Martin knows he thinks too much. It's something he can't help, something he's always done. He over-analyzes and worries needlessly about things that don't really warrant any sort of worry. But today his thoughts aren't really worrisome, more like a nervous sort of curiosity. Questions that he doesn't think he'll ever get an answer for...probably because he'll never work up the courage to actually ask them.

Danny is a mystery to him, has been from the moment he met him. And Martin can't help but wonder, as he glances his way - on the couch next to him - if he'll always be that way. No matter that they'd been through so much together. That soft, unspoken and constant attraction that had plagued them both since day one. All the almost and not quite moments that they'd danced around for years. And then Martin's own, horrible blunder...a relationship with Sam that had left him more confused, bewildered and regretful than anything else. Regretful not that it hadn't worked out, but that it had ever happened in the first place. A mistake, all of it. His last attempt to hold onto something that hadn't existed for a very long time.

And afterwards, a heavy and almost relieving sort of anticipation...wrongs being righted and the knowledge that something, something was finally going to happen. But then he'd been shot, dying on the cold pavement and he'd heard Danny's pleas, Danny's painful tears and desperate, almost angry words. God damn it Martin! You can't do this! Please...

He'd told Danny, weeks into his recovery - Danny who was an almost constant presence at his bedside - that he'd heard him. He'd heard those words, among others, and Danny had been surprised. Martin, himself, wondered how it was really possible because he'd been dying. He remembered being shot, that horrible feeling of his flesh tearing, burning, the pain that had been instant and oh so potent. He didn't remember how he'd ended up on the pavement. He remembered a brief - but powerful - thought of worry for Danny, wondering if Danny had been shot too. Then he'd started to feel an unnatural sort of coldness, drifting in and out of consciousness, knowing that the coldness was dangerous but that it felt so much better than the pain. And somewhere through it all had been Danny's voice, pleading with him, yelling hoarsely at him. Yes, he remembered it...though he didn't like thinking about it much.

But the shooting had brought about an end to the pretending, to the careful dance they'd been enacting, never quite close enough to get involved. He'd awoken in the hospital, days later, to Danny's weary and fearful eyes, his hand gripping tightly to Martin's own, eventually a light and grateful smile on his lips. Never scare me that way again Fitz... A pleading desperation under the teasing voice.

And Danny had stayed. He'd been there every minute he could. Before work, after work, the occasional lunch break - not that they ever got many. He'd stayed through Martin's pain, his embarrassment, his fear...everything. Through angry, frustrated fights that Martin always regretted and Danny always soothed away. Through cold, almost furious stares from his parents. He had stayed.

More so, he didn't walk away after the hospital. Insinuating himself into Martin's apartment so easily that Martin often wondered if he'd actually moved in. Danny took care of him in a way Martin had never been taken care of before. And for a while he wasn't quite sure what to do with the attention, the calm reassurance that someone would be there.

Their first kiss had held much of the same. Reassurance that this was okay, that it was right. Danny's soft lips, his gentle insistence on more, his tongue warm, wet, his mouth pressing Martin's open, sharing breath, touching and tasting...the way he had made Martin shake. Soft smiles, and more gentle kisses on his cheeks, his neck, nods and murmurs of agreement as Martin had whispered a rush of words, trying so hard to say everything he'd kept inside for so long. The feelings he'd never been brave enough to express. Babbling he knew, in the end, but Danny had understood and had kissed him again.

"You're thinking again," Danny murmurs.

Martin glances his way, sees the smirk on his lips and narrows his eyes. "How do you do that?" he asks, grimacing because he hadn't really wanted to ask that out loud.

Danny turns his way and smiles, arms reaching out to pull him closer. Martin shuts his eyes at the feel of fingers in his hair, warm breath against his face and then a sigh as their lips met. He murmurs Danny's name and pushes himself closer, body curling into him in what he is sure is a very undignified manner, but he doesn't care. He likes the way Danny holds him, makes him feel so safe...loved. He always does.

He does it on easy nights like this, home together - after the first kiss, Danny had soon given up the pretense of still renting his own apartment and had moved in - on the couch watching TV, talking, making out...like teenagers, he thinks giddily. He does it after they have sex, Danny's arms around him, calming, hands petting, soothing and yet, always a small tremble there that reassures him that Danny feels the same way. And he does it on nights when Martin wakes up cold, sweating and shivering - nightmares the one thing he can't quite get past - and Danny is there, his voice low and calming, often in Spanish which Martin finds even more comforting though he doesn't always understand it. Shh…tu es seguro, amor. Estoy aquí. Danny's arms tightening around him, fingers in his hair, on his neck, his back, pulling Martin ever closer, keeping him warm, pushing the fear away.

"You didn't answer me," he says softly, breath against Danny's neck. He yawns, not really tired but sleepy instead.

Danny looks down slightly, fingers light against the side of Martin's neck. "So you were really asking?" he asks, hint of surprise in his voice. Martin nods, head still pressed to the top of Danny's chest. "Fitz, I knew you were thinking because you're always thinking!" Martin huffs impatiently and rolls his eyes, knowing Danny probably knows he's doing that too even though he can't see it. Laughing a bit, Danny kisses the top of his head and reaches down to link their fingers together. "I knew because I know you and I know what to look for." Voice softer now, a strong sort of conviction behind the words.

Martin frowns slightly and sits up, eyes meeting Danny's with yet another question. "How come I can't...can't seem to figure you out the same way?" he asks, glancing downward, wondering why he'd even thought to ask such a question. It was one of the ones he usually kept safely bottled up inside.

Danny raises an eyebrow, a curious look in his eyes. "Can't you?" he asks, simply.

Martin opens his mouth to reply but shuts it just as quickly, looking at Danny strangely. All of those unanswered questions, the ones he never asks...he realizes in an instant, like the switching on of a light; he does know the answers. He knows how Danny feels about him...knows that Danny needs him, loves him, wants him. He knows how to read Danny, can tell when he's upset, happy, worried...all of it.

Blushing suddenly, he leans down and kisses Danny warmly, deeply, half-laughing into his mouth. When he pulls back Danny is smirking, eyes darker with the beginnings of lust. "See?" he says, voice low, hands sneaking around Martin's waist. "I told you you think too much."

Boldly, Martin returns Danny's smirk with one of his own and crawls onto his lap, leaning down for another kiss. A kiss, he knows, that will turn into more. But Danny is right; he does think too much. And when he stops thinking, stops asking questions in his head...he realizes that he already knows the answers.

Spanish translation: "You're safe love. I'm here."

-Any mistakes belong to the random internet translation site I used!