A fictional work based on the tv series 'Without a Trace'
Rating: PG-17 (Language, violence)
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the show or characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only, without profit or gain of any kind.
Danny Taylor peered through the gray drizzle as they approached the Williamsburg Bridge which would take them to Brooklyn. The team had gotten a tip that the leading suspect in the disappearance of Adam Schoate, a twelve year-old boy, had been spotted near the Brooklyn Brewery. The caller suggested that the suspect, Henry Hilliard, worked there. Hilliard had been identified by some of the boys on the soccer team as someone who'd they'd seen lurking around the outskirts of the field during practices. A raid on his apartment netted scores of child porn photos and videos, some of which were brutal and disturbing. The boy had been reported missing at 10 a.m. when he failed to show up for a soccer game. His parents had last seen him at 8:30 when he left to walk the short distance to his friend's house.
"Take the first exit, then a hard right onto Broadway and follow it to Kent."
"I know where I'm going," Danny replied tersely.
"Excuse the hell out of me," Martin Fitzgerald grumbled.
Danny followed Broadway to Kent Avenue and turned right. Martin knew by the fire shooting from the dark eyes that Taylor was pissed. He didn't understand why everything he said seemed to annoy the six-year veteran. He was only pointing out a fact, why couldn't Danny understand that? Sometimes Taylor's mouth ran a bit too much and he would like you to believe he knew about everything. There wasn't a neighborhood in New York that the dark-haired agent wasn't familiar with, or hadn't dated a woman from. The stories about his amorous adventures and his prior cases seemed to have no end. He saw 11th street approaching and the right turn signal blinking.
"Good thing I got that call." He'd gotten the tip and the 'good job' call from Jack. For some reason, that annoyed Danny.
Danny wanted to wipe that grin off the cocky agent's face. He wasn't sure what Jack Malone was thinking hiring the stiff rookie. He was about as flexible as a board and his attitude needed severe adjustment. The know-it-all tone and GQ wardrobe were enough to drive him nuts. He followed Fitzgerald into the building and they found the manager's office. Danny showed him the photo while Martin studied the workers on the floor below them.
"Yeah, he's on duty, why?" the manager asked.
"We believe he kidnapped a young boy this morning," Martin answered.
"Jesus! You're kidding! I can't believe it..." the stunned man replied
"He's a person of interest in a case we're investigating," Danny corrected, grilling the green rookie with his eyes. He saw the two men who'd been standing outside the office when they approached it suddenly move towards the stairs.
"He does the three to eleven shift, he clocked in on time," the manager noted. "Here' I'll show you where you can find him."
"I don't think that will be necessary," Danny spat directing his hostile gaze at Martin who seemed clueless and annoyed. "There he goes!"
The two men took off in pursuit as the thirty-year old suspect ran from the floor of the warehouse and onto 11th street. Danny was a few steps behind the fleet-footed newcomer and before he had a chance to even analyze the situation on the street, the blue-eyed man was already giving orders.
"Get the car!" Martin directed, taking off up 11th, utilizing his speed.
"Wait a minute, Martin!" Danny barked resisting the urge to follow. He ran back to the car and shoved the key in the ignition. He pulled out into traffic and flipped out his phone, using speed dial to get a location on where Fitzgerald was. "Martin? Martin? Dammit, pick up," he seethed, casting his eyes on the people on the street. Where was his partner? His eyes scanned both sides of the road searching for Fitzgerald. His mind began to spin, wondering where Hilliard would go on foot. "Subway!"
He turned onto Belford and then headed for 7th where the stop was, the first one arriving in Brooklyn from Manhattan. He pulled the car in, craned his eyes ahead and saw Martin's gray raincoat heading for the steps. By the time he parked and ran to the steps, his gun was drawn and he was anxious. He saw a figure hunched over, hands on knees, sucking in air noisily. He eyed the platform and saw the suspect was gone. He shoved his gun away and approached the wheezing body whose face was covered in sweat.
"...he... jumped... on... just... as... it... left..."
"Nice going, daddy's boy!" Danny spat, so angry it took all the reserve he had not to shove the cocky rookie onto the tracks. This was just another incident to add to the list that supported his theory of who got the smart-mouthed rookie his job rather that merit.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Martin coughed, rose and glared at Taylor. When would the day come when he didn't have to defend his job to his father's name?
He could see that his partner was beyond seething. The anger radiated off Taylor, pooling in shimmering waves by his feet. He felt the fire from the intense eyes and nearly expected flames to shoot from his mouth when it opened. What he hell could his problem be now? He'd chased the suspect, damn near caught him.
"You had to go answering the Cavalry bugle again, didn't you? Chargin' up San Juan Hill all alone!" Danny saw the stunned expression beneath the angry blue eyes and he couldn't believe it. How could he not realize how much he'd screwed up? "You don't get it, do you?" He pointed to the empty space where the train that took their suspect away had been. "We would have him in custody now if it wasn't for that fuckin' big mouth of yours."
"You're saying it's my fault?" Martin's anger rose and he felt a red haze descending. Why did Danny find fault with everything he did?
"I don't see any other green jackasses with soft names standing here!"
"Fuck you, Taylor!" Martin growled, shoving Danny hard and sending him into the brick wall. He fisted both hands and resisted the urge to strike out again. He had a short temper and took special care to keep it under wraps. He picked up his pace and headed for the car.
"Don't you walk away from me!" Danny shouted, rising from the ground and jogging to catch up. He grabbed Fitzgerald's shoulder and shoved him hard against the car. He poked his finger against the collarbone under the designer striped shirt. "You shot off your mouth in the manager's office. The door was open and two of his friends heard you. They tipped him off which is WHY he took off. Then if that wasn't enough of a fuckup, you go gallivanting down the street without telling me where you were."
"He was getting away, Danny, I was doing my job!" Martin snarled, shoving Taylor away.
"Your job! You're part of a team, now. Has that dawned on you yet? Do you even know what that means?"
"I know what my job is. I think we both know the real issue here." Martin got in the car and slammed the door.
"Well, you have all the answers, homeboy, why don't you fill me in?" Danny slammed his own door and shoved the key in the ignition.
"Your eyes turn green occasionally."
"You know what, Martin?" Danny ignored the comment and jabbed his finger in the arrogant rookie's direction. "That's too stupid to even address. You want something to digest on the way back? If that kid turns up dead, it's on your conscience. You fucked up twice in the span of five minutes and that just might have cost that kid his life."
"Look, Danny..." Martin began only to be cut off.
"Don't say another damn word, Martin!" Danny warned, "Just keep your mouth shut for a change."
Martin clenched his jaw so hard it was a wonder he didn't give himself lockjaw. How could Danny blame him? He saw the guy running and took pursuit; that was by the book. Hilliard was a suspect in the kidnapping of a child; that was by the book too. Advising the manager of the details wasn't wrong. How could he know some deadbeats were outside? For that matter, it might not have been that at all. Maybe Hilliard saw them in the office flashing their badges. Danny's emotions had got in the way again. He didn't know how to keep them in check.
Danny was livid. After alerting the NYPD and local officials to be on alert for Hilliard, he called Jack. What Malone didn't say spoke volumes. The silence that Danny's update met on the other end of the phone was deafening. Well he had no intention of taking the fall for Victor's Fitzgerald's pride and joy. If Jack hadn't allowed the Bureau to put the Deputy Director's son on their team, this last month wouldn't have been such hell. He intended to tell Jack exactly how badly Martin fucked up. If the boy wasn't found alive, let Victor worm his kid's way out of that mess. Maybe they'd get lucky and he'd transfer him to Antarctica.
Jack Malone had the Godzilla of all headaches. He popped another pair of Tylenol and sighed hard, eyeing the two anxious parents inside his office. He drained the water, tossed the cup away and wondered why it never got any easier. How do you tell these distraught people that the child they'd created and raised together was lying in a morgue? Sam and Vivian were still on scene, gathering clues; Martin was at his desk and seemed more uptight than usual. He was coordinating efforts with the NYPD and the APB on Hilliard. Jack wasn't sure where Danny was, he was the one who'd taken the call from the Port Authority police who spotted the boy floating in the river.
"Agent Malone?" Dave Schoate took his wife's hand and looked hopefully as the weary federal agent came into the office. But one look at the telling dark eyes told him otherwise. "Oh my God... no, not my Adam..."
"What?" Connie Schoate looked from her husband to the F.B.I agent. "He's not dead. No, that's not possible; he's got a trip with the Boy Scouts tomorrow. "
"I'm so very sorry, Mr and Mrs. Schoate. The Port Authority police found his body in the water..." Jack updated and immediately the boy's mother began to scream.
NO! NO NO NO NO!"
"Connie..." David Schoate tried to gather his hysterical wife into his arms. He was a realist and despite the outward signs of hope, with each passing hour his gut told him this moment would come.
Before Jack could move any further into the room, an angry set of voices exploded from the narrow corridor just beyond the main hub of the office. It was the area near the interrogation rooms and his head swiveled to where Fitzgerald had been sitting. He cursed silently under his breath and put up a hand to apologize for the harsh muffled words being displayed uninvited before them. As he drew closer, the heated discussion became clearer and his blood pressure zoomed up.
"...had it with your attitude. This isn't my fault..."
"The hell it isn't," Danny growled, shoving his face closer to the intense blue eyes. "That kid's dead because you fucked up."
"That's bullshit, Danny and you know it. The kid's dead because some nut got a hold of him!"
"Someone we could have had in custody if you hadn't blown it again."
"You got a big mouth, Taylor, that's about all you're good for."
"And those balls of yours are about all you're good for..." Danny snorted, "Course it takes real talent to piss through your brains several times a day."
"Get off my case, Taylor, this wasn't my fault!" Martin defended.
"Tell that to the dead kid! You weren't the one who had to watch them haul his naked body from the water."
Using a string of curses he'd not yet creatively strung together, Jack grabbed the two hotheads by the back of the neck and shoved them hard into the nearest conference room. He used an almost lethal force for his anger was that great, and kicked the door behind him. Taylor flew over a chair, knocking it down and hit his face on the table before landing on the floor. Fitzgerald was sent flying over the table and bounced off sideways, catching himself and sliding to his knees. Jack slammed the door and his temper exploded.
"I have had it with you two and your nonstop fighting!" Malone roared, sending molten lava from his eyes all over the two startled younger men. "This isn't a schoolyard, it's a federal office and you damn well better learn to respect that, because I have had it with your locker room bravado." He paused to swipe some spittle from his lip and jammed his hot eyes shut for a moment to stop the jackhammers that seemed to be going full tilt behind his eyes. He took a short breath and glared at each defiant face. Twin chins jutted back at him under equally heated eyes. "It's not bad enough I have to tell the Schoates that their son is lying on a slab in the morgue? No, they have to hear you two morons bitchin' at each other and discussing their child as if he were a piece of meat!"
"It's all his fault, Jack!" Danny protested, rising from the floor only to be shoved so hard against the wall he winced. Malone's forearm was pressed tightly against his neck, and the dark eyes were nearly bulging from his face. He'd never seen Jack this angry and it frightened him a bit.
"Did I say you could speak?" Jack grit through clenched teeth. When he felt Danny's resistance give, he let him go.
Danny rubbed his throat and continued to stare hard at Martin. How could Jack not realize it was Martin's fault? He'd known Malone for years and he respected him like no other man carrying a badge. But this choice was clearly a mistake, unless the choice was not Malone's. That was what he now truly believed. Victor had strong-armed Jack into putting his fuck-up son on the team. The golden haired boy's halo was tarnished badly now and even the mighty Victor couldn't save him this time.
"Get over here!" Jack ordered to Martin who was leaning on the table. If the situation wasn't so serious, he would have laughed at the momentary fear each regarded him with. He felt like the father at his wits end taking two kids behind the barn for a whipping. He waited until each hostile agent was on either side of him. He grabbed the scruff of both necks and shoved their faces closer to each other.
"As much as I'd like to smack your two thick skulls together to knock some sense into you," he warned, glaring opening at each irate face. "I'm going to say this once and you will listen and remember." He turned to Danny first, "Fitzgerald is a part of our unit now, get that chip off your shoulder and get used to it." Then he turned to Martin, "And you, you're not riding solo anymore, hotshot, you have a partner. You work together in the field or you don't work in the field at all, understood? Whatever shit happened on the street this morning that both of you made the mistake of bringing into my house, ends here and now. You need to take out a pound of flesh? Fine, take your hot heads over to Max's and strap on the gloves," he noted of the gym nearby.
He released them then, wiping his hands on his jacket as if to rid himself of their stench, an action that did not go unnoticed. He made his way to the door, pausing long enough to issue a final warning.
"One more thing. Another incident like this... either of you so much as raises your voice in the office, I'll write you up and keep your juvenile asses strapped to your desk indefinitely. You're not teenagers squabbling over a cheap piece of ass. Check your egos at the door and act like the professionals you were hired to be."
For a moment, each young agent stared at the closed door before their eyes and watched Jack retreat down the hall. Neither spoke and the only movement was the rising and falling of twin sets of rattled psyches. Two lean bodies with hostile eyes regarded each other for a moment. Neither hiding the disdain they felt for the other. The tension in the air was so evident it nearly sizzled.
Martin moved first, chuffing in annoyance and exiting the room. Danny's temper was worming its way through his body. It snaked up his chest, cascading tendrils wrapping around him and causing Jack's threat to resurface.
"Fuck!" he snapped, kicking the defenseless, unarmed chair. He stalked the room, rubbed the back of his neck and thought of the seeming unending days and weeks ahead, saddled with 'superman' then he kicked the chair twice more. As much as he loved the job and the territory, he might have to consider putting in for a transfer to another unit.
Martin went to the men's room first to wash his face. He stared at the man in the glass, taking a long hard look. He looked past the rivulets of water running down his face and peered hard into his sky eyes. It was said that the eyes are the mirrors to the soul. Who was that man? Was he the fresh-faced rookie bound from Seattle right out of Quantico, the one with the high ideals and enthusiasm which chipped away after three long years in gray raining climate doing 90% paperwork? Or was it the young man who longed to right the wrongs. He'd sought out Jack Malone for a reason; he respected everything he stood for. He liked that Jack bent the rules, showing his scars. That meant a lot to him; something he didn't understand how his father couldn't admire.
Arguments; he shook his head, dried his hands and face then left the room. He headed for the cafeteria on the first floor. It was closed at seven, but the vending machines would be available. As he shoved a stream of quarters into the soda machine, seeking a cherry coke, he wondered about his place. He knew he'd made a mistake his first day, he'd owned up to the Maggie Cartwright mistake. But he felt he'd made some progress in the last few weeks. Despite three years doing white collar, he felt like a rookie. Every day working in the prized MP unit brought a whole new set of challenges to him. He was constantly seeking new and better ways to do his job.
His team? He pulled out a dollar and found the change machine. He gathered up the coins and hit the slot, seeking chocolate. He eyed C3, a trio of cream filled chocolate cupcakes and pushed the button. He settled at a corner table alone and mulled over his workmates.
Samantha Spade was a beautiful and very competent blonde who he found intimidating. Sometimes he found himself wondering about off duty time. He was attracted to her but didn't show or voice it. You didn't get involved with coworkers, that was a rule he intended to follow. They got along pretty good in the field.
Vivian Johnson was the most well versed agent he'd ever met. She was very smart, very street savvy and had great instincts. She was a first class interrogator and he was learning the most from her. She was the one he felt most comfortable with and the only one he didn't feel he had to prove himself to.
Jack Malone? Martin shoved the creamy tail of the second cake into his mouth and took a swig of soda. He'd first become aware of Jack years ago, listening to his father's wrath at the dinner table.
Victor didn't like Malone's ways and methods and made that clear to him at every opportunity. That piqued his curiosity and he quickly learned all he could about the Missing Person's Team Leader. The more he read and studied, the better he liked Jack. He met him once while he was in Quantico, when Jack was a guest instructor in a field assignment. He lost track of him during the tenure in Seattle, but then when he learnt about the opening, he put his paperwork in. He felt something click during their interview. He knew by the grip of the hand that shook his afterwards that Jack sensed it as well.
Danny Taylor.
Martin belched and made a face as the sour taste exploded in his mouth. His gut churned and he tossed the trash away. Cocky, arrogant, strutting around the office like he owned it. A wise-mouthed street kid who didn't like anyone telling him what to do. Every time they were partnered, he felt an ulcer about to be born. He hadn't liked Danny from the first meeting and a part of him wasn't sure why he felt acid rain in his gut every time they were within feet of each other.
Jack's threat? As Martin finished his soda and gathered up his scattered thoughts, he knew Malone was a man of his word. He headed through the dark corridor back towards the stairwell. Begrudgingly, he admitted that Danny was a good agent and a very skilled one. If only his ego didn't trip him up every time. He didn't want desk duty again; he'd traveled across the country to get away from that. He'd have to learn to bite his tongue and curb his temper.
Martin was about fifty feet from the red 'Exit' sign that would reveal the stairs to take him back to the office, when he heard Danny's turbulent voice. Curious, he moved a bit closer, spotting a dim light shining from the edge of a vacant room. It was formally a photo lab, but had been empty for some time. He knew some of the agents gathered there, as it was a short distance from the usually crowded vending area.
"I don't envy you, Danny, that guy sounds like a real prize."
"What the hell was Malone thinking hiring him?"
"It was out of Jack's hands, Steve."
"Yeah, you're right Rico, who the hell can say no to Victor Fitzgerald and keep their job!"
"I think Daddy Warbucks up in Washington made it a done deal. Nobody in their right mind would pick him, he's a first class fuck up," Danny vented, letting his pent up anger spill out. He'd spotted his friend Rico in the hallway. With Jack's venomous tirade still ringing in his ears, he'd jumped at the opportunity to free his frustrations.
Somehow, out of the bounds of their office, the car or similar one-on-one settings, Danny's words hurt. Martin did not recognize the other voices, at least four men from what he heard, but Danny had been a fed for years and undoubtedly had friends all over the building. The words 'first class fuck up' really hit him hard, given this time it was not lashed at him in anger, rather it was to outside parties. Is that what other agents thought? A part of him deflated inside as once again his name, or rather his father's came back to bite him in the balls. Why was it he could never escape that? Why couldn't they see him for who he was not what his name was? Would that ever end?
"Anybody else would have been bounced that first week, when he almost got that hostage wasted."
"Don't think we didn't talk about that," Danny replied to his fellow agents. He'd known Steve and Rico for over five years. Tyrone worked with Steve. Danny didn't know Mitch too well, he had a reputation as a bad apple but he was a teammate of Rico's. "Even the fuckin' bat bounced off that thick head of his. We talked about that the next day while Jack was at the hospital picking him up. We all know the real reason he's on the team and it sucks."
We? Martin staggered backwards as the invisible blow struck him hard. He rocked back on his heels and felt numb all over. Was that true? Did Vivian and Sam feel that way too? Did all his coworkers think he was a patsy, riding solo on his father's name and without his own merit? Tiny claws begin to work his gut and he nearly doubled over. His senses were reeling from the news. Danny had no reason not to speak the truth, not with his friends.
"Me? I pulled a stunt like that and I'd have been suspended," Steve admitted.
"Or at least written up," Rico suggested but Danny shook his head.
"Tampoco!" Danny denied angrily, as neither had occurred. "His old man's wipin' his ass for him, we all know it and we're tired of it. Jack laid down the law, we're stuck with him. I have to learn to like him or I get streeted."
"No fuckin' way!" Tyrone replied.
"Yeah, ain't that sweet?" Danny vented. "He's got a big mouth and thinks his balls are the size of Texas. He screws up in the field, lets a murderin' sick, fuckin' rapist get away and I catch the shit from Jack. Somebody outta knock Little Lord Fitzyboy down a peg or two."
Martin staggered away then, stunned by the harsh conversation. The air turned sour and the walls seemed much narrower than they'd been just moments before. He couldn't breathe here, Danny's words were so cold they burned him and he flinched. His legs felt as if they had weights on the ankles as he dragged himself up the stairs. As much as the dark-haired agent angered him, deep inside he wanted something more.
Truth be told, he envied Danny's street smarts and easy way. He was smooth and fluent, never afraid to show his emotions. Show them? Hell, Taylor wore them proudly on his sleeve. Now any chance of working towards a real partnership was shattered. The shards of that hope, dashed by the horrific use of the word 'we' by Danny had sent those icy, glass bits inside him. They embedded in his heart and tore it to pieces. He wanted those dark eyes to be looking back at him with respect, not loathing.
Did Jack get his orders from Victor? Martin simply couldn't bring himself to believe that, not of Jack Malone. He thought about that interview and how well it went. Jack's words rang true; he wouldn't be under somebody's thumb. Unless Victor had given him an ultimatum? He wasn't aware of the walk down the hall to the office. He was relieved to find it empty. Totally deflated, he sank into the chair at his desk and pulled his badge out. He toyed with it, twirling it in his fingers. He'd thought this was the only job he'd ever wanted. Now he wasn't so sure. He thought back on the sunny day in September when he'd been hired. Jack looked him square in the eye, shook his hand and told him he was Malone's top choice.
"Don't prove me, wrong," he rasped, securing the words with a firm grip.
Now those words were hollow, for he'd shown little in the five weeks worth merit. He thought on that boy lying in the morgue and his actions that day. He had to find out the time of death, if it turned out Danny was right, he'd have to consider his future. If his mistakes cost a human life, then he wasn't the agent he'd hoped to be. He closed down his computer and put his files away, then headed for his car. He paused by the doorway, weighing the need to drown his sorrows at home or clear his head. He turned away from the lot, seeking solace in the blanket of darkness in the street.
There was no crowd roaring their approval, nor was there a bell to sound the end of the round. The weary slugger made his way to his 'corner', watching his opponent sway slightly. Martin's bloodied and defeated face dissolved and was replaced by the punching bag. He pounded the snot off it, pummeling the arrogant face over and over. Every muscle in his taut body screamed and sweat cascading down every firm line. He rested his head against the concrete wall, squirting his face with the water bottle before guzzling some much needed liquid.
It didn't help.
Danny sighed and tried to find an answer to Jack's edict. How could he possibly work with Martin without one of them ending up in the ER? It was all he could do now not to knock some sense into him. Maybe he could ask Jack to have Martin work with Vivian awhile. She'd been handling the rookie pretty good and keeping him inline.
Vivian.
He gave his wet face another squirt of water and eyed the phone on the wall. In the six years he'd been with the team, she was one person who always had a fair sense of play. Maybe she could shed some light on his problem. She been there before for him and gotten him through some tough times. He rose and moaned, his muscles already protesting the workout. He pulled his gloves off and slung them to the side. Guzzling the last of the water, he punched the numbers on the face of the old phone.
"Hello?"
"Vivian? I know it's late, I'm sorry to bother you. Are you busy?"
"Well, as it turns out Marcus and Reggie are at a game and Denzel isn't in town," she teased but his breathlessness caused a frown. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"Well," Danny sniffed, wiping the sweat from his eyes, "I'm not being held in lockup for assault and battery on Victor's pride and joy."
"Oh." Vivian eyed the clock and heard the silence clearly. She'd heard from another agent in a nearby office that Jack blew up earlier. She also knew from talking to Sam that Martin was responsible for Hilliard getting away. And where there was Martin problems lately, there was Danny.
"Look, I'm sorry, Vivvie, I didn't mean to bust up your night."
"Well, if you can haul that skinny butt of yours over here in a half hour, there'll be a cup of hot chocolate and some home made banana pudding."
"You twisted my arm." Danny smiled, thanked her and hung up.
Vivian had the cocoa and pudding on the table when Danny arrived. She studied his face and didn't like the tension she saw. You needed to have a clear head working the streets and Taylor was troubled. He tossed his jacket on the chair and sat down, sipping the cocoa thoughtfully. Three spoons into the pudding, with the last remains of a dying vanilla wafer clinging for life on his lips, she spoke.
"So talk to me, Danny. How bad is it?"
"I think I'm gonna transfer," he blurted, dropping the spoon.
"Um-hmm," she added, calmly crossing her arms over her chest and waiting for the rest. He fidgeted, tapped his fingers on the table, shifted in the chair twice and finally sighed hard.
"Look, Vivian, I've tried. He's just impossible. You can't tell him anything. That mouth of his has an answer for everything."
"Really? Imagine that, a rookie with a wise mouth."
"I wasn't that bad!" he defended, hearing her implication.
"I was there," she smiled, tapping his cheek lightly. "and you were ready to take on all comers. It's been six years Danny, it's hard for you to remember how hard that first year is. He's only had a few weeks."
"He's selfish, Vivian. He charges all over the place, doesn't tell me where he is..."
"Hmm, seems I recall an incident at the Port Authority one summer morning..."
"That was different!" Danny's ire rose and he felt his face flaming. He saw her brow arch and frowned. How was it that she always did that? "How come he doesn't screw up with you or Sam? Why am I the only one pissed off?"
"You don't want to hear this..." she warned and he sat back, made a face and crossed his arms over his sweatshirt.
"I am not like him!" he spoke up, reading her intent.
"I'm an objective observer and I hate to say this Danny but you do have a lot in common with him." She waited for his chuff and distressed face to turn back to her. "He makes mistakes, he's too impulsive and yes, I know that cost you today. But you were hotheaded and impulsive too, Danny. Selina Yates? Carl Denno?"
"Okay... okay..." Danny put up his hands in defense and sat forward, leaning his elbows over the edge of the table. "So how do I stop myself from shooting him?" He heard the soft laughter and her chair move.
"You take it one day at a time," she answered, giving him a reassuring hug.
"You're not tempted to shoot that cocky grin from his face?"
"I've had to correct him more than once, but I don't lose my temper or insult him." She saw his eyes flash and tilted her head. He sighed and looked away in defeat. "Danny, that only adds gasoline to the fire. You both have short fuses and you're like two alpha dogs fighting over a bone. Tell me what happened today at the brewery."
She listened to the story, prodding him at times and getting some answers. Martin did remind her a bit of Danny when he was a rookie. He too was a bit impulsive, a bit too sure of himself and thought he had all the answers. She had a feeling that when Martin lost his green tint, got some seasoning and his feet under him, they'd be a good team. That is if they didn't kill each other first. She might mention that to Jack, suggest pairing him less with Danny for awhile.
"When you went gallivanting across the Port Authority building after Madison," she said of the suspect in the Yates case, "and left me in the parking lot, did I insult you, your heritage or your family when you came back?"
"No, but that wasn't the same," Danny answered weakly. She was doing it again and he didn't like it. "You saw where I was, where Madison was..."
"Only because I turned the corner in time to see you take off like John Wayne. That was luck, Danny. Do you understand the difference?"
"You dressed me down good for that!" Danny recalled, "You damn near boxed my ears."
"The right way, by telling you what you did wrong and not using insults or a demeaning manner."
"Look you weren't there, he trashed talked me good, he's got a smart mouth."
"You hit him, he's gonna hit back," she countered and saw him stand and eye the clock.
"It's late, I'm beat. Today is a day I want to forget." He took his jacket and shucked it on, pausing by the door.
She reached up to pat his back. "Just think about what I've said. I know he's not the easiest person to get along with, but he's trying to learn a whole new game with new rules. It takes time."
"Time?" Danny replied, going back into the cold night. "I'm not so sure I have much left."
He saw her eyes bearing on him and nodded, "Okay, I'll try to be patient."
"Goodnight, Danny."
"Thanks for the couch trip," he teased of her wise advise before charming her with a Taylor special smile.
She watched until he drove away, until the red tail lights were no longer visible. She wrapped her robe a bit tighter and went to clean up. As she washed the dish and cup, she wondered about the future of the team. If Danny and Martin couldn't resolve their differences, Jack just might have to make a decision he wasn't prepared for.
He'd taken a long walk, embracing the cold air and welcoming the chill. He thought again on every action he taken this day, adding up the positives and negatives and weighing each. He was walking through the darkened indoor parking facility just past a large dumpster, when a hand shoved him hard behind a retaining wall. It was completely black on the other side, without benefit of any overhead lighting. The irony of getting mugged in a federal parking lot was almost funny. A hard blow found his midsection, doubling him over. As he started to rise, coughing and choking, a severe blow from a board or hard object hit the back of his legs, taking them out.
"Look, before you make any more mistakes, I'm a federal agent, just walk away now," he wheezed.
The laughter that followed sent a chill through him. His head was yanked back hard by the hair and he struggled, wheezing badly and expecting a blow to the face. But instead the warning was issued and he recognized the voices.
"No, not his face, don't leave any marks."
"Just enough to teach him a lesson."
"Danny Taylor's a friend of ours and a damn good agent. You pissed him off and that pissed us off. He earned his badge; he didn't have his father buy it for him."
"On your best day..." there was a brief pause and he was hauled to his feet, his knees buckling. Several more hard blows met his ribs. Then his coat was taken away and the brutal fists found the lower back, kidney blows. Very painful and lingering, yet no marks would be retained, "You couldn't wear his jockstrap..."
"You fuckin' learn or we'll have to have another class to teach you some more."
Martin didn't know how long he was lying there when he regained consciousness. He managed to roll over and get to his knees, painfully trying to stand. The throbbing pain in his back told him the kidney blows hadn't missed. He'd be in a lot of pain for several days. His ribs were bruised, not broken and Danny's friends knew just how hard to hit. Rising fully was not possible, rather he hunched forward, walking slowly and gripping the wall. The walk to the car seemed a hundred miles away.
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