Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2007-11-03 12:27 am
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2007-11-03 12:27 am
Danny/Bela - Job's a Job
Fandom: CSI:NY/Supernatural
Title: Job's a Job
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iluvroadrunner6
Rating: FRT/PG-13
Characters: Danny Messer/Bela Talbot
Content Warning: Spoilers for season 3 if you don't know who Bela is.
Summary: Bela tracks down a family ring.
Author's Note: Part of my Family Ties series. Bela doesn't like concise. Bela likes backstory. And since this is from Bela's point of view, there's a lot of it here, and this is very long. And I'm not sure how good it is, but Danny's already yelling at me, telling me he wants to tell his side of the story now. I on the other hand, want to shoot them both at this point, for making me write this to begin with. Yes, my muses have me whipped. Leave me alone.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY or Supernatural. They're owned by CBS and the CW. However, any and all original characters are mine, so please don't use them without my permission.
It had taken her weeks to track down the ring’s actual owner. Weeks of pouring over documents and questioning spirits as to it’s whereabouts. It wasn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world to do—the ring had done the impossible and actually managed to stay within the confines of the family. Passed down from father to his eldest son, ever since the family’s originated in Italy. The ring wasn’t anything terribly beautiful—a wide band of solid silver that rested comfortably on one’s finger, but it was cursed in the most interesting way. It was a wedding gift from the bride’s father to the groom, that, while he wore it promised him long life, only if he remained true to his bride. If he failed to keep that promise, it was sure to result in his almost immediate death.
The groom did not know that, however, thought of it only as a wedding gift, and then passed it down to his son on his wedding day and it managed to remain that way for generations. Usually when it comes to these things, eventually it would be lost—a father would die without a son, or the son was too young to be married, the family was robbed, or even grave-robbed for that matter, but that didn’t seem to be the case here. She had never seen an artifact that had managed to stay in a family for such an extended period of time. There was a lot of lineage to go through, but with what the buyer was willing to pay, she didn’t think it would be too much of a problem. In Italy, though, she had reached a dead end.
“Prego, ma lei parla degli inglesi?” she struggled through the Italian to the man on the street corner. She had been speaking it since she was old enough to learn the language, and was quite fluent, actually, but a foreigner trying to apologetically stumble through the language was sometimes more endearing than one who knew it perfectly. Made her seem less—threatening. She had no idea why, but that was the game that she had to play.
“Sì, signorina,” the elderly man said with a warm smile.
“Oh, thank God,” she said with a sigh. “My Italian is terrible.”
“Not too terrible, bella,” he sighed. “What can I help you with?”
“Have you happened to have heard of the DiPietro family?
“I did—from when I was a little boy, no bigger than the distance from your knee to the ground.”
She smiled warmly, while inwardly rolled her eyes. “Do you happen to know where I can find them?”
“You won’t find them here,” he replied, shaking his head. “The youngest son, he, ah—he had a daughter, no sons. He died suddenly no one knows why. Anyway—his daughter, she married an Englishman—Messer, I think his name was. He took her to America.”
Bela knew the man’s sudden death meant he probably had not been the most faithful to his wife, but she wasn’t going to impart that wisdom on the man in front of her. “Messer, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Well, thank you—you’ve been very helpful.”
She sighed heavily as she returned to the hotel room, packing up her gear to return back to the city for a session with the Ouija board, knowing that American family records are going to be twice as hard to find and/or figure out, and she was on a schedule—the faster she could figure out who had the ring the better.
The Messer family line ended in Staten Island. So it was to Staten Island she went. The ring was last in recorded possession of a Louie Messer, Sr., but upon closer examination she found that he had given it to his son, Louie, Jr., as a sign of his blessing. It was obvious that the ring’s true intention had been lost on the family. She knew that the ring’s curse became activated through the ceremony of marriage itself; so as of now, the ring itself was relatively harmless. All that mattered was actually getting a hold of it.
She found the younger Louie lying prone in his hospital bed, hooked up to more tubes and wires than she thought was imaginable. It hadn’t been easy to sneak her way into Trinity General. It was simple to give the ruse of someone stopping by to see a friend, but when she reached Louie’s room she found a major roadblock. Cops were everywhere, checking credentials to make sure that no one who wasn’t supposed to go in there did. And hospital badges were the hardest ones to forge.
It took some time but eventually she got in there again. A stiff blond wig framed her face along with thick, round glasses, walking through the hallways her scrubs virtually unopposed. It amazed her sometimes how people were so easy to deceive. She wandered her way back up to Louie’s room and the guard at the door only took a brief glance at her badge before letting her inside.
The room was quiet and dark. Most comatose patient’s rooms were, but this seemed almost out of place. The file said he had been on life support for a little over a year and a half now. It was an awful thing, life support. Kept alive indefinitely when no one’s really there. She hoped she never would up having to be stuck on it. Then again, the doctors would probably pull the plug on her anyway—she wouldn’t really have anyone to keep her alive for.
She started on the man’s left hand, looking at his fingers and finding no rings. She did the same with the other—same result. So the ring wasn’t on him. As the door opened she realized that of course the ring wasn’t on him—hospitals usually removed personal effects. Which meant that the ring was probably with his family.
“Who are you?”
Or the ring was staring her right in the face.
There it was, dangling from the neck of the man who had just entered the room. She tilted her head to the side slightly, studying him for a moment, before responding. “Nurse Fletcher,” she replied thinly, making sure she held onto the American accent she was faking. “I’m just checking the patient’s vitals.”
The man continued to study her careful, and she caught the glint of the brass badge on his belt and groaned inwardly. Not another cop.
“I’ve never seen you before,” he replied.
“I’m usually in the NICU,” she said quickly, but not too quickly. “I’m covering a shift for a friend.”
He paused for a minute, before studying her again. “Oh.” He bought it. She wasn’t sure why he bought it, but he bought it. She wasn’t going to question it. She just watched him as he sat down on the side of his bed next to Louie. She made a show of taking the patient’s pulse and watching the other man out of the corner of her eye. She let it be quiet for a few minutes, before speaking up again.
“How do you know him?” she asked. Friend? Relative? Lover?
“He’s my brother.”
“Ah,” she nodded with a sigh, before letting the arm drop, and acting like she was jotting something down in the file, before turning back to him. “I’m sorry.”
“You and halfa New York.”
She smirked slightly at that, before turning and heading out of his room. Getting the ring this time was going to take some more coordinated planning. But it was more of the fun kind of coordinated planning. She was going to enjoy this.
***
It was a couple weeks before she managed to align herself a perfect encounter to meet one Danny Messer again. It was in a bar that she knew he frequented—she had been there a few times in disguise, just to try and see if he actually came in there, get his patterns down. He usually went to the bar first, had a few drinks, then started talking to the people he knew, if any. If he wanted a more private conversation, he and the person they were talking to would move to a booth, getting away from the rest of the crowd.
Bela wanted that private conversation. It was the only way she was going to get the ring off him.
He was already there when she wandered her way into the bar, pretending to be a distracted tourist. She hated bars like this. All the brass in the room made her feel claustrophobic. But she ignored it like a pro, weaving her way through the people with soft “excuse mes” and “pardon mes,” playing up the accent so she’d be more believable. She managed to slide into the spot next to Danny—a spot so small she was probably the only one who would fit in it, and she gave him a small smile before turning to the bartender. She ordered something sugary and fruity, leaning over the bar and waiting for her drink to arrive.
The bar was taller than she was used to, and she propped herself up on the round golden bar running along the edge near the floor. She could feel his eyes sliding over her, watching the curve of her back and the line of her body and tried to fight back the urge to smile. A woman can tell when they were being checked out—it was all a matter of whether or not they chose to acknowledge it.
The bartender handed her the drink, and she gave him a smile before starting to step away. She missed the step down from the bar and stumbled into the man next to her, pouring her drink all down the front of his shirt.
“Oh, bollocks,” she sighed. Play up the British—you’re a tourist not a local. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” he said with a slight chuckle before reaching for some napkins. “It happens.”
“Yeah, doesn’t hurt that I’m a bloody klutz as well,” she said frowning slightly, as she reached for the napkins. “Oh, God—this is probably going to stain.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he sighed, trying to get her to stop. She didn’t listen, focused on what she was doing, and it wasn’t until he took her wrists in his hands that she stopped. “Sweetheart—it’s just a shirt.”
She looked up at him and gave him an embarrassed smile. “Sorry.”
“You said that.”
“Feel like I can’t say it enough,” she sighed. “At least let me buy you another drink—to make up for it.”
He smirked slightly at that. “Don’t even know my name, and you’re already buying me a drink.”
“Like you’ve never bought a drink for a woman you didn’t know before.”
“Yeah, I used to,” he grinned. “I found out that was living pretty dangerously.”
“Well maybe I like the danger,” she said with a grin. “You going to let me buy you the drink or not? It’s the least I can do.”
“Fine, fine,” he said with a sigh. She turned to signal the bartender, but he caught her arm before she could, turning her back to face him. “I’m Danny,” he replied, extending his hand to her.
“Lisa,” she lied, giving him a wide smile as she shook his hand.
“There,” he sighed. “Now we know each other’s names.”
“Now we do.”
***
“You really didn’t have to take me back to my hotel,” she said, slipping in a bit of a slur, and swaying slightly into his shoulder.
The evening had been full of light brushes and touches. They would talk but there was always the edge of flirting to their conversation, which got harder the more alcohol they—or rather he—consumed. She didn’t know if he noticed how she always seemed to be working on the same drink, but the more beers he got into his system, the less he cared. Or at least that’s what she figured. But she was going to play the same level of drunk as him, just to make him feel more comfortable. Because she needed him to be that way—to be comfortable.
“It’s my job,” he replied, his voice slurring slightly himself. “I don’t mind.”
“Well,” she sighed, turning slightly to face him and pretending to catch herself on his arm. “I think I can take it from here. I’m pretty sure I can navigate an elevator and a hallway without incident.”
“You sure about that?” he said, moving in closer to her as he did. He was coming on a little too strong, and if she hadn’t planned this from the get-go, it probably would have been a flat no with her kicking his ass back into the cab. But her eyes weren’t on him, they were on the silver band hanging around his neck that was going to earn her two million from this buyer, easy.
“You think I can’t?” she said, letting him lean over her, the smell of the whiskey he’d been drinking floating back to her with every breath he took.
“I think it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
She was quiet for a minute, watching the back and forth in his eyes, wondering if she was going to say yes or no. Then the corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile, and she sighed. “I think you might be right. Better safe than sorry.”
He licked his lips lightly and she felt her body involuntarily go weak in the knees. She shook it off, before taking his hand and pulling him back into the lobby with her. They barely made it into the elevator before he was backing her into the wall, covering her body with his. He didn’t kiss her right away, just hovered incredibly close, running his fingers up her thighs, pushing the edge of her skirt up slowly. She let him for a minute, before swatting his hand away lightly after pushing the button for her floor.
“Not even going to kiss me first?” she whispered. He laughed slightly before leaning in again, kissing her full on. The heavy alcohol on his breath was making her dizzy and she clutched the wall for support, leaning most of her weight against it in case her feet gave out. The boy was good at what he could do, she wasn’t going to deny that. His hand started to slide up her thigh again, and she tightened her grip, wondering if they were even going to make it out of the elevator once they got there.
***
They did make it out. Eventually. She had to say, this was probably one of the more gratifying jobs she had been on. Danny Messer came off so jaded, so untrusting, yet he was desperate for the connection, all at the same time. He reminded her of a hunter she knew—but there were clear-cut differences. Danny Messer wasn’t going to cost her one-point-five million. In fact, Danny was going to make her two.
He seemed almost peaceful now, stretched out in the hotel bedroom that she had rented for the night. There was no way she was taking him back to her real place—not by a long shot. She finished pulling up the zipper on her skirt before moving back over to the bed, sitting down next to him and watching him as he stirred slightly, but didn’t wake. She gave a bit of a half smile, before leaning over him gently, reaching for the small clasp on the necklace.
That ring had been dangling in front of her face all night, and now all she had to do was reach out and take it. She gently—very gently—picked the ring up off his chest, undid the clasp quickly, and slipped the ring off the chain before redoing the clasp again, and placing the chain gently back down on his chest, letting her fingers linger there for a moment. She watched him there, and then—for some reason, she still can’t explain—she leaned in and gave him the gentlest kiss she could.
“Good night, Danny.”
And it was barely a minute after that before she was gone.
Title: Job's a Job
Author:
iluvroadrunner6Rating: FRT/PG-13
Characters: Danny Messer/Bela Talbot
Content Warning: Spoilers for season 3 if you don't know who Bela is.
Summary: Bela tracks down a family ring.
Author's Note: Part of my Family Ties series. Bela doesn't like concise. Bela likes backstory. And since this is from Bela's point of view, there's a lot of it here, and this is very long. And I'm not sure how good it is, but Danny's already yelling at me, telling me he wants to tell his side of the story now. I on the other hand, want to shoot them both at this point, for making me write this to begin with. Yes, my muses have me whipped. Leave me alone.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY or Supernatural. They're owned by CBS and the CW. However, any and all original characters are mine, so please don't use them without my permission.
It had taken her weeks to track down the ring’s actual owner. Weeks of pouring over documents and questioning spirits as to it’s whereabouts. It wasn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world to do—the ring had done the impossible and actually managed to stay within the confines of the family. Passed down from father to his eldest son, ever since the family’s originated in Italy. The ring wasn’t anything terribly beautiful—a wide band of solid silver that rested comfortably on one’s finger, but it was cursed in the most interesting way. It was a wedding gift from the bride’s father to the groom, that, while he wore it promised him long life, only if he remained true to his bride. If he failed to keep that promise, it was sure to result in his almost immediate death.
The groom did not know that, however, thought of it only as a wedding gift, and then passed it down to his son on his wedding day and it managed to remain that way for generations. Usually when it comes to these things, eventually it would be lost—a father would die without a son, or the son was too young to be married, the family was robbed, or even grave-robbed for that matter, but that didn’t seem to be the case here. She had never seen an artifact that had managed to stay in a family for such an extended period of time. There was a lot of lineage to go through, but with what the buyer was willing to pay, she didn’t think it would be too much of a problem. In Italy, though, she had reached a dead end.
“Prego, ma lei parla degli inglesi?” she struggled through the Italian to the man on the street corner. She had been speaking it since she was old enough to learn the language, and was quite fluent, actually, but a foreigner trying to apologetically stumble through the language was sometimes more endearing than one who knew it perfectly. Made her seem less—threatening. She had no idea why, but that was the game that she had to play.
“Sì, signorina,” the elderly man said with a warm smile.
“Oh, thank God,” she said with a sigh. “My Italian is terrible.”
“Not too terrible, bella,” he sighed. “What can I help you with?”
“Have you happened to have heard of the DiPietro family?
“I did—from when I was a little boy, no bigger than the distance from your knee to the ground.”
She smiled warmly, while inwardly rolled her eyes. “Do you happen to know where I can find them?”
“You won’t find them here,” he replied, shaking his head. “The youngest son, he, ah—he had a daughter, no sons. He died suddenly no one knows why. Anyway—his daughter, she married an Englishman—Messer, I think his name was. He took her to America.”
Bela knew the man’s sudden death meant he probably had not been the most faithful to his wife, but she wasn’t going to impart that wisdom on the man in front of her. “Messer, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Well, thank you—you’ve been very helpful.”
She sighed heavily as she returned to the hotel room, packing up her gear to return back to the city for a session with the Ouija board, knowing that American family records are going to be twice as hard to find and/or figure out, and she was on a schedule—the faster she could figure out who had the ring the better.
The Messer family line ended in Staten Island. So it was to Staten Island she went. The ring was last in recorded possession of a Louie Messer, Sr., but upon closer examination she found that he had given it to his son, Louie, Jr., as a sign of his blessing. It was obvious that the ring’s true intention had been lost on the family. She knew that the ring’s curse became activated through the ceremony of marriage itself; so as of now, the ring itself was relatively harmless. All that mattered was actually getting a hold of it.
She found the younger Louie lying prone in his hospital bed, hooked up to more tubes and wires than she thought was imaginable. It hadn’t been easy to sneak her way into Trinity General. It was simple to give the ruse of someone stopping by to see a friend, but when she reached Louie’s room she found a major roadblock. Cops were everywhere, checking credentials to make sure that no one who wasn’t supposed to go in there did. And hospital badges were the hardest ones to forge.
It took some time but eventually she got in there again. A stiff blond wig framed her face along with thick, round glasses, walking through the hallways her scrubs virtually unopposed. It amazed her sometimes how people were so easy to deceive. She wandered her way back up to Louie’s room and the guard at the door only took a brief glance at her badge before letting her inside.
The room was quiet and dark. Most comatose patient’s rooms were, but this seemed almost out of place. The file said he had been on life support for a little over a year and a half now. It was an awful thing, life support. Kept alive indefinitely when no one’s really there. She hoped she never would up having to be stuck on it. Then again, the doctors would probably pull the plug on her anyway—she wouldn’t really have anyone to keep her alive for.
She started on the man’s left hand, looking at his fingers and finding no rings. She did the same with the other—same result. So the ring wasn’t on him. As the door opened she realized that of course the ring wasn’t on him—hospitals usually removed personal effects. Which meant that the ring was probably with his family.
“Who are you?”
Or the ring was staring her right in the face.
There it was, dangling from the neck of the man who had just entered the room. She tilted her head to the side slightly, studying him for a moment, before responding. “Nurse Fletcher,” she replied thinly, making sure she held onto the American accent she was faking. “I’m just checking the patient’s vitals.”
The man continued to study her careful, and she caught the glint of the brass badge on his belt and groaned inwardly. Not another cop.
“I’ve never seen you before,” he replied.
“I’m usually in the NICU,” she said quickly, but not too quickly. “I’m covering a shift for a friend.”
He paused for a minute, before studying her again. “Oh.” He bought it. She wasn’t sure why he bought it, but he bought it. She wasn’t going to question it. She just watched him as he sat down on the side of his bed next to Louie. She made a show of taking the patient’s pulse and watching the other man out of the corner of her eye. She let it be quiet for a few minutes, before speaking up again.
“How do you know him?” she asked. Friend? Relative? Lover?
“He’s my brother.”
“Ah,” she nodded with a sigh, before letting the arm drop, and acting like she was jotting something down in the file, before turning back to him. “I’m sorry.”
“You and halfa New York.”
She smirked slightly at that, before turning and heading out of his room. Getting the ring this time was going to take some more coordinated planning. But it was more of the fun kind of coordinated planning. She was going to enjoy this.
***
It was a couple weeks before she managed to align herself a perfect encounter to meet one Danny Messer again. It was in a bar that she knew he frequented—she had been there a few times in disguise, just to try and see if he actually came in there, get his patterns down. He usually went to the bar first, had a few drinks, then started talking to the people he knew, if any. If he wanted a more private conversation, he and the person they were talking to would move to a booth, getting away from the rest of the crowd.
Bela wanted that private conversation. It was the only way she was going to get the ring off him.
He was already there when she wandered her way into the bar, pretending to be a distracted tourist. She hated bars like this. All the brass in the room made her feel claustrophobic. But she ignored it like a pro, weaving her way through the people with soft “excuse mes” and “pardon mes,” playing up the accent so she’d be more believable. She managed to slide into the spot next to Danny—a spot so small she was probably the only one who would fit in it, and she gave him a small smile before turning to the bartender. She ordered something sugary and fruity, leaning over the bar and waiting for her drink to arrive.
The bar was taller than she was used to, and she propped herself up on the round golden bar running along the edge near the floor. She could feel his eyes sliding over her, watching the curve of her back and the line of her body and tried to fight back the urge to smile. A woman can tell when they were being checked out—it was all a matter of whether or not they chose to acknowledge it.
The bartender handed her the drink, and she gave him a smile before starting to step away. She missed the step down from the bar and stumbled into the man next to her, pouring her drink all down the front of his shirt.
“Oh, bollocks,” she sighed. Play up the British—you’re a tourist not a local. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” he said with a slight chuckle before reaching for some napkins. “It happens.”
“Yeah, doesn’t hurt that I’m a bloody klutz as well,” she said frowning slightly, as she reached for the napkins. “Oh, God—this is probably going to stain.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he sighed, trying to get her to stop. She didn’t listen, focused on what she was doing, and it wasn’t until he took her wrists in his hands that she stopped. “Sweetheart—it’s just a shirt.”
She looked up at him and gave him an embarrassed smile. “Sorry.”
“You said that.”
“Feel like I can’t say it enough,” she sighed. “At least let me buy you another drink—to make up for it.”
He smirked slightly at that. “Don’t even know my name, and you’re already buying me a drink.”
“Like you’ve never bought a drink for a woman you didn’t know before.”
“Yeah, I used to,” he grinned. “I found out that was living pretty dangerously.”
“Well maybe I like the danger,” she said with a grin. “You going to let me buy you the drink or not? It’s the least I can do.”
“Fine, fine,” he said with a sigh. She turned to signal the bartender, but he caught her arm before she could, turning her back to face him. “I’m Danny,” he replied, extending his hand to her.
“Lisa,” she lied, giving him a wide smile as she shook his hand.
“There,” he sighed. “Now we know each other’s names.”
“Now we do.”
***
“You really didn’t have to take me back to my hotel,” she said, slipping in a bit of a slur, and swaying slightly into his shoulder.
The evening had been full of light brushes and touches. They would talk but there was always the edge of flirting to their conversation, which got harder the more alcohol they—or rather he—consumed. She didn’t know if he noticed how she always seemed to be working on the same drink, but the more beers he got into his system, the less he cared. Or at least that’s what she figured. But she was going to play the same level of drunk as him, just to make him feel more comfortable. Because she needed him to be that way—to be comfortable.
“It’s my job,” he replied, his voice slurring slightly himself. “I don’t mind.”
“Well,” she sighed, turning slightly to face him and pretending to catch herself on his arm. “I think I can take it from here. I’m pretty sure I can navigate an elevator and a hallway without incident.”
“You sure about that?” he said, moving in closer to her as he did. He was coming on a little too strong, and if she hadn’t planned this from the get-go, it probably would have been a flat no with her kicking his ass back into the cab. But her eyes weren’t on him, they were on the silver band hanging around his neck that was going to earn her two million from this buyer, easy.
“You think I can’t?” she said, letting him lean over her, the smell of the whiskey he’d been drinking floating back to her with every breath he took.
“I think it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
She was quiet for a minute, watching the back and forth in his eyes, wondering if she was going to say yes or no. Then the corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile, and she sighed. “I think you might be right. Better safe than sorry.”
He licked his lips lightly and she felt her body involuntarily go weak in the knees. She shook it off, before taking his hand and pulling him back into the lobby with her. They barely made it into the elevator before he was backing her into the wall, covering her body with his. He didn’t kiss her right away, just hovered incredibly close, running his fingers up her thighs, pushing the edge of her skirt up slowly. She let him for a minute, before swatting his hand away lightly after pushing the button for her floor.
“Not even going to kiss me first?” she whispered. He laughed slightly before leaning in again, kissing her full on. The heavy alcohol on his breath was making her dizzy and she clutched the wall for support, leaning most of her weight against it in case her feet gave out. The boy was good at what he could do, she wasn’t going to deny that. His hand started to slide up her thigh again, and she tightened her grip, wondering if they were even going to make it out of the elevator once they got there.
***
They did make it out. Eventually. She had to say, this was probably one of the more gratifying jobs she had been on. Danny Messer came off so jaded, so untrusting, yet he was desperate for the connection, all at the same time. He reminded her of a hunter she knew—but there were clear-cut differences. Danny Messer wasn’t going to cost her one-point-five million. In fact, Danny was going to make her two.
He seemed almost peaceful now, stretched out in the hotel bedroom that she had rented for the night. There was no way she was taking him back to her real place—not by a long shot. She finished pulling up the zipper on her skirt before moving back over to the bed, sitting down next to him and watching him as he stirred slightly, but didn’t wake. She gave a bit of a half smile, before leaning over him gently, reaching for the small clasp on the necklace.
That ring had been dangling in front of her face all night, and now all she had to do was reach out and take it. She gently—very gently—picked the ring up off his chest, undid the clasp quickly, and slipped the ring off the chain before redoing the clasp again, and placing the chain gently back down on his chest, letting her fingers linger there for a moment. She watched him there, and then—for some reason, she still can’t explain—she leaned in and gave him the gentlest kiss she could.
“Good night, Danny.”
And it was barely a minute after that before she was gone.