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.fic: Every Distance: PG13/R D/M 5/9-ish
Title: Every Distance
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: Danny/Martin
Rating/Warnings: PG13/Rish; language, maybe some smut, violence, angst, etc.
Disclaimer: Without a Trace belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer, CBS, and very likely many other people.
Advertisements: Sequel/companion to A Long Time Coming, set during and after the events of ALTC 10.
Previous parts: 01; 02 ; 03; 04
Spoilers: Some references to the S4 premiere (nothing explicit) and "Legacy."
Notes: Once again, many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mardia_ for some wonderful Victor and Martin analysis! And if you haven't, definitely read her Drastic Measures and its sequel. Because they will make you laugh and be happy, and then you can come back here and be depressed.
Also, at the moment I'm a wibbling, incoherent wreck. Some of you may know why. *meaningful looks atlachli and nekosmuse.*
CHAPTER FIVE
He’d taken the elevator down to the street entry level, and through the glass doors he could see the endless activity of Federal Plaza, people bustling back and forth, agents conversing outside, braving the February cold for a cigarette.
Only a few steps and he could be out the door and gone, vanished into that crowd, and if there was one thing he’d learned in five years of missing persons work, it was how to disappear. The stairs down to the squad car lot lay off to his right, and he could be down them, in a car, and gone before Ramsay could hit the speed-dial for Washington. He could be out there doing something.
Doing what?
Something. Anything. Anything’s better than sitting still. Than watching and being helpless, and he knew the latter was what upset him so much.
Could go to the Silvermans’ house and see the destruction for himself. Agents would still be on the scene, keeping it secure for the CSI walk-through. The car would have been towed to the Bureau crime lab already, and the bomb squad would probably be finishing up their preliminary analysis, sending the data to Nick and to Matt in Washington. And goddammit, he could help, even sitting in an office going over reports he could help, if he couldn’t be outside.
Frustrated, he turned in place for a moment, shifting from foot to foot in indecision. Out there and he could take care of himself. In here... Tied down in custody, relying on someone he didn’t know or trust to keep him safe.
To keep Danny safe, and that thought hit him like a blow to the sternum – two sharp blows, fierce lightning in his chest, and his entire body jerked, breath escaping on a scream and all he could think was not Danny, God no not him – staggered him and froze him where he stood.
Danny.
That decided him, and he took the elevator back up to the third floor.
* * *
The designers had tucked the waiting area into a corner, walled it off by glass, a metal detector, and a silent security guard, a half-forgotten civilian intrusion on the federal world. A woman and her daughter glanced up hopefully as Martin stepped in, and seeing that Martin hadn’t come for them, turned back to their magazines with a sigh.
Danny, curled into a chair near the coffee maker and trying to balance two legal pads on his thigh, offered him a relieved grin. It faded as Martin collapsed into the chair next to him.
“Not good?”
“That’s one word for it.” Martin shut his eyes, could feel the beginnings of a headache brewing deep in the space behind his temples.
Danny stuffed the legal pads back in his briefcase. “Want to talk about it?”
Martin glanced at the woman and her daughter. “Not particularly.”
Danny made a reluctant, assenting sound and unfolded himself, stretching his legs out and sighing. “So we’re going to hang out here for a bit?”
“Until my dad comes, yeah.” Martin carefully kept his tone neutral, but he knew dislike and hostility filtered through anyway.
“I can see why people hate waiting in here,” Danny observed, and only an idiot would think that Danny had abandoned the subject of Martin’s dad and what his coming here would mean. “The chairs are murder.”
Martin grunted. “Just come out and say it, Danny, for Christ’s sake.”
“I thought we weren’t talking.” Elaborate innocence, voice fairly painted with it, and Martin rolled his eyes.
He was still struggling for a comeback (and still failing) when a sandy-haired man stepped through the metal detector, badge clipped to his lapel. The woman and her daughter looked up again.
“Mrs. Benning?” the man asked. The woman nodded tensely. “I apologize for the wait... Could you and your daughter come with me, please?”
“Finally,” the woman muttered under her breath. “Come on, Sally.”
They left, and Martin and Danny were alone.
“Are we talking now?” Danny asked, the words an invitation to a smart remark – or continued silence – but Martin couldn’t not tell him what was happening.
“My dad is putting me – us – ” Because no way would he let Danny out of his sight now, no way in hell – “in protective custody for the time being.”
Danny hitched himself forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. Martin dared a glance out of the corner of his eye, and saw that Danny was watching him, expression speculative under the thatch of dark, sloppy hair.
“And you’re not happy about that.”
“Dammit, Danny... He’s only doing this because he can.”
“You ever think maybe he’s doing this because he should?”
The sharpness in Danny’s tone caught him off guard, and he really looked at Danny this time. No speculation there anymore, only a cutting sort of impatience, sparking in those dark eyes.
“What – ”
“Martin, you’re not just an agent this time.” Danny’s hands were beginning to move now – quick, subdued jerks, a sign of agitation he couldn’t keep under wraps. “You were kidnapped, they wanted you dead. You, Martin. Because you were too close to something.”
“That’s irrelevant. A woman and her kids are dead – ”
“Oh, fucking hell!” Danny flung himself back in his seat, hard enough that the plastic cracked against the wall. “Martin...” He shook his head, sighed, a soft and exasperated sound.
They sat together in a tight, frustrated silence, Danny staring fixedly at his hands and Martin trying not to hear Danny’s silent anger.
“Look, Martin...” Danny sighed again, and a sudden, gentle hand was on the back of Martin’s neck. He tried to pull away, to say something about the cameras in the lobby (because there definitely were cameras), but Danny’s fingers were pressed into the sensitive flesh to the side of his spine, and he couldn’t move.
“I ever tell you how you got this?” Danny shook his sleeve back, revealing the thin, mean scar curving across his wrist. Ridge of white, twisted tissue, and just last night Martin had kissed that scar, inhaled the scent of Danny’s skin, sweat-sleek, flesh-warm, felt his pulse beating underneath it.
“I... yeah,” he muttered, voice low and thick. “Your dad...” You were nine, and your dad went after you with a broken beer bottle, and if I’d been there, I would have killed him.
“My dad was too drunk, so my mom drove me to the emergency room,” Danny said quietly, fingers still circling at the base of Martin’s neck. “She told the nurse I fell over trying to get a glass of water. I don’t think the nurse believed her.”
Martin stared at the scar, small and vicious and pale where skin had tried to patch itself together again.
“You know I forgot about it for years?” Danny asked, tone conversational, not even looking at his wrist, only looking at Martin staring at his scar with helpless fascination. “I couldn’t believe it, you know? That my dad would try to hurt me. I guess that’s one of the worst thoughts a kid could have, that a person who loves you can do something like this.” He paused. “But you know what’s the worst?”
“What?”
“Thinking that your parents are dead, and you’re glad they’re gone.” Danny shook his sleeve back into place. The bluntness of the statement shook Martin into glancing up at him, looking into sad, dark eyes. “Pretty awful thing to say, huh?”
Martin opened his mouth to say something – anything, and he had no idea what, but Danny cut him off again.
“My mom never would have gotten a divorce, and my dad probably would have killed her if she’d left him.” No hiding the bitterness now; Danny’s voice was raw with it. “And there’s no way to deal with that, Martin, except to try to forget it.” Dry, pained smile. “Not that that works too well, either.”
“Danny...”
“Look, I know your dad’s a pain in the ass. And he’s manipulative, and a jerk and he’s given you hell since Day One.” Danny was bending into his personal space now, insistent, like he’d always done whenever he’d thought Martin needed to really understand, like the force of his presence could push his words past Martin’s defenses. “But you’ve got him. You’ve got him, Martin. Don’t try to kill yourself just because you know it’ll piss him off.”
“That’s not why I do it.” He tried to bite down on the words, but it was too late, and he desperately wished he could call them back.
“Why then?”
Martin reached for an answer, any answer – because it was his job, because dying didn’t bother him much, because the thought of Danny dying did – but they danced away from him, and he was left helpless, answerless, adrift and silent, knowing Danny was right.
* * *
Nick came for them some time later, and the expression on his face was one of obvious relief. Martin, trying to ignore the fact that he knew what Nick had been thinking (that it was foolish to let the Deputy Director’s kid go off unsupervised and thank God he hadn’t done anything stupid), introduced him to Danny and watched as the two men shook hands.
“Feels kind of weird, wearing one of these,” Danny said, flipping the “Visitor” badge on its lanyard around his neck.
“Do you miss the Bureau?” Nick asked in his habitual soft voice, rocking back on his heels.
“Sometimes,” Danny said after a moment. He glanced at Martin, offered him a dry grin, hovering on the edge of a smirk. “Usually when Marty here’s trying to get himself killed.” Hint of censure in the words, if you were looking for it, but if Nick heard it, he gave no sign.
Nick laughed quietly, shook his head, and said nothing else.
They walked into the main office area a few minutes later, Danny looking around curiously, and Martin wondered what he was thinking – the changes, the new faces, nothing at all like when they’d worked together. And Martin once again found himself wishing for Jack, Viv, and Sam (even Sam, and he couldn’t quite believe that), because if they were here, some of all of this might make sense.
Peter, Angela, and Lennox were gone, probably into a questioning session with another agent. The whiteboard had changed, new pictures put up and new incomprehensible notes scribbled. Martin started, seeing “Targets” written in sprawling capitals on one side, and his picture posted under it. And standing next to the board, glancing over a sheaf of papers, flipping them with impatient activity, was his father.
Victor glanced up as they approached, familiar expression already in place – unreadable mask, but the eyes cataloguing and assessing – and the small, perpetually angry voice buried deep in Martin’s head snarled over how Victor had gone straight to the office, hadn’t thought of looking for him, but are you surprised by this, Fitzgerald, really? Are you? Martin searched his father’s face, looking for something, any kind of weakness, a place to glimpse what he was thinking.
Found nothing, as he always did.
“Martin,” his father said, setting the papers down on a nearby desk. “Mr. Taylor.”
“Hey, Mr. Fitzgerald,” Danny said, consummate politeness, shaking hands with the enemy.
“Please call me Victor.” Victor’s tone had the suggestion of ‘since you’re sleeping with my son’ in it, and Martin wanted to die. Danny’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and Victor offered him a thin smile.
“Martin, could I please speak with you?” Victor was moving even as he spoke, turning to head to a small windowless conference room down the hall, and Martin knew they were going there because Victor preferred to keep difficulties private. A choice: be openly rebellious – and insubordinate, and flaunt family hostility in front of half the office – or follow tamely, and that was no choice at all.
Martin followed silently with one backward glance at Danny, already tasting the old anger in the back of his throat, rising up high and bitter. He could feel everyone watching him, the crawling awkwardness of silent scrutiny and the knowledge that as soon as the door was shut, the speculation would begin in earnest. His father’s back was straight, shoulders squared, like he’d been when the two of them had walked into the office to confront Silverman.
And this was another confrontation. Martin swallowed against the knot of anger and resentment, fought for the calm to take him through this. He composed himself in time to stride into the conference room, and by the time he turned to see Victor close the door, he knew his face was as empty of emotion as his father’s.
“Nick told me you went to see the bodies.” No preamble, on the offensive right away.
“Yeah.” He clasped his hands behind his back, determined not to cross them over his chest – too defensive, not a good move early on. God, tactics. Tactics and strategy, that was his relationship with his father.
“I was under the impression your orders were to report directly to the New York office.” Are you going against my direct orders again? Don’t you know by now what happens when you do that? And there was no ‘impression’ about it: Matt had said that. They want you there right away.
“I wanted to see them.” Head up, Fitzgerald, don’t look away, and I’m going to do what I have to do, and the hell with what you want.
“And possibly compromise your safety? Why? Martin, that’s insane.” Victor was staring at the other wall, not even acknowledging him, so much like when he’d been working and Martin had come up to him with a question or a protest -- I’m busy and we’re not going to talk about this, and besides, you ridiculous, illogical boy, why can’t you see things my way? Why can’t you do what I want you to do?
The memory fed his anger. He straightened, drawing himself up, ready to force the issue.
“I’m a federal – ”
“You’re a target.”
“What? Why? Because I’m your son? I’ve gotten used to it.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice entirely.
“Bomb threats were called in twenty minutes ago,” Victor said, wheeling to face him directly. “One to Northwest General and another to St. Jude’s. The two hospitals closest to where they left you.”
That brought him up short. Martin stared at his father, not daring to believe what he’d heard.
“Do you see now?” His father had abandoned condescension, and in its place was something Martin couldn’t identify. “These people don’t care who you are anymore. They’re desperate and irrational, and if they think threatening to bomb two hospitals could put us off this case, they certainly won’t hesitate to kill you.” A pause, long, assessing look. “Or Danny.”
His arms were across his chest now, couldn’t help it, and it didn’t help that this was typical, his father striking at what mattered to him most, finding that one weak spot. This was why, this right here was exactly why he had stayed away from Danny and anybody else, had been relieved when he’d found the courage to end things with Sam. Because his father would find a way to exploit them, like he did Martin’s occasional flashes of anger and independence.
“Leave him – ” Steady breath, be calm, be calm, don’t let him see anything. “Leave Danny out of this.”
“He’s already involved.” Victor set his files down on the top of the conference table. “When he identified you in that hospital, he became involved.” He was pacing now, hands clasped behind his back as Martin’s had been, watching him from the corner of his eye.
“I know you don’t want to be here,” he said after a moment when Martin refused to say anything, “and I know you... resent...”
“You don’t know a damn thing.” You never have, and this isn’t going to change anything.
“Martin, let me... just let me say this,” heavy sigh, resigned this time, not tinged with its usual condescension. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you. I don’t care if you believe that or not... All I want is to be sure you’re safe, and if I need to order you, Deputy Director to special agent, to stay in custody, then I will.”
You’ve got him. You’ve got him, Martin. God, he wished Danny were right. But if Danny were right, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. His father wasn’t going to bend, and that meant negotiating for at least some measure of freedom, though the thought of compromise stung him.
“Let me work, at least,” Martin said, and he would get on his knees if he had to, no matter how much everything in him rebelled at asking his dad for anything. “I’ll stay in the office, I’ll stay wherever you want,” – he choked on those words, forced them out despite himself – “but I can’t do nothing.”
Victor looked like he wanted to protest that. Instead, he sank down into one of the seats, stared at the papers scattered on the tabletop. “Why, Martin?”
And not Why, you headstrong, willful boy?, but weary resignation.
“A woman and her kids are dead, Dad.” And he was pleading now, and what the hell had happened to his dignity, that he was doing this? But he couldn’t stop. “And more people might be, before we can put a stop to this. If I help... I’ve worked the case for a year. I can keep working it from here. In the office. Please.”
His father was silent, tapping an absent finger against the papers.
“Before I give in,” he said slowly, “I want to know a few things.”
Martin exhaled and dropped his hands to his sides, almost staggering under the weight of surprise that his father was giving way on this, and it was an effort to say yes. Suspicion filtered in through the shock, though, and he stared at Victor warily until Victor spoke again.
“Do you believe me, when I say I only want you to be safe?”
“I...” Martin shook his head. “I don’t know.”
No sign of what he felt at hearing Martin’s answer appeared on Victor’s face. He only stood and gathered the papers together again, fastening them with a clip. Turned to go, shoulders still squared and back, posture immaculate, very proper and Fitzgeraldian, and instead of resentment, all Martin could feel was confusion and despair, watching his father leave.
-tbc-
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: Danny/Martin
Rating/Warnings: PG13/Rish; language, maybe some smut, violence, angst, etc.
Disclaimer: Without a Trace belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer, CBS, and very likely many other people.
Advertisements: Sequel/companion to A Long Time Coming, set during and after the events of ALTC 10.
Previous parts: 01; 02 ; 03; 04
Spoilers: Some references to the S4 premiere (nothing explicit) and "Legacy."
Notes: Once again, many thanks to
mardia_ for some wonderful Victor and Martin analysis! And if you haven't, definitely read her Drastic Measures and its sequel. Because they will make you laugh and be happy, and then you can come back here and be depressed.Also, at the moment I'm a wibbling, incoherent wreck. Some of you may know why. *meaningful looks at
lachli and nekosmuse.*CHAPTER FIVE
He’d taken the elevator down to the street entry level, and through the glass doors he could see the endless activity of Federal Plaza, people bustling back and forth, agents conversing outside, braving the February cold for a cigarette.
Only a few steps and he could be out the door and gone, vanished into that crowd, and if there was one thing he’d learned in five years of missing persons work, it was how to disappear. The stairs down to the squad car lot lay off to his right, and he could be down them, in a car, and gone before Ramsay could hit the speed-dial for Washington. He could be out there doing something.
Doing what?
Something. Anything. Anything’s better than sitting still. Than watching and being helpless, and he knew the latter was what upset him so much.
Could go to the Silvermans’ house and see the destruction for himself. Agents would still be on the scene, keeping it secure for the CSI walk-through. The car would have been towed to the Bureau crime lab already, and the bomb squad would probably be finishing up their preliminary analysis, sending the data to Nick and to Matt in Washington. And goddammit, he could help, even sitting in an office going over reports he could help, if he couldn’t be outside.
Frustrated, he turned in place for a moment, shifting from foot to foot in indecision. Out there and he could take care of himself. In here... Tied down in custody, relying on someone he didn’t know or trust to keep him safe.
To keep Danny safe, and that thought hit him like a blow to the sternum – two sharp blows, fierce lightning in his chest, and his entire body jerked, breath escaping on a scream and all he could think was not Danny, God no not him – staggered him and froze him where he stood.
Danny.
That decided him, and he took the elevator back up to the third floor.
The designers had tucked the waiting area into a corner, walled it off by glass, a metal detector, and a silent security guard, a half-forgotten civilian intrusion on the federal world. A woman and her daughter glanced up hopefully as Martin stepped in, and seeing that Martin hadn’t come for them, turned back to their magazines with a sigh.
Danny, curled into a chair near the coffee maker and trying to balance two legal pads on his thigh, offered him a relieved grin. It faded as Martin collapsed into the chair next to him.
“Not good?”
“That’s one word for it.” Martin shut his eyes, could feel the beginnings of a headache brewing deep in the space behind his temples.
Danny stuffed the legal pads back in his briefcase. “Want to talk about it?”
Martin glanced at the woman and her daughter. “Not particularly.”
Danny made a reluctant, assenting sound and unfolded himself, stretching his legs out and sighing. “So we’re going to hang out here for a bit?”
“Until my dad comes, yeah.” Martin carefully kept his tone neutral, but he knew dislike and hostility filtered through anyway.
“I can see why people hate waiting in here,” Danny observed, and only an idiot would think that Danny had abandoned the subject of Martin’s dad and what his coming here would mean. “The chairs are murder.”
Martin grunted. “Just come out and say it, Danny, for Christ’s sake.”
“I thought we weren’t talking.” Elaborate innocence, voice fairly painted with it, and Martin rolled his eyes.
He was still struggling for a comeback (and still failing) when a sandy-haired man stepped through the metal detector, badge clipped to his lapel. The woman and her daughter looked up again.
“Mrs. Benning?” the man asked. The woman nodded tensely. “I apologize for the wait... Could you and your daughter come with me, please?”
“Finally,” the woman muttered under her breath. “Come on, Sally.”
They left, and Martin and Danny were alone.
“Are we talking now?” Danny asked, the words an invitation to a smart remark – or continued silence – but Martin couldn’t not tell him what was happening.
“My dad is putting me – us – ” Because no way would he let Danny out of his sight now, no way in hell – “in protective custody for the time being.”
Danny hitched himself forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. Martin dared a glance out of the corner of his eye, and saw that Danny was watching him, expression speculative under the thatch of dark, sloppy hair.
“And you’re not happy about that.”
“Dammit, Danny... He’s only doing this because he can.”
“You ever think maybe he’s doing this because he should?”
The sharpness in Danny’s tone caught him off guard, and he really looked at Danny this time. No speculation there anymore, only a cutting sort of impatience, sparking in those dark eyes.
“What – ”
“Martin, you’re not just an agent this time.” Danny’s hands were beginning to move now – quick, subdued jerks, a sign of agitation he couldn’t keep under wraps. “You were kidnapped, they wanted you dead. You, Martin. Because you were too close to something.”
“That’s irrelevant. A woman and her kids are dead – ”
“Oh, fucking hell!” Danny flung himself back in his seat, hard enough that the plastic cracked against the wall. “Martin...” He shook his head, sighed, a soft and exasperated sound.
They sat together in a tight, frustrated silence, Danny staring fixedly at his hands and Martin trying not to hear Danny’s silent anger.
“Look, Martin...” Danny sighed again, and a sudden, gentle hand was on the back of Martin’s neck. He tried to pull away, to say something about the cameras in the lobby (because there definitely were cameras), but Danny’s fingers were pressed into the sensitive flesh to the side of his spine, and he couldn’t move.
“I ever tell you how you got this?” Danny shook his sleeve back, revealing the thin, mean scar curving across his wrist. Ridge of white, twisted tissue, and just last night Martin had kissed that scar, inhaled the scent of Danny’s skin, sweat-sleek, flesh-warm, felt his pulse beating underneath it.
“I... yeah,” he muttered, voice low and thick. “Your dad...” You were nine, and your dad went after you with a broken beer bottle, and if I’d been there, I would have killed him.
“My dad was too drunk, so my mom drove me to the emergency room,” Danny said quietly, fingers still circling at the base of Martin’s neck. “She told the nurse I fell over trying to get a glass of water. I don’t think the nurse believed her.”
Martin stared at the scar, small and vicious and pale where skin had tried to patch itself together again.
“You know I forgot about it for years?” Danny asked, tone conversational, not even looking at his wrist, only looking at Martin staring at his scar with helpless fascination. “I couldn’t believe it, you know? That my dad would try to hurt me. I guess that’s one of the worst thoughts a kid could have, that a person who loves you can do something like this.” He paused. “But you know what’s the worst?”
“What?”
“Thinking that your parents are dead, and you’re glad they’re gone.” Danny shook his sleeve back into place. The bluntness of the statement shook Martin into glancing up at him, looking into sad, dark eyes. “Pretty awful thing to say, huh?”
Martin opened his mouth to say something – anything, and he had no idea what, but Danny cut him off again.
“My mom never would have gotten a divorce, and my dad probably would have killed her if she’d left him.” No hiding the bitterness now; Danny’s voice was raw with it. “And there’s no way to deal with that, Martin, except to try to forget it.” Dry, pained smile. “Not that that works too well, either.”
“Danny...”
“Look, I know your dad’s a pain in the ass. And he’s manipulative, and a jerk and he’s given you hell since Day One.” Danny was bending into his personal space now, insistent, like he’d always done whenever he’d thought Martin needed to really understand, like the force of his presence could push his words past Martin’s defenses. “But you’ve got him. You’ve got him, Martin. Don’t try to kill yourself just because you know it’ll piss him off.”
“That’s not why I do it.” He tried to bite down on the words, but it was too late, and he desperately wished he could call them back.
“Why then?”
Martin reached for an answer, any answer – because it was his job, because dying didn’t bother him much, because the thought of Danny dying did – but they danced away from him, and he was left helpless, answerless, adrift and silent, knowing Danny was right.
Nick came for them some time later, and the expression on his face was one of obvious relief. Martin, trying to ignore the fact that he knew what Nick had been thinking (that it was foolish to let the Deputy Director’s kid go off unsupervised and thank God he hadn’t done anything stupid), introduced him to Danny and watched as the two men shook hands.
“Feels kind of weird, wearing one of these,” Danny said, flipping the “Visitor” badge on its lanyard around his neck.
“Do you miss the Bureau?” Nick asked in his habitual soft voice, rocking back on his heels.
“Sometimes,” Danny said after a moment. He glanced at Martin, offered him a dry grin, hovering on the edge of a smirk. “Usually when Marty here’s trying to get himself killed.” Hint of censure in the words, if you were looking for it, but if Nick heard it, he gave no sign.
Nick laughed quietly, shook his head, and said nothing else.
They walked into the main office area a few minutes later, Danny looking around curiously, and Martin wondered what he was thinking – the changes, the new faces, nothing at all like when they’d worked together. And Martin once again found himself wishing for Jack, Viv, and Sam (even Sam, and he couldn’t quite believe that), because if they were here, some of all of this might make sense.
Peter, Angela, and Lennox were gone, probably into a questioning session with another agent. The whiteboard had changed, new pictures put up and new incomprehensible notes scribbled. Martin started, seeing “Targets” written in sprawling capitals on one side, and his picture posted under it. And standing next to the board, glancing over a sheaf of papers, flipping them with impatient activity, was his father.
Victor glanced up as they approached, familiar expression already in place – unreadable mask, but the eyes cataloguing and assessing – and the small, perpetually angry voice buried deep in Martin’s head snarled over how Victor had gone straight to the office, hadn’t thought of looking for him, but are you surprised by this, Fitzgerald, really? Are you? Martin searched his father’s face, looking for something, any kind of weakness, a place to glimpse what he was thinking.
Found nothing, as he always did.
“Martin,” his father said, setting the papers down on a nearby desk. “Mr. Taylor.”
“Hey, Mr. Fitzgerald,” Danny said, consummate politeness, shaking hands with the enemy.
“Please call me Victor.” Victor’s tone had the suggestion of ‘since you’re sleeping with my son’ in it, and Martin wanted to die. Danny’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and Victor offered him a thin smile.
“Martin, could I please speak with you?” Victor was moving even as he spoke, turning to head to a small windowless conference room down the hall, and Martin knew they were going there because Victor preferred to keep difficulties private. A choice: be openly rebellious – and insubordinate, and flaunt family hostility in front of half the office – or follow tamely, and that was no choice at all.
Martin followed silently with one backward glance at Danny, already tasting the old anger in the back of his throat, rising up high and bitter. He could feel everyone watching him, the crawling awkwardness of silent scrutiny and the knowledge that as soon as the door was shut, the speculation would begin in earnest. His father’s back was straight, shoulders squared, like he’d been when the two of them had walked into the office to confront Silverman.
And this was another confrontation. Martin swallowed against the knot of anger and resentment, fought for the calm to take him through this. He composed himself in time to stride into the conference room, and by the time he turned to see Victor close the door, he knew his face was as empty of emotion as his father’s.
“Nick told me you went to see the bodies.” No preamble, on the offensive right away.
“Yeah.” He clasped his hands behind his back, determined not to cross them over his chest – too defensive, not a good move early on. God, tactics. Tactics and strategy, that was his relationship with his father.
“I was under the impression your orders were to report directly to the New York office.” Are you going against my direct orders again? Don’t you know by now what happens when you do that? And there was no ‘impression’ about it: Matt had said that. They want you there right away.
“I wanted to see them.” Head up, Fitzgerald, don’t look away, and I’m going to do what I have to do, and the hell with what you want.
“And possibly compromise your safety? Why? Martin, that’s insane.” Victor was staring at the other wall, not even acknowledging him, so much like when he’d been working and Martin had come up to him with a question or a protest -- I’m busy and we’re not going to talk about this, and besides, you ridiculous, illogical boy, why can’t you see things my way? Why can’t you do what I want you to do?
The memory fed his anger. He straightened, drawing himself up, ready to force the issue.
“I’m a federal – ”
“You’re a target.”
“What? Why? Because I’m your son? I’ve gotten used to it.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice entirely.
“Bomb threats were called in twenty minutes ago,” Victor said, wheeling to face him directly. “One to Northwest General and another to St. Jude’s. The two hospitals closest to where they left you.”
That brought him up short. Martin stared at his father, not daring to believe what he’d heard.
“Do you see now?” His father had abandoned condescension, and in its place was something Martin couldn’t identify. “These people don’t care who you are anymore. They’re desperate and irrational, and if they think threatening to bomb two hospitals could put us off this case, they certainly won’t hesitate to kill you.” A pause, long, assessing look. “Or Danny.”
His arms were across his chest now, couldn’t help it, and it didn’t help that this was typical, his father striking at what mattered to him most, finding that one weak spot. This was why, this right here was exactly why he had stayed away from Danny and anybody else, had been relieved when he’d found the courage to end things with Sam. Because his father would find a way to exploit them, like he did Martin’s occasional flashes of anger and independence.
“Leave him – ” Steady breath, be calm, be calm, don’t let him see anything. “Leave Danny out of this.”
“He’s already involved.” Victor set his files down on the top of the conference table. “When he identified you in that hospital, he became involved.” He was pacing now, hands clasped behind his back as Martin’s had been, watching him from the corner of his eye.
“I know you don’t want to be here,” he said after a moment when Martin refused to say anything, “and I know you... resent...”
“You don’t know a damn thing.” You never have, and this isn’t going to change anything.
“Martin, let me... just let me say this,” heavy sigh, resigned this time, not tinged with its usual condescension. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you. I don’t care if you believe that or not... All I want is to be sure you’re safe, and if I need to order you, Deputy Director to special agent, to stay in custody, then I will.”
You’ve got him. You’ve got him, Martin. God, he wished Danny were right. But if Danny were right, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. His father wasn’t going to bend, and that meant negotiating for at least some measure of freedom, though the thought of compromise stung him.
“Let me work, at least,” Martin said, and he would get on his knees if he had to, no matter how much everything in him rebelled at asking his dad for anything. “I’ll stay in the office, I’ll stay wherever you want,” – he choked on those words, forced them out despite himself – “but I can’t do nothing.”
Victor looked like he wanted to protest that. Instead, he sank down into one of the seats, stared at the papers scattered on the tabletop. “Why, Martin?”
And not Why, you headstrong, willful boy?, but weary resignation.
“A woman and her kids are dead, Dad.” And he was pleading now, and what the hell had happened to his dignity, that he was doing this? But he couldn’t stop. “And more people might be, before we can put a stop to this. If I help... I’ve worked the case for a year. I can keep working it from here. In the office. Please.”
His father was silent, tapping an absent finger against the papers.
“Before I give in,” he said slowly, “I want to know a few things.”
Martin exhaled and dropped his hands to his sides, almost staggering under the weight of surprise that his father was giving way on this, and it was an effort to say yes. Suspicion filtered in through the shock, though, and he stared at Victor warily until Victor spoke again.
“Do you believe me, when I say I only want you to be safe?”
“I...” Martin shook his head. “I don’t know.”
No sign of what he felt at hearing Martin’s answer appeared on Victor’s face. He only stood and gathered the papers together again, fastening them with a clip. Turned to go, shoulders still squared and back, posture immaculate, very proper and Fitzgeraldian, and instead of resentment, all Martin could feel was confusion and despair, watching his father leave.
-tbc-
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"Dammit, Danny... He’s only doing this because he can.”
“You ever think maybe he’s doing this because he should?"
Danny is so smart and observant!
There's so much I would like to say about this chapter, but the post risks to become too long. Thank you again for sharing this, it was exactly what I needed after having seen an angsty still from the Season premiere. I'm so jumpy I think I'm gonna be awake all night.
*goes re-reading again the other chapters of ED*
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Hee! That's why they pay him the big bucks :D (That's also probably how he can keep up with Martin.)
after having seen an angsty still from the Season premiere.
I'm betting you and I saw the same one. Yeah, I'm freaking out, too. Poor boys!
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Danny was bending into his personal space now, insistent, like he’d always done whenever he’d thought Martin needed to really understand, like the force of his presence could push his words past Martin’s defenses.
I once tried to explain why it is Danny invades Martin's space, but this, shit, this says it so much better than I ever could. Fuck.
In case my rambling isn't clear, I fucking love this story.
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I once tried to explain why it is Danny invades Martin's space, but this, shit, this says it so much better than I ever could.
Danny does have issues with personal space... I think it's definitely an intimidation thing. That and a "I really want to get as close as I can to licking Martin's neck" thing *g*
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Oh, man, this was so great. You just got right to the heart of the problems between Martin and Victor, and said it ten times better than I ever could. They're just so set in their ways, that they don't even realize that maybe it's possible for things to change. Fantastic.
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You are a twisted, twisted person :D Though if your misery came out of good characterization, I will take that as a compliment *g*
ten times better than I ever could.
Stuff and nonsense. You are brilliant.
They're just so set in their ways, that they don't even realize that maybe it's possible for things to change.
I guess that's what makes me sad about the two of them... Each this huge blind spot when it comes to the other, and I don't see that ever being resolved, unless the screenwriters call me up and say "So, how would you like S4 to go?" *can always dream*
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“I...” Martin shook his head. “I don’t know.”
This line, in particular, just killed me. *is ded*
Though if your misery came out of good characterization, I will take that as a compliment *g*
Oh, that goes without saying. And if you get creative control over WaT: Season 4, I fully expect Danny and Martin to be making out 24/7. Just saying.
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Dear Jerry & co.:
Should you feel compelled to discuss how the fourth season should really go, feel free to call me at 1-800-DNM-4EVA. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Me
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(also, since I've not been actively looking before today, recs perchance?)
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corruptionconversion! *does a little dance* I'm so glad you're enjoying this, and are coming over to the dark side :)since I've not been actively looking before today, recs perchance?
You have come to the right place :) I have a recs list (http://www.livejournal.com/users/aesc/167935.html) of my own, and
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'Excellent chapter'
and
'Need more of this.'
;o)
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Poor Martin and poor Victor, so entrenched in their love/hate cylce that they lose sight of the people they really are underneath. At heart they're a father and son who love each other, yet they can't see past their disappointment that neither is what the other really wants them to be.
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they can't see past their disappointment that neither is what the other really wants them to be.
I think this is a large part of why Martin and Victor kind of hover on the brink of tragedy, and why I'm really looking forward to seeing how Victor is handled in S4, particularly with regards to his relationship with Martin. *writhe* Can't wait!
Oh, and I must say the EM pics you posted completely Did Me In. Will be mooning about foolishly while I'm supposed to be studying *g*
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Oh I can't either! I really hope that the writers step up to the plate and get this right. There is so much potential in what has happened to Martin and Danny and I want far more than Sam holding his hand at his bedside feeling guilty for being such a drip at their relationship. I really feel for Victor and Martin because I think if they could let go of those expectations and subsequent disappointments they would really rather like each other and as a combined team they would be a force to be reckoned with. As it is they just keep butting heads and hurting each other. I wonder if we'll get to see or hear anything about Martin's mom.
I spent yesterday evening exactly the same, and then when
BTW, how do you do your quotes in italics?
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Oh, definitely. And it might be a good thing, in a way, that they don't get along... Otherwise it would be Fitzgeralds taking over the world :)
BTW, how do you do your quotes in italics?
Very easy, just a matter of inserting a bit of HTML code. At the beginning of the phrase you want italicized, enter < i > (minus the spaces), and at the end of the passage enter < / i > (again minus the spaces). If you want bold, underlined, or strike-through text, simply substitute in b, u, or strike (respectively) for the i.