[ficlet] If I Had a Boat [PG: Danny, Martin]
Title: If I Had a Boat
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @ gmail.com
Rating/Warnings: PG
Pairings: Sort of Danny/Martin. Preslash.
Disclaimers: Without a Trace belongs to CBS, Jerry Bruckheimer, and very likely many other people.
Advertisements: superhero bonding
Notes: Not much to it, really. Just a ficlet, but you don't want to know how long I've been picking away at this. Weeks.
IF I HAD A BOAT
Usually when they’re driving somewhere they’re either bickering over a case or silent, and Danny likes it that way. Likes it because he enjoys working Martin up (in more ways than one, he has to admit) and when they’re quiet it’s by a kind of understanding, not empty and awkward, but the silence of two people who don’t mind silence at all.
And for Danny this is kind of crazy, because he loves talking. Can’t sit still or be quiet, so it’s pretty much guaranteed that if he’s forced to sit in one place for two hours, then his mouth is going a mile a minute. With Martin, though, there’s this weird kind of quiet that seeps into him, and when that happens he finds himself going along with it and keeping his mouth shut.
Now, though, on the drive upstate to interview someone who probably has absolutely no idea what’s going on, they’re talking. Not their usual verbal sparring or serious discussion about the case, but real normal talk, about sports and college and regular, random things.
“When you were a kid, what’d you want to be when you grew up?” Martin asks, and this is as close as either of them has ever come to asking the other outright about his childhood.
“Wasn’t planning on growing up,” Danny tells him, though he really means that for a time he didn’t know if he was going to live past the end of the day, or the week, much less into some more distant future.
“C’mon,” Martin cajoles, smiling his half-smile, and Danny can’t resist that.
“An astronaut,” he says at last, startled because he hadn’t meant to say that - had meant to tell Martin he’d wanted to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or something real. “When I was a kid...” Reflexively he tries to shy away from the memory, because he’s been burned too many times by it, but Martin’s watching, and he finds that he can’t not tell him. “When I was a kid, my brother took me to Cape Canaveral to watch a shuttle go up.” Has to grin, remembering it; a night launch, and he’d been tired after the interminable drive north on the state turnpike.* And then the shuttle had gone up, riding a column of smoke and fire into the darkness, and he hadn’t been sleepy anymore, only too awed to speak. “It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.”
He leaves out the part about imagining what it must be like to be weightless, floating far above the earth, then stealing the spaceship, flying it to Mars, and escaping from his crappy life.
Martin nods, though, like he understands what Danny’s really saying. And, Danny thinks, maybe he does. Martin doesn’t miss much (except for Danny’s flirting) and doesn’t really let on what he does know, until he thinks the time is right (which might mean he does register Danny’s flirting but isn’t doing anything about it and that’s enough to drive Danny crazy).
“I wanted to be a weatherman,” Martin muses, staring out the window and watching the Adirondacks wind by.
“A weatherman?” Danny can’t keep the laughter out of his voice. He glances at Martin the second Martin looks at him, and Martin rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna have to explain that one.”
“I was five,” Martin says defensively. “I remember watching the news one night and I thought that the weatherman could control the weather...” He trails off, a slightly embarrassed look on his face, like he’s ashamed of once having been an illogical five-year-old like every other human being. “I thought that was pretty cool.”
“Kind of like a superpower,” Danny says, nodding thoughtfully. “I’d go for x-ray vision, myself.”
“So you get to see through women’s clothes, right?”
“Oh, I don’t need x-ray vision for that.” Danny smirks at Martin, who goes predictably scarlet and tries to cover it with a snort. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to use your powers for good? ‘With great power comes great responsibility,’ and all that?”
“Thanks, Spidey.” Despite the blush, Martin is still sarcastic and self-possessed.
“You’re welcome.” Danny looks back at the road, because driving off a scenic overview right now would not fit into his plan, but doesn’t stop grinning. “So what about you? What’s your superpower?”
“I always wanted to fly,” Martin says, and his voice is quieter now, so that Danny has to look over, driving off the scenic overview be damned. Martin’s blush has faded out, and something’s replaced it - wistfulness, maybe, not something Danny’s ever seen on him before. “Always imagined it would be cool, you know? Just... jump up and fly away.” He gestures with one hand, an up-up-and-away kind of motion, a bird lifting into the air.
“Yeah,” Danny says, remembering the rocket and his twelve-year-old self, trying to imagine a five-year-old Martin playing Superman in a bedsheet cape. “Yeah, I do.”
“Yeah,” Martin agrees, and he offers Danny that quick, subdued smile that makes Danny feel unaccountably good, turns back to watch the road twist on, and they’re quiet again.
-end-
Post-fic notes: The title comes from a Lyle Lovett song by the same name (the lyrics for which you can find here). It is a strange tune, but good.
I-95, aka the Florida Turnpike (as those who have driven on it can tell you) is one of the most boring, interminable roads in creation, and if you ever want a taste of true Sisyphusian futility, try driving on it sometime. I consulted Mapquest, and the drive from Hialeah to Cape Canaveral is about 190 miles; this would work out to about three hours or so, assuming a speed limit between 60-65 (I can't remember what it was in the early/mid-1980s, but probably somewhere around there). Poor Danny.
For the purposes of fic, I'm assuming Danny's around 32, give or take a year, and the shuttle launch could have taken place sometime before the Challenger accident in 1986--probably between 1983-85.
Side note to rinsbane: Let me know when you've finished HBP, okay? The fic I'm writing for you wants to go in that direction, but I don't want to post it until you're through :)
In other news: It's storming out now, and it's kind of crazy because I swear I can feel the electricity in the air. At first I thought it was nerves, because I don't like storms at all, but my stomach isn't upset... I just feel weirdly tingly all over.
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @ gmail.com
Rating/Warnings: PG
Pairings: Sort of Danny/Martin. Preslash.
Disclaimers: Without a Trace belongs to CBS, Jerry Bruckheimer, and very likely many other people.
Advertisements: superhero bonding
Notes: Not much to it, really. Just a ficlet, but you don't want to know how long I've been picking away at this. Weeks.
IF I HAD A BOAT
Usually when they’re driving somewhere they’re either bickering over a case or silent, and Danny likes it that way. Likes it because he enjoys working Martin up (in more ways than one, he has to admit) and when they’re quiet it’s by a kind of understanding, not empty and awkward, but the silence of two people who don’t mind silence at all.
And for Danny this is kind of crazy, because he loves talking. Can’t sit still or be quiet, so it’s pretty much guaranteed that if he’s forced to sit in one place for two hours, then his mouth is going a mile a minute. With Martin, though, there’s this weird kind of quiet that seeps into him, and when that happens he finds himself going along with it and keeping his mouth shut.
Now, though, on the drive upstate to interview someone who probably has absolutely no idea what’s going on, they’re talking. Not their usual verbal sparring or serious discussion about the case, but real normal talk, about sports and college and regular, random things.
“When you were a kid, what’d you want to be when you grew up?” Martin asks, and this is as close as either of them has ever come to asking the other outright about his childhood.
“Wasn’t planning on growing up,” Danny tells him, though he really means that for a time he didn’t know if he was going to live past the end of the day, or the week, much less into some more distant future.
“C’mon,” Martin cajoles, smiling his half-smile, and Danny can’t resist that.
“An astronaut,” he says at last, startled because he hadn’t meant to say that - had meant to tell Martin he’d wanted to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or something real. “When I was a kid...” Reflexively he tries to shy away from the memory, because he’s been burned too many times by it, but Martin’s watching, and he finds that he can’t not tell him. “When I was a kid, my brother took me to Cape Canaveral to watch a shuttle go up.” Has to grin, remembering it; a night launch, and he’d been tired after the interminable drive north on the state turnpike.* And then the shuttle had gone up, riding a column of smoke and fire into the darkness, and he hadn’t been sleepy anymore, only too awed to speak. “It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.”
He leaves out the part about imagining what it must be like to be weightless, floating far above the earth, then stealing the spaceship, flying it to Mars, and escaping from his crappy life.
Martin nods, though, like he understands what Danny’s really saying. And, Danny thinks, maybe he does. Martin doesn’t miss much (except for Danny’s flirting) and doesn’t really let on what he does know, until he thinks the time is right (which might mean he does register Danny’s flirting but isn’t doing anything about it and that’s enough to drive Danny crazy).
“I wanted to be a weatherman,” Martin muses, staring out the window and watching the Adirondacks wind by.
“A weatherman?” Danny can’t keep the laughter out of his voice. He glances at Martin the second Martin looks at him, and Martin rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna have to explain that one.”
“I was five,” Martin says defensively. “I remember watching the news one night and I thought that the weatherman could control the weather...” He trails off, a slightly embarrassed look on his face, like he’s ashamed of once having been an illogical five-year-old like every other human being. “I thought that was pretty cool.”
“Kind of like a superpower,” Danny says, nodding thoughtfully. “I’d go for x-ray vision, myself.”
“So you get to see through women’s clothes, right?”
“Oh, I don’t need x-ray vision for that.” Danny smirks at Martin, who goes predictably scarlet and tries to cover it with a snort. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to use your powers for good? ‘With great power comes great responsibility,’ and all that?”
“Thanks, Spidey.” Despite the blush, Martin is still sarcastic and self-possessed.
“You’re welcome.” Danny looks back at the road, because driving off a scenic overview right now would not fit into his plan, but doesn’t stop grinning. “So what about you? What’s your superpower?”
“I always wanted to fly,” Martin says, and his voice is quieter now, so that Danny has to look over, driving off the scenic overview be damned. Martin’s blush has faded out, and something’s replaced it - wistfulness, maybe, not something Danny’s ever seen on him before. “Always imagined it would be cool, you know? Just... jump up and fly away.” He gestures with one hand, an up-up-and-away kind of motion, a bird lifting into the air.
“Yeah,” Danny says, remembering the rocket and his twelve-year-old self, trying to imagine a five-year-old Martin playing Superman in a bedsheet cape. “Yeah, I do.”
“Yeah,” Martin agrees, and he offers Danny that quick, subdued smile that makes Danny feel unaccountably good, turns back to watch the road twist on, and they’re quiet again.
-end-
Post-fic notes: The title comes from a Lyle Lovett song by the same name (the lyrics for which you can find here). It is a strange tune, but good.
I-95, aka the Florida Turnpike (as those who have driven on it can tell you) is one of the most boring, interminable roads in creation, and if you ever want a taste of true Sisyphusian futility, try driving on it sometime. I consulted Mapquest, and the drive from Hialeah to Cape Canaveral is about 190 miles; this would work out to about three hours or so, assuming a speed limit between 60-65 (I can't remember what it was in the early/mid-1980s, but probably somewhere around there). Poor Danny.
For the purposes of fic, I'm assuming Danny's around 32, give or take a year, and the shuttle launch could have taken place sometime before the Challenger accident in 1986--probably between 1983-85.
Side note to rinsbane: Let me know when you've finished HBP, okay? The fic I'm writing for you wants to go in that direction, but I don't want to post it until you're through :)
In other news: It's storming out now, and it's kind of crazy because I swear I can feel the electricity in the air. At first I thought it was nerves, because I don't like storms at all, but my stomach isn't upset... I just feel weirdly tingly all over.