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.
Martin was dozing by the fire when a tiny voice squealed at him.
"Unca Mot'n... Unca Mot'n..."
Startled, he blinked and sat up as a whirlwind of green and navy plaid flew towards him with long chestnut curls and large, dark, green eyes. He winced when she landed a bit hard on his lap and hit his healing ribs. Before he could recover from the landing, a bright pink piece of construction paper was thrust before his face. A lone blob with brown hair and blue dots where eyes should be, stood on a green bunch of lines with a brown 'house' behind him. At his feet was a pair of black and yellow circles with legs and wide heads. In between them were half a dozen small circles with brown dots. The stick man had a huge white shirt with red crosses in various places.
"I maded you picsurs, see? There's Misty and Snuffles and some cookies and see... there's you..." She pointed to the white shirt. "I drawded your boo-boos... see..."
Martin nodded thoughtfully as a group of newcomers entered the room. His mother was first, placing a tiny blonde girl about two or so with beautiful blue eyes onto the ground. She immediately ran for him and held her arms up. He couldn't lift her, his ribs wouldn't allow that. He opened his mouth but no words came out. Frustrated, she pouted and screwed her face up.
"Up! Up!" The tiny scowl after the demand caused him to grin.
"Cara, don't pout," Jean advised, "She looks just like you when she does that," she teased him and lifted the tot placing her on his other knee. "You sure you can handle this?" He nodded and peeked past her as a tall man in his mid to late twenties with wavy light auburn hair and green eyes appeared with both arms full of luggage.
"Hey, Martin, Happy Thanksgiving. It's great to see you again. How you feeling?"
Martin gave the thumbs up over the silken heads under his chin. The man nodded and kept moving, most likely to deposit the luggage. Right on his heels with boxes tied up in one hand and a large gift bag in the other was a very pretty young, blonde woman. As soon as she smiled at him, a warm wave of nostalgia came over him. He found his smile then, as memories of sharing childhood illnesses, playing games in the yard and swimming in the ocean exploded. The feelings were good ones, happy times and the sense of someone he could trust. A word formed and he wasn't sure why it appeared. Struggling around the wiggling girls, he managed to type the word. He held out to his mother as his sister put the packages down and came over.
"Buttons." Jean spoke and saw her daughter grin.
"God, you haven't called me that in years. Not since I was a kid." She bent down and kissed him.
"Sorry," Martin typed and offered a sheepish grin.
"That's okay," Brianne soothed, sitting next to him and taking her younger daughter from him. The tiny girl immediately protested.
"No no no..." she vented, reaching out for her uncle. "My Mah-n..."
"Cara, listen to me, you too Cait," she eyed her eldest, her four year old who was digging something out of her backpack. "You remember what I told you about Uncle Martin? He has a lot of boo-boos. You have to be very careful you don't hurt him."
"Sorry," Caitlin whispered, dropping her head.
Martin felt like a mule had kicked him. It wasn't bad enough the one little girl dropped her head, the little one stood up and kissed him, pushing her face into his neck.
"...wuv... Mah-n... wuv... wuv..."
He held onto both of them then, inhaling the sweet scent of the clean hair. He used his right arm to tickle the older girl. Her giggle flooded the room and made him sad. A pang inside was born that he had no memory of the times they'd shared in the past. It was obvious by the love they were sharing with him that they had bonded. He felt awful that he couldn't remember them.
"We play house," Cait decided, pulling two dolls from her backpack. "You be the daddy."
Martin frowned when a doll with crayon on her face and a bleached blonde Mohawk was thrust at him. His odd look caused his sister to laugh.
"That's Emily and she didn't survive bath time a few months back, she's having a bad hair year."
Martin's eyebrow rose at the second doll, who was much smaller and had no clothes. He turned to his sister and typed a word on his box.
"No, she's not a... not that," she giggled at the word 'stripper'. "That's Cara's doll. Cara doesn't like her dolls to have clothes on. Her father is a bit worried about that."
Martin chuckled and was mesmerized by his two nieces. The next half hour flew by as he entertained them while his sister and mother got the dinner prepared. He was still fighting a headache but didn't want to take his pills, they'd knock him out. He'd have to get through dinner and then have a nap. As his mother entered the family room and announced dinner, the pair of tiny blondes moved to either side.
"Watch your boo-boos..." Cait warned, taking his hand carefully. "I help... 'kay?" She felt her hair ruffled and turned her face up to catch a wink and a grin.
Not to be outdone, the two year old grabbed his leg and hugged it, proclaiming her 'wuv' for him again. He held his hand out and allowed the tiny treasures to escort him to the table. There was a minor fight when both wanted to sit next to him. Finally it was decided that neither would; they sat by their parents. Dinner went better than he thought. His sister updated them on the antics of the girls and their upcoming vacation plans for Hawaii in the late spring. He ate more than he'd thought he would and found himself relaxing. But then the little girls who'd both missed their naps got to arguing. The pitch of their voices, coupled with the bright lights overhead caused the pain in his head to flare up. He felt a light touch on his shoulder and his mother was at his side.
"Why don't lie down for an hour or so? We'll wake you for dessert."
Relief coursed through him and he stood, swaying a bit as the room moved. The scraping of chairs on wood made him flinch and he found four adults around him, too many bodies in the small space. His mouthed actions tried to tell them to back off but he couldn't voice it. He shoved the two blurry bodies near him and staggered away, seeking air. Then a strong body appeared and grabbed his elbow, steadying him.
"Come on, son," Victor voiced, shaken by the episode. His wife's words in the bathroom that day had remained with him. It hurt him deeply when Martin's eyes sought out his wife. But he held on and eased his wavering son out of the hot dining room. "It's much cooler in your room. I'll get your pills, alright?"
Martin nodded absentmindedly totally unsure of what to do. The fact that he was in a lot of pain and not able to walk without help scared him. He'd been steady all week. But it was hot and he'd not had his pills since that morning. Perhaps it was too much activity and no rest. By the time they got to his room, his father had wrapped one arm around his waist and he was supporting most of his weight. He felt himself lowered onto the bed and laid back.
"Hold on," Victor whispered, easing him up and shoving several pillows behind him. The doctor advised him to sleep in a semi-upright position for his injured lungs and ribs. "Martin, I'll be right back."
He felt a light tap on his shoulder and blinked up in the darkened room. His father put a glass of cold water and a trio of pills in front of him. He took them and drained the water. His father took the glass and set it down on the table next to his bed. Then the older man sat down next to him. His confused look caused a sorry half smile to appear on the older man's face.
"I guess I deserved that, Martin. I've never been very emotional; this is very hard for me. I'm sorry for... well for everything." He sat forward then, resting his elbows on his thighs. This was just as tough as it had been when he was a young boy. "Today is the day we Americans set aside for giving thanks. As a father I have more reasons than some for that. When you were born, the first time I held you I was shaking so badly I nearly dropped you." He heard the odd strangulated sound and turned to the startled look. "It's true. I was overwhelmed by you. As you grew, that part didn't change. A part of me was always afraid I'd disappoint you. So instead of reaching out, I pulled away. Two weeks ago I nearly lost one of the two finest gifts I've been blessed with. I'm sorry for failing you, Martin. You're a son any man would be proud of and what you did for Danny Taylor... my God the courage you have..." He didn't continue, his voice broke. He sat for a few moments, struggling hard when a hand came out, palm up. "Just like that?"
Martin thought for a moment and pulled his word machine out. He typed and held out his reply.
"It's a good start." Victor eyed this son and nodded. "I promise, Martin, things will change. You have every right to being angry for what I did in the past. I was arrogant, trying to force my dreams on you. I guess I'm not the first father who's made that mistake." "...not the last..." Martin typed.
He was troubled by the confession. He knew the anger and heat that rose when his father was near was caused by something in the past but he didn't know what. But he also knew that his brush with death had made him a better man as well. Until he did remember just what the root of the anger was with his father, there was no sense harboring it. His father was willing to try, he should as well. He closed his eyes and sighed, letting the pills take over. Twice he dragged his eyes open fearful of the demons lurking just beyond the dream gate. His father was still next to him. His sluggish eyes formed a puzzle that caused the old man to flinch.
"If it's alright, I'd like to stay." He felt a flicker of hope when the sky eyes softened and relief caused the troubled body to relax. So he kept his seat by his son's side, something long overdue.
It was almost nine p.m. when Sam forced herself to rise. She had been dozing on and off on Danny's loveseat under an old quilt. She eyed the television and decided that as captivating as Natalie Wood was as a child, she'd have to miss the rest of Miracle on 34th Street. Danny was snoring softly on the sofa, covered to his shoulders in a blanket. She paused by his side to touch his cheek and ruffle his hair. Two dark eyes blinked up at her.
"Sorry..." Danny managed, sitting up and hissing. His hand flew out and a strong one caught it.
"Easy... it's not a race."
"Shit... shit..." His back really hurt, he'd stayed in one position too long. '
"I'll get your pills," Sam said, helping him stand. "And I'll sleep on the couch."
"Plenty of room in the lair," Danny teased as she led him to his bedroom.
"Another notch on your bedpost?" she sassed, easing him down onto the bed. "I don't think so."
A few moments later a cold glass nudged his hand and he popped his heavy eyes open. He took the pills and drank in the concerned face. It felt good to have such a good friend to lean on. He drained the water and set the glass down. He bit his bottom lip and turned his face away.
"You okay?" Sam asked, worried by the uncharacteristically quiet face.
"I'm glad you're here," he admitted, still in a bit of pain. He wasn't too macho to admit he'd be glad of her to being close by in case something went wrong with him during the night. He turned back and gave her a warm smile. "And I'd be grateful if you'd stay."
"Okay, but don't expect a miracle in the kitchen in the morning," Sam warned. "Don't be looking for breakfast in bed."
"We'll eat out, the place at the corner is good," Danny noted, "My treat. Thanks for everything, Sam, you really made today special for me."
"You make everyday special for me," she returned, kissing his cheek. She couldn't resist pushing the wayward locks of dark hair from his eyes. "It's the least I could do."
"Goodnight," Danny replied, carefully tucking himself under the blanket.
"Goodnight," Sam whispered, slipping out of the dark room. As darkness filled the apartment, each one of them silently reflected on the meaning of the day. To have a good friend is rare and something to be cherished. To have someone who was willing to take a bullet for you, well that was a real treasure. Each slept a bit better knowing that they were buoyed by that strong sea.
The dishes were done and her daughter and the family were sprawled around various parts of the den watching Miracle on 34th Street. Victor had been late for dessert and missed the family walk after dinner. He'd been very quiet during dessert, and then excused himself to take a walk. He often took long walks when he was troubled so she didn't expect him back for awhile. Jean left the room and went to check on Martin. He was tossing in the bed, gripping the sheets. She moved inside and flipped the light by his bed on. The fine features were bathed in sweat, causing his brown hair to curl up.
"Sweetheart?" She tugged on his shoulder and both eyes jerked open. His mouth begin to suck air, he looked like a fish on the deck of a boat. "It's mother, dear." The terror in his eyes was unnerving. "I'm going to get you something cold to drink, alright?"
He held onto her arm for a moment and sat up, tossing his legs over the side. He dropped his head down and rubbed his eyes. Mother. That's who the woman was. That meant he was home, either in his own or hers. He peeped around the room and nothing looked familiar. Then he saw several small trophies and other items from various stages of boyhood. This wasn't his home, it was hers. He looked up at her and although he didn't know her, he know of her. He was flooded with warmth, waves of concern and protective embraces flooded him. He was safe here; she would shield him. He sighed hard and nodded, he was thirsty.
"Good, you rest here, I'll be right back." She bent and kissed his damp cheek.
In the span of moments after she left, the memories began to flood back, faces without names around a long table, the clatter of utensils hitting plates and several large platters of food, a turkey and football games, a pair of tiny girls and his sister's smile. He eyed the clock and realized he'd slept for several hours.
"Unca Mot'n?"
He cocked his head at the tiny voice and saw a pair of little girls encased in pink, fuzzy sleepers. The older one was studying him and the little one was holding her hand, half hidden behind her. A shadow appeared on the wall behind them and a pretty blonde woman moved past them into the doorway.
"The girls are going to bed and wanted to say goodnight, is that okay?" Brianne asked and was glad when Martin nodded. "Good, mom met me in the hall and I asked if I could stop in." She walked over and put the bottle of iced tea into his hand. He took a large gulp and held the bottle against his face. He put the bottle down and watched the small unsure faces across the room. He patted the side of the bed and a bevy of feet moved into action. The little one had trouble climbing onto the bed and her determined face made him grin.
"God she looks just like you," Brianne noted. "The older she gets, it's more defined. She's got your temper too..."
Martin grabbed the area of fabric over the toddler's backside and helped her up. He was rewarded when she sat on his lap and proclaimed her affection again.
"Wuv Mah'n." She clapped and snuggled when he kissed her cheek. "My Mah'n" she declared and made her intent known by scowling at the others.
"Uncle Martin loves you too," Brianne translated of the light coming from her brother's eyes.
Caitlin hesitated and didn't sit next to her uncle right away. She remembered the scene in the dining room and how scared he was. Her mother explained that he had bad dreams because of the boo-boo inside his head. She held her treasured blue blanket a bit closer, studying the frayed parts that had been loved away. Finally she edged up next to him, sitting close. She peered up at him and started to hand the blanket over. A part of her wanted to give it to him to help his boo- boos but it was hard.
"Here... it'll make your boo-boos better," she whispered. "It makes my heart better when it hurts".
Martin swallowed hard and realized the sacrifice the little girl was making. He knew just how attached the child is to her favorite bedtime buddy and how hard it is for her to let the worn blanket go. He didn't want to take it, but his sister caught his eye and nodded her head. He didn't want to refuse the heartfelt gift; it might hurt the little girl's feelings. Yet if he took it, it would hurt her too. He ran his hand on the nobly bits of soft blue and his throat tightened up. Then he got an idea. He typed a word and held it out for his sister to read.
"Share?" Brianne read and nodded. "That's a great idea, Martin. What does that mean, Cait?"
The troubled little girl thought for a moment and her eyes brightened. "If you share, you care."
"That's right!" She rewarded her daughter with praise. "Good girl." She helped him lie back down and covered the trio up with the large blanket, then tucked the small blue one between Cait and himself. Just for a few moments, Uncle Martin has to go to sleep."
Cara immediately popped up, slid off the bed and ran out of the room.
"Cara? Where are you going?" Brianne eyed the empty hall and then the small blonde tot reappeared clutching a book. "Oh, honey, we'll read later..." The determined blonde went right past her and climbed back up on to the bed. She was secure in the normal bedtime ritual when Martin came to their house or they visited here.
"Are you sure?" Brianne asked and her brother nodded to the rocker next to the bed. "Okay, but just for a few minutes. I'll let mom know." She ducked into the hall.
Martin shifted when the baby plopped down next to him and shoved the book at him. Her thumb went into her mouth and she curled up onto his chest. His heart sank when his eyes roamed over the book. A bright yellow cover with a monkey under the words 'Curious George' appeared. He opened the book and his mouth formed the words but they didn't come out. He felt his face flame with color and he was mortified.
"Weed Moh'n..." Cara demanded, unhitching her thumb just long enough to make the request. "Weed..."
The little one cast her annoyed eyes at him and smacked the book. He let out a long frustrated breath and felt his fist curl in anger. Then a small hand moved over his, clenched it and the older girl's offer caused his eyes to fill.
"I can't read the words... but I can read the picsurs," Cait offered. "You can turn the pages, okay?" She caught her beloved uncle's wink and broad smile. She sat up a bit straighter when he kissed the top of her head.
Brianne only heard the last part of the conversation but it made her heart swell. She was transfixed in the doorway, unable to utter a sound as her elder daughter quietly kept the other two entranced by a story about a monkey going to the circus. Cara's eyes closed first, her thumb slipped out halfway leaving a trail of slobber on Martin's arm. Martin's eyes grew heavy and his head went back hitting the pillow. She got her camera then, carefully focused and got a picture she'd treasure forever. She took the baby first and then returned to get her older daughter. Cait had gently untucked herself and eased off the bed. She moved and kissed his cheek, carefully tucking the blue blanket around his neck and chest.
"I love you," she whispered, patting his cheek. "I'm so proud of you," Brianne choked, when they got into the hall. "Uncle Martin won't forget this, he loves you very much." "I love him too," she replied, watching her hero sleep. "He catches the bad men and makes it safe for us, right?"
"Right!" Brianne agreed, leading her daughter to the bedroom.
After the girls were sleeping, she returned to her brother's bedside and kept vigil. She watched him sleeping, recalling their early years and the long talks they'd shared. He'd always been the one she leaned on and he'd always been there for her. Now it was time to pay that back. She only hoped and prayed that he would heal and be able to resume his work. He was a hero to her, standing tall and wearing the badge he'd always wanted so well.
"Sleep, big brother," she whispered, "I'm watching over you."
The next few days flew by in a flurry of family activity. Martin divided his time between enjoying movies, cartoons, coloring and playing with his nieces, long walks with his sister and resting in his room. With each passing day he felt stronger, his weight was returning and he was resting better. The headaches were still a problem and he'd passed out twice but the doctor said that was to be expected until the contusion on his brain fully healed. The memories came and went, some leaving him very confused. The nightmares were terrifying and he often woke up alone, covered in sweat and choking.
All too quickly it was Sunday night and his sister's flight was departing. He'd gone with his parents to see her off. He still felt the hugs and kisses his nieces had covered him with. He'd hold onto that warm feeling that they gave him and cherish the images that the pretty little faces brought to him. His father returned to work on Monday and his mother remained at home. He knew she worked and he assumed she would be going back to work. She told him she had taken emergency family leave. That bothered him and he couldn't understand why it upset him so much. A part of him recognized he was injured and recovering, but not to the extent where someone was putting her life on hold. The week went slowly for him, the hours turning into days at a snail's pace. With each passing day he grew more sullen, he felt like he was a hostile captive lost in Norman Rockwell land. Saturday afternoon he had a doctor's appointment and it ha d gone well.
They had just pulled back onto their street when another couple his parents age waved to them. His father pulled the car over.
"Happy Holidays!"
"Hello Carl, how are you?" Victor asked, eyeing the man's wife. "Bonnie, it's good to see you."
"Why don't you stop over for dinner," the wife extended. "We can catch up. Martin, we're so very glad you're recovering. You're more than welcome to join us."
"I'm not sure, Bonnie," Jean hesitated. They were good friends and often dined out together. She would have loved to have gone to their house for dinner.
Martin sat back and crossedhis arms over his chest. He knew why his mother hesitated and it made him angry. He wasn't a baby and didn't need a babysitter. He kept his annoyed scowl as the car continued to their home. He stormed into the house and grabbed the notepad by the phone in the kitchen.
"What is wrong with you?" Jean asked, watching the thundercloud in action. She eyed the paper thrust at her. "I am not a baby."
Martin then scribbled a second note, "Go to dinner, I'll be fine."
"I know you're not a baby, son. But you're still recovering. What if..." Her sentence was cut off when he brushed past her to his room, closing the door. "Oh, dear."
"He's right, you know," Victor stated. "Maybe we're being too protective, smothering him. It'll only be a couple of hours. You can call and check on him. You have to give him some room, Jean. You've been hovering over him for a couple of weeks now."
"Alright," she reluctantly agreed. She knew Martin well enough to know that if she didn't go, he'd be angry all night. That wouldn't be good for his headaches. She tapped on his door. "Martin, dad and I have decided to go to the Parker's house for dinner. I'll call and check on you if that's okay." A few moments later the door opened and the blue eyes regarded her carefully. Although they were not angry, something was different. Something had changed and she wasn't sure what. He nodded and moved past her, heading for the kitchen.
While his parents got showered and dressed, Martin made himself some leftovers for dinner. He took the platter of food into the family room and settled down by the fire. By the time they appeared, coats on and headed out, he was finished. He was enjoying coffee and pie watching a football game. His mother approached cautiously.
"I'll call you, you can use the system you used with Danny, okay?" She saw the head bob. "This is my cellphone number. If anything goes wrong, you call me. You beep threes times and we'll know to come home."
Fine. Fine. Martin was still annoyed and stiffened up when she kissed his cheek. He actually was glad they'd gone and was relieved when the door closed. Now that he was feeling stronger, he was feeling penned in. It was as if he couldn't breathe. One of them was always with him, hovering and tending. He was very grateful for their care but now it was bothering him. He sighed hard and rubbed the back of his neck. He got bored with the football game and began to roam the house. He flipped through an old photo album and bits and pieces of his high school and college years came back. He was passing by the guest room and saw a computer. He recalled vaguely his mother using it during the past week. Danny Taylor's cocky grin floated into view and he wondered if he could email his partner. He missed Danny and tonight especially feeling so boxed in, he needed to hear his partner's voice.
He refilled his coffee mug and returned, settling in at the computer. His mother called and he beeped once, letting her know he was fine. It didn't take him long to log on and access the email. He typed out a message and frowned. The 'to' column seemed to blink at him. What was Danny's addy? He wasn't sure. So he copied the letter and pasted it onto several new ones. Then he typed in a variety of possible addys and sent them all. It didn't take long for the 'mail undeliverable' messages to pop up. His temper grew shorter and shorter and he got frustrated, sweeping the pens, pencils and other desk tools off the top of the desk. He seethed for a few moments, cleaned up the mess on the floor, turned the computer off and left the room. He went to the enclosed porch and studied the stars starting to appear. An old boy scout leader's voice entered his head then, proclaiming that 'the north star' would guide you home. He reali zed then that is what he needed. He needed to go home.
Where was home?
That thought troubled him, gnawing at his insides and giving him a pain. He retreated to his room, taking two more calls from his mother. She said they were on their way home and that's when he shut the phone off and climbed into bed. He didn't want to talk to anybody or to be fussed over. He wanted his life back.
Jack was late that morning, having overslept and then been held up behind a multi car pileup. He was just outside his office when something caused him to halt. A frown creased his forehead and he shifted his coat to the other arm before entering the room. Sam and Vivian were in court this morning and he intended on catching up on paperwork. There was a lone figure sitting at his desk, so intent on thinking he never heard him approach.
"You sleepwalking?" Jack asked but the body never moved. "Hey!" He tapped the white shirted shoulder and the dark head slowly moved. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Danny disregarded the gruff voice and the phony anger in the eyes. He tossed a cocky grin and twirled around in his chair. He rose up and took his coffee cup. He tapped the chest on the older man and winked. "You do have a heart in there."
"You haven't answered my question," Jack retorted, hanging his coat up and grabbing his own coffee mug. He followed Danny Taylor into the small room where they had a microwave, coffee mess, refrigerator and a table with chairs.
"I have a nine o'clock session with Doctor Harrison."
"Oh," Jack answered, then scowled. "I thought that was next week."
"Well, my PT is going better than expected and I had a checkup yesterday. Doctor Soames thought it might be beneficial for me to begin working on the other aspects of healing."
Jack pursed his lips a moment, while stirring cream into his coffee. He could hear the wheels turning in Taylor's head. "That's a load bullshit," he replied. "You're just angling to get back on duty earlier. It won't work. You have two more weeks before I will even consider desk duty."
"Aw, come on Jack!" Danny pleaded, grabbing his full mug and following the senior agent to the larger room. "I'm going nuts at home. I can answer phones..."
"Good," Jack decided, settling at his desk. "I guess you can catch up on calling on the friends who don't see you normally due to your work hours." He heard the long exaggerated sigh and raised his eyes over his glasses. "Look, Im glad you're ahead of schedule and I know how hard you have been working, I talk to the doctors too. But you're not 100%, and we both know that. Talking to Lisa will help but you need those two weeks."
"I need to work!'
Danny's plea fell on deaf ears. He shuffled back to his desk and sat down, sighing hard. His eyes shifted to Martin's vacant desk. He didn't miss how barren it was. Unlike his desk and his coworkers, which were full of little personal touches, it remained cold. He thought of the man who used to sit there, as unyielding as the desk. He wondered who would return, that man or the emotive, fierce blue eyed warrior he'd met in the warehouse.
By noon he was headed home, having completed a two hour session with Doctor Harrison. He felt it went well. He was smart enough to know if he didn't give her the right answers, the sessions would go longer. He wanted that stamp of approval so he opened up a lot faster than he normally would. He'd even surprised himself when she got him to open up about his guilt concerning Martin. The next session was on Thursday and he was hoping she'd be satisfied enough to approve his desk duty.
He eyed the train station and got an idea. Maybe he'd be strong enough by the weekend to visit Martin. He'd wait a couple days, his back still didn't allow for a long stretch in one position and he couldn't bend too well yet. But he'd try to call Jean by the end of the week and see if she was agreeable. Like Jack, Doctor Harrison has strongly objected when he slipped up and mentioned 'curing' Martin. She gave some very technical reasons and he'd nodded at all the right times, but she was wrong, they all were. He knew he had the power to reach his silent partner and nobody was going to stop him.
It was early afternoon when Jean returned from the store. She put away the groceries and went to check on Martin. He was watching reruns of MASH on the television in the den. He'd been with the doctors all morning and they seemed pleased with his progress in most areas. But although they suspected his silence was connected to the brutal nightmares, they still had not found the key to unlock that door. He looked tired and she wondered why he wasn't napping.
"Martin, are you hungry?" He shook his head without looking up. "Alright, dear. I'll be in my office if you need me."
She was fortunate in that she was able to do most of her work from home. She had several reports to email to her office. But when she settled in at the computer and accessed her email, she frowned. She had not had the time to check on the email for several days. She counted over three dozen 'rejection' notices spread over the last few days. All of them were trying to find one person. Martin had been trying to reach Danny Taylor. What was so important that it required urgency such as that? She went to the sent mail and noticed none of the letters was successful. She began to delete the rejection notices and couldn't help herself. She read the letter. By the time she was done, tears were rolling down her face. She deleted all but one, printing it out and then deleting it. She composed herself long enough to send her work into her office and then she shut the computer off. She went to the rocker in the corner and sat there , thinking on the letter and the one line that haunted her. She was still in that position when her husband's voice called out. "Jean?"
Victor stopped in the kitchen and pulled up the lid to the crock pot. A pot roast was simmering with carrots, celery and potatoes. He hung his coat up and checked the other rooms. He stopped by the couch in the den long enough to pull a quilt over Martin. His son was sleeping, the warmth of the fire leaving a golden caste on his features. He turned the television off and went upstairs. He saw the light on in his wife's office and went down the hall. She was sitting in the rocker; her usually confident features a mask of desolation. He saw that she'd been crying and immediately crossed the room.
"What's wrong? Is your sister alright?" His sister-in-law had battled cancer the year before and that was his first thought.
"Mary's fine," she answered, then handed him the letter. She waited but his features never changed. Typical of a man. "Well?"
"Well what?" He handed the letter back. "He's upset, Jean, he's getting it off his chest. Danny is his friend, a peer, his partner."
"Did you read that last line?" she pleaded. "I wish I was home." Victor relayed, shrugging. "He lives in New York, he misses that?"
"He is home!" she argued. "He's been trying to send that to Danny for days. There were dozens of rejected emails."
"So that's it," Victor interpreted, sitting down on a hope chest next to the rocker. He handed the letter back and took her hand. "You're upset because he's turned to Danny."
"Well how do you think that makes me feel, Victor?" she choked, swallowing hard. She didn't think there were more tears left. "He's my son, I carried him for nine months, I gave him life, fed him at my breast. It was my hand he held onto when he took his first steps. Now, I'm a stranger to him. This isn't his home." She sobbed, shaking her head and accepting his arms around her. "He doesn't know us... or this place. I can't find him. I want to heal ... him. I want to give him his life back. I'm his moth...er..."
"Oh, Jean," he sighed hard, hugging her. "You can't beat yourself up over this. Danny is the only connection he has to his past. You have to understand that. Whatever trauma happened on the Friday night is tied to Danny and their ordeal. The reason isn't important. He loves you, you're his mother and when his memory comes back, you'll see that again. But right now, he's reaching out to the only person he is confident in. We have to accept that and encourage him. And don't think this is easy for me. I'm his father and I want to cure him too." Then she pulled away and studied the letter again but this time her eyes held a different purpose "What?"
"Maybe I misread this," she murmured, suddenly seeing the light. "Maybe he does need to go home. Of course he does, how could I be that blind." She rose and crossed the room, eyeing the computer. "He's a visitor, here, a guest, a stranger with a familiar face. He's stiff and unsure, too polite at times, just like company would be." She paused to tap the screen. "But when he talks to Danny, he's looking for safe harbor. He's trying to find that lighthouse and guide his way home. If Danny is his beacon, then we need to take him there."
"Oh, Jean, I don't know. Taylor isn't completely healed himself yet," Victor thought aloud.
"And he needs Martin too. He won't completely heal without him. I'm going to call him..." she paused and shook her head. "No, we'll visit him. Martin will be at the hospital all day on Friday having tests. We'll take the train to New York." She saw hesitation in his slate eyes still and approached him, taking the photo by her computer with her. It was Martin the day he graduated from Quantico.
"He's our son and it's his life we're holding, isn't he worth it?" Friday morning Danny had just finished his breakfast and was ready to do his morning exercises for his back when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Danny?" Jean watched through the window as Victor and Martin headed for the car. "My husband and I were wondering if you will be home today. We'd like to come over, if you're up to it"
"Here?" Danny eyed his hovel and winced. It was okay for him to pad around the dirty clothes, scattered papers and magazines and few plates and cups. "How about I meet you for lunch? There is a great cafe at the corner. I walk outside for a bit during the time when it's warm." He paused to give the address.
"That's fine, Danny." Before she could ask, he spoke.
"I was going to call you yesterday but I met Viv and Sam after therapy and we had dinner and I was too tired when I got home. I've been doing a lot of thinking about Martin." He shifted the phone, pausing to glance out the window at the bright day. "As a matter of fact, he's on my mind a lot. I know you and Mister Fitzgerald are taking great care of him and he's gaining weight and getting better but..." he hedged, rubbing his eyes. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I think he needs to come here... back to New York... here... with me. I can't explain it to anyone, but my gut... it tells me, hell it screams at me... that I can help him. I know I can find that missing piece." He heard a long sigh of relief and frowned. "What?"
"That's what we wanted to speak to you about," she rasped, her voice tight. "I have a letter to give you and I think you'll feel better when you read it."
When Martin returned home from the hospital, his mother had his bags packed. He was confused and pulled out his word machine.
"Your father and I thought it might do you... that you might feel..." she paused, this was harder than she had anticipated, "more comfortable... at home in New York."
Martin's head shot up and his eyes grew wide, glowing like blue lights. Did he hear her right? Did she say 'New York'? She took his hand and led him to the kitchen table where warm hot chocolate and cookies were waiting. They sat down and he took a sip, his hand grabbing his fa vorite snack. "You haven't changed that much, you know," she whispered wistfully, still seeing the wide eye boy in the man before her. "We had lunch with Danny today." He nearly choked and she winced. "Sorry... He's been quite concerned about you. He offered his home to us... to you... for you to share until you... get better." There it was done and she blew out a long breath. She felt her hand squeezed and then he held her, kissing the top of her head. "I wanted... I thought I could... I'm sorry..."
No no no no no.... Martin vented, as excited as he was to get 'home', he never wanted this. She had no reason to feel guilty. How could he make her understand? He eyed the back of a flyer for snow removal that had come in the mail. He let go of her long enough to write a note.
"Please don't do this to yourself," she began, swiping at her wet eyes. "Honey, I'm a mother, it comes with the territory. Since I first felt you move within me, that need to nurture, heal and protect was born. That never leaves, not ever." She cupped his chin and found a smile, then continued the letter. "I could never thank you for all the love you've showered me with. I wouldn't be here now if it weren't for you. Oh my..." she had to stop then and hold the tears back as her heart surged. "You healed my broken wings and now it's time for me to try to fly again." She folded the note back, not able to read the 'I love you now and forever' that was the parting line. She'd never give this letter away. And the light shining in his eyes would be the strength that she needed. She took his hand and nodded. "Well, alright, then I guess we better eat out tonight, somewhere close to the train station."
It was almost nine o'clock when the doorbell rang. Although he'd been prepared, they'd told him the time of the train and he'd taken extra care to clean his place, he jumped anyway. He got to the door, his hand on the knob. He took a moment and found the medal around his neck; it was a silver miraculous medal that had belonged to his mother. It was all he had of her and he felt her nearby when he prayed with it. He needed her strength now. He did a silent prayer and kissed the silver treasure.
"Stay close, okay?" he whispered, then opened the door.
He was vaguely aware of Victor and Jean. Martin's father came through the open door and put the luggage down. Jean hugged and kissed him, but it was only Martin he saw. The emotion in the blue eyes was on overdrive and the wide smile was quickly mirrored by his own. His fears fled then, replaced by a powerful force that would embody him until his mission was completed.
"Hey, man!" he greeted, moving aside and sweeping his arm across the air. "Welcome home!"
Martin hesitated, slipping inside and trying to lasso the dozens of butterflies doing a wicked dance in his gut. He accepted his mother's fretting and the three hugs and kisses before she finally let go. He took his father's strong hand and was surprised by a hug. Then they were gone and he felt awkward. The enormity of the gift hit him hard. How the hell could he possibly repay Danny? His dark-haired roommate returned from the kitchen with two bottles of root beer and a pile of nachos oozing in melted cheese.
"I got the store to send over all the junk food they had. We're gonna pay for this!" he teased, setting the food down. Martin was dressed in jeans and a cadet blue sweater that only made his eyes look bigger. He saw the fingers fumbling badly with the word machine and the temper flashing. He saw something else then and quickly put a stop to it. He sat next to the struggling body and gripped the back of his neck. "It's cool, okay?"
Okay?
Hell it was more than 'okay'. But just feeling that strong hand on his neck sent a surge of current so strong through the ailing body that it caused him to lose his breath. He sat forward, struggling to regain his composure. He sat up then, nodding and extending his hand. Once the promise was made and bonded over that grip, he picked up the bottle and waited for Danny. They tapped the glass and took a good long drink. He'd just taken the first step on an unknown journey. He didn't know what lay ahead, but he knew he wasn't alone anymore. The uncertainty that had encompassed him since he left the hospital was gone. The coldness that he'd been plagued with was replaced by a fire that would continue to grow. Whatever demons were waiting in the dark during that time between dusk and dawn would now be met by a formidable force.
The battle had begun.
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