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kathierif_ficTitle: Maybe Love
Author: Kathie
Fandom: CSI:NY
Pairing: Sheldon Hawkes/Danny Messer
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: Not a very happy fic…
Summary: Maybe, Sheldon thinks, this is enough.
Author’s Notes: After one week of not writing (besides the PNU) this is the first thing that came to my mind. Feedback greatly appreciated, Thanks to Ginny for the help and the encouragement. (And no, the Alternate-Danny-POV-bunny won’t grow faster just because you feed it all the carrots you can find *grins*)
***
“You are like Mac!” Danny accuses, and Sheldon doesn’t know what to say.
It’s both their curse and their blessing, this similarity in certain points, because Danny’s temper is like a bomb, and it can explode every second without apparent reason, and Danny needs someone stable in his life who can survive the fallout from his temper tantrums without suffering too much integral damage.
Sheldon Hawkes is this certain someone, although in moments like this, he wonders why.
Sometimes he doubts that this can work. He’s the calm one in their relationship, he thinks before he acts, and sometimes, he feels abused by Danny’s rash temper.
They are like fire and water, Danny and Sheldon, and while Danny’s anger burns high and hot, Danny’s cool temper often soothes him and controls him to an extend.
But Danny has a sharp tongue, and when he’s mad or frustrated, he lashes out, and he aims straight for the heart with his words, and they cut like knives, like little medical scalpels, into Sheldon’s flesh, and they stick there, and he doesn’t know how to pull them out.
He is not like Mac. Sheldon admires Mac’s strength, and he doesn’t know if he’d been able to go on after the death of someone so precious, so dear to him, like Claire was to Mac.
He doubts it. He thinks that he wouldn’t survive it – when he’s in love, he gives his heart to that person. He’s a certified pathologists, he knows that humans can’t survive without a heart.
Danny’s words have hooks, and they stick to his heart and pull at him with every heartbeat. Danny’s every word has hooks, his words of love and comfort, whispered in his ear late at night, when the world is hidden by darkness and sleepiness and half-forgotten dreams, and nothing beyond the bed exists, have little tiny hooks that bore into his flesh and tie him to Danny, they spread him open and allow Danny to look deep within his heart.
Sheldon doesn’t know if Danny feels the same for him. He never saw this vulnerability in Danny’s eyes. He never saw any sign that his words have the same binding quality as Danny’s. He feels unsure about his place in Danny’s life, even if he has the right to have a place there. They are not exclusive, not by far, it never came up, and Sheldon never dared to ask Danny.
Maybe that’s an error, but every time he almost worked up the nerve to simply ask Danny about this thing they have, something like Cindy pops up, and he keeps his mouth firmly shut. He tells himself that he can handle this, that he’s a grown man and not the same, easily impressed young surgeon who decided to leave living patients and go to the morgue. He thought he made a step in the right direction when he applied for a position in the field. He likes his co-workers. He likes working as a CSI.
He likes to work with Danny. He can talk to him at a crime scene, he knows what to say and what to expect. It’s after hours that things become stilted and uncomfortable.
He’s desperate to reach out and touch, but he doesn’t know how; and so they keep each other at arm’s length, and when they touch at work, accidentally, it’s as if electricity is racing along their nerve endings, and when they kiss in the darkness, under the blankets on Sheldon’s bed, each kiss screams of desperation, of pain and of unrequited love.
They never talk about it. They never tell each other how they feel. Sheldon thinks he’s not the right one for Danny, no matter how good they balance each other, but at the same time, he’s unable to let go of Danny.
The hooks in his flesh pull and push at the same time, and in all directions; Sheldon doesn’t know which way he should turn, and so he stays in the middle, unmoving and suffering in silence.
It’s another case, another murdered spouse, killed by her husband in a fit of jealousy, and again three kids now have to grow up quickly, and without their parents.
“I don’t get it,” Danny says and shakes his head. The corners of his mouth are turned down, his glasses are slightly askew, and his words have extra sharp little biting teeth since a few days. “I mean, why kill someone you love? Just so that nobody else can have ‘em?”
Sheldon takes off his own glasses. His eyes are burning from to many hours staring into a microscope, from too many shifts and from too many unshed tears. He is so tired he doesn’t even try to keep the bitterness out of his voice when he says: “Maybe you really don’t get what love is.”
Danny gives him one long look, some flicker of emotion that might be betrayal or annoyance in his eyes, before turning away and leaving the lab without answering and Sheldon thinks suddenly: That’s not fair, he’s cheating on me and I’m feeling bad – but then the realization comes that they don’t even have a relationship anymore, and so Danny isn’t cheating, technically.
He doesn’t even mind. He just wants to go home, crawl into his bed and mourn. The sheets still smell like Danny – they did when he left the bed, two nights ago, and nothing should have disturbed them since then. He wanted to wash the sheets, but something in him still hasn’t given up hope. And so he curls around his pillow and breathes in the faint smell of someone who probably doesn’t even think about him anymore.
He lies in the darkness, listens as the seconds go by, exactly measured by the old clock, and he tries not to think about it.
It hurts too much, no matter how true it is.
It’s over.
The metallic taste of loss is heavy on his tongue, like blood, or spinach. What they have was not a relationship. It never felt like one. It had sharp edges that cut like broken glass.
It wasn’t a relationship. It was a war zone.
Maybe he was wrong, Sheldon thinks now. Maybe this is love, the pain and the wariness, and Danny is only protecting himself because he *knows* love. Maybe Danny is protecting both of them with his behavior, but that would also mean that Danny still loves him, which would make the whole torture unnecessary. He closes his eyes tightly to stop the thoughts, but they stay and they bounce around in his head, like a ricocheting bullet, through the delicate brain, destroying important pieces of his personality. He knows them, his lips form the words without him thinking about it – thalamus, cerebral cortex, motor cortex, cerebellum…a persistent knock on the door interrupts his silent prayer of medicine, the sound echoes in his head, where the bullet-like thoughts have left holes in his brain. A headache is vibrating along the edges of his vision, his hands shake when he finally makes his way to the door and opens it warily.
Danny is standing outside, with his hands in his pockets, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. He has taken off his glasses, and he swallows a few times before he manages to form coherent words.
“You look horrible, Shel,” finally comes out, and again Sheldon has no idea what to answer. He allows Danny to push him into his apartment, and he doesn’t fight Danny’s broad, warm hands, so sure of themselves, on his body or his hungry lips, and later, when they lie in his bed, with Danny breathing calmly in his sleep, sweat cooling on their bodies, Sheldon finds himself still lying awake and thinking about it.
He has no answer, but Danny is in his bed and not in Cindy’s, and Sheldon is almost content. Maybe, he thinks as he carefully rolls over and places his head on Danny’s chest, to let the heartbeat lull him into sleep, to ease the pull of the hooks that bind him to Danny and to keep warm in the night, this is enough. And maybe it’s all Danny can give.
Danny doesn’t wake up, but he wraps one arm around his shoulders, and maybe, Sheldon thinks, maybe this is the only love he can get.
And if that’s true, he’ll take as much of it as he can.
The End.
Author: Kathie
Fandom: CSI:NY
Pairing: Sheldon Hawkes/Danny Messer
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: Not a very happy fic…
Summary: Maybe, Sheldon thinks, this is enough.
Author’s Notes: After one week of not writing (besides the PNU) this is the first thing that came to my mind. Feedback greatly appreciated, Thanks to Ginny for the help and the encouragement. (And no, the Alternate-Danny-POV-bunny won’t grow faster just because you feed it all the carrots you can find *grins*)
***
“You are like Mac!” Danny accuses, and Sheldon doesn’t know what to say.
It’s both their curse and their blessing, this similarity in certain points, because Danny’s temper is like a bomb, and it can explode every second without apparent reason, and Danny needs someone stable in his life who can survive the fallout from his temper tantrums without suffering too much integral damage.
Sheldon Hawkes is this certain someone, although in moments like this, he wonders why.
Sometimes he doubts that this can work. He’s the calm one in their relationship, he thinks before he acts, and sometimes, he feels abused by Danny’s rash temper.
They are like fire and water, Danny and Sheldon, and while Danny’s anger burns high and hot, Danny’s cool temper often soothes him and controls him to an extend.
But Danny has a sharp tongue, and when he’s mad or frustrated, he lashes out, and he aims straight for the heart with his words, and they cut like knives, like little medical scalpels, into Sheldon’s flesh, and they stick there, and he doesn’t know how to pull them out.
He is not like Mac. Sheldon admires Mac’s strength, and he doesn’t know if he’d been able to go on after the death of someone so precious, so dear to him, like Claire was to Mac.
He doubts it. He thinks that he wouldn’t survive it – when he’s in love, he gives his heart to that person. He’s a certified pathologists, he knows that humans can’t survive without a heart.
Danny’s words have hooks, and they stick to his heart and pull at him with every heartbeat. Danny’s every word has hooks, his words of love and comfort, whispered in his ear late at night, when the world is hidden by darkness and sleepiness and half-forgotten dreams, and nothing beyond the bed exists, have little tiny hooks that bore into his flesh and tie him to Danny, they spread him open and allow Danny to look deep within his heart.
Sheldon doesn’t know if Danny feels the same for him. He never saw this vulnerability in Danny’s eyes. He never saw any sign that his words have the same binding quality as Danny’s. He feels unsure about his place in Danny’s life, even if he has the right to have a place there. They are not exclusive, not by far, it never came up, and Sheldon never dared to ask Danny.
Maybe that’s an error, but every time he almost worked up the nerve to simply ask Danny about this thing they have, something like Cindy pops up, and he keeps his mouth firmly shut. He tells himself that he can handle this, that he’s a grown man and not the same, easily impressed young surgeon who decided to leave living patients and go to the morgue. He thought he made a step in the right direction when he applied for a position in the field. He likes his co-workers. He likes working as a CSI.
He likes to work with Danny. He can talk to him at a crime scene, he knows what to say and what to expect. It’s after hours that things become stilted and uncomfortable.
He’s desperate to reach out and touch, but he doesn’t know how; and so they keep each other at arm’s length, and when they touch at work, accidentally, it’s as if electricity is racing along their nerve endings, and when they kiss in the darkness, under the blankets on Sheldon’s bed, each kiss screams of desperation, of pain and of unrequited love.
They never talk about it. They never tell each other how they feel. Sheldon thinks he’s not the right one for Danny, no matter how good they balance each other, but at the same time, he’s unable to let go of Danny.
The hooks in his flesh pull and push at the same time, and in all directions; Sheldon doesn’t know which way he should turn, and so he stays in the middle, unmoving and suffering in silence.
It’s another case, another murdered spouse, killed by her husband in a fit of jealousy, and again three kids now have to grow up quickly, and without their parents.
“I don’t get it,” Danny says and shakes his head. The corners of his mouth are turned down, his glasses are slightly askew, and his words have extra sharp little biting teeth since a few days. “I mean, why kill someone you love? Just so that nobody else can have ‘em?”
Sheldon takes off his own glasses. His eyes are burning from to many hours staring into a microscope, from too many shifts and from too many unshed tears. He is so tired he doesn’t even try to keep the bitterness out of his voice when he says: “Maybe you really don’t get what love is.”
Danny gives him one long look, some flicker of emotion that might be betrayal or annoyance in his eyes, before turning away and leaving the lab without answering and Sheldon thinks suddenly: That’s not fair, he’s cheating on me and I’m feeling bad – but then the realization comes that they don’t even have a relationship anymore, and so Danny isn’t cheating, technically.
He doesn’t even mind. He just wants to go home, crawl into his bed and mourn. The sheets still smell like Danny – they did when he left the bed, two nights ago, and nothing should have disturbed them since then. He wanted to wash the sheets, but something in him still hasn’t given up hope. And so he curls around his pillow and breathes in the faint smell of someone who probably doesn’t even think about him anymore.
He lies in the darkness, listens as the seconds go by, exactly measured by the old clock, and he tries not to think about it.
It hurts too much, no matter how true it is.
It’s over.
The metallic taste of loss is heavy on his tongue, like blood, or spinach. What they have was not a relationship. It never felt like one. It had sharp edges that cut like broken glass.
It wasn’t a relationship. It was a war zone.
Maybe he was wrong, Sheldon thinks now. Maybe this is love, the pain and the wariness, and Danny is only protecting himself because he *knows* love. Maybe Danny is protecting both of them with his behavior, but that would also mean that Danny still loves him, which would make the whole torture unnecessary. He closes his eyes tightly to stop the thoughts, but they stay and they bounce around in his head, like a ricocheting bullet, through the delicate brain, destroying important pieces of his personality. He knows them, his lips form the words without him thinking about it – thalamus, cerebral cortex, motor cortex, cerebellum…a persistent knock on the door interrupts his silent prayer of medicine, the sound echoes in his head, where the bullet-like thoughts have left holes in his brain. A headache is vibrating along the edges of his vision, his hands shake when he finally makes his way to the door and opens it warily.
Danny is standing outside, with his hands in his pockets, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. He has taken off his glasses, and he swallows a few times before he manages to form coherent words.
“You look horrible, Shel,” finally comes out, and again Sheldon has no idea what to answer. He allows Danny to push him into his apartment, and he doesn’t fight Danny’s broad, warm hands, so sure of themselves, on his body or his hungry lips, and later, when they lie in his bed, with Danny breathing calmly in his sleep, sweat cooling on their bodies, Sheldon finds himself still lying awake and thinking about it.
He has no answer, but Danny is in his bed and not in Cindy’s, and Sheldon is almost content. Maybe, he thinks as he carefully rolls over and places his head on Danny’s chest, to let the heartbeat lull him into sleep, to ease the pull of the hooks that bind him to Danny and to keep warm in the night, this is enough. And maybe it’s all Danny can give.
Danny doesn’t wake up, but he wraps one arm around his shoulders, and maybe, Sheldon thinks, maybe this is the only love he can get.
And if that’s true, he’ll take as much of it as he can.
The End.