saturdaynight_csection | (no subject)

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There's not much about this place Danny likes.

The people are weird, there's not much money in his bank account so the chances of being able to start his own practice are pretty much nil, and working exclusively for a hospital in a creepy little city isn't exactly his dream job. Things were good for Danny in New York. Things aren't so great for Danny in Darrow.

But if what everyone tells him is true, he's stuck here.

The worst part about all this is that Mindy's here and she doesn't remember a damn thing about the past year. Danny's not sure that's such a bad thing, not when he's pretty much gone out of his way to screw up their entire working relationship and their friendship, but it's a pretty heavy secret to carry on his own.

Still, it's not like he's ever been especially forthcoming with his feelings and so he can carry it if he has to. And he has to.

Doesn't stop him from showing up at Mindy's apartment probably more than he needs to. He's armed with food this time, irritated with the state of this entire city, irritated with Mindy for not remembering and irritated with himself carying.

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Maybe they've never been on the best of terms, as opposite as two colleagues can be, but that doesn't mean that Danny's arrival delighted Mindy any less. It was entirely possible she might have frightened him in the process, shrieking and telling him all about how the Glee kids were here and had he finished Catching Fire and how the hell was Schulman and Associates surviving without her. She's since calmed down a little, but for all their differences it's always nice to see him at the door. Especially carrying food. "Oooooh, what'd you bring this time? Chinese? Did you remember the fortune cookies, Danny? They're free but sometimes you have to ask... you asked, right?"

"Yeah, I asked for the fortune cookies. Jesus, you'd think I'd never picked up Chinese food before," Danny answers as he comes into her apartment and if he has to resist the urge to lean over and breathe in the scent of her hair, it's not like he has to tell anyone. Besides, with his luck she's just got back from working ten hours at the hospital and it won't quite be the experience he's looking for.

Not that he's looking for any experience with her. That stuff he's been thinking about lately, it's a mistake. It's just 'cause he's lonely. He shouldn't even be here, it's a bad idea, too, but there's no one else in this place he's even bothered to get to know and eating Chinese food alone in his crappy apartment is too pathetic even for him.

"Okay, god, relax, Danny. I just know that they matter more to me than they matter to you," Mindy says, rolling her eyes and following him inside. Maybe it's entirely silly, but she's missed this. This back-and-forth, this banter. Even if it tends to mean he thinks less of her, or whatever.

The fact that they matter so much to her is why he remembered to ask in the first place, except he can't say that, so he just grumbles as he puts the bags down on her kitchen counters. "How come your place looks so good and mine just looks like a poor college student decorated?" he asks, looking around. It's not his style, not even close, but he has to admit it looks a lot better than his place.

"Uh, because I have awesome decorating skills, Danny," Mindy says, grinning, absolutely confident in that very one fact. And though it's not quite like her place back home, it is distinctly hers, and that's what counts. "Oh my god, do you want me to decorate your place, Danny? Wouldn't that be amazing? You wouldn't even have to pay me or anything."

Edited 2014-03-04 04:42 (UTC)

"Do I... do I want you to decorate my place?" Danny echoes in disbelief as he gets plates out of her cupboard, not even bothering to ask her where she keeps them. He knows exactly where she keeps them, this whole kitchen is laid out in exactly the same way her kitchen in New York is and he's pretty sure he knows it better than she does. Except for the wine glasses. He's sure she knows where she keeps the wine glasses.

"Yeah, Mindy, I want you to decorate my place so that I can have some really masculine velvet pillows on my masculine purple couch," he says, putting the plates on the table.

"Okay, first of all, both velvet and purple can be masculine. Don't be so close minded," Mindy says, exasperated, leaning against her kitchen counter while Danny finds the plates, "And second of all, come on. You said it yourself: my place looks good! I can turn it from homeless guy with a home to hot, successful bachelor."

"Hey, I'm perfectly capable of not looking like a homeless guy on my own," he protests, because his apartment in New York had been nice. Maybe not Mindy's version of nice, but Danny's got great taste, he refuses to let anyone tell him otherwise. "I just gotta get a job first."

He sets the plates down, then turns back to get utensils, pausing at the drawer for a second. "You ever think about starting a practice here?" he asks without looking at her. "Instead of just working for the hospital?"

"Of course I have," Mindy says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world because, well, it is. Private practice is always going to be easier, and make her wallet fatter, but for right now, it just doesn't seem like something she can afford. "But I've hardly established myself here. We had Schulman, you know? We were just associates. Lahiri and Castellano? Who the hell are they?"

Danny's shoulders lift in a shrug and he still doesn't look at Mindy as he starts to serve the food. "After he retired they were two thirds of a pretty damn good practice," he says, then pauses, clearing his throat. "Most of the damn good part was me, just so we're clear."

She's a good doctor, one he's actually pretty proud to work with, but the last thing he needs is for her to know that. It's the sorta thing that'll go straight to her head and he'll never hear the end of it.

"Oh, we're clear," Mindy says, rolling her eyes but most of her anger is largely teasing. Danny's never going to pay her a compliment outright lest hell itself freeze over, but this comes pretty close. "Okay, more rice, Danny. Carbs aren't your enemy. But, anyway, I mean, yeah. A practice of our own would be pretty cool, but I've hardly been saving."

No, she's been spending most of her money on clothes and home decor. Well, and wine.

"Of course you haven't, I can't believe you collected so many damn shoes in less than a year," he says, heaping more rice onto her plate, though he leaves his exactly as it is. Carbs might not be his enemy, but he's not looking forward to an extra hour at the gym because Mindy convinced him to go crazy with the rice.

"You know how many pairs of shoes I own? Four. Work, gym, casual and fancy. That's all you need," he lectures. Truth is, the fancy shoes don't get much of a workout anymore, which is fine, he doesn't need them to get used a lot. He just used to go out to a lot more fancy dinners with Christina.

It's more than a little frustrating that he leaves his plate the same, making her feel about six sizes too big, but whatever. She knows she's hot. Most of the time, at least. Sometimes. Actually, not that often. Whatever. "Four ? You own four pairs of shoes? Danny. That is just sad. Like, I may actually cry sad. Do you even have boots? Danny. Do you have boots?"

"What do I need boots for? I'm not a cowboy," he says, setting her plate down in front of her before he drops into the chair across from her with his own food. "Women look good in boots, okay, I'll give you that. Women can have five pairs of shoes to account for boots and stuff, but I don't need boots."

"Everybody needs boots," Mindy clarifies, starting at her food and resisting the urge to crack open her fortune cookie just yet. They're really the best part about Chinese, though, even if certain people might call them silly and superstitious. "I will get you a nice pair of boots for your birthday. And you can't stop me, because I already know your shoe size."

"What? No, I don't need boots, Mindy," he says, pausing with his fork hovering over his plate. "Don't buy me boots, c'mon."

She's right, he can't stop her, and she does already know his shoe size. She knows a lot more about him than just about anyone, which is annoying and he glares at her over his meal, suddenly irritated with her for knowing so much.

"God, Danny, did you get beat up by a gang of boot-wearing-thugs or something?" Mindy asks, taking a bite of her food and giving him a skeptical look. She's not sure she's ever met someone so vehemently opposite to a type of footwear, but Danny is funny like that. And sometimes, even despite the glares, it's a little bit adorable. "You know, I think you don't realise how lucky you are to have me here. People disappear all the time! Most people are all on their own, not surrounded by awesome coworkers offering to makeover their apartments and/or wardrobes."

"Most people, including myself, can dress themselves and their own apartments," Danny replies after he takes a bite of food. "What would I even wear boots for? What do men wear boots for? What kind of event needs boots?"

It's stupid, there's no reason for him to be so focused on boots, of all things, but it's the one thing he's stuck on.

"I don't know, Danny! Ask your friend Bruce Springsteen. He wears boots, you know," Mindy says, although she's not even one hundred percent sure of that fact. Whatever, it's his reaction to boots that is totally irrational. "Stop with the boots. Eat your chicken before I steal it."

She raises her fork pointedly, just so he knows she's a lady of her word.

"That's different. Bruce Springsteen can do whatever he wants," Danny says before he digs into his food because she's told him to. And he doesn't know when he started doing things because Mindy told him to, but apparently he does today.

Except for the boots. He's not getting boots.

"Not every guy can just be Bruce Springsteen, you know."

"He's not Beyoncé, Danny. You could be Bruce Springsteen if you wanted. Dancing In The Dark or whatever," Mindy says, rolling her eyes. "But no boots, okay, I get it. No boots. And no velvet. Or purple. Or fun."

He's a lot better than Beyoncé, but Danny's learned ages ago not to start that argument with her. He'll never win it and it'll go all night unless he gives in.

"Hey, I have plenty of fun," he protests. "Just... maybe not in this place. This place is pretty terrible."

"Danny," Mindy starts, entirely serious, because few things are more fun than Darrow, if you're willing to set aside the missing home side of things. "Both Draco Malfoy and Captain America are here. How can you... this is literally the coolest place on Earth. And it might not even be on Earth, for all I know. But Draco Malfoy, Danny!"

Okay, the Captain America thing is pretty cool, but he doesn't have much interest in Draco Malfoy. He's only even seen the movies because Mindy insisted and it's not like they were terrible, but Draco Malfoy's kind of a wiener. That's Danny's conclusion after the movies, anyway.

Which is just one more of the things he can't say.

"New York had famous people," he points out. "And New York had a lot more New York."

"I know you're like, in love with New York, and I love it too, but it's not like we have a choice," Mindy says with a sigh, deciding against commenting that it's way cooler to have Draco Malfoy than Tom Felton in Darrow, for example, although she gets the impression the latter would be less of a dick. "You should try to enjoy it."

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