Page 15 of Lovesick Titan

“Tell ya what. Normally I’d agree with your mom that you shouldn’t talk to strangers, and you definitely shouldn’t take anything from them. But I’m guessing you could get better use out of these donuts than me or Mr. Winter, huh?” He patted the top of the donut box again. Michael’s eyes lit up considerably. “But you can only have one before your mom wakes up. Deal?” Danny pushed the box across the floor.

Michael grinned, nodded, and reached for the donuts. He looked dwarfed by the size of the box when he hefted it up, his Prometheus doll barely clutched in one hand as he tried to handle both. “Thanks, Mr…”

“Danny.”

“Mr. Danny.”

“No, it’s—” But by the time Danny thought to correct him, Michael had already ducked into his apartment and kicked the door shut behind him. He’d probably eat more than just one donut before his mom woke up, but Danny figured it wasn’t the worst disaster ever.

He had to talk to Cho. No more stalling.

Leaving Michael behind, Danny climbed the last set of steps to Cho’s floor. He raised his hand to knock…only to hear a sudden oomph from inside.

“Mal?”

R

Danny. He was early.

Thank god.

Mal had knocked Dunkirk back but his hands were still cuffed, his powers useless, and he had to worry about the knife swiping at him with earnest hatred. Ramming Dunkirk all the way back across the room into the wall beside the desk, he tried to press the hand holding the knife as hard as he could into the wall to keep it from driving down into his shoulder or chest.

He couldn’t risk calling for ‘Danny’ or ‘Zeus’ so he simply shouted, “Help!” as Dunkirk wriggled free and swung at him with a left hook—not his dominant, but still brutal as Mal’s eye exploded in pain—causing stars to form in his vision and for his hold on the knife to falter. The room tilted as Mal was pushed back, blade rushing toward him, and he wasn’t fast enough to react.

But Danny was. Danny was there in seconds, whether the door had been thrown open or he merely lightning jumped through it. The knife clattered to the floor, the Irishman spun around and held from behind so he couldn’t see Danny’s face. Danny’s voice was a growl as he spoke.

“Breaking and entering, assault, attempted murder. Prometheus might not be able to press charges, but I remember a long list of priors for you, Mr. Dunkirk. Let’s see how happy OCPD is to see you.”

Danny glanced over his shoulder for the briefest moment, just long enough to meet Mal’s gaze, to see that he was okay, to make that moment linger and stretch on for ages because it was the first time Mal had seen Danny infour long days. Then he was gone.

Mal sucked in air as he fell to his knees in relief. Looking back at the door, he was fairly certain it was still closed, though he couldn’t really see it. His vision tunneled as his adrenaline came down and the brunt of everything that had happened struck him.

Not in his home. Not in hishome.

Mal took in another shuddery breath. He was okay. In the moment, even without his powers, he’d been able to defend himself, to fight, but he hadn’t been at his best, not nearly good enough with his ribs still twinging and his headache a dull reminder of his recent concussion. Now Dunkirk’s punch made him feel like the bone around his right eye was on fire. And his arm—shit.

He tried to reach up to press a hand to his tricep, the sleeve of his navy sweater slashed, ruined, but the cuffs prevented him. The cut felt deep, but the bleeding wasn’t bad. Still, it could have been worse. Mal had gotten so sloppy the past few days that he’d let Dunkirk ambush him in his own home. He was torn between wanting to scream and just wishing Danny would get back already.

“Mal!”

Then there he was, like lightning crackling through thunderclouds. He crouched beside Mal on the floor and urged him to stand, helping him to the sofa. Mal barely registered any of it until they were sitting. Danny removed the cuffs with his own set of keys and took a long look at the cut on Mal’s arm; the hissing noise he made wasn’t encouraging.

“Dinner…” Mal huffed.

“It doesn’t matter, we can—”

“Turn off the burners, Sparky.”

“Oh.”

Danny was gone and back so fast, Mal almost didn’t realize he’d listened to him. A warm hand brushed gently along his eye and parted the cut in his sweater to look at the gash again.

“I’ll get the first aid kit. Are you okay?” Danny looked at him with downturned eyes and a tightness to his lips that made Mal want to kiss away the strain.

“Carla! Michael!” He tried to stand as he remembered. “If Dunkirk was here—”

“They’re fine,” Danny held him in place, “I saw them. I don’t think he knows they live downstairs.”

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