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danny castellano

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Spending nights in the doctor's lounge isn't exactly proof that Mindy's handling the end of her not!relationship very well, but at least she's evolved beyond riding bicycles that aren't hers into pools, etc.

Still, she can't help but be sad. Because as much as she couldn't commit to him, in hindsight Mindy's not completely sure why. She hasn't heard from her supposed admirer in a while, and Danny continues to be Danny, a prospect that she doesn't even let herself consider anymore. So it's just her and some rando who makes her wear red without doing anything about it, and she's starting to think that maybe him being a murderer wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

At least her death would be cinematic and tragic, when right now she feels increasingly like she's going to meet her end at maybe an old age, but definitely alone.

Or with cats. And she doesn't even like cats. But if no one commits to her, she'll have to commit to cats.

She's staring at the ceiling of the lounge and contemplating one of those weird hairless cats one night when she should have already gone home, newborn twins safely in the arms of their new mom. At least they wouldn't leave fur everywhere, she contemplates. Although they are kind of creepy.

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Danny is a man. At least that's what he wants to believe. But real men are courageous and if there is one thing Danny can be accused of lacking, it's courage. When Mindy had worn red, he'd felt like he could do anything, that it was finally his chance. A couple of days later Hedwig had cut him from his life, metaphorically taking a scalpel to Daniel Castellano and carving him out in one fell swoop. Not for nothing, either. While Danny might have believed he'd been doing the right thing by trying to make Hedwig see sense, at the end of the day he'd been insensitive, selfish and - no qualms about it - a downright jerk.

If Mindy finds out what he's done to her, how he'd written those letters... No matter how truthful the words were, they had been delivered in a lie, an insensitive, selfish lie. The type only a jerk would tell. And if Hedwig could shut him out just like that, then what the hell is Mindy going to do when she finds out?

The simple solution, Danny has slowly come to realize, is that she can't. He can't come clean because if he does, he may as well pick up the scalpel and place it in Mindy's hand himself.

The thought is still lingering when he reaches the doctors' lounge, the surprise in finding her there evident in his voice.

"Babies 1, obstetrician 0?" he guesses, knowing full well that she's not long out of a twins delivery.

"Please, I totally won that delivery. Babies are both happy and healthy with mom," Mindy says, not shifting to sit up yet but keeping her gaze on the ceiling. She doesn't know if it helps or hinders that Danny's around. Sometimes she wonders how different things would be if he'd never turned up in Darrow, but she also knows she's grateful most of the time that he's here. Less so when he's being a jerk. "They were just stubborn as hell. Always are. Danny, do you think I should get a pet?"

"Do I...uh," Danny stalls, trying to work out if it's a trick question or not. Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he moves behind the couch, absentmindedly heading for the vending machine. "A pet? Do you mean like, a fur coat or a snakeskin purse?" Those he can picture Mindy with. Flea cream and poop bags not so much.

"Wait, what?" Mindy asks, a little startled, shocked and insulted as she forces herself to sit up. Fur is so not cool. She might not care about the environment but she's also not going to wear something dead, even if snakes are sketchy as hell. "No, Danny. Like a hamster or a canary or a," she shudders. "Cat."

"Oh, so you mean something you've got to keep alive? Yeah, no," Danny decides in a heart beat, turning his attention to the snacks behind the glass. "Get a stuffed one."

"Like, adorable Beanie Baby stuffed or... taxidermy stuffed?" Mindy asks, getting to her feet to follow him over to the vending machine and maybe swat at him. His complete lack of faith in her ability to keep anything alive is hurtful, but not necessarily unfounded. And it's not like she's acted like she wants a pet before, and she doesn't really now, but loneliness makes for strange... petfellows, or something like that.

"Well, I meant the second one but you don't seem that into it," Danny replies with a glance over his shoulder at Mindy. "What brought this on? Did you see another lady on the street with a dog in her purse?" A dog destined to get fat and lazy, of course.

"You meant the second one? Who do you think I am, Cruella De Vil?!" Mindy demands, because none of this is proving that he sees her in a very bright light. Which isn't new, exactly, but still. Fur coats? Taxidermy? No, she likes animals where they belong: alive, and in zoos. "I don't know, I just figured if I was going to be alone forever, I should at least have an animal to love like a child, or whatever spinsters do these days."

Danny lets out a noise of exasperation, head tipped back to the ceiling. "Mindy, don't be dumb. I mean, I mean that in the nicest possible way but come on," he insists, twisting away from the vending machine to catch her full attention. "You're not gonna end up alone. You're not even alone now," he continues, gesturing both hands at her.

"There is no nice way to say don't be dumb," Mindy corrects him, even if it's completely beside the point. It's basically her job to police Danny's niceness – or lack thereof – these days, otherwise he just goes around punching mormons all the time. "And I am alone. Unless you mean here, with you, in the doctor's lounge, which is really depressing. Will you buy me sour Skittles? I'll pay you back on Monday."

"I mean out there," Danny corrects, giving a sniff and reigning in his interest. "You got super book boy or whatever," he continues, as if he doesn't know Luke's name. As if he doesn't seem him almost every week for basketball practise. Fishing out a bunch of coins from his pocket, he starts picking out the change for the vending machine. "And don't tell me you and he aren't a thing, okay. It's been months, okay, 'course you are."

God, Danny Castellano might just be the most clueless person Mindy knows. And she's dealt with patients who want to know if strawberry jelly is a legitimate form of birth control. "Okay, well, it might have been months, but Luke and I are no longer a thing, because he broke up with me. Or I broke up with him. I don't know. It was mutual. Did you really not notice? Did he not say anything?"

"What?" Danny asks, head immediately whipping around before a beat passes and he swallows. "I mean, what, no, we don't talk about you," he shrugs, shoulders shifting awkwardly. "We meet, we play, sometimes we work out. I find his body motivational. It helps me focus. It's really over?"

Mindy's not even going to touch the finding his body motivational comment, puts it down to just one of those weird things that Danny says every now and then. "I am fairly sure that it's really over," Mindy says, annoyed that she has to say it again. So maybe they were never together, and maybe it was not really an official breakup, but it still kind of fucking hurts all the same. She's still back to square one. Single, alone, and not even getting laid.

Danny drops his gaze from hers, hanging for a moment before reverting to the safety of the vending machine. He counts his change out loud, losing his place a couple of times, mind foggy, until he eventually shoves in enough coins to get out a packet of sour Skittles. He can't stretch to a snack for himself but it doesn't really matter. He'd only headed to the machine in the first place to have a reason to stick around in the lounge.

"I'm sorry," he offers, holding out the packet to Mindy, taking the route to the couch that forces him to squeeze past her with next to no personal space.

"Why are you sorry?" Mindy asks, taking the candy and tearing open the packaging. As far as she's concerned, all he's done is buy her a snack. One that probably shouldn't be stocked in a doctor's lounge of all places, but if they start stocking healthy crap, she will riot. "I told you, we were never a thing. We were just... you know. Having sex."

"Jesus can hear you, you know," Danny warns, taking a seat on the sofa and twisting around to look at her over the back. He probably shouldn't have apologized, so he moves the conversation on to avoid drawing attention to it. "Did he treat you badly?"

It seems like the appropriate question to ask given Mindy's history with men.

"What?! No!" Mindy shakes her head vigorously because yeah, no, that so wasn't the problem. Luke is — was? — maybe one of the nicest guys Mindy's ever been with. The real problem, as always, was her. "I told you, it was mutual. Don't worry, you still have your basketball buddy, or whatever. You can stop caring now."

"I care," Danny argues, giving her a look, "come on, 'course I care. I'm just..." He trails off, turning back around and deflating against the couch, legs splaying as he gets comfy.

"You're just what?" Mindy asks, muffled as she starts to down the contents of the Skittles packet. It's not emotional eating, she swears, it's exhausted doctor eating. She so needs the sugar high, even as she flops in the lounge chair nearby Danny.

"I dunno," he mumbles, settling his head against the couch, unsure how to fill the blank. Taking a few breaths, he rolls his head to the side to take in Mindy. "Surprised, I guess," he eventually goes with.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mindy's already kind of defensive, because when it comes to her relationships — or her not!relationships — Danny's opinions usually aren't the most kind. And maybe, sometimes, he's totally right, but she's not about to tell him that tonight.

Danny lifts a hand to stop Mindy in her tracks. "Don't get all excitable, okay, I just mean I'm surprised," he shrugs, like repeating it makes things clearer. "Luke's a nice guy, I guess I thought you were more serious about him than you were letting on."

He's not really sure how to take the news that she's not. He'd be lying if he said he isn't reeling a little bit from the news.

Apparently, Mindy doesn't do nice guys. Or rather, she does them, but can only commit to cheaters and pastors-turned-DJs and anonymous letter writers. It might just be the part of herself she hates the most, how good she might have had it with Luke but somehow refused. Because she was — is — confused. She eats more candies before she responds again. "It just wasn't going to work out. We wanted different things. Can we stop talking about it?"

If the corner of Danny's mouth quirks up, it's only for a split second and barely noticeable.

"Yeah, sure." Falling silent for all of ten seconds, he taps his fingertips on his thighs before letting out a breath of air. "Was he bad in bed?" He asks in a loud whisper. "You can tell me."

"Oh my god," Mindy says, glancing around for something to throw at Danny but the nearest cushion is too far away. And there's no way she's throwing her candy at him, what a waste. "No, he was not bad in bed, you asshole. He was fantastic, okay? Which is none of your business at all. I don't want to talk about this!"

"What?" It's clear from Danny's expression that he'd asked for his own amusement rather than genuine curiosity. "Alright, fine. It's okay, Mindy. You got bored. It happens."

It's not really what happened, not this time, but Mindy's not about to get into it with Danny. At least not now. She's already embarrassed enough after Valentine's Day, after the nonevent that was her so-called Secret Admirer. "Yep," she says, popping a handful of candies in her mouth. "Them's the breaks."

Danny has known Mindy long enough to know when banter is no longer that and if truth be told, he's not sure what he's trying to achieve by prodding. The letters, the red dress, they were supposed to prove that Mindy isn't serious about Luke, that she's open to...something -- Danny's head drops back in frustration -- he doesn't even know what. Now it's over between them and while he's selfishly happy about that, the news hasn't come with the boost of confidence, of assurance, he'd been expecting. Mindy hasn't chosen him. She's just not chosen Luke.

"Get a tortoise," he says quietly, apropos of nothing, like he isn't currently battling growing internal turmoil. "They're really hard to kill and you can forget about them for three months every year."

"A tortoise?" Mindy asks, turning to face Danny with a look of skepticism before focusing again on her candy. No way is she getting some weird reptile or whatever. That would make her even stranger than a crazy cat lady, although the three months of forgetting does have its appeal. After a moment, she catches his gaze again. "Are they the ones that need water, or no?"

"They need it to drink, not to live in," Danny answers, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand before clasping them together in his lap, unconsciously wringing them as he speaks. "You're thinking of a turtle. Tortoises are the old ones. Don't like change. Hide in their shell a lot. But you feed them lettuce," he adds, giving Mindy a look like he's imparting a life lesson, "and they're yours forever."

As an afterthought, he explains, "Lettuce is a green leafy vegetable."

"I know what lettuce is, Danny," Mindy scowls, thinking that it's no wonder he has admiration for tortoises for their oldness and resistance to change, oh, the similarities. "I know it well enough to know that it's disgusting, and inferior to what I have right here."

She holds up the practically empty candy packet as evidence.

"You know what Skittles are, right?" Danny checks in a parental tone, lifting an eyebrow, completely unconvinced by Mindy's assertions. "Pellets of unicorn feces."

A severely dehydrated unicorn clearly suffering from constipation. "It's what I used to tell Richie when he was addicted to them as a kid."

"And he believed you? Oh my god," Mindy rolls her eyes, downing the rest of the packet like a drug. God, Danny's such a condescending ass. "He's lucky he's so good looking."

"Hey, guess--" Danny interrupts, leaning forward to make his point. "Guess how much dental work he's had done, huh? Guess. I'l tell ya - none. Nada. That kid has perfect teeth thanks to me. Dr Vajanil used to say, he used to say "Daniel, you've done a great job. Richard's teeth are textbook examples of perfect oral health and hygiene." And Richie thanked me when he was older. Or he would've done had I not turned up here."

"Hey, hey, I am in my... mid to late twenties and I've had minimal dental work, I'm doing fine," Mindy says, because if there's one thing she's consistent in it's dental hygiene. The whole eating well/exercise thing less so, but she's not going to be one of those women with false teeth, no way. A root canal or two is more than enough for her. "You don't need to worry about me. But congratulations, I'm sure he was super grateful growing up, eating lettuce instead of sweet, sweet Skittles."

Danny offers her a shrug as he settles back again, dropping the defensive posture. "The healthy option also happened to be the cheaper option. He was lucky to get anything."

"The healthy option is no longer the cheaper option," Mindy informs Danny, though she is careful not to tread too heavily around the issue of his family's lack of money. She was pretty damn lucky growing up, she knows, though even luckier now. "Have you seen how much a salad costs these days? Owning a tortoise would probably sent me into debt, just because of all the leafy greens I'd have to buy for him or her. It's insane."

"So wait until you settle down with someone and split the cost," he suggests, knowing the entire tortoise conversation is just an attempt to avoid the real issue. "Because you will, Mindy. You don't have to worry about that."

If anyone needs to worry, it's Danny.

"You don't know that," Mindy says, glancing over at Danny, serious. Of course, neither does she, but if she can't make it work with Luke, or Cliff, or Casey, or Josh... (okay, Josh was a total dick, but still...) "It's all I worry about."

"I do know that," Danny argues, a sincerity in his voice. At least he knows where he is when they're disagreeing about something. "Do you wanna know how I know? Because you've told me it's gonna happen literally thousands of times. You told everybody back in New York who stood still for longer than a second exactly how it's gonna happen," he continues, a thumb chucked over his shoulder and half a smile on his face. "You've stopped strangers in the street before to share the minute details of your wedding night. It doesn't get to not happen for someone like you."

Mindy's increasingly sure it doesn't work that way, at least not in the movies. Twenty-something her might have disagreed, but now that she's in her thirties (something she will absolutely, never, no way admit aloud), it's getting harder and harder to believe. Especially when she was so close with Casey – she wore a goddamn wedding dress – only for it all to fail. Like with all of the others.

Still, she knows Danny's heart is in the right place, and it speaks for how far they've come. She manages a smile, if a tired one. It's 3am, so what? "Thank you, Danny."

"Don't thank me," Danny replies quietly with a shake of his head. "Agree with me."

He's filled with an urge to say more, tell Mindy that she's great, that any man would be lucky to have her, but they feel like empty words without action behind them. Danny's never been great with words and 3am in the doctor's lounge after hearing that Luke had broken up with her isn't the place for action, he tells himself.

"Agreeing with you goes against who I am," Mindy reminds him, smile lifting into a more genuine one. For all that they argue, though, Danny's had moments where he's been the real champion of her happy ending – usually when she's not feeling it so much. "But I hope you're right."

And that she's not an idiot who just threw something that could have evolved into a real relationship for her away. That too.

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