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Martin's strangely disappointed at how normal things are on Monday.

On one hand, he shouldn't be, not at all, because it would be disaster if he couldn't keep up a professional relationship with Danny. But on the other, it would be nice for something to have--changed. Not much, just a little. A little acknowledgement from Danny's side, a little vibration in the air, and something, not this--normality. But it's all normal, and Danny walks in on Monday with a coffee in one hand and the other hand shoved in his pocket, grins lopsidedly at Martin and Vivian and says Good morning like nothing's ever happened. Sits down at his desk and powers up his computer.

Then Jack comes in and Sam comes in, and Martin can't help but look at Sam, but she doesn't look back. Instead there's another missing person to be found. Janet Keegan, a manager at a 24-7 grocery store who left work on Sunday night and then never made it to her car, and Martin's head is swimming because behind his eyelids he can still see Danny's body move against his and feel Danny's hands clench his wrists.

It's all still normal, even when Jack pairs him up with Danny, and they still work well together. No change, not even in Danny's eyes when he looks at Martin as they make their way down to the garage to go talk to Janet's husband Simon. Instead Danny jokes about Martin's tie and when Martin finds his voice again, they start a rapid brainstorm of theories about the missing woman, all of them probably too soon to be accurate, but all of them still belonging in the patterns and routine that has made up Martin's days for almost three years now. The surreal yet comforting feel of it is making Martin feel vaguely schizophrenic.

"Listen--" he starts to say in the car, but when Danny looks curiously at him, he can't bring himself to finish the sentence and shakes his head instead. "Nevermind."

They interview Simon the husband, who sobs so hard he can hardly speak and pleads with them to find her, and Martins stares at a framed photograph on a small table next to the couch and can't help but think that this couple really loved each other. Danny's being all compassionate and understanding, and coaxing details out of the guy, and when the husband eventually mentions that his wife had a fight with someone at work who she ended up firing almost three months ago, Danny and Martin exchange a glance that speaks volumes.

"But that was so long ago," Mr. Keegan protests in disbelief, wiping tears from his eyes, and Martin has to clench his jaw to stop himself from telling the husband exactly what kind of lowlife creeps that are out there, and how it doesn't matter if the fight was three months ago or six months ago or a year ago, because some people won't let these things go.

They don't get a name on Fired Guy, the closest thing they got was I think it was Fred-something maybe? but it doesn't matter. They quickly wrap up the interview and then call the office to have someone come set up a trace on the phone lines and stay with Mr. Keegan, just in case there is a ransom call.

"Personnel records?" Danny asks as they get back into their car.

"Personnel records," Martin confirms with a nod, and then suddenly flashes on Danny--Danny's ear--Danny's ear and beyond it, the ceiling--as Martin lies flat on his back and Danny holds him and Martin trembles in pleasure, and the surreal feeling grows because everything is so goddamn normal!

Fired Guy's name is actually Frank Edmonton, and it takes them nearly all day to track him down, because he isn't at home in his little house, he doesn't answer his phone, and none of the employees of the grocery store has seen him or spoken with him since he got fired for stealing. It's almost five by the time the local police pick him up on his way out of town, but after that the ball is rolling smoothly; Frank panics and starts talking like he'll never shut up, and by the time his lawyer arrives, the team already knows that Janet Keegan is in Frank Edmonton's basement.

Janet Keegan is raped and beaten badly, but she's alive, and Martin wraps a blanket around her shivering shoulders and he and Sam support her between them, out of the basement and out of the house. Sam goes with her in the ambulance, and Vivian is already on the phone with her husband to let him know they found her alive, and Martin watches Janet Keegan's bloody face until it disappears behind closing ambulance doors.

"I like the ones where we find them alive," Danny says from beside Martin.

Martin nods and shoves his hands into the pockets of his dark blue FBI jacket, and adds, "I like the ones where we find them quickly," and Danny chuckles dryly.

"That Edmonton guy?" Danny says, and he's quirking one eyebrow at Martin in a way that makes Martin's face grow hot. "Complete moron."

"He likes to talk, apparently," Jack says from behind them, and Martin starts guiltily, although he has no idea exactly why. Danny of course, seems unaffected and instead just turns to look at Jack, listens to how Jack explains that Edmonton apparently is unable to shut up, and that there is no way, no how, he's not going down for this. Edmonton is telling them everything, confessing to every little detail of his insanely stupid plan, in hopes of a plea bargain, too dumb to even realize it's too late for all that.

"Think they're gonna settle?" Martin asks, already knowing the answer because Janet Keegan is safe, and he's not the least bit surprised when Jack shakes his head.

"Doubt it," Jack says, then shrugs. "We got the girl and that's what matters. Edmonton's got nothing more to offer us."

Martin risks a glance at Danny, and finds Danny looking back at him. For a second, silence reigns between the three men, before Jack looks at Martin suspiciously and says in a too-casual voice, "Why don't you guys take off for the evening?"

Martin's eyes widen, and he knows Danny's expression must match his own, but Jack continues on, face never changing from that annoying neutral expression that makes it impossible to guess what he's really thinking. "It was good work. The reports can wait until morning. Just get there early."

Then Jack is walking away, and Martin and Danny are left with just the two of them in the midst of the residual chaos, and all the things they don't say to each other. Martin kicks absently at the ground and suddenly feels all of seventeen again, because Jesus--there is so much unsaid, and so many things he wonders about, and they've worked so damn good together all day, and there is no way in hell Jack hasn't at least suspected something's up. Martin doesn't even know where to start, and he absently thinks that at least Sam went in the ambulance, because he couldn't have dealt with her staring at him or not looking his way at all, from somewhere between the paramedics and other FBI agents as well.

"Well, like you said, at least we wrapped it up quickly," Danny offers, and it's a start.

Martin meets Danny's eyes, dark in the evening, but still gleaming with something close to humor, something close to happiness.

"Yeah," Martin says with a nod, and even the lack of conversation doesn't feel awkward. The silence that stretches between them is still so damn normal, so damn comfortable, that Martin briefly wonders if they're so in tune with each other that if he were to start walking towards the car, Danny would do the same automatically. Wonders if he were to reach out to take Danny's hand, if Danny would meet him halfway there.

"You wanna--" he starts, and Danny quickly says, "Yeah, yeah," and Martin has to smile.

It isn't until they're almost at Martin's apartment that the normal disappears and fades, to be replaced by--something else. Nothing bad, and that still is strange, but at least they're not bullshitting each other around like any other day of the week, and Martin feels shamefully relieved at that. Doesn't know what he would have done if everything still seemed normal. But no, this isn't normal, not anymore, and thank God for that. There's something between them, a tense form of anticipation, but it's the good kind; the kind Martin hasn't really felt since he climbed into a cab next to Sam, and for even longer before that.

Danny's sitting still in the passenger seat, but he's not really calm, Martin can sense it in the air between them, and every time he glances over, there's Danny--watching him and doesn't even bother trying to hide it. It only adds to the anticipation, and Martin can already feel his cock stirring in his pants. It's ridiculous, really, because neither has even said anything about this, neither has even hinted, not really, that this is why they're here and going to Martin's place, but Martin knows just the same. Is pretty sure Danny knows, too.

When Martin parks the car and they get out, the anticipation mingles with nervousness in Martin's stomach, and when he enters the building, crosses the lobby and Danny follows him into the elevator without a word, Danny flashes him a smile and says, "It'll be okay."

The quiet statement only serves to increase Martin's nerves, and his stomach turns in the most surprisingly uncomfortable way, but he doesn't wanna back down, definitely doesn't wanna back down, because nothing has ever felt like this. Even when he was following Sam into her apartment, all he really felt was horny. This is something else entirely, and maybe it's because he's always been more in tune with Danny than Sam, Martin doesn't know, but either way, he likes this better, churning stomach and all.

The second they're inside Martin's apartment and the door slips closed behind them with a snick, Danny's right there in Martin's space, lips already on Martin's and hands on Martin's shoulders, and it's so familiar, still new in Martin's mind and even better than he remembered. Memory merges with the present, and God, Danny's kisses are scorchingly hot, desperate and wet, and if they can be like this, and then still be normal at work--

If they can do all that, and be all that, Martin realizes--there are no limits. No limits at all.

And really--in retrospect, if Jack does know something it could mean disaster, crash and burn--maybe not, but possibly--but right now Martin doesn't care--doesn't care at all, because letting them go for the evening is the smartest move ever, and if normality wasn't key in this whole thing, Martin would gladly kiss Jack's feet the next morning.

Thoughts of Jack fade, however, as Danny's tongue slides hotly against Martin's own, and then he's pushing Danny forward, wanting them in the bedroom and wanting them naked, and it's been too damn long since he's felt exactly like this.

Martin still doesn't think too closely about the whole situation, about how Danny's a guy and how maybe fucking a coworker isn't the best idea--Sam should have taught him something, she should--but it's just too damn easy to forget about all that and rather just lose himself in the physical feeling of Danny's touches. Easy to just let himself be and lose himself in the moment, and think that there really are no limits if they can keep this up and still keep working like normal, because that was one thing he'd never quite managed with Sam. With Sam, there had been this little shift in the way they looked at each other, this little slip in how they communicated, but Danny--Danny somehow makes everything so goddamn easy.

No odd looks. No fight. Just being there and touching and feeling, and it's damn good.

When they finally tumble onto the bed, clothes being hastily shed, even thoughts about Sam start to fade, and Danny's laughing now, quiet chuckles that comes out as hot puffs of air against Martin's neck. Martin can't hold back his own grin, and this is good, this is--this thing between them that makes it so easy for Martin to grab Danny's shirt and pull it over his head, buttons be damned.

"Impatient, are we?" Danny teases, then licks a deliciously wet path from Martin's left ear to his jaw line.

"Shut up," Martin retorts with a smile, and manages to kick off his shoes and pull down his pants, all without kneeing Danny in the crotch, something which is probably good; it would have put one hell of a damper on the show.

Martin's pretty sure he's been hard since they stepped out of the elevator, but he can't say for sure, and when Danny pulls down his boxers and wraps a strong fist around his erection, Martin no longer cares. All he knows is that he's here, he's naked, he's hard, and Danny's finally naked too and giving him an abso-fucking-lutely spectacular handjob. Feeling endlessly braver than the last time they did this, Martin reaches out, pulls Danny close to his body and strokes his hand up and down a long, smooth back. He should be freaking out more, should be more hesitant, more nervous, but there are a lot of things he should be, which--since Madison, Wisconsin--he's not.

Danny certainly doesn't seem to mind, only continues to lick and suck on Martin's neck and shoulder, and when Martin grows really bold and grabs Danny's ass with both hands, Danny groans into Martin's skin and grinds their hips together. And oh fuck, that was a damn good idea, and this Martin remembers. This, they did in that stupid hotel room, but it's even better now--just the very location seems to do wonders, and Martin is grateful for being surrounded by his own, subdued blue-painted walls, rather than the ugly green-pink-white of his hotel room this past weekend.

"God--" he gets out as Danny thrusts particularly hard, their cocks gliding and pressing together as if they were born to do so, and Danny groans again and gives him a sloppy kiss.

"Martin--" Danny pants against Martin's lips, "--Martin--" and Martin nods absently, shifting his hips and letting his hands roam away from Danny's ass.

"I want you--" Danny says, has to stop for a second when Martin finds a nipple and teases is gently with his fingertips, "I want you to fuck me," and Jesus, Martin has to grit his teeth not to come.

The thought is so hot Martin can feel the blood rushing under his skin, and he can't do anything but moan, "Yes, God--yes--"

Thank God Martin isn't as prudish as he knows some people think he is; Martin has lube and Martin has condoms, because nobody who's ever really tried otherwise will ever jerk off dry unless they have to, and it isn't really too long ago that he actually needed the condoms, and hey--looks like he's about to need them again.

Danny grins up at Martin as he tells him exactly how to do this. Martin has a general idea, but having a general idea and actually doing are two very different things, and in Martin's general ideas, his hands doesn't shake as badly, and his heart doesn't pound as loud in his ears. Danny doesn't say a word to criticize, though, just continues to grin at Martin and occasionally closing his eyes for the briefest of moments in obvious pleasure. Groans once, and then starts to pant heavily, right hand clutching the sheets and left waving absently in the air as he nods his head and assures Martin that, "Yeah, yeah, 's good--good, yeah, God--yeah, Martin--"

It's strange to have his fingers up another man's ass, stranger yet to have his fingers up Danny's ass, but Danny keeps nodding his head like his neck's broken, and tells Martin, "Just like--just like that, oh God, so good--" and it's all so fucking hot. Martin's cock is painfully hard, and he sneaks his other hand in between his legs to squeeze it once, twice, wants to hold off and take the edge off.

Danny, of course, notices the motion and continues to nod his head, but his words change from, "Yeah, good," to "It's okay, Martin--fuck me, yeah--okay--"

Danny has to help him get the condom on, because by now Martin's hands are shaking so badly he's actually having trouble doing it himself. It's not scary though, not the least, because it's actually easy, incredibly so, but it's also so very new and unfamiliar, and when Danny lubes him up, Martin bites his lip and can't help the moan that runs through him.

Luckily, Danny doesn't say anything more, verbal instructions overrated by now. Danny just grins at him instead and waits until the grin is returned, before leaning back again and helping Martin position himself at Danny's opening. After that it's only a matter of seconds before Martin is sliding in, in, and oh God, so hot and tight and this is Danny underneath him, he's inside Danny, he's fucking Danny--

The urge to yell obscenities at the ceiling is overwhelming, as overwhelming as the pleasure running through Martin's body, and underneath him, Danny's eyes are closed in obvious pleasure as his hands clutch hard at Martin's shoulders, long fingers digging into his skin. Danny's still smiling, and when Martin finally is all the way in, Danny's eyes open again to look straight into Martin's.

"Good boy," Danny whispers, and then does something--clenches--and Martin shudders hard as his breath catches in his throat in the most comical manner.

In the very, very brief moments Martin's let himself think about this moment, the brief moments between Saturday and now, that Martin's let himself think about possibilities rather than memories, he's thought maybe Danny would let a Spanish word or two slip out--maybe even whole sentences--babbling it or moaning it. Has thought maybe Danny would strain and gasp towards his orgasm, like in pain. He didn't really get a chance to see too much of Danny's face the last time, hidden as it was in his neck or against his shoulder or chest--but he sees everything now, and it's nothing at all like he'd expected.

Danny's smiling the whole time, grinning and enoying himself and really just writhing on Martin's cock. He wriggles in place and moans, "So good, oh yeah, come on--" with every single one of Martin's thrusts, and it's all in English. Shows Martin with single words and broken sentences the best angle to thrust, "Here--like this--" and moves hands back and forth between Martin's shoulders and his hips, both to steer him and to pull Martin harder into Danny's own body, and Martin wants to grin back, he really does, except he needs every ounce of concentration to keep himself from coming. Wants to make this last a little while at least, wants to make this good for Danny.

Danny seems to have no complaints, though, and when he takes one of his hands, slides it in between their bodies to grab his erection and starts to jack himself hard, Martin's chest tightens and he can't help but quicken his pace.

"Fuck, yeah," Danny moans, "harder--"

--and that's all, she wrote. Martin can't hold back his orgasm any more than he can stop a freight train with his bare hands, and he comes for what seems like forever, gritting his teeth and sweating and laughing through it all, because--because--the sheer joy of simply being here, and how embarrassingly fucking easy it was to get here--it grabs him and shakes him and runs through him, and it's quite possibly the best damn orgasm of his life. The buzzing in his ears eventually starts to fade and Martin opens his eyes just in time to see Danny push his head back into the pillow, and he definitely doesn't look like he's in pain. Then there's hot wetness between them, and Martin dimly realizes his hips are still moving in lazy back and forth, side to side motions, softening cock still inside Danny.

They stay together, panting, as Martin gradually softens and then eventually slips out, and then they only break apart to make sure the used condom doesn't take a detour onto Martin's bed all on its own. Martin manages to get it to the trash and then goes straight back to bed, flopping down next to Danny and he is no longer surprised at how damn easy it is to just throw an arm across Danny's chest and smile.

Silence settles as they get their breath back, and usually Martin gets tired after sex--usually he drops off to sleep in a typical guy fashion, or at least wants to--but not this time. He feels his blood rushing in his veins, his skin tingling, and Martin suddenly wants nothing more than to get up, out of bed, do something. And it's been twenty lifeless bodies and five people they never found and too many crying families left behind since the last time Martin's been this happy, and it feels damn good. Feels like his body has forgotten how for the longest of times, and only now remembers. Feels like nothing else, nothing else, and so fucking easy!

"Let's go out," he says to Danny's smiling face, and Danny frowns at him through his smile, looks at him like he's gone crazy, and maybe he has. Martin doesn't know, and doesn't really care.

"Let's go out," he repeats, "grab something to eat. Maybe get a drink."

Danny just looks at him, but thankfully keeps on smiling, and then after a few moments of silence asks, "Are you okay?"

Martin takes a breath to answer, but the words die in his throat. The standard answer to that question is Fine, has been Fine for years now, regardless of whether it was true or not. Fine. Always good. And Martin takes another breath, and for the first time in a long damn while, he doesn't reply completely on autopilot, but rather says exactly what he feels.

"I'm perfect," he says, and that's fucking easy, too.

The two dress quietly, Danny teasing Martin about his socks and Martin threatening to toss Danny's jacket out the window, and everything is back to normal again when they enter the elevator together. Exchange a few theories about Jack's old case, the one that still doesn't have any real leads, and then move on to discuss baseball and basketball as they walk down the street--and for the first time since Martin first moved here, New York City seems impossibly, blissfully peaceful.

End.