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.fic: Concerning Boys - D/M (Viv POV) PG
Title: Concerning Boys
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M, UST (Viv POV)
Rating/Warnings: PGish? Angst.
Disclaimers: Without a Trace belongs to CBS &c. And the fangirls were sore aggrieved.
Advertisements: Viv! Viv! VIV! You can take this as a sort of prequel to "Sin Dirección," which you can find here and here, but it's not required.
Notes: Another project I started over winter break (and possibly even before); it was originally supposed to be a companion to another fic, "Quotidian," but I was too slow to organize it, and by the time 4.12 came around I thought I might as well try to modify it a little. The file's been sitting on my HD for over a month and I had to do something with it before I went crazy.
Sort of open-ended, for which see "Sin Dirección," if you'd like.
CONCERNING BOYS
Vivian Johnson had come to a very important conclusion:
She was surrounded by idiots.
Not that her teammates were stupid, exactly; they were all college graduates (at least), and were all very good at what they did, which was admittedly not a profession for the unperceptive. No, they were more like smart people who were capable of doing incredibly idiotic things.
Like, for example, sleeping with married coworkers or cheating on one’s wife with one’s subordinate. Or trying to be the jilted subordinate’s rebound relationship. And thank God all that drama was over.
Not telling one’s supervisor about one’s potentially life-threatening heart condition probably ranked up there with stupid things to do, Viv supposed, but she wasn’t going to count that.
Last but not least was failing to tell one’s coworker what one felt for him, going on more than three years now and really, this was starting to get ridiculous. Danny had never been one to be afraid of going after what he wanted, propriety be damned, but so far – and this was three years so far, remember – he hadn’t. And it was sort of odd, Viv thought, that the complete lack of any relationship between Danny and Martin – the complete lack of any communication whatsoever, for that matter – was a source of greater tension than any number of extramarital affairs between coworkers.
Maybe because she’d seen Danny a lot while she’d been recovering. A few times a week at least, time she‘d told him he should have been spending with Martin, who so far as she knew didn’t have anyone to help him out around his apartment, or drive him to therapy.
Danny’s gaze had slid guiltily away and he’d muttered an excuse, a promise to see Martin later. A promise she was pretty sure he hadn’t kept, if Danny’s desperate avoidance of Martin for the past couple of months was any indication. Even when Martin had returned, Danny seemed on edge, refusing to talk to Viv about it, refusing to talk to Martin, which was worse.
Boys.
Honestly.
Viv sighed, realizing that she’d have another ten years of this before either one of them bothered to grow up. Or maybe less, if Martin kept trying to get killed and actually succeeded.
Like tonight, when Jack had called in to let Viv and Danny – who were stuck in the office after interviewing that stupid girl – know Martin was driving to Gina Hill’s house. And then he’d called again to tell them that there had been shots fired, that either he or Sam would call again when they had more news.
That had almost done Danny in. He’d left the conference table abruptly, silently, and Viv knew not to follow him, although she wanted to, to tell Danny Martin would be okay, because she knew Danny wouldn’t believe her – and because there was the very real possibility Martin would be hurt, and it wasn’t in Viv to offer comfort when it meant she might be lying. So she’d stayed and got started on her paperwork, and worried about the both of them in silence.
Her worry had faded a bit when Sam called and told her Martin was okay – or, maybe, her worry changed. Yeah, that was it, changed into worry over how Danny was handling this latest near-disaster.
Now, almost an hour after talking to Sam, she watched Danny make his way through the maze of desks, moving with a strange hesitation, a dragging slowness Viv almost never saw in him. Most times, she had to hustle on her short legs to keep up with the long, quick stride that never seemed to falter – not that she ever asked him to slow down, of course – but now he looked... tired. Tired, sad, and other things Danny very rarely ever was. Or rarely ever let anyone see, which was different.
“Hey,” she said as he collapsed into his seat at the conference table. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah.” Danny unbuttoned his jacket and awkwardly pulled it off, tossed it in the general direction of his desk. He spun his chair around to look at her, face shuttered but eyes dark with pain. Viv couldn’t tell if it was residual adrenaline or exhaustion that made his hands shake as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, pulled his tie loose.
“Samantha called,” she told him, not missing the way he stiffened a bit and looked away from her. She wondered if that was reaction to Sam calling, to Sam being there when he wasn’t. “She says Martin’s okay. A bit shaken up, but he’s okay.”
“Yeah, good,” Danny answered, supremely unconvincing. Viv remarked on this, and Danny looked away, mouth tensing like it did whenever he was upset and didn’t want to show it. “Thanks, Viv.”
And with that, he pulled a phone and a pile of papers over to him and began to work.
Very carefully and with great effort, Viv restrained the urge to inform Danny exactly how stupid he was being. Instead, she watched as Danny stuttered his way through paperwork and phone calls, as Elena came back in and asked after Martin and Danny responded in monotone and monosyllable, anger and frustration spiking off him, until Viv mentioned that Elena’s daughter was probably wondering where her mother was. She watched as Elena trailed away to her desk to gather her coat and purse, and Danny’s shoulders relaxed, some of the tension ebbing from him.
“Thanks,” Danny muttered, not looking at her.
“No problem.” Viv idly leafed through random papers, not really seeing what she was reading. “You want to talk about it?” She paused.
In the corner of her vision, she could see Danny tense and withdraw into himself, the quick negative shake of his head. She let it slide for a while, as the few remaining agents began to filter out and a bubble of emptiness formed between them and the nearest inhabited desks.
“Danny, Martin’s going to be okay,” she said at last, no preamble, barging ungracefully right into it. “Jack or Sam would have called again if there was a problem. Now, what’s going on with the two of you?”
“Nothing.” Said on a broken breath that could have been laughter or pure frustration.
“‘Nothing’ has been happening for the past three years,” Viv pointed out, refusing to feel badly when Danny looked up at her, wounded and reaching for anger. “I know what you’re like when nothing’s happening, Danny, and this isn’t it. What’s going on?”
Danny pushed himself away from the table and stood, and for a moment Viv was afraid he was going to leave. But he only walked around to the whiteboard, staring fixedly at the picture of Gina Hill – they hadn’t cleaned the board yet – for a long moment.
“It’s... it’s...” Danny coughed and ran a hand over his mouth; when he spoke again, his voice was lower. “It’s like every time I look at him... God, Viv.” He shook his head, bitter smile teasing the edges of his lips. “It’s like he’s still dying. And I can’t deal with that.”
“Martin’s not dead, Danny,” Viv said quietly. “And he’s doing fine.”
Danny looked like he wanted to dispute that, but all he said was I know, so pained and uncertain that Viv wanted to ask what he thought was the matter. A shaky sigh and Danny fell back into his chair, pulling it closer to her. “Viv... it wasn’t in the reports, but I... I could have killed him. When I got out of the car to get a shot at Dornvald, Dornvald... he shot at me. I think he hit Martin instead. If I hadn’t broken cover – ”
Viv knew where this was going and tried to head it off. “You don’t know that.” But the look in Danny’s eyes told her that he did know it, even if it wasn’t true. “Dornvald’s the one who shot Martin, Danny. He’s the one responsible, and he’s gone.”
Danny only looked away, shaking his head in denial, lost in a way she hadn’t seen since he’d turned up at her doorstep when Rafi had gone missing.
She remembered him sitting there at her counter, walking the spice rack around in a circle with his fingers, and confessed to her his failure and his fear, failing his brother and himself, fearing that he’d end up like Rafi despite everything he’d done. I know I’ve been avoiding him, he’d said, bitter self-criticism that was true enough, but she couldn’t blame him. She’d done the same thing with her own brother, who had hurt her far too many times for her to forgive him.
There’s a part of me that just wants to cut Rafi off and walk away from him... Because the closer that I get to him, the more I realize that I’m one wrong step away from being where I used to be.
That was self-preservation talking, and though she didn’t know very much for sure about Danny’s childhood, she knew that cutting himself off would be the way he’d deal with pain. Like cutting away infected flesh – like extra heart muscle, she thought with a laugh – and hoping you could survive without it.
Cut himself off from Martin, from the fear that comes with having so much of yourself tied up in another person, so much of yourself in a person that, when they die, you’re afraid those parts of you won’t go on existing.
“Martin’s not dead, Danny, and he’s not going anywhere,” Vivian said firmly, “but you do need to talk to him.”
Danny sighed and nodded, more reluctant agreement than assent. “What the hell do I say to him?”
“What you need to say. Simple as that.”
Danny considered this for a moment and nodded again, actually giving way this time, and Viv had mercy on him and let the conversation drop, and they continued on in silence.
At last, Danny set his pen down and pushed away from the table, stretched to work the stiffness out of his back and shoulders.
“Think I’ll head out,” he said quietly, wandering over to his desk to collect his jacket and briefcase.
“You going to talk to him?”
Danny looked at her for a second, slight disbelieving look on his face before he pointed out that it was almost midnight, and by the time he got to Martin’s apartment it would be well past.
“So? You going to talk to him?”
“Yeah,” Danny said, disbelief melting into a smile – very slight, but it was there. “Yeah, I will.”
“Good for you,” Viv said, and smiled, and sent him on his way.
-end-
Post-fic notes: Have been missing ALTC very much lately. I want to get back into the universe somehow, but am a bit too scared I'm going to screw it up by doing so. *sigh* Anyway, will try to have the next chapter of the WaT/N&A crossover up later this week or early next, depending on the cooperation of forces outside my control.
Also, SGA fic eventually, once I get the courage to post it.
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M, UST (Viv POV)
Rating/Warnings: PGish? Angst.
Disclaimers: Without a Trace belongs to CBS &c. And the fangirls were sore aggrieved.
Advertisements: Viv! Viv! VIV! You can take this as a sort of prequel to "Sin Dirección," which you can find here and here, but it's not required.
Notes: Another project I started over winter break (and possibly even before); it was originally supposed to be a companion to another fic, "Quotidian," but I was too slow to organize it, and by the time 4.12 came around I thought I might as well try to modify it a little. The file's been sitting on my HD for over a month and I had to do something with it before I went crazy.
Sort of open-ended, for which see "Sin Dirección," if you'd like.
CONCERNING BOYS
Vivian Johnson had come to a very important conclusion:
She was surrounded by idiots.
Not that her teammates were stupid, exactly; they were all college graduates (at least), and were all very good at what they did, which was admittedly not a profession for the unperceptive. No, they were more like smart people who were capable of doing incredibly idiotic things.
Like, for example, sleeping with married coworkers or cheating on one’s wife with one’s subordinate. Or trying to be the jilted subordinate’s rebound relationship. And thank God all that drama was over.
Not telling one’s supervisor about one’s potentially life-threatening heart condition probably ranked up there with stupid things to do, Viv supposed, but she wasn’t going to count that.
Last but not least was failing to tell one’s coworker what one felt for him, going on more than three years now and really, this was starting to get ridiculous. Danny had never been one to be afraid of going after what he wanted, propriety be damned, but so far – and this was three years so far, remember – he hadn’t. And it was sort of odd, Viv thought, that the complete lack of any relationship between Danny and Martin – the complete lack of any communication whatsoever, for that matter – was a source of greater tension than any number of extramarital affairs between coworkers.
Maybe because she’d seen Danny a lot while she’d been recovering. A few times a week at least, time she‘d told him he should have been spending with Martin, who so far as she knew didn’t have anyone to help him out around his apartment, or drive him to therapy.
Danny’s gaze had slid guiltily away and he’d muttered an excuse, a promise to see Martin later. A promise she was pretty sure he hadn’t kept, if Danny’s desperate avoidance of Martin for the past couple of months was any indication. Even when Martin had returned, Danny seemed on edge, refusing to talk to Viv about it, refusing to talk to Martin, which was worse.
Boys.
Honestly.
Viv sighed, realizing that she’d have another ten years of this before either one of them bothered to grow up. Or maybe less, if Martin kept trying to get killed and actually succeeded.
Like tonight, when Jack had called in to let Viv and Danny – who were stuck in the office after interviewing that stupid girl – know Martin was driving to Gina Hill’s house. And then he’d called again to tell them that there had been shots fired, that either he or Sam would call again when they had more news.
That had almost done Danny in. He’d left the conference table abruptly, silently, and Viv knew not to follow him, although she wanted to, to tell Danny Martin would be okay, because she knew Danny wouldn’t believe her – and because there was the very real possibility Martin would be hurt, and it wasn’t in Viv to offer comfort when it meant she might be lying. So she’d stayed and got started on her paperwork, and worried about the both of them in silence.
Her worry had faded a bit when Sam called and told her Martin was okay – or, maybe, her worry changed. Yeah, that was it, changed into worry over how Danny was handling this latest near-disaster.
Now, almost an hour after talking to Sam, she watched Danny make his way through the maze of desks, moving with a strange hesitation, a dragging slowness Viv almost never saw in him. Most times, she had to hustle on her short legs to keep up with the long, quick stride that never seemed to falter – not that she ever asked him to slow down, of course – but now he looked... tired. Tired, sad, and other things Danny very rarely ever was. Or rarely ever let anyone see, which was different.
“Hey,” she said as he collapsed into his seat at the conference table. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah.” Danny unbuttoned his jacket and awkwardly pulled it off, tossed it in the general direction of his desk. He spun his chair around to look at her, face shuttered but eyes dark with pain. Viv couldn’t tell if it was residual adrenaline or exhaustion that made his hands shake as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, pulled his tie loose.
“Samantha called,” she told him, not missing the way he stiffened a bit and looked away from her. She wondered if that was reaction to Sam calling, to Sam being there when he wasn’t. “She says Martin’s okay. A bit shaken up, but he’s okay.”
“Yeah, good,” Danny answered, supremely unconvincing. Viv remarked on this, and Danny looked away, mouth tensing like it did whenever he was upset and didn’t want to show it. “Thanks, Viv.”
And with that, he pulled a phone and a pile of papers over to him and began to work.
Very carefully and with great effort, Viv restrained the urge to inform Danny exactly how stupid he was being. Instead, she watched as Danny stuttered his way through paperwork and phone calls, as Elena came back in and asked after Martin and Danny responded in monotone and monosyllable, anger and frustration spiking off him, until Viv mentioned that Elena’s daughter was probably wondering where her mother was. She watched as Elena trailed away to her desk to gather her coat and purse, and Danny’s shoulders relaxed, some of the tension ebbing from him.
“Thanks,” Danny muttered, not looking at her.
“No problem.” Viv idly leafed through random papers, not really seeing what she was reading. “You want to talk about it?” She paused.
In the corner of her vision, she could see Danny tense and withdraw into himself, the quick negative shake of his head. She let it slide for a while, as the few remaining agents began to filter out and a bubble of emptiness formed between them and the nearest inhabited desks.
“Danny, Martin’s going to be okay,” she said at last, no preamble, barging ungracefully right into it. “Jack or Sam would have called again if there was a problem. Now, what’s going on with the two of you?”
“Nothing.” Said on a broken breath that could have been laughter or pure frustration.
“‘Nothing’ has been happening for the past three years,” Viv pointed out, refusing to feel badly when Danny looked up at her, wounded and reaching for anger. “I know what you’re like when nothing’s happening, Danny, and this isn’t it. What’s going on?”
Danny pushed himself away from the table and stood, and for a moment Viv was afraid he was going to leave. But he only walked around to the whiteboard, staring fixedly at the picture of Gina Hill – they hadn’t cleaned the board yet – for a long moment.
“It’s... it’s...” Danny coughed and ran a hand over his mouth; when he spoke again, his voice was lower. “It’s like every time I look at him... God, Viv.” He shook his head, bitter smile teasing the edges of his lips. “It’s like he’s still dying. And I can’t deal with that.”
“Martin’s not dead, Danny,” Viv said quietly. “And he’s doing fine.”
Danny looked like he wanted to dispute that, but all he said was I know, so pained and uncertain that Viv wanted to ask what he thought was the matter. A shaky sigh and Danny fell back into his chair, pulling it closer to her. “Viv... it wasn’t in the reports, but I... I could have killed him. When I got out of the car to get a shot at Dornvald, Dornvald... he shot at me. I think he hit Martin instead. If I hadn’t broken cover – ”
Viv knew where this was going and tried to head it off. “You don’t know that.” But the look in Danny’s eyes told her that he did know it, even if it wasn’t true. “Dornvald’s the one who shot Martin, Danny. He’s the one responsible, and he’s gone.”
Danny only looked away, shaking his head in denial, lost in a way she hadn’t seen since he’d turned up at her doorstep when Rafi had gone missing.
She remembered him sitting there at her counter, walking the spice rack around in a circle with his fingers, and confessed to her his failure and his fear, failing his brother and himself, fearing that he’d end up like Rafi despite everything he’d done. I know I’ve been avoiding him, he’d said, bitter self-criticism that was true enough, but she couldn’t blame him. She’d done the same thing with her own brother, who had hurt her far too many times for her to forgive him.
There’s a part of me that just wants to cut Rafi off and walk away from him... Because the closer that I get to him, the more I realize that I’m one wrong step away from being where I used to be.
That was self-preservation talking, and though she didn’t know very much for sure about Danny’s childhood, she knew that cutting himself off would be the way he’d deal with pain. Like cutting away infected flesh – like extra heart muscle, she thought with a laugh – and hoping you could survive without it.
Cut himself off from Martin, from the fear that comes with having so much of yourself tied up in another person, so much of yourself in a person that, when they die, you’re afraid those parts of you won’t go on existing.
“Martin’s not dead, Danny, and he’s not going anywhere,” Vivian said firmly, “but you do need to talk to him.”
Danny sighed and nodded, more reluctant agreement than assent. “What the hell do I say to him?”
“What you need to say. Simple as that.”
Danny considered this for a moment and nodded again, actually giving way this time, and Viv had mercy on him and let the conversation drop, and they continued on in silence.
At last, Danny set his pen down and pushed away from the table, stretched to work the stiffness out of his back and shoulders.
“Think I’ll head out,” he said quietly, wandering over to his desk to collect his jacket and briefcase.
“You going to talk to him?”
Danny looked at her for a second, slight disbelieving look on his face before he pointed out that it was almost midnight, and by the time he got to Martin’s apartment it would be well past.
“So? You going to talk to him?”
“Yeah,” Danny said, disbelief melting into a smile – very slight, but it was there. “Yeah, I will.”
“Good for you,” Viv said, and smiled, and sent him on his way.
-end-
Post-fic notes: Have been missing ALTC very much lately. I want to get back into the universe somehow, but am a bit too scared I'm going to screw it up by doing so. *sigh* Anyway, will try to have the next chapter of the WaT/N&A crossover up later this week or early next, depending on the cooperation of forces outside my control.
Also, SGA fic eventually, once I get the courage to post it.
no subject
And I know all about trying to find courage to post SGA fic. I posted my first SGA fic yesterday morning and I practically died from the nervousness. And then people informed me that I had made them cry (which was a good thing for this particular fic) and all was well in my fic world again. :o)