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.fic: The Technology - WaT/N&A x-over (D/M PG13) 3.4/5
Title: The Technology
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M
Rating/Warning: PG/PG13-ish. Strange, possibly crackfic.
Disclaimer: Without a Trace belongs to CBS &c. And the fangirls were sore aggrieved. Now & Again belongs to CBS too. This also grieved the fangirls sorely.
Advertisements: Crossover with Now and Again.
Previous chapters: 01 (with all pertinent notes); 02
Notes: I'll probably need a fifth chapter to finish this, as there's a couple things that cropped up unexpectedly during the course of writing... And apologies for the delay in posting. Got derailed by the angst train that was 4.12.
CHAPTER THREE
At five-thirty in the afternoon it was official: Jack Malone was having a terrible day, and in about two seconds it was going to get worse.
Victor Fitzgerald was staring at him from across his borrowed desk, absorbing what Jack had just told him.
“And this happened when?”
“We think approximately seven this morning,” Jack said. Most times, Victor irritated him – most authority figures irritated him, but Victor had found a way to be especially grating – but now there was an expression on his face that was disconcerting. Worried, intent, almost predatory, and Jack couldn’t decide whether to be sorry for Victor or be afraid of him.
“And you know this how?”
“We know that he goes running shortly before seven every morning, and a witness confirms he was seen in Corona Park at that time.” Jack shuffled through a small stack of notes Sam had given him. “So far there are no calls or any financial activity to cause reason for concern, but Victor... I have to ask if you’ve received any threats personally, or if there were any directed at your family.”
“No, none at all.” Victor sighed. “Though that doesn’t count for much these days. No one seems to be playing by the rules anymore.”
And that was true enough, Jack supposed.
“Still, we’ll have agents in the DC office monitor your phones,” Jack told him. “If there’s a... a ransom call, I want to be ready for it.” And then he offered, even though he couldn’t believe he was doing so, “You want me or one of the other agents in DC to coordinate with the office down there?”
“No, thank you, Jack,” Victor said, sounding honestly grateful, and more human than Jack could ever remember.
“We should also decide if we want to go to the media on this,” Jack told him. “But it’s your call.” Victor didn’t seem to hear him, but Jack didn’t repeat himself.
“You know, Jack,” Victor said after a long, meditative pause, “when he was younger, he would run away... It drove his mother and me crazy, but he never stopped doing it. The summer of his junior year in college he was supposed to intern with the Brookings Institute – a great opportunity, you know, and he seemed happy about it,” – Jack didn’t know but he nodded anyway – “and he vanished two days before he had to fly to D.C. Two days after the program started we got a postcard from somewhere in Montana. And we didn’t see him again until Thanksgiving.”
“Are you saying he’s just... just run off?”
“I’m saying we didn’t know Martin didn’t want to spend his summer there until he left,” Victor said, impatience edging the words. “We didn’t know anything was wrong until he wasn’t there anymore.”
* * *
They had a timeline up on the whiteboard at the office, Martin’s picture posted above the date and time of his disappearance: October 15, seven o’clock in the morning. And, before or after that, nothing at all.
Ten hours now, almost eleven, and the sky was darkening, the wind had a new, frigid edge to it.
“Viv, this is a waste of time,” Danny said again as Viv led them down yet another street full of people who hadn’t seen, or couldn’t remember seeing, Martin. They’d found only a couple of joggers who’d said they hadn’t seen anything and a park ranger who had to have been among the most oblivious people Danny had ever met. All they had was what the homeless lady, Marge, had told them, and the CSU’s reluctant conclusion that there wasn’t much evidence they could get from where Marge had said Martin had gone.
“There’s so much traffic through there,” one of investigators had explained, and then seeing Danny’s face, quickly added, “but we’re still looking.”
Other agents were canvassing the area with similar results. Nothing and nothing and nothing again, and Danny was almost out of his mind. Viv glanced at him and offered him a smile that, in most circumstances, would be reassuring, but now was not.
“We’ll find him,” she said, and Danny wished he could believe her.
“We’re not finding him like this,” he said, gesturing back down the street. “Viv, we’ve been running in circles half the goddamn day, and the other half I should have known there was something wrong, but I didn’t.”
“Sam’s still going over Martin’s phone logs and financials,” Vivian said calmly, “and she’ll let us know if she finds anything. You could always go back and help her, if you want.”
As if she didn’t know that being trapped in the office would be worse, far worse, than wandering around Queens.
Danny was about to snap back a reply when an unfamiliar agent bounded up to them, breathless and sweaty in his overcoat.
“Agent Taylor?” – and for a heartbeat Danny thought they found him thank God – “I’m Ryan Valenti, from Arnold Johansen’s team. I might have something.” Valenti paused, glancing between Danny and Viv. “It’s weird, though.”
“Weird?” Danny echoed. “How?”
“I’ll let him tell you.”
Half a block down was a coffee shop, busy with mid-afternoon traffic, and slouching against the front wall was an obviously impatient young man in a stained shirt and apron. Valenti introduced Danny and Viv, and the kid seemed vastly unimpressed by being in the presence of three federal agents.
“This is Kyle Robbins,” Valenti said, “and he thinks he might have seen Martin.” He leaned heavily on the thinks, which earned an annoyed look from the young man.
“What time?” Viv asked.
“I keep telling this guy, around six-forty or so.” Kyle glared at the agent, who rolled his eyes. “He asked me where the nearest Metro stop was. Told him he had to go to Shea Stadium or 111th, he said thanks and ran that way.” Kyle gestured vaguely in the direction of the park. “I remember him ‘cos he looked really worried, like he was going to be late for something.”
“You said six-forty,” Viv said. “Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure,” Kyle said irritably, shifting in place, and Danny wanted to throttle the kid. Vivian glared at Kyle, who straightened and had the good sense to moderate his tone. “I got the seven to five shift, and my boss makes me be in by six forty-five at the latest, ‘cos we got people come early.” Kyle’s tone indicated exactly what he thought of his boss’s policy. “I was just walkin’ in when he came running up.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Gray t-shirt and pants, I guess. Way too cold for just a t-shirt, but it didn’t look like it was bothering him.” Kyle fidgeted. “Can I go now? I been here all day.”
“Go ahead,” Viv told him, even though Danny wanted to tie the kid up until they could extract more information out of him. Kyle heaved a sigh of relief and escaped back into the coffee shop.
“Well,” Viv said, “that’s certainly interesting.”
“No way that could be Martin,” Danny told her. “I mean, we – Martin lives between here and the park, and he wouldn’t need to ask where the Metro stops are anyway.” He wanted to add that Martin had worn a long-sleeved blue t-shirt, but caught himself when he remembered that Valenti was still hovering nearby. “Either that kid’s got the time wrong or that wasn’t Martin he saw.”
“We only just started covering this end of the block,” Valenti added. “We might turn up more people who saw this guy, get a better sense of the time.”
“If any businesses have exterior security cameras, have them pull the footage with time codes between six-thirty and seven-ten,” Viv told Valenti, and if she felt any qualms about ordering around another supervisor’s agent she didn’t show it. “We’ll have Sam and Elena look over them and see if they can’t pick up our mystery guy. Same for traffic lights, say, ten blocks in either direction.”
Valenti nodded obediently – which, given the circumstances, was the smart thing to do –and headed off, pulling his cell phone from his pocket as he went. Viv watched him go for a moment and then turned back to Danny with a look that he couldn’t decipher, and she was opening her mouth to say something when her cell phone rang.
“Oh, for...” Vivian flipped the phone open. “Johnson. Oh, hey Jack.”
Danny tensed, tried to hear Jack’s voice on the other end of the line, but couldn’t make anything out. Vivian nodded a couple times, her face taking on a briefly astonished expression before she nodded once more and said, “I’ll ask him.” She looked up at Danny. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on with Martin? Any indication at all that there’s something wrong? That he might have been unhappy?”
“What? No.” The answer was startled out of him, and he was almost glad, because if he’d thought about it much more... Was Martin unhappy? Would Danny know if he was?
“Okay,” Viv said, then into the phone: “It sounds like Martin’s doing fine, Jack. Are you going to tell Victor that?” She nodded absently. “Of course. We’ll be in touch.” The phone beeped off.
“Viv, what is Jack going to tell Victor?”
“That Martin seems to be doing okay, and until we have further evidence to the contrary, that’s what we’re going to assume.” Vivian smiled and patted Danny’s arm. “Jack’s not going to tell Victor about you two, and we are going to find Martin, Danny, and he’s going to be fine.”
Just because you say it over and over again doesn’t make it true, Danny thought. He didn’t say this, though, although he wanted to, but instead followed Viv back to the car in silence.
* * *
An Army installation, definitely. Martin had been faking sleep when Dr. Morris was making one of his visits and had caught a glimpse of a uniformed soldier through the open door. For a moment he’d wondered if this was because of his dad, some weird kind of security protocol or else a new tactic in their long-standing disagreement. But Victor had never gone so far as to actually keep Martin under lock and key, even though he’d threatened to do so plenty of times when Martin had been a kid.
Morris was back now, looming over Martin’s bed, flipping through a sheaf of papers and frowning alternately at them and Martin. The pages snapped as he turned them over.
“So, uh, what’re you going to do to me?” Martin asked.
“I, Mr. Fitzgerald, am trying to figure out what to do with you.” Morris paused at the foot of Martin’s bed and peered at him skeptically. “Now that the secrecy of our project has been violated, I should – according to the procedure manual, anyway – have you terminated in order to protect classified information.”
“What?”
“But your father is Victor Fitzgerald, and that presents difficulties.” Morris’s voice darkened in annoyance, and in that moment, for the first time ever, Martin was fervently grateful for his ancestry. “If Special Agent Number One and his fellow agents were careless enough to mistake you for... ” Morris paused and frowned, “someone else, then I can assure you they were careless enough to be noticed by somebody. There will be an investigation, and that could cause problems.” His mouth thinned. “It will cause problems.”
“I don’t suppose being an innocent bystander would get me clemency?”
“Probably not.” Morris crossed his arms and glowered down at Martin. “You see, the problem is that we’ve spent a lot of money – and when I say a lot of money, Mr. Fitzgerald, I mean a lot of money – on ensuring the utmost secrecy of this project. Sacrifices have been made to continue our work, and I can assure you we’re willing to sacrifice a little more.” The look in Morris’s eye was not comforting.
“I didn’t see anything,” Martin protested. “I didn’t even know you had a ‘project’ until you told me; all I saw were those men chasing me, and that’s it, until I woke up here. And I’m pretty sure you know that I haven’t left this room. That soldier you’ve got stationed out there could tell you that.”
Morris blinked at him, obviously taken aback and not liking it.
“I work in Missing Persons, Dr. Morris,” Martin said. “Do you think they wouldn’t start looking for me, even if I weren’t Victor Fitzgerald’s son?” He stressed his father’s name again, was briefly gratified when Morris’s face tightened in frustration. “If you kill me, I can promise you that there is going to be an investigation. If you don’t...” Martin shrugged, ignored the brief prickle of worry. Would Danny and the others be out there right now? He had no idea what time it was, how long he’d been here. Surely Danny would have noticed when Martin didn’t show up at the office. “If you don’t, I am a federal agent. I know how to keep information confidential.”
“I don’t doubt that you do,” Morris said at last, sounding supremely reluctant, “but you have to understand, Agent Fitzgerald, I can’t trust you. And I also can’t trust that other... individuals won’t catch wind of what we’re doing here, seek you out, and extract information from you against your will.”
“Oh, come on,” Martin snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you I haven’t seen anything?”
“You could say so ad nauseam ad infinitumque, and it wouldn’t make any difference.” Morris sighed. “And please understand this, Agent Fitzgerald... This project has had billions of dollars and thousands upon thousands of man-hours – as well as the exclusive use of my not-inconsiderable genius – invested in it, and we are not going to allow that work, or our country’s safety, to be jeopardized.”
“So the government can blow a billion dollars – ”
“Far more than a billion, Mr. Fitzgerald, I assure you.”
“ – on some super-secret military project, but won’t give Missing Persons a decent coffeemaker?”
“It’s all a question of priorities, Mr. Fitzgerald. You can’t put a price tag on national security.”
-tbc-
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M
Rating/Warning: PG/PG13-ish. Strange, possibly crackfic.
Disclaimer: Without a Trace belongs to CBS &c. And the fangirls were sore aggrieved. Now & Again belongs to CBS too. This also grieved the fangirls sorely.
Advertisements: Crossover with Now and Again.
Previous chapters: 01 (with all pertinent notes); 02
Notes: I'll probably need a fifth chapter to finish this, as there's a couple things that cropped up unexpectedly during the course of writing... And apologies for the delay in posting. Got derailed by the angst train that was 4.12.
CHAPTER THREE
At five-thirty in the afternoon it was official: Jack Malone was having a terrible day, and in about two seconds it was going to get worse.
Victor Fitzgerald was staring at him from across his borrowed desk, absorbing what Jack had just told him.
“And this happened when?”
“We think approximately seven this morning,” Jack said. Most times, Victor irritated him – most authority figures irritated him, but Victor had found a way to be especially grating – but now there was an expression on his face that was disconcerting. Worried, intent, almost predatory, and Jack couldn’t decide whether to be sorry for Victor or be afraid of him.
“And you know this how?”
“We know that he goes running shortly before seven every morning, and a witness confirms he was seen in Corona Park at that time.” Jack shuffled through a small stack of notes Sam had given him. “So far there are no calls or any financial activity to cause reason for concern, but Victor... I have to ask if you’ve received any threats personally, or if there were any directed at your family.”
“No, none at all.” Victor sighed. “Though that doesn’t count for much these days. No one seems to be playing by the rules anymore.”
And that was true enough, Jack supposed.
“Still, we’ll have agents in the DC office monitor your phones,” Jack told him. “If there’s a... a ransom call, I want to be ready for it.” And then he offered, even though he couldn’t believe he was doing so, “You want me or one of the other agents in DC to coordinate with the office down there?”
“No, thank you, Jack,” Victor said, sounding honestly grateful, and more human than Jack could ever remember.
“We should also decide if we want to go to the media on this,” Jack told him. “But it’s your call.” Victor didn’t seem to hear him, but Jack didn’t repeat himself.
“You know, Jack,” Victor said after a long, meditative pause, “when he was younger, he would run away... It drove his mother and me crazy, but he never stopped doing it. The summer of his junior year in college he was supposed to intern with the Brookings Institute – a great opportunity, you know, and he seemed happy about it,” – Jack didn’t know but he nodded anyway – “and he vanished two days before he had to fly to D.C. Two days after the program started we got a postcard from somewhere in Montana. And we didn’t see him again until Thanksgiving.”
“Are you saying he’s just... just run off?”
“I’m saying we didn’t know Martin didn’t want to spend his summer there until he left,” Victor said, impatience edging the words. “We didn’t know anything was wrong until he wasn’t there anymore.”
They had a timeline up on the whiteboard at the office, Martin’s picture posted above the date and time of his disappearance: October 15, seven o’clock in the morning. And, before or after that, nothing at all.
Ten hours now, almost eleven, and the sky was darkening, the wind had a new, frigid edge to it.
“Viv, this is a waste of time,” Danny said again as Viv led them down yet another street full of people who hadn’t seen, or couldn’t remember seeing, Martin. They’d found only a couple of joggers who’d said they hadn’t seen anything and a park ranger who had to have been among the most oblivious people Danny had ever met. All they had was what the homeless lady, Marge, had told them, and the CSU’s reluctant conclusion that there wasn’t much evidence they could get from where Marge had said Martin had gone.
“There’s so much traffic through there,” one of investigators had explained, and then seeing Danny’s face, quickly added, “but we’re still looking.”
Other agents were canvassing the area with similar results. Nothing and nothing and nothing again, and Danny was almost out of his mind. Viv glanced at him and offered him a smile that, in most circumstances, would be reassuring, but now was not.
“We’ll find him,” she said, and Danny wished he could believe her.
“We’re not finding him like this,” he said, gesturing back down the street. “Viv, we’ve been running in circles half the goddamn day, and the other half I should have known there was something wrong, but I didn’t.”
“Sam’s still going over Martin’s phone logs and financials,” Vivian said calmly, “and she’ll let us know if she finds anything. You could always go back and help her, if you want.”
As if she didn’t know that being trapped in the office would be worse, far worse, than wandering around Queens.
Danny was about to snap back a reply when an unfamiliar agent bounded up to them, breathless and sweaty in his overcoat.
“Agent Taylor?” – and for a heartbeat Danny thought they found him thank God – “I’m Ryan Valenti, from Arnold Johansen’s team. I might have something.” Valenti paused, glancing between Danny and Viv. “It’s weird, though.”
“Weird?” Danny echoed. “How?”
“I’ll let him tell you.”
Half a block down was a coffee shop, busy with mid-afternoon traffic, and slouching against the front wall was an obviously impatient young man in a stained shirt and apron. Valenti introduced Danny and Viv, and the kid seemed vastly unimpressed by being in the presence of three federal agents.
“This is Kyle Robbins,” Valenti said, “and he thinks he might have seen Martin.” He leaned heavily on the thinks, which earned an annoyed look from the young man.
“What time?” Viv asked.
“I keep telling this guy, around six-forty or so.” Kyle glared at the agent, who rolled his eyes. “He asked me where the nearest Metro stop was. Told him he had to go to Shea Stadium or 111th, he said thanks and ran that way.” Kyle gestured vaguely in the direction of the park. “I remember him ‘cos he looked really worried, like he was going to be late for something.”
“You said six-forty,” Viv said. “Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure,” Kyle said irritably, shifting in place, and Danny wanted to throttle the kid. Vivian glared at Kyle, who straightened and had the good sense to moderate his tone. “I got the seven to five shift, and my boss makes me be in by six forty-five at the latest, ‘cos we got people come early.” Kyle’s tone indicated exactly what he thought of his boss’s policy. “I was just walkin’ in when he came running up.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Gray t-shirt and pants, I guess. Way too cold for just a t-shirt, but it didn’t look like it was bothering him.” Kyle fidgeted. “Can I go now? I been here all day.”
“Go ahead,” Viv told him, even though Danny wanted to tie the kid up until they could extract more information out of him. Kyle heaved a sigh of relief and escaped back into the coffee shop.
“Well,” Viv said, “that’s certainly interesting.”
“No way that could be Martin,” Danny told her. “I mean, we – Martin lives between here and the park, and he wouldn’t need to ask where the Metro stops are anyway.” He wanted to add that Martin had worn a long-sleeved blue t-shirt, but caught himself when he remembered that Valenti was still hovering nearby. “Either that kid’s got the time wrong or that wasn’t Martin he saw.”
“We only just started covering this end of the block,” Valenti added. “We might turn up more people who saw this guy, get a better sense of the time.”
“If any businesses have exterior security cameras, have them pull the footage with time codes between six-thirty and seven-ten,” Viv told Valenti, and if she felt any qualms about ordering around another supervisor’s agent she didn’t show it. “We’ll have Sam and Elena look over them and see if they can’t pick up our mystery guy. Same for traffic lights, say, ten blocks in either direction.”
Valenti nodded obediently – which, given the circumstances, was the smart thing to do –and headed off, pulling his cell phone from his pocket as he went. Viv watched him go for a moment and then turned back to Danny with a look that he couldn’t decipher, and she was opening her mouth to say something when her cell phone rang.
“Oh, for...” Vivian flipped the phone open. “Johnson. Oh, hey Jack.”
Danny tensed, tried to hear Jack’s voice on the other end of the line, but couldn’t make anything out. Vivian nodded a couple times, her face taking on a briefly astonished expression before she nodded once more and said, “I’ll ask him.” She looked up at Danny. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on with Martin? Any indication at all that there’s something wrong? That he might have been unhappy?”
“What? No.” The answer was startled out of him, and he was almost glad, because if he’d thought about it much more... Was Martin unhappy? Would Danny know if he was?
“Okay,” Viv said, then into the phone: “It sounds like Martin’s doing fine, Jack. Are you going to tell Victor that?” She nodded absently. “Of course. We’ll be in touch.” The phone beeped off.
“Viv, what is Jack going to tell Victor?”
“That Martin seems to be doing okay, and until we have further evidence to the contrary, that’s what we’re going to assume.” Vivian smiled and patted Danny’s arm. “Jack’s not going to tell Victor about you two, and we are going to find Martin, Danny, and he’s going to be fine.”
Just because you say it over and over again doesn’t make it true, Danny thought. He didn’t say this, though, although he wanted to, but instead followed Viv back to the car in silence.
An Army installation, definitely. Martin had been faking sleep when Dr. Morris was making one of his visits and had caught a glimpse of a uniformed soldier through the open door. For a moment he’d wondered if this was because of his dad, some weird kind of security protocol or else a new tactic in their long-standing disagreement. But Victor had never gone so far as to actually keep Martin under lock and key, even though he’d threatened to do so plenty of times when Martin had been a kid.
Morris was back now, looming over Martin’s bed, flipping through a sheaf of papers and frowning alternately at them and Martin. The pages snapped as he turned them over.
“So, uh, what’re you going to do to me?” Martin asked.
“I, Mr. Fitzgerald, am trying to figure out what to do with you.” Morris paused at the foot of Martin’s bed and peered at him skeptically. “Now that the secrecy of our project has been violated, I should – according to the procedure manual, anyway – have you terminated in order to protect classified information.”
“What?”
“But your father is Victor Fitzgerald, and that presents difficulties.” Morris’s voice darkened in annoyance, and in that moment, for the first time ever, Martin was fervently grateful for his ancestry. “If Special Agent Number One and his fellow agents were careless enough to mistake you for... ” Morris paused and frowned, “someone else, then I can assure you they were careless enough to be noticed by somebody. There will be an investigation, and that could cause problems.” His mouth thinned. “It will cause problems.”
“I don’t suppose being an innocent bystander would get me clemency?”
“Probably not.” Morris crossed his arms and glowered down at Martin. “You see, the problem is that we’ve spent a lot of money – and when I say a lot of money, Mr. Fitzgerald, I mean a lot of money – on ensuring the utmost secrecy of this project. Sacrifices have been made to continue our work, and I can assure you we’re willing to sacrifice a little more.” The look in Morris’s eye was not comforting.
“I didn’t see anything,” Martin protested. “I didn’t even know you had a ‘project’ until you told me; all I saw were those men chasing me, and that’s it, until I woke up here. And I’m pretty sure you know that I haven’t left this room. That soldier you’ve got stationed out there could tell you that.”
Morris blinked at him, obviously taken aback and not liking it.
“I work in Missing Persons, Dr. Morris,” Martin said. “Do you think they wouldn’t start looking for me, even if I weren’t Victor Fitzgerald’s son?” He stressed his father’s name again, was briefly gratified when Morris’s face tightened in frustration. “If you kill me, I can promise you that there is going to be an investigation. If you don’t...” Martin shrugged, ignored the brief prickle of worry. Would Danny and the others be out there right now? He had no idea what time it was, how long he’d been here. Surely Danny would have noticed when Martin didn’t show up at the office. “If you don’t, I am a federal agent. I know how to keep information confidential.”
“I don’t doubt that you do,” Morris said at last, sounding supremely reluctant, “but you have to understand, Agent Fitzgerald, I can’t trust you. And I also can’t trust that other... individuals won’t catch wind of what we’re doing here, seek you out, and extract information from you against your will.”
“Oh, come on,” Martin snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you I haven’t seen anything?”
“You could say so ad nauseam ad infinitumque, and it wouldn’t make any difference.” Morris sighed. “And please understand this, Agent Fitzgerald... This project has had billions of dollars and thousands upon thousands of man-hours – as well as the exclusive use of my not-inconsiderable genius – invested in it, and we are not going to allow that work, or our country’s safety, to be jeopardized.”
“So the government can blow a billion dollars – ”
“Far more than a billion, Mr. Fitzgerald, I assure you.”
“ – on some super-secret military project, but won’t give Missing Persons a decent coffeemaker?”
“It’s all a question of priorities, Mr. Fitzgerald. You can’t put a price tag on national security.”
-tbc-