If Paris is French, Coney Island, between June and September, is the world. -George Tilyou

Danny had thought about going and talking to Aiden’s grave, but found too cliché, too painful to sit in front of that alabaster stone and cry over her bones. Plus, there was a no dog’s allowed rule, so he’d have had to leave Hank in the car and come back to find the seats chewed and car alarm going.

So he went down to Coney Island, to wander the boardwalk and murmur under his breath to her. It was cold out and drizzling, so it was practically dead on the boardwalk. Only a couple joggers, people walking their dogs like he was, a few especially defiant teenagers and one hotdog vendor.

Aiden had loved Coney, loved the iffy rides, the crowded beach, the incredibly unhealthy yet addictive food, the throngs of strange and fascinating people who gathered there; everything. She’d make Danny take her there every hot and sunny day off they had together. They lie on the beach and cop feels like teenagers, tease each other about the once-overs and whistles they got, eat too many hotdogs and slushies, ride the Cycle and the Wonder Wheel, get tanned and drunk and stay out too late. Sometimes they dragged Don along too, but all three rarely had the same whole day off and if he did come, he always wandered off with some pretty blonde after an hour or two.

Danny had liked going to Coney too, but it’d always made him a little sad too. He’d lived in Brooklyn till he was fourteen; only a twenty minute walk from the beach, and his old man would bring him and Louie down all the time. Those were better days in the Messer household. Before they moved up to Yonkers, before his old man really got deep in the mob and before Louie went Tanglewood and everything went to hell. Before Aiden started dragging him down, he hadn’t properly been since high school, when he’d bring girls down to make out with under the docks.

So coming here with Aiden had always felt nostalgic and heart-rending and a little surreal. But he’d loved it. He’d loved her.

And now he had something else to feel sad about with Coney Island.

He walked slowly down the long boardwalk, his hands jammed deep in his pockets, his head down and his footsteps heavy. He’d been out here for an hour almost and was soaked to the bone, wearing only jeans and a black cotton t-shirt that clung to his body. He was freezing, but grateful for the spring showers. They hid the tears well and encompassed him in his own private world of misery.

When he finally reached the end of the wooden walkway, he leaned on his elbows against the railing, scanning the black, rolling sea and listening to the crash and swoosh of the waves breaking on the shore.

Sniffing, Danny glanced down at Hank. The black lab sat at his side and grinned up at him in the way only dogs could. Danny smiled weakly back and dropped a hand to scratch him behind the ears. Hank whined and leaned into it, panting and thumping his tail happily on the boardwalk. It made an ominous, hollow sound on the wood and reminded Danny morbidly of the sound of a closed coffin being tapped. He quickly pulled back his hand and slipped it back into his pants’ pocket.

“Sorry, pal. Later, ‘kay?”

Hank closed his mouth and stared up at Danny. Then stood up in alert and watched a seagull swing by. Then he sat again and leaned against Danny’s leg.

“Stupid dog,” Danny whispered hoarsely, turning back to the ocean. Tears continued to mingle with the rain and drip steadily off his jaw. He didn’t bother brushing them away. No one could see and they’d just keep coming anyway.

Hank had really been Aiden’s dog. She and Danny had pretty much been living together when they got him and Danny loved him, but he’d been hers all the same. Now Danny felt like a second favourite parent who was now struggling to be patient and attentive despite his own heartache. He let him up on the furniture, even the bed, and fed him scraps from the table and too many cookies. He’d wanted to give Hank away after Aiden was killed, to hone of er brother or Zack, who had two big dogs already and was always looking for another, or even the SPCA. But Don had convinced him otherwise. Now Danny, Hank and sometimes Don dwelled on their loss together, staying up late, watching bad movies, and drinking too much beer.

“She loved you so fuckin much…I think she might’ve loved ya more than she loved me,” Danny laughed slightly, then stopped shortly. “But not as much as I loved her.”

He shifted and flexed his cold, trembling fingers around the leash. “Fuck, dog. I’m spendin’ my day-off hangin’ ‘round fuckin’ Coney, talkin’ to you. There better be some hot water left in the buildin’ so I can shower the wet dog offa me when we get home.”

Danny felt a sick surge in his gut and squeezed his eyes shut. Home wasn’t home anymore. It was a place to crash after shift and hanging out at Don’s for as long as possible. A place to keep his clean clothes, books and Hank’s kibble. A place to pace and rub at the back of his neck and stare at her things, her pictures and try not to cry too much and take deep, controlling breathes to avoid really breaking down or punching a wall, hurting himself. A place to avoid as much as he could without being obvious about it to Don or Mac or his father.

Shaking with silent sobs, Danny bent his back and neck and pressed his forehead against his arms, which were crossed on the railing. After a moment though, he was able to straighten some and starting talking.

“Don’s gettin’ better. Better ‘nough to call me an asshole when I stole his JELLO while he was sleepin’ anyway. He-he’s tired a lot and really weak, and he can’t really sit up without help or bein’ propped up…but he is gettin’ better. And I know he misses ya more than he’s been lettin’ on. Stella…she’s been so quiet since that fuckin thing with Frankie, but I think this thing with Don has really kinda brought her back, y’know? Like now she has someone to take care of and doesn’t havta been weak or afraid, ‘cause she can help ‘em, be his friend. My friend too. Mac…he’s the same, I guess. Bit more human since-since that thing with Louie…I-I think I, uh, I think I kinda get what he went through with Claire, and I think he knows that. He’s been a good friend too. Hawkes, Adam, Zack, Pino, Zao…they’re all good.

“I saw your brother Charlie yesterday. He came by to…to pick up a bunch of your stuff. He’s real pissed at me. Thought he was gonna deck me. He…he blames me, I think. For lettin’ ya do that private eye thing.” Danny’s face twisted into a scowl and he muttered harshly, “As if I fuckin’ knew you were so far gone with that Pratt thing. I mean, I know you were followin’ through, makin’ updates once in a while, checkin’ in with Mac, but…I didn’t know that that was why you were keepin’ your old apartment. I thought…that was just for personal space, that you slept there once in a while for space…not ‘cause you were too tired and ashamed from followin’ the fucker all day to come home to me…”

He rubbed a hand roughly over his face and sighed. “Fuck. Aw fuck, Aid. Fuck it. I don’t care. I knew…I knew this was the one for you, the case that fucked you over like Tanglewood did for me…I shoulda been there better. But with Louie and then Stella and all…Christ, there ya go, Danny Messer, always King of the Excuses…Aid…I-I…”

Danny closed his eyes again and took four deeps breathes. “I miss you. So fuckin much. It’s killin’ me here. I thought…I thought ‘bout…doin’ some things. Bad things. Shit I usedta think ‘bout doin’ in high school, when things got real rough b’tween me and Louie, and with my old man and the feds. And when I lost baseball for good…But I’m glad I didn’t. ‘Cause Flack, y’know, he needs all the help he can get. And he’s all noble and shit and would blame himself, which I couldn’t bear to have on my shoulders along with everythin’ else. And he's my best goddamn friend. The best I've ever had, other than you. Even I couldn't be that much of a douchebag. Plus…Hank, huhn? Couldn’t...couldn’t leave Hank. He won’t eat for anybody but us. So…I gotta stick ‘round here for a little while longer. But I’m gonna be good. Take care of myself, like you were always bitchin’ at me to do. I’ll…slow down on the beer and tryta sleep some more. Let Stella make me eat somethin’ other than Famous Ray’s and Chinese take-out. Get back on the court when Don’s able to play again. But I don’t…I’m not gonna get married. Or have kids or nothin’. Not without you.”

Danny took another shaky breathes and stepped back from the ledge. “I’m gonna wait. Till I see you, in another life. When I’m not such a fuck-up and there’s no DJ Pratt and you’re just as perfect as you were here. Then we'll do it all. White weddin', eight kids, white picket fence, Uncle Donnie and season tickets to the Knicks, Yankees and Rangers. And it’ll be good and full and I won’t lose you.” Danny’s voice broke again on the last couple words and he had to pause and swallow hard. “I love you so, so much. And…I’m gonna come talk to you once in a while. But I gotta go now, before Hank gets hypothermia…See ya, Aid. You're my Coney Island baby.”

He stood still for a moment, just staring at the dark ocean, then turned and walked away, Hank trotting along at his side.