Chapter Text
Dani arrives at Charlie's house at a little before two am, dog tired and nursing a splitting headache and longing for a drink or a pill or a line or something - anything to take the edge off of all this. She'd got as far as pouring herself a double measure of Hennessy before throwing the bottle and the glass into the sink with a frustrated shout, showering whiskey and shards of glass everywhere.
Fuck him.
Fuck Charlie Crews for saving her useless life.
Because now, she owes him.
And now she feels guilty about wanting a drink, because of him.
If ever there was a time when her falling off the wagon could be considered 'understandable', it would be after spending almost a week in the custody of Roman Nevikov whilst his animals crawled all over her, but now she was racked with guilt at the thought - Charlie didn't offer up his life for hers so that she could throw it away on half a bottle of whiskey and a line or three a few hours later.
She remembers the first thing he asked her on the first case they ever worked together - anyone ever love you that much?And she realises that until yesterday, no one ever had.
She shuts the door behind her, shaking her head at his unwillingness to lock doors, and walks up the stairs as quietly as she can. The last time she was in his house, she watched him get shot - that day was, incidentally, the last time she'd had a drink.
She tries to shake off that memory now as she creeps along the short hallway, pausing outside his bedroom door.
This is weird.
She's not making any effort to kid herself, or otherwise convince herself that this isn't a little strange - she's showing up in (not just at, in) his house in the middle of the night. She doesn't even know why she's here - if it's comfort she's seeking, shouldn't she have gone to her sometimes-boyfriend's place?
She thinks about leaving, heading to Tidwell's like she probably should have in the first place, but realises this is the only place she wants to be. She just wants him. It's with that thought that she twists the doorknob and steps hesitantly into his master suite, ignoring the voice in her head telling her to do the opposite. Her eyes flick around the large room; the arch that leads to what she assumes must be the master closet, the half open door that she can see leads to the ensuite bathroom, and in front of her against the wall by the windows, the huge California King Bed. There's no curtains on the windows so light just spills through the glass and sends strange shadows cascading over the floor and the walls and his bed. When she finally looks at his bed, and him, she realises he's at least partially awake. And watching her.
She swallows forcibly, but stays where she is.
"You okay?" He asks after a minute, and it's such a normal, ordinary question that she almost laughs, but finds she isn't sure she remembers how.
"I've been better." She replies with a shrug and a grimace.
"I've been worse." He counters with a half smile, "I'm just glad you're…" he hesitates, "…here."
She takes a deep breath and sighs, not breaking eye contact.
"You are here, right, Reese?"
"I don't know why." She says, nodding all the same.
He opens his mouth to reply, but she knows what he's going to say before he says it.
"If you say 'you don't have to understand here to be here' I swear, I'll shoot you." She says, shaking her head. Her mask of annoyance and irritation is betrayed by the slight upwards quirk of her lips.
He wordlessly tugs back the sheets on the other side of the bed with a careful expression on his face. "I can't sleep either."
She sighs gratefully, relieved he didn't make her ask if she could stay, or offer her the couch or a guest room. She kicks off her shoes and unselfconsciously shrugs out of her jacket and jeans before climbing into bed beside him in her t shirt and underwear, nestling herself amongst the cool, soft sheets. She can't even imagine what thread count they must be, they feel like heaven on her skin.
"I knew you'd find me." she says into the darkness, half hoping he's already asleep.
"I'll always find you." He replies sleepily and she doesn't bother trying to resist the small smile that appears on her face at his words.
She's almost completely asleep when she feels his hand close over hers. It doesn't occur to her to do anything other than turn her hand over and link their fingers together as she lets sleep overtake her mercifully (and finally) quiet mind.
When Charlie Crews wakes up the day after taking Reese's place and killing Roman Nevikov, he is surprised by two things. One is that he is, in fact, alive. He killed Roman Nevikov, and then wasn't killed by the henchman surrounding the two of them. That's a positive development, he thinks with a yawn and a wiggle of his toes as he wakes up.
The second thing that surprises him is when he registers the presence of someone else in his room - or more accurately, in his bed. He opens his eyes and finds Dani Reese curled up against his chest, her dark hair cascading over his arm, her hand resting interestingly low on his waist and their legs tangled together. That's a really positive development, his brain supplies helpfully.
For a second he remains confused about her presence there, before the night before comes back to him in a rush.
He's never had the opportunity to just watch her before, just observe her whilst she's resting and peaceful and absolutely stunning. He's not blind - he knows his partner is gorgeous, how could he not? But as they lie together he can't help but wonder if he wouldn't mind waking up this way every morning for the rest of his life.
She snuffles in her sleep, like she's on the verge of waking up, and nuzzles into his chest, and he's pleasantly surprised by that reaction - he was expecting her to either be gone or to freak out the moment they woke up. Although in all fairness, he's not sure she's actually awake.
"Morning." He says with a smile when her eyes flutter open.
"Morning." She replies, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him with a nervous expression on her face and something akin to embarrassment in her eyes.
"You wanna talk about it?" He asks tentatively, waiting for her to get up, throw on her clothes and run from him like she would have run from Roman if she could.
"Do I ever?" She replies easily, no anger or malice in her voice. The worry is fading from her eyes.
"When you do-" He starts but she cuts him off.
"When I do, I know where you are." She reassures him. Her eyes flick to his watch, which he knows is lying on his bedside cabinet. She raises her eyebrows in surprise.
"It's almost noon." She observes, "No wonder I'm starving."
"I hope you like fruit," He teases sitting up and swinging his legs out of bed, "Ted's gone to Spain and he's the one who usually does the grocery shopping so…" He leans forward to grab his watch and hears her sharp intake of breath. He twists to see what's wrong and finds her staring not at some unknown or unidentified monster, but instead at him. She's looking at his torso, and he realises too late that she's seeing what he fights valiantly to keep hidden. His body is littered with scars and marks, most from his time inside, some from after. He is immediately embarrassed, and feels some kind of fear - not a kind of fear he's accustomed to experiencing. Others have seen him, but none have really looked. Badge Bunnies and Playmates to waste away the hours with, but never someone he cared about this way. Never someone permanent. (The Zen part of his brain reminds him that nothing is permanent, but he ignores it.)
He wants to ask her- Are you permanent, Dani? Are we? But he's not even sure there is a 'we' yet, so he bites his tongue.
He turns away and moves to stand up, to head for his closet to grab a shirt, but her small hands on his shoulders stop him in his tracks. He tenses up as he hears the rustle of the sheets that indicate she's moving closer to him. She sits down right behind him, her knees on either side of his hips and her chest pressed against his back. He feels her soft hair brush against the outside of his arm and her hands slide from his shoulders to his biceps as she tips her head and presses a kiss against the centre of the spiders web tattoo on his shoulder. Twelve lines out, for twelve years in. Twelve lines gained, for twelve years lost. The only other tattoo she can see from her current position is the clumsily drawn face of a pig on his left shoulder blade, the word 'Jura' scrawled underneath. From her limited knowledge of Spanish she knows the word is a slang term for 'cop'. It doesn't look like one he put there himself, or had someone else do. It looks like the kind of thing he would end up with if he was held down and branded with it. A pig for a cop. They literally put a target on his back. She shakes her head against the fury that rises in her. He's not there now - he's here, and safe, with her.
"You don't have to hide from me, Charlie." She says quietly, and he doesn't understand how he can simultaneously feel so afraid, so bone-deep terrified, whilst also feeling so safe, so cared for, so loved - which he knows doesn't make sense because they aren't even together. "Please don't hide from me."
"I'm not going to ask you about any of these," Her voice is so soft it's almost a whisper, and he finds himself inexplicably clinging to her voice, needing her to keep talking as if to preserve his sanity, "but when you're ready - if you're ever ready - you know where I am." She repeats his own offer back to her, gently trailing the fingers of her right hand under his arm, over his ribs and across to the left side of his chest. Everywhere she trails her fingertips she feels the slightly raised skin of a mixture of scars and tattoos. She thought he was kidding - but he really does have quite a few of them.
"And where is that?" He asks her, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.
She hooks her chin over his shoulder and tilts her head just enough that she can see his face, and he turns his head a little to see her better. They're so close all he'd need to do is tilt up his chin and he'd be kissing her.
"Wherever you are." She replies, a half smile on her face, and a softness in her eyes he's not accustomed to seeing there. He finds he could quite comfortably lose himself in their depths, and never feel the need to find his way out.
His right hand reaches up and closes over hers, his peaceful smile matching her own. She does kiss him, but not on the lips. She tilts her head to the side and kisses him on the cheek. Her lips are soft and warm and he's surprised to find his first thought isn't to turn in her arms and kiss her and press her into the mattress - not that they wouldn't both thoroughly enjoy that, he's sure - but rather to lay himself emotionally bare, tell her everything, give her all of himself. He doesn't, but it's a shock to the system to feel like he could.