the art of forgetting (five things danny...) The art of forgetting – i. winter Martin's apartment is the second from the top, meaning every winter morning on their way to the subway, they walk down the many flights of stairs, cold seeping in through the walls, into their skin, finding a way under all the layers they have on. Martin's bickering doesn't help, though the fast flowing insults to the building manager for putting him on the top floor – "Nine. Flights. Of stairs. 'Why doesn't the elevator work, Mr. Rusk?' 'Oh, I'll get to it in a few days, promise.' Three months! It's been three months, Danny, and the bastard hasn't even touched the damn machine..." – and to the world in general, keep him amused all the way down. They reach the bottom – "Finally. What'd that take, five hours? Can you believe Mr. Rusk had the nerve to tell me after all this time, 'It's exercise, boy. You look like you need it.' I'm the one who works for the FBI! We both do! He knows that. Also, how the hell do I like as if I need exercise? God knows suspects enjoy running away from us and, oh fuck no." – He looks at Martin then, at the pained expression on his face and he's about to ask what's the matter, when all of sudden a surprisingly cold breeze sweeps in from the entrance. He looks towards the door, watches the snow falling peacefully on the city. Innocent snow. Of course this would get Martin upset, he thinks, glancing back lovingly at his partner as they walk outside. "Could this morning get any worse?" Martin practically growls, looking straight at the sky, probably begging for the snow to go away. "Well, someone might go missing." He shrugs, smirking at Martin. Martin only glares at him before walking on towards the stairs leading below the city – "Great, more stairs. Fabulous! Snow covered stairs! My favorite! Hurry up, Danny." – and he laughs, following. ii. spring The cold front has left and the sun is bright, sounds of early morning traffic drifting in through the open window. Martin's asleep, pressed firmly up against his side, breathing softly. The morning is peaceful as one of his hands moves up and down Martin's side, the other playing with the fingers resting on his chest. Warm breeze sneaks past them, and Martin shivers once, bare skin quivering. He reaches down to grab the sheet, pulling it back over them and grabbing Martin in his arms again, who doesn't wake, only snuggles deeper into his neck. He presses a kiss to Martin's forehead, smirking as Martin smiles in his sleep. He looks over at the clock, then outside again, watching the rest of the city wake up. Gazes down at the sleeping man beside him and holds him a little closer. A few more minutes won't hurt. iii. summer The heatwave rolls across the city right when the air conditioning in the apartment dies. Martin has set up fans everywhere; on the window, pointing right at the bed, the kitchen, on top of the television. Every night when they get home, Martin disappears into every room, and soon enough, the place is buzzing with fresh air. Literally. Though all of this amuses him, he's having trouble falling asleep, the noises distracting him. As soon as he suggests Martin compain about the problem, he regrets it – "Complain about it? I have! But Mr. Rusk, our fabulous building manager, is closer to finally getting the god damn elevator fixed, and only tells me 'A few more days, son, few more days.' God, maybe we should just take over. Bring out our badges, threaten to arrest him –" Martin doesn't give him a chance to open his mouth before rolling his eyes – "Oh, I know, we couldn't actually arrest him, but it's the thought that counts." I'm not sure that's what they meant, but okay, he thinks, amused. Martin makes a dramatic gesture with his hands, and he's sure he hadn't said the words aloud – "I know what you're thinking. Danny, I thought you were on my side!" – then turning to the bedroom, and he sees Martin collapse onto the bed. He laughs quietly to himself, muttering to himself in Spanish. Halfway to the kitchen he hears Martin shout his name – "Danny! What are you still doin' out there? Get in here, baby. Keep me warm." – and the hidden suggestion. iv. fall He figures Martin only appreciates the sun, because he's sure as hell grumpy when it's raining. The case earlier in the evening – little boy, taken by his own mother, depressed and suicidal mother who by morning had ended up killing herself, luckily instead of her child; they were all grateful for that – had led them into the chilly drizzle, darkness falling around them as they searched back alleys for the boy. The two of them had been the ones to find him, lucky enough to hear his quiet cries over the pouring rain, falling harder towards the end. He'd watched as Martin fell to the ground, pulling the small body away from the limp woman next to him, gunshot wound to the head, and he listened, detached, to the child's broken screams. Watched Martin slowly break into pieces right in front of him as he held the boy close to him, whispering reassurances to him, telling him he'd be okay, would be safe here. Watched as Martin met his eyes and felt a tear slide down his face, mixing with the cold rain. Watched Martin cry freely with the boy. He joined them both. v. winter Snow falls outside, lighter than the day before, and he hopes Martin will be happier this year, as the elevator had been finished the previous month. The first day of the new year is calm, silent, serenity surrounding and protecting the city. A few hours later and he knows the day will be like any other, missing people needing to be found, some not even wanting to be discovered again. He thinks maybe he'd like the two of them to disappear for a day. Have a day where they could be alive and be accepted anywhere and everywhere. Wants to live in a day where they wouldn't lose their jobs for touching in public, in the wrong way or in front of the wrong crowd. Maybe this day will be the start of the new year for a brand new world. As he holds Martin close to him, he can hope. – the art of remembering. feedback