Thousands Upon Thousands Made an Ocean, for veronicaluv
Title: Thousands Upon Thousands Made an Ocean
Author: redfairie19
Recipient: veronicaluv
Rating: PG-13, for some swearing
Author's Notes: If I owned them, do you think the last season and a half would have happened? Title taken from "Transatlanticism" by Death Cab for Cutie.
Summary: Martin takes and unnecessary risk on the job and is almost killed; scared and pissed off, Danny confronts him.
It's over in an instant. The shots are fired and Martin hits the ground, pulling their six-year-old MP down with him. Bullets fly over their heads and Martin prays for safety. She won't stop crying.
An unnatural silence follows, seconds stretching until suddenly everyone bursts into action around them. The sirens blare, someone barks out orders in the distance and the paramedics descend on him.
Sophie won't let go of his jacket.
"It's okay, honey," he says softly. "It's over now,"
She loosens her grip just enough to be pulled away.
More commotion and he can still hear her crying.
A paramedic helps him up. He limps toward the stretcher she set out and sits down gingerly.
"Is she okay?" Martin asks.
"She's not hurt if that's what you are asking," the paramedic says. "Are you hit anywhere else?"
Martin looks down and realizes their is blood blossoming from his arm. It's just a graze, not even deep enough to scar, but the sight is enough to make him a little woozy.
"I'm fine," Martin says. "It doesn't even hurt."
"Did you hit your head when you went down?"
"I don't think so," he says, but he really isn't sure. Just remembers looking down the barrel of a loaded gun and praying to god he could get her out of the way in time.
"Any lightheadedness?" she asks as she cleans the wound and bandages it. "Dizziness?"
"No," Martin lies. "I'm fine."
She does her job quickly and efficiently. Follow the light. Look up, look down. Extend your arms.
"Can I go?" he asks impatiently.
The paramedic studies him for a minute. Finally, she nods but Martin can tell she isn't pleased.
He makes his way toward the cluster of agents he knows Jack is at the center off. Hopes Jack will tell him to go home, get some rest and finish his report in the morning. If all else fails he can always favor his bad leg and hold his arm with a grimace.
He is contemplating exactly how much shit Jack will give him before he inevitably gives in when there is a hand on his arm. Martin doesn't even have to turn to know who it is.
"Are you okay?" Danny asks.
"Yeah," Martin says, hanging his head. "Just tired."
"Good," Danny says and then suddenly, Martin's shoved against the wall of a building, shoulders rolling painfully against the rough brick.
"Danny!"
Danny ignores him, looming over him with eyes that Martin cannot read and growling, "What the hell do you think you were doing out there?"
"Danny, what -"
"Don't play dumb!" Danny hisses, one hand still pushing him into the wall. "You were completely unreasonable out there. Trying to rationalize with a guy who killed two cops earlier today without a backwards glance? Are you kidding me? Did you suddenly become a trained negotiator when I wasn't looking. Damn it, Martin, he could have killed you!"
"He had a gun pointed at her head," Martin replies, voice rising.
"And then you let him point one at yours!"
"I was trying to save her life!" Martin snaps back.
"You were reckless!" .
"I was doing my job."
"Getting killed is not your job!" Danny explodes.
"Danny," he tries again, but this time, he doesn't even get his mouth all the open before he is shut down.
"No! You don't get to do this anymore, Martin," Danny shouts. "You don't get to risk your life like there are no consequences. Like nobody fucking cares. I care. Do you think I want to watch you die again? Do you think I want to have to sit in a damn hospital room with your bullet riddled body and say goodbye again? I can't do it, Martin. I can't and I won't, and so you just have to fucking stop."
His voice falters here, anger draining out of it, and it's then, with everything else washed away, that Martin realizes that Danny is afraid. Truly afraid, in a way Martin's only seen once before and it hits Martin like a proverbial ton of bricks.
Danny's eyes are imploring and Martin wants to say something, wants to make it right, but when he opens his mouth but his words fail him completely.
He kisses him instead.
For a split second, he thinks he's done the entirely wrong thing, that he's misread the signs, misread the words in Danny's eyes, but then Danny makes a choked sound against Martin's lips and starts to kiss him back.
It's a desperate kiss, haunted and frenzied, but where words failed them, touch does not. Danny's lips betray his carefully constructed anger and every fear, every nightmare bleeds into Martin's mouth, comprehension dawning in every bone in his body. They kiss like they are drowning, like their each other's only possibility for air, and with each passing second, Martin prays that Danny knows what he is trying to say. That he knows each sigh is understanding and each gasp is a promise and each meeting of lips, of tongues, of teeth is one hundred apologies he can't seem to say out loud.
And he doesn't know, but he thinks Danny might because he is pressing him against the wall again, only this time his fingers are gentle, thumbs tracing over the bare skin at his wrist. Martin shivers, holding onto Danny with both hands.
It is Danny who pulls back first, dropping his forehead against Martin's. His breath is hot on Martin's face, and Martin thinks it should be strange, standing in an alley with Danny pressed against him from head to toe, but somehow, all it feels is inevitable. Like after all these years, there really was no other way for them to end up.
Martin finally dares to breathe.
"I can't lose you," Danny whispers.
And there is so much Martin wants to say, but all that comes out is simply, "I'm sorry."
"I know," Danny sighs, and this time, he kisses Martin, lingering over his lips like he just can't bear to let go.
"You'll be more careful," he whispers. It isn't a question but Martin doesn't mind.
"I will," Martin promises.
He seals it with a kiss.
Author: redfairie19
Recipient: veronicaluv
Rating: PG-13, for some swearing
Author's Notes: If I owned them, do you think the last season and a half would have happened? Title taken from "Transatlanticism" by Death Cab for Cutie.
Summary: Martin takes and unnecessary risk on the job and is almost killed; scared and pissed off, Danny confronts him.
It's over in an instant. The shots are fired and Martin hits the ground, pulling their six-year-old MP down with him. Bullets fly over their heads and Martin prays for safety. She won't stop crying.
An unnatural silence follows, seconds stretching until suddenly everyone bursts into action around them. The sirens blare, someone barks out orders in the distance and the paramedics descend on him.
Sophie won't let go of his jacket.
"It's okay, honey," he says softly. "It's over now,"
She loosens her grip just enough to be pulled away.
More commotion and he can still hear her crying.
A paramedic helps him up. He limps toward the stretcher she set out and sits down gingerly.
"Is she okay?" Martin asks.
"She's not hurt if that's what you are asking," the paramedic says. "Are you hit anywhere else?"
Martin looks down and realizes their is blood blossoming from his arm. It's just a graze, not even deep enough to scar, but the sight is enough to make him a little woozy.
"I'm fine," Martin says. "It doesn't even hurt."
"Did you hit your head when you went down?"
"I don't think so," he says, but he really isn't sure. Just remembers looking down the barrel of a loaded gun and praying to god he could get her out of the way in time.
"Any lightheadedness?" she asks as she cleans the wound and bandages it. "Dizziness?"
"No," Martin lies. "I'm fine."
She does her job quickly and efficiently. Follow the light. Look up, look down. Extend your arms.
"Can I go?" he asks impatiently.
The paramedic studies him for a minute. Finally, she nods but Martin can tell she isn't pleased.
He makes his way toward the cluster of agents he knows Jack is at the center off. Hopes Jack will tell him to go home, get some rest and finish his report in the morning. If all else fails he can always favor his bad leg and hold his arm with a grimace.
He is contemplating exactly how much shit Jack will give him before he inevitably gives in when there is a hand on his arm. Martin doesn't even have to turn to know who it is.
"Are you okay?" Danny asks.
"Yeah," Martin says, hanging his head. "Just tired."
"Good," Danny says and then suddenly, Martin's shoved against the wall of a building, shoulders rolling painfully against the rough brick.
"Danny!"
Danny ignores him, looming over him with eyes that Martin cannot read and growling, "What the hell do you think you were doing out there?"
"Danny, what -"
"Don't play dumb!" Danny hisses, one hand still pushing him into the wall. "You were completely unreasonable out there. Trying to rationalize with a guy who killed two cops earlier today without a backwards glance? Are you kidding me? Did you suddenly become a trained negotiator when I wasn't looking. Damn it, Martin, he could have killed you!"
"He had a gun pointed at her head," Martin replies, voice rising.
"And then you let him point one at yours!"
"I was trying to save her life!" Martin snaps back.
"You were reckless!" .
"I was doing my job."
"Getting killed is not your job!" Danny explodes.
"Danny," he tries again, but this time, he doesn't even get his mouth all the open before he is shut down.
"No! You don't get to do this anymore, Martin," Danny shouts. "You don't get to risk your life like there are no consequences. Like nobody fucking cares. I care. Do you think I want to watch you die again? Do you think I want to have to sit in a damn hospital room with your bullet riddled body and say goodbye again? I can't do it, Martin. I can't and I won't, and so you just have to fucking stop."
His voice falters here, anger draining out of it, and it's then, with everything else washed away, that Martin realizes that Danny is afraid. Truly afraid, in a way Martin's only seen once before and it hits Martin like a proverbial ton of bricks.
Danny's eyes are imploring and Martin wants to say something, wants to make it right, but when he opens his mouth but his words fail him completely.
He kisses him instead.
For a split second, he thinks he's done the entirely wrong thing, that he's misread the signs, misread the words in Danny's eyes, but then Danny makes a choked sound against Martin's lips and starts to kiss him back.
It's a desperate kiss, haunted and frenzied, but where words failed them, touch does not. Danny's lips betray his carefully constructed anger and every fear, every nightmare bleeds into Martin's mouth, comprehension dawning in every bone in his body. They kiss like they are drowning, like their each other's only possibility for air, and with each passing second, Martin prays that Danny knows what he is trying to say. That he knows each sigh is understanding and each gasp is a promise and each meeting of lips, of tongues, of teeth is one hundred apologies he can't seem to say out loud.
And he doesn't know, but he thinks Danny might because he is pressing him against the wall again, only this time his fingers are gentle, thumbs tracing over the bare skin at his wrist. Martin shivers, holding onto Danny with both hands.
It is Danny who pulls back first, dropping his forehead against Martin's. His breath is hot on Martin's face, and Martin thinks it should be strange, standing in an alley with Danny pressed against him from head to toe, but somehow, all it feels is inevitable. Like after all these years, there really was no other way for them to end up.
Martin finally dares to breathe.
"I can't lose you," Danny whispers.
And there is so much Martin wants to say, but all that comes out is simply, "I'm sorry."
"I know," Danny sighs, and this time, he kisses Martin, lingering over his lips like he just can't bear to let go.
"You'll be more careful," he whispers. It isn't a question but Martin doesn't mind.
"I will," Martin promises.
He seals it with a kiss.