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.au fic: The Hours of Instruction - D/M (eventual NC17) 7.?
Title: The Hours of Instruction
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M
Rating/Warning: PG/PG13 for now; R/NC17 eventually.
Disclaimers: If the boys were mine, this season would notbe happening have happened.
Advertisements: Catholic school AU. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wordclaim50 challenge #01 (AU) and philosophy_20 challenge #08 (Faith).
Chapters: 01; 02; 03; 04; 05; 06
Notes: So apparently I can't write at home, I need to be at a coffee shop in order to get anything done; I wrote this chapter in one sitting while at Borders. Have made a note of this for future chapters and projects.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Martin? Oh my God, Martin – wake up, c’mon –
Danny’s voice, wrapped in distance and panic, muffled – he remembered that. Dreamed of it, water thick and choking in his mouth and he was drowning, darkness coming over him and he fought against it, fought to push himself up through nothingness, and there was this weight pulling him down, like someone had hold of his ankle and was yanking him down and down –
–He woke up in the hospital.
“Want some water?” A doctor, Martin saw when he managed to turn his head in the direction of the voice and focus. Young, with kind eyes, the type they probably assigned to teenagers and other difficult patients, who could talk them around to doing what the doctors wanted.
Despite having swallowed what had seemed like the entire pool, Martin could barely speak, his throat too dry to let words through. He nodded instead, and the doctor poured a cup and brought it to him. He took the cup with a shaking hand, tried to steady it enough so the doctor would let go.
“What time is it?” he asked. He’d taken his watch off at the pool; it was stuffed in his duffel in his locker.
“Six-thirty.” And yeah, if he’d bothered looking out the window, he could have seen the early twilight for himself. “You’ve missed dinner, but I can have someone get you something when you’re hungry. Just press the button for the nurse’s station.”
Martin doubted he’d be hungry any time soon – his mouth was stale with chlorine and sleep and his stomach had the sick, hollow feeling left over from adrenaline and fear. The doctor helped him drink again, and Martin did try to take the cup from him this time.
“You’ll be okay.” The doctor relinquished his hold on the cup, not without giving Martin a look – the adult fine, see how well you do without help look Martin couldn’t stand. His hand trembled, nearly spilling water over the rim. A few drops landed on the bedspread. He stared at them for a moment, watching the moisture seep into the fabric, before it occurred to him to set his cup down on the bedside table.
The doctor was saying something unimportant about how lucky he’d been, how he’d stopped breathing – and yeah, Martin could have told him that – and they were going to keep him a few more hours for observation to make sure there wasn’t any permanent damage.
Danny. Danny had been there. Why? A much more important question than if his family had any history of asthma or respiratory problems, which was what the doctor wanted to know. Martin shook his head.
“We called your aunt,” the doctor said. “The school has her listed as your emergency contact. She’ll be here soon.” Slight question there – why aren’t your parents listed? – but the doctor had the tact not to ask it.
Aunt Bonnie? Martin didn’t know whether or not to be relieved. On one hand, she was better than his parents coming up – Martin didn’t even want to imagine the hell his father would raise (not out of concern for Martin but out of his dislike of sloppiness and lack of oversight), and his mother... He had no idea what his mother would do. On the other... She would hover, which always made him uncomfortable (even though it was Aunt Bonnie doing the hovering), and she’d also probably demand to know what was going on with him.
Which meant she would find out about Danny, and Martin wasn’t even prepared to tell himself how deep he was already (only one kiss and he was done for, apparently), much less his aunt.
As if summoned by his thoughts, she appeared not five minutes later, her auburn hair tied back in a sloppy scarf, her shoes stained with dirt from her garden but in complete command already, drawing the doctor aside in consultation. That was Aunt Bonnie – like Martin’s father, but chaotic around the edges, as though she knew how controlled she should be, but preferred it otherwise.
“Martin,” she said, banishing the doctor with a quick nod. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. He was alive and conscious, which technically counted as okay (as opposed to being in a coma, or being dead), but he saw she wasn’t satisfied. “My chest hurts a little,” he added, “and my throat’s sore.”
She smiled down at him and stroked his cheek, something his own mother had never done that Martin could remember. The gesture, simple and unaffected, and the relief in her eyes, made his throat hurt worse.
“So what were you doing? Trying to be a fish again?” she asked as she sat down. Her purse – a massive thing that in former times had held everything a mother needed to keep her daughters, nephew, and niece happy on a long day of errands – clunked heavily on the tiles. “We’ve talked about this, Marty.”
“Took a bad breath during practice.” No big deal, like half-drowning happened every day. His answer had the advantage of being mostly true, or true enough for medical purposes. That had been the last thing he’d remembered, halfway through one lap, trying to take a breath and having his lungs flooded out instead.
“Try not to do it again, okay?”
“I’ll try.” Martin coughed, and it hurt, ribs feeling like they’d been hit with a jackhammer, air scraping painfully over a throat like sandpaper. Bonnie quickly poured a cup of water and helped him sit up – and it said something, that it hurt enough for him not to complain or shrug her off – held the cup to his lips and had him drink.
“Just a little,” she advised, like he could do anything else. But the water felt good, soothing away the worst of the irritation in his throat. “Your chest hurts from the compressions – they had to do CPR at the pool, the doctor said. And your throat for the obvious reason.” She set the cup down. “Better?”
“Yeah.” He knotted his fingers in the coverlet to keep them from shaking, hoped his voice wasn’t as unsteady as his hands. “Thanks.”
Bonnie smiled. Her own hands were gentle on the coverlet as she straightened it. “Other than nearly drowning – and almost frightening your poor aunt to death, I might add – how are you doing? I’ve been expecting an email from you, you know.”
“I’m sorry,” Martin muttered. He did feel bad, but he hadn’t really written to anyone since term began. Not his few friends from Westmore, definitely not his father, not even Sam, who had told him she would hunt him down if he didn’t, or his mother to beg her to reconsider their deal. “I’ve been busy, but I’m okay.”
“Hmmm.” Not convinced, then. Dammit. “Your cousins were asking if you’ll be coming for Thanksgiving.”
“I don’t know. I guess it depends what my mom and dad are doing.”
“Your dad’s supposed to be on assignment in Germany.” Resignation there, though Bonnie tried to hide it. Martin knew she didn’t approve of the way her brother raised (or didn’t raise, he supposed) his children; she’d tried to keep her disapproval from both him and Maggie, but Martin – always quick when it came to his aunt’s moods – had picked up on it early on. “But your mom might be coming,” Bonnie added, a little more brightly.
Now that both her parents were dead, Bonnie meant. No Thanksgivings in Boston anymore, for which Martin was grateful.
“Are you going to tell them?” he asked. “About what happened, I mean.”
“I need to, Martin.” Bonnie took his hand again and pressed it between her own in apology.
“I just... I just don’t want them coming down here.”
“I’ll tell them not to.” Martin wondered how well her orders would go over with his father, but didn’t say anything. “We’ll get you out of here before I call; I’m sure it’ll be easier if you’re back at school.”
“Thanks.” Probably the first completely true thing he’d said to her since she’d come in, and that thought brought a fresh wave of guilt with it.
“You’re quite welcome,” Bonnie said dryly. She let go of his hand and sat back, regarding him silently for a long moment. “The doctor said some of your friends have been asking about you, but he wanted me to see you first. Your roommate, Danny, was pretty upset.”
Danny! Martin quickly schooled his face to neutrality, but Bonnie caught onto his surprise anyway. And she didn’t have to say anything, only look at him with that expression that said he couldn’t hide anything from her, and that was enough to make him blush and look away.
“Don’t,” he mumbled. “Please.” He didn’t know what he was asking her not to do. Try to talk to him about it, about Danny? Probably. It was one thing for her to know about his being gay, another thing to tell her he had a crush, or a boyfriend; he was perfectly fine with being theoretically gay, but providing irrefutable proof of it in the form of Danny Taylor? Not yet.
“Oh, Marty.” Bonnie sighed and shook her head. “He seems nice.”
“Well, he isn’t. Could we not talk about this?”
“Oh, Marty,” Bonnie said again. Mercifully, she didn’t try to continue the subject, though Martin knew she wanted to. Instead, she stood and collected her purse, gave him a kiss on the cheek and a reproving look. “Your rector, Father West, says Danny needs to be back to the school before curfew, and visiting hours are almost over, so I’ll let him see you now, if you want.”
“Yeah,” Martin said with more confidence than he actually felt.
Bonnie nodded in satisfaction, pressed his hand one last time, and headed for the door. She paused in it – “Danny?” Martin heard her ask, and Danny’s muffled response – and then, after a last brief smile, she walked out.
Danny’s dark, disheveled head poked through the open door a moment later. Quick grin that lifted Martin’s heart, and he offered his own subdued smile in reply.
“Don’t keep him up too long,” he heard Bonnie say to Danny, sternness hidden underneath the warmth. “Marty, I’ll just be outside.”
“Okay.”
Danny dropped carelessly, gracefully into the chair Bonnie had just left and looked at Martin, his scrutiny almost as keen and difficult to stand as Bonnie’s. Two people in the world, then, who knew him too well for comfort. Martin made himself not look away.
“You know, if you’d died, I would have gotten A’s for the rest of the year. School policy for extreme emotional distress and all,” Danny said, face perfectly and unbreakingly serious. “I was this close to getting an A in science for the first time ever – ” thumb and index finger held up, a hair’s breadth apart to emphasize Danny’s proximity to a good grade and Martin’s proximity to death “ – and you had to blow it. Thanks, Fitzgerald.”
“Sorry.” Couldn’t help the quick flicker of grin, or the fake-indignant reply Danny had obviously expected.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” Different kind of seriousness there, darker, and now that Martin looked, he could see uncertainty and fear running under the surface calm – Danny’s shoulders tense, mouth thin with tension, something of distraction in the way he spoke, like he was being with Martin and being somewhere else at the same time.
He had no idea what to do with that, if he should offer comfort of his own or ask what was wrong, if Danny was okay – and, thinking of it, Danny probably would have appreciated the question and concern as much as Martin would have, which was to say, not at all. Instead he watched quietly, and waited until Danny pulled himself out of it.
“So... Marty, is it?” Evil humor back in Danny’s voice and eyes.
“Shut up. She’s my aunt. She’s allowed.” Like not being allowed would stop Danny in a million years.
“I think Fitzie annoys you more,” Danny said contemplatively. “I’ll stick with that. Marty.”
Martin snorted, winced as his lungs and ribs protested.
“You okay?” Danny asked, worry and alarm both, on the edge of his seat in a flash.
“Fine, just sore.” Danny didn’t relax, was still leaning forward and staring at Martin like he had x-ray vision and could see inside him, unconvinced. “I’m fine,” Martin said more forcefully.
“Okay.” Supremely unconvinced then, but at least Danny relaxed a little.
They were quiet for a moment.
“Ash, Matt, and the guys all say they’re happy you’re not dead,” Danny said at last.
“Me, too.”
“David said Father West organized a prayer session for you. They had everyone down in chapel in, like, fifteen minutes.”
“They did?”
“Yup.” Shaky grin, and they were dancing around something a whole lot bigger now. Martin sighed, wishing subtext could be suspended until his headache cleared, or that Danny would stop talking. “Kieran’s mad you broke his Hail Mary streak – he’d made it almost a year without actually saying one, and David says everyone was actually, you know, praying and not faking it like they usually do. He says even Ashley meant it.”
“‘David says?’” Martin echoed. “Where were you?”
Danny glanced out the window, looked back at Martin, then to the sunset painting on the wall opposite.
“I convinced Father West to let me go with the paramedics,” Danny said, not quite meeting Martin’s eyes. “You... you weren’t breathing, and I was sort of freaked out, I guess.”
“I’m okay, Danny.” He couldn’t help the exasperation in his voice, and really, convincing people shouldn’t be this hard.
“Yeah,” Danny muttered, still not looking at him.
“Are you okay?” Martin asked, daring maybe a bit too much but unable to help himself.
“You’re the one in the hospital bed,” Danny said, as though that was some kind of answer. And maybe, looking at it too closely, it was. Danny’s hands rested on the railing of Martin’s bed, fingers laced together. Long, clever fingers – the memory of them running through his hair, over his skin made Martin shiver – and they moved in unconscious agitation, hypnotizing even doing that, and there was tension running through Danny Martin wished he could dispel.
“Other than feeling like an elephant stood on my chest, I’m fine, Danny. Really. I swear.”
“Yeah,” Danny said hoarsely. “Shut up, Martin.”
Martin fell silent. Couldn’t believe that he’d actually been hoping for silence a moment ago; Danny’s silence was far, far worse. He could practically hear Danny wanting to say something, knew the fear that kept words back, but had no idea what to do.
Impulsively, he took Danny’s hand in one of his – his right, which had an IV in it, and Danny was staring at where the needle went into the vein, the tape and bandage over it, staring like it was a severed hand holding on, or Martin had six fingers – with that numb, distant fascination.
“Danny?” Martin tried again.
“Look, I... I gotta go. Curfew.” Like Danny ever really cared about the rules, but Martin nodded mutely and let him go. Danny stood, the chair scraped backward, pushed by the abruptness of movement. “You want your aunt to come in?”
“No.” He couldn’t trust himself to say anything past that. “Just... I... Just tell her I’m asleep or something.”
“Yeah.” Danny turned on his heel and walked out, back and shoulders stiff, not pausing except once, when he opened the door, a hesitation in his step that had Martin’s breath pause, wondering, but then he was gone – silent, not looking back, and for Martin, breathing was harder after that.
-tbc.-
Post-fic notes: IIRC, we don't know which side of the family Bonnie comes from, though they apparently aren't filthily rich (in "Shadows," Sam remarks that their finances are stretched due to Bonnie's illness). Martin's family will come up a bit more later on, as they're part of the reason why he's going to Trinity, and it's sort of more convenient for me for Bonnie to be Victor's sister.
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M
Rating/Warning: PG/PG13 for now; R/NC17 eventually.
Disclaimers: If the boys were mine, this season would not
Advertisements: Catholic school AU. For
wordclaim50 challenge #01 (AU) and philosophy_20 challenge #08 (Faith).Chapters: 01; 02; 03; 04; 05; 06
Notes: So apparently I can't write at home, I need to be at a coffee shop in order to get anything done; I wrote this chapter in one sitting while at Borders. Have made a note of this for future chapters and projects.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Martin? Oh my God, Martin – wake up, c’mon –
Danny’s voice, wrapped in distance and panic, muffled – he remembered that. Dreamed of it, water thick and choking in his mouth and he was drowning, darkness coming over him and he fought against it, fought to push himself up through nothingness, and there was this weight pulling him down, like someone had hold of his ankle and was yanking him down and down –
–He woke up in the hospital.
“Want some water?” A doctor, Martin saw when he managed to turn his head in the direction of the voice and focus. Young, with kind eyes, the type they probably assigned to teenagers and other difficult patients, who could talk them around to doing what the doctors wanted.
Despite having swallowed what had seemed like the entire pool, Martin could barely speak, his throat too dry to let words through. He nodded instead, and the doctor poured a cup and brought it to him. He took the cup with a shaking hand, tried to steady it enough so the doctor would let go.
“What time is it?” he asked. He’d taken his watch off at the pool; it was stuffed in his duffel in his locker.
“Six-thirty.” And yeah, if he’d bothered looking out the window, he could have seen the early twilight for himself. “You’ve missed dinner, but I can have someone get you something when you’re hungry. Just press the button for the nurse’s station.”
Martin doubted he’d be hungry any time soon – his mouth was stale with chlorine and sleep and his stomach had the sick, hollow feeling left over from adrenaline and fear. The doctor helped him drink again, and Martin did try to take the cup from him this time.
“You’ll be okay.” The doctor relinquished his hold on the cup, not without giving Martin a look – the adult fine, see how well you do without help look Martin couldn’t stand. His hand trembled, nearly spilling water over the rim. A few drops landed on the bedspread. He stared at them for a moment, watching the moisture seep into the fabric, before it occurred to him to set his cup down on the bedside table.
The doctor was saying something unimportant about how lucky he’d been, how he’d stopped breathing – and yeah, Martin could have told him that – and they were going to keep him a few more hours for observation to make sure there wasn’t any permanent damage.
Danny. Danny had been there. Why? A much more important question than if his family had any history of asthma or respiratory problems, which was what the doctor wanted to know. Martin shook his head.
“We called your aunt,” the doctor said. “The school has her listed as your emergency contact. She’ll be here soon.” Slight question there – why aren’t your parents listed? – but the doctor had the tact not to ask it.
Aunt Bonnie? Martin didn’t know whether or not to be relieved. On one hand, she was better than his parents coming up – Martin didn’t even want to imagine the hell his father would raise (not out of concern for Martin but out of his dislike of sloppiness and lack of oversight), and his mother... He had no idea what his mother would do. On the other... She would hover, which always made him uncomfortable (even though it was Aunt Bonnie doing the hovering), and she’d also probably demand to know what was going on with him.
Which meant she would find out about Danny, and Martin wasn’t even prepared to tell himself how deep he was already (only one kiss and he was done for, apparently), much less his aunt.
As if summoned by his thoughts, she appeared not five minutes later, her auburn hair tied back in a sloppy scarf, her shoes stained with dirt from her garden but in complete command already, drawing the doctor aside in consultation. That was Aunt Bonnie – like Martin’s father, but chaotic around the edges, as though she knew how controlled she should be, but preferred it otherwise.
“Martin,” she said, banishing the doctor with a quick nod. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. He was alive and conscious, which technically counted as okay (as opposed to being in a coma, or being dead), but he saw she wasn’t satisfied. “My chest hurts a little,” he added, “and my throat’s sore.”
She smiled down at him and stroked his cheek, something his own mother had never done that Martin could remember. The gesture, simple and unaffected, and the relief in her eyes, made his throat hurt worse.
“So what were you doing? Trying to be a fish again?” she asked as she sat down. Her purse – a massive thing that in former times had held everything a mother needed to keep her daughters, nephew, and niece happy on a long day of errands – clunked heavily on the tiles. “We’ve talked about this, Marty.”
“Took a bad breath during practice.” No big deal, like half-drowning happened every day. His answer had the advantage of being mostly true, or true enough for medical purposes. That had been the last thing he’d remembered, halfway through one lap, trying to take a breath and having his lungs flooded out instead.
“Try not to do it again, okay?”
“I’ll try.” Martin coughed, and it hurt, ribs feeling like they’d been hit with a jackhammer, air scraping painfully over a throat like sandpaper. Bonnie quickly poured a cup of water and helped him sit up – and it said something, that it hurt enough for him not to complain or shrug her off – held the cup to his lips and had him drink.
“Just a little,” she advised, like he could do anything else. But the water felt good, soothing away the worst of the irritation in his throat. “Your chest hurts from the compressions – they had to do CPR at the pool, the doctor said. And your throat for the obvious reason.” She set the cup down. “Better?”
“Yeah.” He knotted his fingers in the coverlet to keep them from shaking, hoped his voice wasn’t as unsteady as his hands. “Thanks.”
Bonnie smiled. Her own hands were gentle on the coverlet as she straightened it. “Other than nearly drowning – and almost frightening your poor aunt to death, I might add – how are you doing? I’ve been expecting an email from you, you know.”
“I’m sorry,” Martin muttered. He did feel bad, but he hadn’t really written to anyone since term began. Not his few friends from Westmore, definitely not his father, not even Sam, who had told him she would hunt him down if he didn’t, or his mother to beg her to reconsider their deal. “I’ve been busy, but I’m okay.”
“Hmmm.” Not convinced, then. Dammit. “Your cousins were asking if you’ll be coming for Thanksgiving.”
“I don’t know. I guess it depends what my mom and dad are doing.”
“Your dad’s supposed to be on assignment in Germany.” Resignation there, though Bonnie tried to hide it. Martin knew she didn’t approve of the way her brother raised (or didn’t raise, he supposed) his children; she’d tried to keep her disapproval from both him and Maggie, but Martin – always quick when it came to his aunt’s moods – had picked up on it early on. “But your mom might be coming,” Bonnie added, a little more brightly.
Now that both her parents were dead, Bonnie meant. No Thanksgivings in Boston anymore, for which Martin was grateful.
“Are you going to tell them?” he asked. “About what happened, I mean.”
“I need to, Martin.” Bonnie took his hand again and pressed it between her own in apology.
“I just... I just don’t want them coming down here.”
“I’ll tell them not to.” Martin wondered how well her orders would go over with his father, but didn’t say anything. “We’ll get you out of here before I call; I’m sure it’ll be easier if you’re back at school.”
“Thanks.” Probably the first completely true thing he’d said to her since she’d come in, and that thought brought a fresh wave of guilt with it.
“You’re quite welcome,” Bonnie said dryly. She let go of his hand and sat back, regarding him silently for a long moment. “The doctor said some of your friends have been asking about you, but he wanted me to see you first. Your roommate, Danny, was pretty upset.”
Danny! Martin quickly schooled his face to neutrality, but Bonnie caught onto his surprise anyway. And she didn’t have to say anything, only look at him with that expression that said he couldn’t hide anything from her, and that was enough to make him blush and look away.
“Don’t,” he mumbled. “Please.” He didn’t know what he was asking her not to do. Try to talk to him about it, about Danny? Probably. It was one thing for her to know about his being gay, another thing to tell her he had a crush, or a boyfriend; he was perfectly fine with being theoretically gay, but providing irrefutable proof of it in the form of Danny Taylor? Not yet.
“Oh, Marty.” Bonnie sighed and shook her head. “He seems nice.”
“Well, he isn’t. Could we not talk about this?”
“Oh, Marty,” Bonnie said again. Mercifully, she didn’t try to continue the subject, though Martin knew she wanted to. Instead, she stood and collected her purse, gave him a kiss on the cheek and a reproving look. “Your rector, Father West, says Danny needs to be back to the school before curfew, and visiting hours are almost over, so I’ll let him see you now, if you want.”
“Yeah,” Martin said with more confidence than he actually felt.
Bonnie nodded in satisfaction, pressed his hand one last time, and headed for the door. She paused in it – “Danny?” Martin heard her ask, and Danny’s muffled response – and then, after a last brief smile, she walked out.
Danny’s dark, disheveled head poked through the open door a moment later. Quick grin that lifted Martin’s heart, and he offered his own subdued smile in reply.
“Don’t keep him up too long,” he heard Bonnie say to Danny, sternness hidden underneath the warmth. “Marty, I’ll just be outside.”
“Okay.”
Danny dropped carelessly, gracefully into the chair Bonnie had just left and looked at Martin, his scrutiny almost as keen and difficult to stand as Bonnie’s. Two people in the world, then, who knew him too well for comfort. Martin made himself not look away.
“You know, if you’d died, I would have gotten A’s for the rest of the year. School policy for extreme emotional distress and all,” Danny said, face perfectly and unbreakingly serious. “I was this close to getting an A in science for the first time ever – ” thumb and index finger held up, a hair’s breadth apart to emphasize Danny’s proximity to a good grade and Martin’s proximity to death “ – and you had to blow it. Thanks, Fitzgerald.”
“Sorry.” Couldn’t help the quick flicker of grin, or the fake-indignant reply Danny had obviously expected.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” Different kind of seriousness there, darker, and now that Martin looked, he could see uncertainty and fear running under the surface calm – Danny’s shoulders tense, mouth thin with tension, something of distraction in the way he spoke, like he was being with Martin and being somewhere else at the same time.
He had no idea what to do with that, if he should offer comfort of his own or ask what was wrong, if Danny was okay – and, thinking of it, Danny probably would have appreciated the question and concern as much as Martin would have, which was to say, not at all. Instead he watched quietly, and waited until Danny pulled himself out of it.
“So... Marty, is it?” Evil humor back in Danny’s voice and eyes.
“Shut up. She’s my aunt. She’s allowed.” Like not being allowed would stop Danny in a million years.
“I think Fitzie annoys you more,” Danny said contemplatively. “I’ll stick with that. Marty.”
Martin snorted, winced as his lungs and ribs protested.
“You okay?” Danny asked, worry and alarm both, on the edge of his seat in a flash.
“Fine, just sore.” Danny didn’t relax, was still leaning forward and staring at Martin like he had x-ray vision and could see inside him, unconvinced. “I’m fine,” Martin said more forcefully.
“Okay.” Supremely unconvinced then, but at least Danny relaxed a little.
They were quiet for a moment.
“Ash, Matt, and the guys all say they’re happy you’re not dead,” Danny said at last.
“Me, too.”
“David said Father West organized a prayer session for you. They had everyone down in chapel in, like, fifteen minutes.”
“They did?”
“Yup.” Shaky grin, and they were dancing around something a whole lot bigger now. Martin sighed, wishing subtext could be suspended until his headache cleared, or that Danny would stop talking. “Kieran’s mad you broke his Hail Mary streak – he’d made it almost a year without actually saying one, and David says everyone was actually, you know, praying and not faking it like they usually do. He says even Ashley meant it.”
“‘David says?’” Martin echoed. “Where were you?”
Danny glanced out the window, looked back at Martin, then to the sunset painting on the wall opposite.
“I convinced Father West to let me go with the paramedics,” Danny said, not quite meeting Martin’s eyes. “You... you weren’t breathing, and I was sort of freaked out, I guess.”
“I’m okay, Danny.” He couldn’t help the exasperation in his voice, and really, convincing people shouldn’t be this hard.
“Yeah,” Danny muttered, still not looking at him.
“Are you okay?” Martin asked, daring maybe a bit too much but unable to help himself.
“You’re the one in the hospital bed,” Danny said, as though that was some kind of answer. And maybe, looking at it too closely, it was. Danny’s hands rested on the railing of Martin’s bed, fingers laced together. Long, clever fingers – the memory of them running through his hair, over his skin made Martin shiver – and they moved in unconscious agitation, hypnotizing even doing that, and there was tension running through Danny Martin wished he could dispel.
“Other than feeling like an elephant stood on my chest, I’m fine, Danny. Really. I swear.”
“Yeah,” Danny said hoarsely. “Shut up, Martin.”
Martin fell silent. Couldn’t believe that he’d actually been hoping for silence a moment ago; Danny’s silence was far, far worse. He could practically hear Danny wanting to say something, knew the fear that kept words back, but had no idea what to do.
Impulsively, he took Danny’s hand in one of his – his right, which had an IV in it, and Danny was staring at where the needle went into the vein, the tape and bandage over it, staring like it was a severed hand holding on, or Martin had six fingers – with that numb, distant fascination.
“Danny?” Martin tried again.
“Look, I... I gotta go. Curfew.” Like Danny ever really cared about the rules, but Martin nodded mutely and let him go. Danny stood, the chair scraped backward, pushed by the abruptness of movement. “You want your aunt to come in?”
“No.” He couldn’t trust himself to say anything past that. “Just... I... Just tell her I’m asleep or something.”
“Yeah.” Danny turned on his heel and walked out, back and shoulders stiff, not pausing except once, when he opened the door, a hesitation in his step that had Martin’s breath pause, wondering, but then he was gone – silent, not looking back, and for Martin, breathing was harder after that.
-tbc.-
Post-fic notes: IIRC, we don't know which side of the family Bonnie comes from, though they apparently aren't filthily rich (in "Shadows," Sam remarks that their finances are stretched due to Bonnie's illness). Martin's family will come up a bit more later on, as they're part of the reason why he's going to Trinity, and it's sort of more convenient for me for Bonnie to be Victor's sister.