Hopefully the fact this is 4,000 odd words (and in my opinion, quite a lot happens in this chapter) makes up for the fact it's late again. I hope you guys don't hate this chapter, I wasn't so sure about it but I couldn't keep putting this off and it's as good as it'll ever be.

Thanks as always for your support. You probably all roll your eyes everytime I say this but I am honestly beyond grateful at the reviews and kindness I've received for this story. I may be ridiculously slow most of the time, but there has not been one moment I've regretted starting this and I only hope you feel the same about reading it.

Have a good week!


Right now, they were caught somewhere between something and nothing—closer to the former than they had been before, yes, but far enough away that Martin wished he could just skip this limbo phase.

Most days, Danny came straight to Martin's after meeting with Dr Harris. This meant that for the first ten minutes that they were together, Danny's smile was tense, his replies were short and he moved lethargically around Martin's tiny kitchen—like he was swimming in an invisible sea of memories, pausing to stare into space and clearing his throat, awkward, like the truth was lodged there.

Martin didn't know what they talked about during the sessions, and he chose not to ask. Not that there would have been any point, because he knew Danny wouldn't tell him, and Martin told himself it really didn't matter anyway, so long as Danny was dealing with it.

Well, assuming dealing with it meant the crying from Martin's couch continued most nights, but he didn't know how to bring that up to Danny either.

Danny hadn't returned to work yet, but then neither had he. At first, he'd assumed Danny was being an overly diligent nurse and refusing to start back until Martin could too, but the last time she'd stopped by (while Danny was grocery shopping, which was surreal enough for Martin) Viv told him that all he needed to know was Jack wanted Danny to take some time and focus on himself before throwing him back into work.

They had cover, she insisted, and that was supposed to make him feel better, but it didn't.

He wanted to point out that Danny was quite obviously focusing on him but Viv didn't seem to think this was a problem.

"He's getting there," she said, patting Martin's knee like he should be relieved. He tried to push further, but she just repeated her usual mantra. "You should talk to Danny about it."

Of course Viv thought that was the easiest thing in the world—because Danny talked to her, openly. The best Martin got these days was shared too-sweet small talk that was beginning to strain both of them.

His Mom had gone back to Seattle, but she still called him religiously every afternoon. Most of the time she pestered him with questions about how long he before he would have to go back to work, insisting he should be taking it easy and lecturing about the importance of fresh air to his recovery. Yesterday when she called she'd talked her friend Sandra who was staying with her and went on to tell him all about Sandra's daughter Katie, who had just received a PhD in something or other. Martin had held his breath at this point, expecting the inevitable encouragement to meet her, the passive but very pointed, 'She's a lovely girl- you'd like her,' and for a brief second, he'd actually thought his mother was about to say exactly that. But then she took a breath and changed topic briskly, asking if his father had dropped in.

Not once in her phone calls had she mentioned Danny.

Martin wasn't an idiot; he could read between the lines. He heard hesitance in Danny's 'Oh?' when Martin told him that his mother had called again. He knew his mother was filling every second on their time on the phone with repetitive nonsense just to fill the space that would be left in its place, a space that had the potential to give way to one of them bringing Danny up.

He still didn't know what had gone on at the hospital on the night he'd been in surgery. He'd hoped that whatever it was, it would be easily forgotten about, but the longer time went on and the more apparent his mother's deliberate non-mention of Danny became, he was beginning to seriously doubt that.

(This was another thing he had tried to ask Viv about, but she just shot him a half-hearted shrug and feigned innocence.)

His father had stopped by once. He'd also left a number of messages on Martin's answering machine, timed perfectly when he knew—and Martin was pretty certain he must have known—Martin had his own sessions with Dr Harris.

It had taken some time to work up the courage, but Martin had begun returning the calls, only to be met with Victor's own office answer machine or his friendly sectary Elizabeth who promised to notify his father of his calls.

So far, he hadn't heard back from him. He was coming to realize how incredibly difficult it was to 'come out' to somebody who was very steadily avoiding you.

He hadn't made vast improvements with regards to his deal with Danny—but he was trying. As soon as he was capable of leaving the apartment without a chaperonage, he was heading straight for his father's office.

He'd even rehearsed what he had to say—this was serious, this was a moment his father would remember forever (albeit negatively) and he wanted it to be as perfect as humanly possible.

Not that there was a perfect way to ruin your father's expectations of you, but nonetheless, he wanted to show he'd thought this out, that his feelings for Danny weren't based a fleeting whim or a displaced gratitude.

He was considering writing the speech down, just so he'd have it in black and white, because as the days drug on without speaking to his father, he realized he was forgetting crucial lines here and there. With each day that passed, anxiety bubbled inside him and his insides knotted tighter. It had begun with an impulsive eagerness for the freedom that would come from finally being honest—now he just wanted to get it over with.

"You could invite him over for dinner," Danny had suggested, and it irked Martin more than it should that it was okay to talk about his problems, but not Danny's.

"Would you stay if I did?" Martin returned, trying his damnedest to sound sincere. He already knew the answer, but he was testing Danny: he wanted to know why it was such a big deal for them all to be in the same room together; he wanted to know what he had missed that was so dramatic his parents wouldn't even say his best friend's name.

He'd watched Danny duck his head and tug at the sleeves of his hoodie. "If you really wanted me to…I guess I would." He looked up, a smile on his face that was a little too forced. "Somebody has to cook for you, I guess."

Martin had felt guilty then, and told him he would talk to his father alone before attempting a meal with Danny. It wasn't just that he knew Danny would be uncomfortable (they all would be) but Martin wasn't sure how he was supposed to go about formally introducing Danny as his 'we're-working-some-things-out-boyfriend.'

It was difficult to 'get their shit together' respectively when their lives were so closely intertwined.

What Martin hadn't considered when he's suggested they give each other what effectively amounted to 'time and space' was the fact that Danny had already agreed to practically move in with him until he was fully recovered.

Naturally, he had tried assuring Danny he was fine without his help- in reality, when left to his own devices for the first time Martin barely managed to manoeuvre from the bedroom to the living room without relenting and calling Danny for support.

The irony of it all wasn't lost on Martin-the fact his pride had gotten in the way of them previously and now his lack of it was currently keeping them together-and neither was the painful awkwardness of their day-to-day lives.

It felt like a fight, except they were both actively going out of their way not to fight. Nobody raised their voices; they didn't snap at each other. Even their jokes were forcibly good-natured. They still laughed together: they couldn't avoid each other even if they wanted to, which Martin was sure they didn't, because the only thing worse than seeing Danny and pretending nothing was going on beneath the surface would be not seeing Danny at all.

He pretended not to notice the fact Danny spent a little more time at his apartment than he needed to; he scolded himself for feeling a hint of something resembling disappointment as his health improved and he came to depend on Danny less and less.

He worried that when Danny realized he was practically as good as new physically, he'd go back to his own apartment—one he seemed to have given up living in, if the food in Martin's cupboards and the clothes in his wardrobe were any indication—and then their communication would dwindle to phone-calls, and by the time they'd return to work they would be virtually strangers.

It was completely irrational—things might have been awkward between them, but they were closer than they had been in a long time—but it was a concern all the same. It happened to be the only one Martin was even remotely interested in talking to Danny about, but there was no way to bring it up without mentioning all the other stuff, so he just didn't.


Danny had talked Martin into running errands with him.

Martin had not realized 'running errands' involved a trip to the pet store.

"You do realize your apartment has a no-pets policy, right?" Martin reminded him, eyeing up a bird cage suspiciously as the orange parrot hanging there recited the alphabet in French and Danny grinned in awe.

"Sure," Danny said, still smiling as he turned toward Martin. "But yours doesn't."

"You want to buy a pet and keep it in my apartment?" None of this was making any sense to Martin. He frowned just as Danny laughed.

"Think of it as a 'get well soon' present."

"I am well and you bought me a card when I was in hospital—"

"—Martin, shut up, I'm trying to be spontaneous and you're ruining it." Before Martin could argue that there was a fine line between spontaneity and plain insanity, Danny was walking away from him, toward a bigger cage by the counter. "How about a rabbit?"

"Can you keep a hutch indoors?" He didn't know why he was humoring this ridiculous plan, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Well, what would you like?"

Martin shrugged. "I don't know. What are the options?"

Danny took a step back and raised an eyebrow at him. "Martin," he said evenly, "have you ever had a pet before?"

"Uh, no?" He crossed his arms across his chest, defensive when he saw Danny's eyes widen in surprise.

"Like, ever?" Danny shook his head in disbelief. "Not even as a kid?"

"My parents worked away from home a lot, there wasn't really a need…plus, I'm pretty sure my mom's allergic to animal fur."

Danny smiled wider, like that was the perfect end to this conversation. "What about a cat?"

"Aren't cats permanently moody?"

"Exactly. It would be purrr-fect for you," Danny said sweetly, and Martin cringed openly at how horrible that joke was. "Oh come on," Danny insisted. "That was funny!"

Martin rolled his eyes. "I really don't need a pet, Danny."

Danny snorted. "I beg to differ. The most personal touch in your apartment is the potted plant that was there when you moved in."

Danny simply mistook tidiness and organisation for a lack of personality, but Martin refrained from pointing this out.

"I'm really not an animal person."

"Well you'll need something to keep you company when I eventually go home." So Danny was thinking about it too. Martin pretended his heart had not just sunk in his chest.

He took a step closer to Danny, swallowing against the apprehension rising his throat. "You could always not go home."

Danny blinked at him once, and then rolled his eyes. "Nice try. You're getting a pet, Martin."

He sighed, forcing himself to pretend he was disappointed that his plan had failed. He ignored the voice in his head protesting that maybe, just maybe, he'd been a little bit serious.


In the end, they settled on a puppy. A white Maltese, whom the lady in the pet store assured them would do wonderful in an apartment setting.

Unfortunately, she didn't adjust so warmly to a pet carrier in the backseat of the car, whining the entire drive home.

"Maybe she misses the store," Martin suggested hopefully, but it was half-hearted. The moment he'd laid eyes on the tiny bundle of soft white fur he knew that if he had to, he'd pick her. The surprising thing was she had taken to him too, licking his palm with her miniature pink tongue and nuzzling into his lap when he sat cross-legged beside the pen.

Danny chose to ignore Martin's weak protests, and as they lapsed into silence—apart from the occasional crying from the backseat—Martin shifted. He turned and looked out the window. "How was your session with Harris today?"

Danny had come home brighter than usual, so Martin figured that was a green light to go ahead and try to get him to talk about. Instead, he watched Danny's hands tighten on the steering wheel.

"Oh, you know. The usual."

"Do you ever feel like she's analyzing you when you're talking?" Martin asked, wondering if relaying his own experiences might encourage Danny to talk about his. "Analyzing everything- from the way you phrase it, to your tone…"

"That's because she is," Danny replied dryly. "It's her job."

Martin looked down at his hands. "What do you think she tells Jack about us?"

Danny didn't say anything for a long time. When he did answer, they were pulled into the carpark of Martin's apartment complex, car stopped and Martin just about to unbuckle his seatbelt.

"I think she tells him we'll be completely okay in no time," he said carefully, "I think she tells him that someday soon it'll be like none of that other stuff ever happened."

"Do you think he believes her?" Martin asked, imagining Jack would take any response similar to that as bullshit used to buy them more time. Or, maybe it was exactly what their boss wanted to hear.

Danny shrugged, turned and looked Martin directly in the eye. "Do you?"


They agreed on naming the dog Bonnie, and Danny it quite clear he thought Martin was the single strangest person in the world for naming a pet after a dead relative.

"You're forcing this responsibility on me, the least you could do is let me call it what I want," Martin protested, and Danny just cuddled the puppy closer and relented.

As it turned out, she did handle living in an apartment quite well—even if they had lost her under piles of washing on more than one occasion. But she was still a puppy, still so energetic she was practically tripping over her own paws as she ran from room to room and back again. She still needed fresh air and a proper walk to tire herself out.

Technically, it was Martin's turn to walk her today, but then he came out of the shower (fully-dressed, thankfully) and found his father sitting in his living room.

"Uh," he looked toward the kitchen, where he expected Danny to be hiding under the pretence of making coffee, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Hey, Dad."

His father must have caught onto the direction of his sight. "Danny took the dog out," he explained, and then be patted the space beside him on the couch. "I came here to talk to you."

"Oh yeah?" Fuck, what was he doing? This was his chance. He'd been preparing for this for weeks now. So why had his panic chosen this moment to set in?

Reluctantly—and he could already tell his hands were shaking, just simply as a result of thinking about what he had told himself he was so ready to do—he sat down beside his father.

"I wanted to be more attentive, these last couple of weeks, Martin," he said, and Martin wondered if it hurt him to admit that. His dad cleared his throat awkwardly. "And I know it's a little late—you look well, by the way—but I'm here now. These things…they take time."

Martin wasn't really taking any of this in, all the things he should be able to say by now swirling around madly inside his head. "Right, um, Dad, actually I need to talk to you about something."

His father looked up, disheartened or exasperated or maybe both. "Yes?"

He knew his father wanted to say his part first, but then they would get distracted, side-step the actual issue and Martin would never find another opportunity to do this. "Dad, I…I…" he stopped the word 'think' before it could come out, because those days of uncertainty pretty much vanished two weeks ago when he'd accidentally walked in on Danny getting dressed, caught a glimpse of golden muscles; all question he once had was now gone after living in this close of proximity with somebody he had spent too long pretending not to be in love with. "I'm bisexual."

He had a feeling this wasn't necessarily a surprise to his father, so, almost childishly and desperate for a reaction of some sort, he added, "and me and Danny…"

His father held his hand up, wincing. "I don't need to know."

Wait, that wasn't a surprise either? He'd figured his father had some idea, but he hadn't expected his confession to be taken quite so lightly.

"I mean we aren't…official or anything, I just…I mean, we need to figure some things out…"

"Really, I get the picture," his father pulled his suit jacket tighter around himself. "Is it my turn now?"

Hesitantly—but then again, how could it possibly get worse?—Martin nodded. "I guess."

His father let out the breath Martin hadn't known he'd been holding. "I knew."

Well duh. That was fairly obvious by now. "Since when?"

Victor raised an eyebrow. "It's one thing to see a male agent crying over your son in a hospital waiting room once, when it happens twice you start putting two and two together."

Martin nodded slowly. "Does Mom, um…?"

Victor nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid the night you were admitted to hospital—the second time, and honestly Martin, you really do need to be more careful—your mother was very upset, naturally, and she asked Agent- ahem, Danny to leave. Vivian Johnson was trying to calm him down, but he was fairly hysterical himself, and he mentioned something about the way he felt about you…it was all very difficult for us to understand in that moment."

Martin just blinked at him. He wasn't thinking about the fact that was a crappy way for his parents to find out, or that he should have been the one to tell them. He was just imagining Danny the way he had been in the hallway at the office when they'd been arguing about the Fort case—what he now realized was a panic attack—the blur of emotions in his eyes, too overwhelming to handle. He was picturing his parents making Danny feeling even smaller than he already did.

"What did you say to him?" He knew his tone was tense, but his father had the good grace not to draw attention to it.

"We blamed him, and he blamed us, for what happened to you. He said that you were only seeking our approval…" Victor trailed off, tilting his head. "You know your mother and I are proud of you, Martin."

He ducked his head. "I haven't really done an awful lot lately to warrant you being even a little bit proud." It was true: he was a drug addict and a failure at work and now he wasn't even going to compensate for all that by having the all-American family he knew his parents had always planned for him.

"You know what would make me really proud of you?" his father said, and Martin could tell by the change in his voice that he was trying to lighten the mood. "If you could stay out of hospital for the next six months. I think the three of us would all be a lot happier if you could manage that."

Martin liked the way his father said, 'the three of us' like Danny was already included. Mostly, he likely the fact this conversation hadn't gone the way he'd envisioned it. For once, he was all too happy to have been wrong.

After a long pause, it was Victor who spoke again. "You, um, realize that some level of protection is still necessary, don't you?"

His father's face was bright red, and after he'd taken the insinuation in and realized what his father was actually getting at, Martin knew his must be too. He buried his head in his hands; he wanted the floor to open wide and swallow him whole.

This wasn't happening. His father was not actually trying to give him an updated version of the sex talk now his gender preference was no longer assumed. It had been miserable enough the first time around.

"Dad—"

"Your mother wanted me to talk to you about it," defensive, using his Mom as an excuse but it just made Martin want to die even more. His parents had discussed this? Really?

"Dad, I get it- really. Besides, we haven't actually—" it was embarrassing to admit that they had yet to really do anything, but nowhere near as embarrassing as the turn their conversation had taken.

"—I don't need to know!" his father insisted quickly. "I simply…promised your mother. That's all."

He stayed a little longer, mostly to bitch about Jack, but Martin wasn't really listening. He just wanted his father to leave already so he could collapse into bed and fall to pieces laughing at the utter absurdity of this entire situation.

His saving grace came in the form of Danny and the dog. Bonnie rushed to greet Martin, her high-pitched bark interrupting Victor's polite-as-possible badmouthing of Agent Malone.

"Oh. You're still here," Danny said, and if he was trying to mask disappointment he was doing a poor job, even by Martin's standards.

"I was just about to go," his father announced, getting to his feet and clasping Martin's shoulder. "It was good to see you, son."

"You can stay for dinner," Danny offered, and Martin wasn't sure whether he or his father looked more shocked. When they both stared at him, Danny carefully added, "if you want, I mean."

"I appreciate that," his father said softly, despite the obvious still hesitance in his tone. "But I really must be going."

Danny nodded as Bonnie pulled at Martin's shoelaces. "Thanks for coming, Dad," Martin said and he meant it, because at least now he could allow himself some sort of relief. At least he was keeping his end of his bargain with Danny.

His father slipped out with a gentle goodbye thrown aimlessly at the two—well, three—of them. The second he was gone, Danny's eyes widened and he took a step closer toward the couch.

"Did you tell him?"

Martin nodded. "The funny thing is: he already knew." He raised an eyebrow as Danny sat down beside him.

Danny simply shrugged and leaned even closer. "Huh. Imagine that."

"Yeah," he countered suspiciously. Then a thought struck Martin. "Why didn't you tell me that my parents were horrible to you in the hospital?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Why are you still talking?"

Before he could register what was happening—before he could pull away—Danny's lips were capturing his, moving softly in sweet sync and tenderness. He didn't want to loose the moment, didn't want to reject the soft tongue he felt easing his lips open wider, didn't want Danny to think any part of this was remotely wrong.

But they'd made a deal. This wasn't about pride. They had boundaries for a reason.

Sighing even as he broke contact, Martin pulled his head inches back. Danny's eyes opened, and it hurt Martin to see the disappointment he'd caused.

"What?"

"Danny, we're supposed to be taking this slowly."

"Martin, we've been living together for three weeks; we bought a dog; you just told your father about us. But kissing you is 'rushing things'?" Danny licked his lips, which was about all it took for Martin to want to pull him into an even stronger kiss.

"We're both in therapy, Danny. I don't think right now is the time to…I don't know. I just don't want this to start with us taking advantage of each other."

What he really meant was he didn't want to take advantage of Danny—because even though Martin couldn't sleep at night without seeing Jackson Fort's face in his dreams or secretly called Sean Maguire some nights, intent on asking how he was coping, only to chicken out and hang up the phone before he could answer— he knew he was a hell of a lot closer to being normal than Danny's psyche was right now.

It made sense, because he was dealing with the aftermath of a trauma, but Danny was dealing with a lifetime's worth of it.

Nonetheless, he didn't feel right jumping into bed with somebody who still looked at him like he was about to disappear, who hyperventilated in the bathroom at night when he thought Martin was asleep. It wasn't that these things made him love or be attracted to Danny any less—they didn't—but rather that he was fairly certain the last thing Danny needed was to feel added pressure or any more dependent on Martin.

Martin didn't want to leave room for any kind of regrets.

He expected Danny to be a little more pissed off than he was. "Fine," he said, and Martin figured he probably just contributed this to Martin being a coward, which was fine by him if the truth would have caused an argument. "But we don't have to do anything."

Martin narrowed his eyes just as Danny laid his hand on top of Martin's and smiled. "Come on. We're both trying. I think we deserve this, don't you?" Martin hesitated, and that was all the confirmation Danny needed. "Besides," he said, "I know you want to kiss me again."

He was so sexily smug that Martin didn't even pretend to protest when Danny kissed him again. This time, he even let Danny push him back on the sofa and tangle their tongues together until they were both dizzy with desire, until the only thing he could taste on the inside of his mouth was Danny.