There was a time when the thrum of lightning surrounding him, the city blurring and then becoming telescopic in its distinction as he shot across an impossible distance faster than the human eye could catch, made Danny feel happier and more complete than he ever thought possible.
Now things were so much better—even tucked into a dark corner at Haven, where they’d entered from the back to keep an eye on Dunkirk until they were ready to make their move.
It was just Danny, Mal, Andre, and Lucy, with Priestly on comms back at the morgue and the others all on standby.
“If this doesn’t work and I pass out, carry me home nicely,” Lucy said to Andre, dressed in an impromptu dress of Lynn’s she’d borrowed from the station lockers that was admittedly a little too tight on her curvier frame. She finished putting on her lipstick, then immediately sipped on the drink she had with the antidote in it. Dunkirk wouldn’t get the same luxury.
“You sure you don’t mind doing this?” Danny asked her.
“You kidding? Honey, I’ve been itching to try out this knockout lipstick since I got it.”
Danny turned to Andre, whose brow hadn’t smoothed out once since they’d arrived; he’d insisted on being in the field for this, even if all he was doing was keeping an eye on Lucy. “And it doesn’t botheryou?”
Andre looked startled, like he hadn’t meant to display his displeasure. “No way, man. She’s having far too much fun with this. Plus, it’s just a kiss. I get all the real kisses,” he said, only to remember that Mal was standing right there. “I mean…”
Rolling his eyes, Mal ignored him, while Lucy laughed and Danny shook his head. The Titans would be doing the handoff to Dunkirk’s father. Danny was only there if they needed him.
Dunkirk had ordered a drink at the bar, deciding to bide his time to see if Carla showed up or maybe to wait it out to con info from the bartender or overhear something from a patron. Now was their chance.
“Showtime,” Lucy said, almost leaning forward to kiss Andre for luck before she remembered her lips were poisoned and bopped him on the nose instead.
“Just remember, he knows you,” Mal said.
“Please. Like that’s ever stopped me before.”
Andre moved to a closer booth, while Danny and Mal stayed in the corner to keep hidden. Mal’s eyes were like a hawk on Dunkirk, the cause of so much grief and trouble. Even if Ludgate had ended up as the greater threat, Dunkirk had still given Mal one of his scars—and more than enough to Carla and Michael. For that alone, Danny would always despise the man.
And for being the reason Mal hadn’t been there that day when Danny needed him.
From where they sat in the booth, Mal faced the bar while Danny faced Mal. He hadn’t asked if Mal was okay with Lucy doing this, because he knew the answer. Of course he wasn’t. Dunkirk was a reflection of Mal’s father, and that carried with it an ache Danny could never fully relate to. He could only be there, like Mal was there for him.
Growing enamored with the way Mal’s jaw twitched and his eyes followed the scene as it progressed, Danny watched closely the man he now associated with home and a lazy afternoon—Mal in his ballcap and black-framed glasses.
“What?” Mal asked after a few minutes of observing.
“Nothing. It’s just…nice. Working together like this.”
“We work together every night, Sparky.”
“I know. But tonight feels like just the right kind of déjà vu. Know what I mean?” He reached forward and stole a fry off the plate of food Mal had ordered for appearances.
As Mal looked down at the positions they were in, at the burger and fries, even at which booth they’d chosen, the harsh expression on his face melted just as Danny had hoped. This was where they’d sat out of costume for the first time. So much had gone wrong since that day, but they’d survived and come out the other side stronger. Dunkirk was a terrible reminder for Mal, for both of them, but it was just one more thing they could face together.
Leaning forward, Mal rested his fingers on Danny’s outstretched hand. “One of these days we’re gonna manage a proper date at this place.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Danny rubbed his foot along Mal’s leg beneath the table. Mal straightened, not from the contact, but because his eyes darted to Lucy again, ready to jump into action as events started to move forward. “I think our brand of date night is just fine.”
THE END
