re driving, you even more drunk than you look. Come here.” Martin opens the door to his own back seats and carefully guides Danny to a sitting position.
As soon as he’s buckled in, Danny falls over, lying across the whole back row.
Just as Martin is shutting the back door, he notices Danny shiver. Scanning his vehicle, he quickly sees the yellow blanket resting on the floor from when his nieces last rode in his car. Martin picks it up and gently lays it over Danny’s shaking form. Danny mumbles a bit, then snuggles into the soft fabric and passes out.
The drive back to Danny’s place is extremely slow and careful. Mindful of the sleeping cargo, Martin continuously checks on him via the rearview mirror. He supposes he should feel lucky that Danny isn’t painting the backseat in puke.
When they arrive at the apartment complex, Martin is faced with how to maneuver an unconscious, Danny-sized man up four flights of stairs. The imagined results are not promising.
Martin gets out of his car and goes around to the opposite side, getting in behind Danny’s head. Pushing his inebriated comrade into a sitting position, Martin unbuckles the seatbelt, opens the door, and somehow gets both of them out and in a standing position without either of them eating pavement. So far, so good.
Martin fishes in Danny’s pockets for the building key, trying to keep his mind out of the gutter, and lets them inside. Stumbling with his charge through the lobby, Martin presses the elevator call button, not expecting much, but hoping all the same.
“Come on…” he speaks to the car suspended somewhere within the shaft. “You know your interested in our predicament,” he indicated Danny’s slumped form. “Just open up, let us in, and you can find out more.”
The elevator chimes open, as if in compliance.
“Thank you,” Martin lugs Danny inside and presses ‘5.’ If the lobby had microphones to go along with its security cameras, the audience would be hard-pressed in guessing which man were more drunk.
Unconsciously, Danny rests his head on Martin’s shoulder for the vertical journey, and it’s at this that Martin notices the yellow fleece still wrapped around Danny’s shoulders. He smiles to himself at how adorable Danny looks inside a child’s blanket. Then, the doors chime open again, and it’s back to hauling Danny toward his home.
509…511…513…515: Danny Taylor’s residence.
“Okay, Danny, last time, I promise,” Martin vows as he digs into Danny’s pockets once more for keys. It takes three different key attempts before the door swings open and Martin drops Danny off at the first soft platform in sight: the living room couch.
The not-so-gentle landing incites a small moan from Danny as his hand reaches for his head. Martin prescribes coffee as the best medicine.
Leaving Danny resting on the sofa, Martin heads into the kitchen, grabs the coffee maker, and sets the small machine to work. Pleased at how well hanging out with Danny after work has allowed him to learn Danny’s apartment, Martin can’t help but let another small smile grace his features.
Martin next grabs a glass and fills it with cool water. Bringing it to the living room, he sets it on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“Danny,” Martin gently taps his friend’s cheek, “Danny, wake up.” As Danny’s eyes slowly blink open, Martin smiles down on him, “There you go. Now, I need you to drink some water so you don’t get dehydrated. Drink slowly, but drink it all. Okay?”
Danny gives a sloppy, half-nod.
“Good,” Martin slides his arm under Danny’s shoulders and lifts him into a near-sitting position. Bringing the glass to Danny’s lips, Martin helps Danny empty it.
Martin lays Danny back down and checks on the coffee maker. The machine has yet to even start dripping the dark brew.
With a sigh, Martin turns around and reenters the living room. He decides not to bother Danny for the time being, since the man’s body is busy with enough as it is, so he flips on the TV and stares uninterestedly at an infomercial.
After ten minutes of that, Martin decides that whatever coffee has been made will be enough. He turns off the TV to destroy the abusively boring advertisement for a spatula, and tiredly walks back to the kitchen.
Martin presses the power button, which has no effect, so he unplugs the coffee maker to show it who’s boss…He’s really too tired for this.
As Martin pulls the pot away from the machine to pour its caffeinated contents into an FBI mug, a few drops of coffee hit the heater and hiss into unhappy steam. Martin can not care less; all he can think of is getting some coffee and food in Danny’s system so he can know Danny will be okay for the night so he can get some sleep.
Grabbing a slice of wheat bread from the pantry, Martin brings the snack to his now-murmuring colleague.
“Danny,” Martin gently brushes his knuckles across Danny’s cheek, easing him back to consciousness.
“Martin?” Danny slits his eyes open.
“I want you to eat this,” Martin tears off a small piece of bread and places it against Danny’s lips. The pink tongue darts out and snags the morsel. Danny nods happily and finishes the slice as quickly as Martin will let him.
“You’re going to have to take this slowly, okay?” Martin brings the coffee to Danny’s mouth, “I don’t want you getting sick.
It takes Danny a few minutes of careful sipping to suck up the caffeine. Satisfied with the preventative measures taken to keep the alcohol from killing Danny, Martin decides it’s time to take his coworker to bed.
…Oh, if only it were under better circumstances.
“Come on, Danny,” Martin grasps Danny under the arm and hoists him into a standing position. Danny sways a bit, moaning, but Martin keeps him on his feet.
Leaning Danny against his side, Martin slowly walks him to his bedroom. Tugging the blanket up to rest better on Danny’s shoulders, Martin is amazed that Danny has somehow found a way to hold onto it the whole time.
When Martin plops Danny down on his bed, he notices that the inebriated man is staring at him, an odd development considering the last time he saw those eyes they were shut in unconsciousness.
“…Sorry…” Danny slurs, utter despair in his voice.
Martin’s heart melts, “It’s okay.” His thumb unconsciously strokes Danny’s cheek, “Just go to sleep.”
Danny shakes his head, “So sorry…” His eyes stare off into the distance, and Martin realizes that he’s no longer speaking to him; he’s speaking to Raul Silva, the young boy who saved his mother’s life at the expense of his own.
Martin had been planning on having this conversation after Danny recovers, but it looks like Danny needs the consoling now, so Martin grabs both shoulders to make sure he’s paying attention, and presses, “You saved that boy’s mother. You found the bastard that did that to him so he could be brought to justice, and it’s because of you that we found the mother. She’s alive, Danny, and that’s because of you. If there’s one thing you remember about tonight, let it be that.”
Staring directly at Martin, Danny’s eyes widen a bit, then flood with tears. His mouth falls open in a sudden sob, and Martin can’t help but notice how vulnerable the man before him looks.
Without even thinking about it, Martin collapses next to Danny and wraps his partner tightly in his arms. Danny immediately returns the embrace, burying his head in Martin’s shoulder as sobs take over his body.
“Shhh…It’s okay,” Martin soothes as his hands gently rub Danny’s back.
“M-Martin!” Danny’s shaky voice pleads, but for what, Martin doesn’t know.
“Danny?” Martin prods.
“Martin?”
“I’m right here.”
Danny tightens his hold, pressing his face hard into Martin’s chest.
Martin continues rubbing Danny’s back, with a bit more force now, “You’re okay…You’re safe…You’re going to get through this…I’ve got you.” Martin brings his lips to Danny’s forehead.
‘I am kissing Danny,’ the realization shoots through Martin’s mind. The sky should be falling, demons should be walking the Earth, the ground should open up and swallow them whole: he’s kissing Danny! Years of repression and denial, and he’s kissing Danny, and something horrible should be happening because of it.
Instead, Danny just presses his forehead into the soft kiss, his sobs easing.
Relief courses through Martin as quickly as the shock had. Could it be that Danny actually appreciates his affection?
He moves the kiss to Danny’s cheek, and Danny’s last sob ends in a content sigh.
“I love you, Danny,” Martin admits to both the man in his arms and himself.
In one last conscious move, Danny snuggles slightly closer to Martin, then passes into a restful sleep.
Martin keeps watch over Danny, holding him in his arms, rubbing soothing circles against his back, and pressing gentle kisses to tear-stained cheeks to ward off inner demons.
Martin paces his apartment, going over the events of the previous night in his head.
He’d stayed in Danny’s bed, holding Danny’s sleeping form against his chest until he, himself, had fallen asleep.
He had awoken to Danny stirring back into consciousness and had panicked. He couldn’t let Danny find them like that.
He still doesn’t know why he felt that way. Maybe he wanted Danny to forget how bad it got last night. Maybe he wanted him to ease into the knowledge of what happened.
Maybe he’s still afraid Danny will reject him.
Whatever it was, Martin was out of his partner’s apartment before Danny ever opened his eyes.
He was about to get in his car when he remembered that Danny’s car was still parked near that bar. Taking out his keys, he was amazed to see that fortune had smiled upon him and had ensured that Danny’s spare car key was on his own key ring.
It was a twenty-minute walk to the parking lot, but the thoughts on how to tell Danny about what happened surging in Martin’s mind made the time fly.
Would it be better if Danny didn’t know what he did? Could he just go back to life like normal, if he didn’t know he destroyed his sobriety with nearly a dozen shots?
Even if Danny figured out he’d been drinking, would he be better off if he thought Martin never found out?
Would Danny end up remembering on his own? No way, he was way too drunk.
Martin had parked Danny’s car in its usual place under Danny’s apartment window and had rushed home. No need letting Danny see him park his car; that would be a dead giveaway.
He had opened his own apartment door and has been pacing ever since.
Maybe he should call Danny, check up on him. He could even use the guise that he’s just worried since Danny left the case yesterday so worked up. He’d let Danny divulge what information he’d want to divulge, and that would be the end of it.
There’s a knock at the door. Martin answers it to the next in a long series of surprises: it’s Danny. His eyes are rimmed in red and his hair is a bit more disheveled than usual, but he looks great considering what he’d just been through.
“Hey, Danny,” Martin tries to act as if not surprised, but his gaping mouth and wide eyes give him away.
“Hey, Martin,” Danny’s face puts on its usual smirk as he pulls his arm from behind his back and hands Martin the yellow blanket.
The yellow blanket that Martin had wrapped Danny in the night before.
Martin stares at it, unsure of how to react, “H-How did you know…”
“That it was yours? There are cameras in my building.”
“…And you checked them?”
“I’m an FBI agent, Martin.”
“Does this mean that you don’t…”
“Remember what happened last night? I remember enough.”
Martin finally peels his eyes away from the blanket to look at Danny.
The smirk is gone, replaced with sincerity, “I know that you are the reason I’m not throwing up in some alley.” Danny finally makes his way into Martin’s apartment, shutting the door behind himself. “I know that you took care of me.” With a laugh, Danny adds, “I know you prevented one bitch of a hangover.”
Danny reaches out and wraps his fingers around Martin’s wrists, “I know I was sad, and you held me. I know that helped more than anything ever has.”
The slightest blush appears on Martin’s face.
Danny steps closer, wrapping his arms around Martin’s waist.
Martin unconsciously returns the embrace.
“Thank you, Martin.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Danny. I just-”
“Martin,” Danny stops the ramble before it can really take off, “thank you.”
This isn’t just gratitude for the previous night. This is gratitude for years of trust and friendship, for football games over pizza and beer, for favors not needed to be requested, for a unique and mutual understanding, and for opening the door.
Looking directly into Martin’s eyes, Danny whispers, “Martin, I love you, too,” and seals his vow with a kiss.
Author: soblonde1202
Recipient: _elvie
Author's Notes: Prompt: “A particularly harrowing case makes Danny turn to alcohol. Martin is there for him, even if Danny doesn't know it.”
Danny takes a good look around. He doesn’t remember getting here.
He does remember the case. He remembers the little boy who tried to protect his mother from his drunk, abusive father. He remembers how he found that boy: lying in the basement with his head bashed in.
Danny remembers losing it, wanting to shoot holes into the father’s skull until justice was found. Jack had different plans, ones that followed the law, and Danny quickly found himself being sent home to “cool off.”
Danny remembers that he did go home, but had too much energy surging through his veins to relax.
What Danny doesn’t remember is leaving his apartment. He doesn’t remember walking the streets or being drawn to the neon sign. He doesn’t remember walking into the smoke-filled room and taking a seat.
Danny doesn’t remember how the heavy glass filled with shimmering amber liquid found its way into his hand.
It will be his first drink in over a decade. All the hard work, the meetings, the close calls, the sacrifices: made worthless with a single sip. This thought should stop him.
It should, but it doesn’t.
It’s drowned out by the thoughts of that little boy who sacrificed himself to save his mother.
He sacrificed himself to save his mother, and Danny couldn’t even keep it together long enough to finish the job.
The bourbon burns on its way down his throat: a familiar burn, a devil he knows too well, even after all this time.
The second drink goes down easier, as do the third and fourth.
How many will it take to forget?
Martin worriedly checks his watch for the fifth time in so many minutes.
Ten more minutes. He has ten more minutes until he’s allowed to leave the office and look for Danny.
That’s ten minutes too many, as far as Martin’s concerned.
Danny had taken this case badly, worse that Martin had ever seen. Martin knows Danny should not be left alone now, as close to breaking as he’s been, which is what makes the last nine minutes of work such an unbearable idea.
What if Danny does something stupid?
What if he hurts himself?
What if Martin can’t find him in time?
Eight minutes.
Come on!
Martin pulls out his phone, deciding that six calls are better than five.
Ring…
Ring…
Ring…
“We’re sorry. 555-6321 was unable to answer your call. Please leave a message after the tone, or, to send a numeric page, press 1…Beep!”
“Danny, it’s Martin. Call me back.”
Well, at least that took two more minutes.
Could Jack really fault him for leaving six minutes early? He’s certainly arrived early enough to more than make up for it.
Plus, it’s not like he’s working right now, anyway. They’d arrested the father. The interrogation had taken all of a half-hour, in which he told the location of his wife.
They’d found the wife, alive.
Martin had written up the report, had set it down on Jack’s desk.
Four more minutes.
Why doesn’t he just leave?
Damn his sense of occupational ethics; this is Danny.
And, exactly what that just meant, Martin doesn’t want to think about.
Three more minutes left, and he’s seriously going to sit at his desk, watching the minutes tick by before making sure Danny is okay…
No.
Martin grabs his coat and backpack, and heads for the elevator.
“Good night, Martin,” Jack calls from his office, not even checking the time.
Martin’s going to let himself feel foolish later. Right now, he’s going to his car, where he’s going to drive straight to Danny’s apartment and knock until Danny answers.
Except, there is no answer, and now the panic is returning.
Martin tries not to think too much on his way back to his car.
Taking a quick look up and down the street, Martin notices that Danny’s car is not in its usual parking domain. Good: wherever Danny went, he probably drove there, and now Martin has something to look for as he searches the streets.
Upon starting up his car, that’s exactly what he does: scans the streets in search of Danny’s silver Honda. Making an ever-increasing perimeter around Danny’s apartment complex, Martin soon comes to the unfortunate realization that Danny is not residing in the local hangouts in which he usually ends up, which means he could be just about anywhere.
Martin ignores his own mind, refusing to give up hope.
Pulling up to an intersection, the light to go straight turns red. Instead of waiting, Martin takes a right. As he passes by a parking lot, a flash of silver catches his eye: Danny’s car, parked right next to the road.
Martin leaves his car next to Danny’s and enters the next phase: window-shopping. Passing by each building, he takes a quick peak through the glass panes for any sign of his partner. Hopefully, he will find him relaxing in some restaurant, see that he’s okay and this was all just paranoia on his own part, and leave without Danny ever knowing he checked up on him.
After determining that Danny is not in any of the small eateries lining the street, Martin looks up to see a neon “Marty’s” glaring down upon him. It’s a bar, and Martin’s gut sinks as he sees Danny sitting in front of a large collection of emptied shot glasses.
Martin doesn’t think about his next action. Throwing a generous wad of cash onto the counter, Martin just wraps his arms around Danny’s middle and hauls him from the establishment. The bartender doesn’t even offer them a glance.
Danny doesn’t protest, and Martin starts to think that he’s unconscious until he mumbles out a slurred, “Wha…Who…?”
Martin holds Danny up against the brick front of ‘Marty’s,’ “Danny, it’s me, Martin. You probably won’t remember me explaining this, but you’re drunk and I’m taking you home, okay?”
Danny just kind of blinks at him, but he’s not refusing help, and that’s all the agreement Martin needs.
Thankfully, Danny is extremely cooperative on the stumble back up the road, and they quickly arrive at their cars.
Danny pats his pockets, looking for his keys, as he aims his body for his front seat.
Martin shakes his head as he grabs Danny’s arm, “If you think you’re driving, you even more drunk than you look. Come here.” Martin opens the door to his own back seats and carefully guides Danny to a sitting position.
As soon as he’s buckled in, Danny falls over, lying across the whole back row.
Just as Martin is shutting the back door, he notices Danny shiver. Scanning his vehicle, he quickly sees the yellow blanket resting on the floor from when his nieces last rode in his car. Martin picks it up and gently lays it over Danny’s shaking form. Danny mumbles a bit, then snuggles into the soft fabric and passes out.
The drive back to Danny’s place is extremely slow and careful. Mindful of the sleeping cargo, Martin continuously checks on him via the rearview mirror. He supposes he should feel lucky that Danny isn’t painting the backseat in puke.
When they arrive at the apartment complex, Martin is faced with how to maneuver an unconscious, Danny-sized man up four flights of stairs. The imagined results are not promising.
Martin gets out of his car and goes around to the opposite side, getting in behind Danny’s head. Pushing his inebriated comrade into a sitting position, Martin unbuckles the seatbelt, opens the door, and somehow gets both of them out and in a standing position without either of them eating pavement. So far, so good.
Martin fishes in Danny’s pockets for the building key, trying to keep his mind out of the gutter, and lets them inside. Stumbling with his charge through the lobby, Martin presses the elevator call button, not expecting much, but hoping all the same.
“Come on…” he speaks to the car suspended somewhere within the shaft. “You know your interested in our predicament,” he indicated Danny’s slumped form. “Just open up, let us in, and you can find out more.”
The elevator chimes open, as if in compliance.
“Thank you,” Martin lugs Danny inside and presses ‘5.’ If the lobby had microphones to go along with its security cameras, the audience would be hard-pressed in guessing which man were more drunk.
Unconsciously, Danny rests his head on Martin’s shoulder for the vertical journey, and it’s at this that Martin notices the yellow fleece still wrapped around Danny’s shoulders. He smiles to himself at how adorable Danny looks inside a child’s blanket. Then, the doors chime open again, and it’s back to hauling Danny toward his home.
509…511…513…515: Danny Taylor’s residence.
“Okay, Danny, last time, I promise,” Martin vows as he digs into Danny’s pockets once more for keys. It takes three different key attempts before the door swings open and Martin drops Danny off at the first soft platform in sight: the living room couch.
The not-so-gentle landing incites a small moan from Danny as his hand reaches for his head. Martin prescribes coffee as the best medicine.
Leaving Danny resting on the sofa, Martin heads into the kitchen, grabs the coffee maker, and sets the small machine to work. Pleased at how well hanging out with Danny after work has allowed him to learn Danny’s apartment, Martin can’t help but let another small smile grace his features.
Martin next grabs a glass and fills it with cool water. Bringing it to the living room, he sets it on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“Danny,” Martin gently taps his friend’s cheek, “Danny, wake up.” As Danny’s eyes slowly blink open, Martin smiles down on him, “There you go. Now, I need you to drink some water so you don’t get dehydrated. Drink slowly, but drink it all. Okay?”
Danny gives a sloppy, half-nod.
“Good,” Martin slides his arm under Danny’s shoulders and lifts him into a near-sitting position. Bringing the glass to Danny’s lips, Martin helps Danny empty it.
Martin lays Danny back down and checks on the coffee maker. The machine has yet to even start dripping the dark brew.
With a sigh, Martin turns around and reenters the living room. He decides not to bother Danny for the time being, since the man’s body is busy with enough as it is, so he flips on the TV and stares uninterestedly at an infomercial.
After ten minutes of that, Martin decides that whatever coffee has been made will be enough. He turns off the TV to destroy the abusively boring advertisement for a spatula, and tiredly walks back to the kitchen.
Martin presses the power button, which has no effect, so he unplugs the coffee maker to show it who’s boss…He’s really too tired for this.
As Martin pulls the pot away from the machine to pour its caffeinated contents into an FBI mug, a few drops of coffee hit the heater and hiss into unhappy steam. Martin can not care less; all he can think of is getting some coffee and food in Danny’s system so he can know Danny will be okay for the night so he can get some sleep.
Grabbing a slice of wheat bread from the pantry, Martin brings the snack to his now-murmuring colleague.
“Danny,” Martin gently brushes his knuckles across Danny’s cheek, easing him back to consciousness.
“Martin?” Danny slits his eyes open.
“I want you to eat this,” Martin tears off a small piece of bread and places it against Danny’s lips. The pink tongue darts out and snags the morsel. Danny nods happily and finishes the slice as quickly as Martin will let him.
“You’re going to have to take this slowly, okay?” Martin brings the coffee to Danny’s mouth, “I don’t want you getting sick.
It takes Danny a few minutes of careful sipping to suck up the caffeine. Satisfied with the preventative measures taken to keep the alcohol from killing Danny, Martin decides it’s time to take his coworker to bed.
…Oh, if only it were under better circumstances.
“Come on, Danny,” Martin grasps Danny under the arm and hoists him into a standing position. Danny sways a bit, moaning, but Martin keeps him on his feet.
Leaning Danny against his side, Martin slowly walks him to his bedroom. Tugging the blanket up to rest better on Danny’s shoulders, Martin is amazed that Danny has somehow found a way to hold onto it the whole time.
When Martin plops Danny down on his bed, he notices that the inebriated man is staring at him, an odd development considering the last time he saw those eyes they were shut in unconsciousness.
“…Sorry…” Danny slurs, utter despair in his voice.
Martin’s heart melts, “It’s okay.” His thumb unconsciously strokes Danny’s cheek, “Just go to sleep.”
Danny shakes his head, “So sorry…” His eyes stare off into the distance, and Martin realizes that he’s no longer speaking to him; he’s speaking to Raul Silva, the young boy who saved his mother’s life at the expense of his own.
Martin had been planning on having this conversation after Danny recovers, but it looks like Danny needs the consoling now, so Martin grabs both shoulders to make sure he’s paying attention, and presses, “You saved that boy’s mother. You found the bastard that did that to him so he could be brought to justice, and it’s because of you that we found the mother. She’s alive, Danny, and that’s because of you. If there’s one thing you remember about tonight, let it be that.”
Staring directly at Martin, Danny’s eyes widen a bit, then flood with tears. His mouth falls open in a sudden sob, and Martin can’t help but notice how vulnerable the man before him looks.
Without even thinking about it, Martin collapses next to Danny and wraps his partner tightly in his arms. Danny immediately returns the embrace, burying his head in Martin’s shoulder as sobs take over his body.
“Shhh…It’s okay,” Martin soothes as his hands gently rub Danny’s back.
“M-Martin!” Danny’s shaky voice pleads, but for what, Martin doesn’t know.
“Danny?” Martin prods.
“Martin?”
“I’m right here.”
Danny tightens his hold, pressing his face hard into Martin’s chest.
Martin continues rubbing Danny’s back, with a bit more force now, “You’re okay…You’re safe…You’re going to get through this…I’ve got you.” Martin brings his lips to Danny’s forehead.
‘I am kissing Danny,’ the realization shoots through Martin’s mind. The sky should be falling, demons should be walking the Earth, the ground should open up and swallow them whole: he’s kissing Danny! Years of repression and denial, and he’s kissing Danny, and something horrible should be happening because of it.
Instead, Danny just presses his forehead into the soft kiss, his sobs easing.
Relief courses through Martin as quickly as the shock had. Could it be that Danny actually appreciates his affection?
He moves the kiss to Danny’s cheek, and Danny’s last sob ends in a content sigh.
“I love you, Danny,” Martin admits to both the man in his arms and himself.
In one last conscious move, Danny snuggles slightly closer to Martin, then passes into a restful sleep.
Martin keeps watch over Danny, holding him in his arms, rubbing soothing circles against his back, and pressing gentle kisses to tear-stained cheeks to ward off inner demons.
Martin paces his apartment, going over the events of the previous night in his head.
He’d stayed in Danny’s bed, holding Danny’s sleeping form against his chest until he, himself, had fallen asleep.
He had awoken to Danny stirring back into consciousness and had panicked. He couldn’t let Danny find them like that.
He still doesn’t know why he felt that way. Maybe he wanted Danny to forget how bad it got last night. Maybe he wanted him to ease into the knowledge of what happened.
Maybe he’s still afraid Danny will reject him.
Whatever it was, Martin was out of his partner’s apartment before Danny ever opened his eyes.
He was about to get in his car when he remembered that Danny’s car was still parked near that bar. Taking out his keys, he was amazed to see that fortune had smiled upon him and had ensured that Danny’s spare car key was on his own key ring.
It was a twenty-minute walk to the parking lot, but the thoughts on how to tell Danny about what happened surging in Martin’s mind made the time fly.
Would it be better if Danny didn’t know what he did? Could he just go back to life like normal, if he didn’t know he destroyed his sobriety with nearly a dozen shots?
Even if Danny figured out he’d been drinking, would he be better off if he thought Martin never found out?
Would Danny end up remembering on his own? No way, he was way too drunk.
Martin had parked Danny’s car in its usual place under Danny’s apartment window and had rushed home. No need letting Danny see him park his car; that would be a dead giveaway.
He had opened his own apartment door and has been pacing ever since.
Maybe he should call Danny, check up on him. He could even use the guise that he’s just worried since Danny left the case yesterday so worked up. He’d let Danny divulge what information he’d want to divulge, and that would be the end of it.
There’s a knock at the door. Martin answers it to the next in a long series of surprises: it’s Danny. His eyes are rimmed in red and his hair is a bit more disheveled than usual, but he looks great considering what he’d just been through.
“Hey, Danny,” Martin tries to act as if not surprised, but his gaping mouth and wide eyes give him away.
“Hey, Martin,” Danny’s face puts on its usual smirk as he pulls his arm from behind his back and hands Martin the yellow blanket.
The yellow blanket that Martin had wrapped Danny in the night before.
Martin stares at it, unsure of how to react, “H-How did you know…”
“That it was yours? There are cameras in my building.”
“…And you checked them?”
“I’m an FBI agent, Martin.”
“Does this mean that you don’t…”
“Remember what happened last night? I remember enough.”
Martin finally peels his eyes away from the blanket to look at Danny.
The smirk is gone, replaced with sincerity, “I know that you are the reason I’m not throwing up in some alley.” Danny finally makes his way into Martin’s apartment, shutting the door behind himself. “I know that you took care of me.” With a laugh, Danny adds, “I know you prevented one bitch of a hangover.”
Danny reaches out and wraps his fingers around Martin’s wrists, “I know I was sad, and you held me. I know that helped more than anything ever has.”
The slightest blush appears on Martin’s face.
Danny steps closer, wrapping his arms around Martin’s waist.
Martin unconsciously returns the embrace.
“Thank you, Martin.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Danny. I just-”
“Martin,” Danny stops the ramble before it can really take off, “thank you.”
This isn’t just gratitude for the previous night. This is gratitude for years of trust and friendship, for football games over pizza and beer, for favors not needed to be requested, for a unique and mutual understanding, and for opening the door.
Looking directly into Martin’s eyes, Danny whispers, “Martin, I love you, too,” and seals his vow with a kiss.