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.
Jack woke up with a start. It took him a few seconds to recall where he was and what had transpired. The television was broadcasting a news report about civil unrest in some far part of the troubled world. He glanced at his watch and realized he'd been dozing in Danny Taylor's recliner for a couple hours. It was just after nine p.m. and he sat up, rubbed his eyes and yawned. He moved from the chair and walked to the sofa, where the dark-haired agent was sound asleep. Jack pulled the quilt up and turned towards the back of the apartment to check on the recovering member of his team. He passed the kitchen and paused when he spotted Fitzgerald sitting quietly at the table.
"Martin?"
Martin looked up and met Jack's concerned gaze. He wasn't used to people fussing over him and it was a bit unsettling to have two grown men mothering him. He scowled and wrapped his hands around the heat coming from the coffee mug.
"I'm fine," he answered of the question lingering in the dark eyes.
"Then why the hell are you sitting here in the dark?" Jack questioned, flipping the light switch on.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a donut from the box on top of the refrigerator.
"Did you get your folks okay?"
"Yeah."
So that was how it was going to be. The old Fitzgerald had returned. Although the younger man wore a sweatshirt, Jack could see a row of buttons being buttoned up tightly, keeping everything inside. The sphinx-like profile was clearly back in place. And that was a shame, because the glimpse he'd gotten of the other Martin who, although he couldn't talk, spoke volumes with his emotions, was a stronger man.
"So, how did that go? Are they coming down or..."
"Uh... yeah, I guess," Martin muttered. He didn't want to talk about this but it was clear Jack was not going to let up. "My mom was crying so much it was hard to hear."
"She's a class act," Jack commented. "And, she earned every one of those tears."
"Thanks," Martin agreed, "She is pretty special. I didn't talk to him long. He didn't have much to say."
The acid in the voice worried Jack a bit. He knew Martin and his father had unsettled issues between them. But he'd thought that this near tragedy had helped to mend that. Something told him the pensive face on the other side of the table was still hiding something.
"I'm not going to rush you, Martin, but I'm going to need a statement. Just uh... take your time and use Danny's PC. Write down everything you can remember. If you're up to it this week, we really should go back to Hartford and talk to the DA about Horne."
"Yeah, sure," Martin agreed, shivering a bit as the mention of the cop's name brought back bad memories. He sat for a moment, troubled by the events. He'd woken up a little while ago and having found the other two sleeping, taken refuge in the kitchen. His headache was only partially due to the physical injury. He had a lot on his mind. Now that the box was open and his long lost memories had returned, they were actively pursuing his full attention. One corner of his mind was juggling the heated words Danny had spoken about him in the Fed. Another corner of his mind was jousting with the memories of the dead girl and the two animals that were responsible and whom had nearly ended his own life. Yet another part of his mind was dueling with a calendar. That troubled him the most. Nearly four weeks had gone by and all that time he'd been missing, all the manpower and time others had spent looking for him all because he didn't speak up to the priest at the mission.
"Such a fuckin' waste of time," he mumbled in disgust.
"You want to expand on that?" Jack pressed, seeing flashes of anger in the troubled sky eyes.
"All of this... time..." Martin vented, shaking his head. "You, Danny, the cops in Hartford... manpower wasted on me. All because I didn't tell Father Joe..."
"First of all, genius," Jack's sarcasm rose up, "You had a very serious head injury and you were sick with a fever. Amnesia is very real, Martin, you didn't do that to yourself on purpose. You being mute was your subconscious reacting to Callison's threat."
"So stupid..."
"Look Martin, I don't have time to hold your hand, okay?" Jack addressed the moping body. "It happened, I did the job I was trained to do, Danny went undercover and did his job. It's over and done with, get over yourself already!" Jack warned. "Quit cryin' in your beer and pull yourself up by the balls."
Jack was right of course. Wallowing in the 'whys' and 'what ifs' wasn't going to help anything. He still had several weeks of recovering to do before he'd be cleared for work. He would have to mend his mental wounds in that time. One by one, he'd conquer those demons if he could. But what if his teammates felt the way Taylor had referred to? Could he really be a part of Malone's team if the others didn't trust him?
Jack could hear the wheels in Martin's head turning and he didn't like what he heard. One thing Fitzgerald had was confidence. The doubt he'd first seen flickering in the rookie's eyes in the parking garage that night was the same hue he saw now. He didn't like it then and he still was not comfortable with it.
"Alright, Martin, spill it," Jack pressed. "What's eatin' you? You never did answer me."
"Huh?" Martin slowly drew his gaze from Danny's window to his boss. "What are you talking about?"
"The morning you and Danny left for Hartford, you asked me why I hired you. I want to know what happened on that Thursday night to plant that stupid seed in that thick head of yours."
"Did you hire me for who I was or what my name was?"
There it was out and Martin felt one of the busy spots in his brain let off a relief valve. He saw the flash of anger in Jack's stormy eyes just before the slow burning fuse exploded.
"What the hell kind of question is that?" Malone demanded.
"That night... I heard Danny talking to his friends about me. He said... they said... more or less you... only hired me because of my name."
Jack watched Martin's face flush with color and his head dropped down. So that was what was troubling him? He realized now that the old bruises, the ones embedded deeply inside the rookie would be much harder to heal. There was nothing in a bottle or from the drug store that would cure what ailed him.
"I gotta know, Jack." Martin's voice was a choked rasp.
Jack thought for a moment before replying. He held out his open hand and sternly addressed his troubled newcomer. "I gave you this the day I hired you. That's your answer." He rose up, ate the end of the donut and took a hearty sip of coffee. He tossed the rest down the kitchen sink. He turned to Martin then and didn't hide his anger. "And don't you ever question my integrity again!"
"I'm sorry, Jack," Martin answered contritely, "but you're not the one saddled with the name Fitzgerald."
"Oh, so I'm supposed to feel sorry for you?" Jack's hackles rose, "because you got stuck with half of your old man's name? Horseshit!"
"Half?" Martin's face puzzled up.
"Half!" Jack was adamant. "Half of it is yours and you work your ass off and make it shine. You show the world that you're not Victor's son, that's he is Martin's father."
Martin sat up and back in the chair. Jack's words hit him like a volley of bullets. He'd never thought of that before. He'd been so busy being angry at what he felt was prejudice, he'd not allowed himself room for another possibility. Was Jack right? Was the answer that simple? Could he prove to those nay Sayers that he was worth his meddle? That he was not Victor's son but his own man?"
"I guess I never thought of it that way, Jack," he admitted in a small voice.
"As far as those idiots who beat you that night," Jack paused. "Do you remember any of that?"
Martin thought for a moment and shook his head. "Not really. I remember Danny was mad, really mad. He said some things..." Martin broke off then, "Uh... I was going to get some air, I was so upset at what he said." He closed his eyes then and tried to remember. "Sorry, Jack. I remember waking up and hurting like hell. It was dark, cold, I was on the concrete. But, I can't remember."
"Damn..." Jack mumbled.
"I'm sorry."
"That's okay, Junior," Jack stressed. "We got some of it on tape and the rest came in confessions when they were brought in. That should be enough. Who knows, maybe it'll come back to you during the next month or so before you come back to the team."
"Team?" Martin muttered.
"Is that what this is all about? You don't think you're part of my team anymore?"
"Hard to be part of a team when the others don't trust you."
"That's a fuckin' load of shit, Martin, and get that out of your head. I built this team and I know what makes it run."
"But Danny said that... that 'we'... all know why he was hired and we don't like it. 'We', Jack. That means not only does Danny not trust me, Vivian and Sam don't either."
"Really? So you talked to Vivian and Sam about this?"
"Well, no but..." Martin began only to be cut off.
"No buts about it, Martin, because that is simply not true. Danny has a temper and he told me about shooting his mouth off that night. 99% of that was his temper talking, and not Vivian or Sam. You two didn't hit it off right from day one. You were pissed off about being Victor's son and so consumed by that; Danny was wrong too, not giving you the benefit of the doubt. But you had a chip on your shoulder, Martin and he reacted to that. You were like two dogs fighting over the same bone. You each have some time to work this out before you are approved to active duty again. So I am telling you right now, get that shit straightened out. I know what you thought you perceived but I also saw the ballsy warrior who was ready to take on a fuckin' SWAT team protecting his partner." Jack stopped when Martin's head shot up. So that word still meant a lot to him, it was still the battered life preserver he was holding onto. "Partner, that's right. What I saw told me everything I need to know. What you two went through that weekend and what you did to save his life, that's all you need to know. That's what a partner does, what a friend does. Why can't you hold onto that?"
Could he hold onto that? Why was it difficult for him to accept that version of himself? He recalled every painful moment of that weekend. It was like watching some weird movie on television. It looked like him and walked like him but it wasn't him. He wasn't touchy-feely, he didn't get emotional or show himself. That Martin was so free giving it made him uncomfortable to think about it. But that was the Martin that Danny bonded with and was looking for. How could he be partners with a man who didn't know him?
"You going to be okay? I'm going to head home."
"Yeah, fine," Martin said in an odd voice. "Should we wake Danny? He needs his bed. I can take the couch back."
"No, he's sound, leave him be. I'll call Tim Simmons in Hartford tomorrow and ask if he's free later this week. You take a couple days and head back to Georgetown. Your mother needs to see you, she's healing too."
"Yeah," Martin agreed.
Neither one of them saw the shadow of a figure standing on the other side of the wall. Danny slipped back onto the couch and played dead. He heard Jack get his coat and speak with Martin at the door for a moment before leaving. He heard the microwave turned on when Martin reheated something to eat. He remained awake long after Martin cleaned his dishes up and went back to bed. His heart was too heavy carrying Martin's words to allow any sleep. He'd done more damage with his words than Callison or Hilliard had with metal, fists and wood. How could he repair that? There was no such thing as 'no' in his vocabulary, so he had to set out and get a new game plan. Because come hell or high water, Martin Fitzgerald would be his partner and a member of Malone's team.
Martin was already showered and dressed when Danny stumbled into the kitchen. He'd awoken during the night with a bad headache and pain in his legs. He'd taken his pills and that had knocked him out. Martin looked up briefly when he came into the kitchen. Danny chuffed and wondered if Martin was planning on hiding out there until he left. He managed to get himself coffee and made himself a bowl of cereal.
"I'm sorry about the couch; I wanted to wake you..." Martin's voice trailed off when the other man found his chair directly across from him. Why did the room suddenly seem much too small?
"s'okay," Danny mumbled, resting his face in his hands for a moment. He hated waking up in a fog like this.
"I uh..." Martin proceeded, "have a train in a couple hours. I'm heading down to my folks. I have a physical scheduled for tomorrow. Jack wants me to head to Hartford to talk to the cops up there, I guess midweek maybe."
"Sounds like you have your appointment book all full," Danny noted bitterly. He felt the dormant anger he'd housed towards Martin for those five initial weeks returning. He didn't like the feelings now stirring in his gut or the defensive posture his body was already maintaining.
"Yeah, well..." Martin shrugged. "You got therapy and stuff, right?"
"Yeah... stuff..." Danny snapped. But he couldn't let this go. It was too important to him. He shoveled down his cereal and mulled through his emotions.
Martin was at the sink rinsing his coffee cup when he heard Danny speak. It was the tone rather than the words that caught his attention.
"Martin, we need to talk."
"Okay," Martin answered, crossing his arms over his sweater.
"See!" Danny hissed, watching the bricks that had come down to reveal the real Martin Fitzgerald slowly going back in place.
"What?" Martin barked, "I can't stand and cross my arms?"
"You're hiding again!" Danny accused. "Like you did before you went missing. You're putting that fuckin' wall back up."
"Wall?" Martin's voice rose. "This is who I am, Danny, take it or leave it. "
"No," Danny rose up and walked over until he was just inches from the troubled man. He knew Martin was struggling, he could feel the inner turmoil. He used his index finger and jabbed the area near Martin's heart. "This isn't the real Martin Fitzgerald, it's the pretender. Oh, you put on a good show and fool most of the people with that mask, but not me. I saw the real Martin in that warehouse and he's the partner... the friend... I want back."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Martin was brisk and shoved past Danny. " I don't have an alter ego."
"You know what Martin? You look shitty in yellow."
Martin wheeled around and his fist came up automatically. Danny didn't back off, rather he moved forward wearing a smug grin. Martin didn't like the odd feeling coursing through his insides. Who the hell was Danny Taylor to talk to him like that? Why did the cocky look in the dark eyes make him feel uncomfortable?
"Go ahead, big man," Danny dared, jutting his chin out in defiance.
Martin opened his mouth to reply but couldn't find the words. He just shook his head and forced his legs from the room. His bag was packed and waiting by the door. He'd already called a cab and it was due in about ten minutes. He could take the bag and wait downstairs. As if sensing his thoughts, Danny's voice once again cloaked the room.
"Run away, that's what the imposter would do; he doesn't have the guts my partner did."
Martin's fists balled up and he pressed them to his sides. Why wouldn't Danny let this go? Was he going to hound him like this every day? He felt his headache kicking in protest and he winced, pulling one hand up to press his temple. He didn't need this now, it was bad enough he had to face his father in a few hours.
"What the hell are you so afraid of?" Danny pushed, laying a hand on the tense shoulder.
"I'm not afraid of anything, including you!" Martin vented, whipping around and swaying a bit.
"I don't doubt that," Danny agreed, "You still got balls bigger than the state of Texas." He shoved Martin in the direction on the hall mirror. "That's who you're afraid of!"
Martin seemed transfixed by the image and Danny felt sure he heard a 'click'. Maybe he would have to take this in small doses. He knew he'd made a deep impression on Martin. Maybe during the next week while he was gone, he'd think about it. Danny would give him some room, but he wasn't going to give up. He turned away, seeking the relief for his aching back that only the hot shower could bring. When he emerged, twenty minutes later, Martin and his things were gone. He walked to the window and watched the New Yorkers moving quickly along the streets below. Just then a ray of sun broke through the overcast sky. His eyes found it and he captured it, hoping it was a good omen.
Martin paid the cab driver and eyed the majestic house before him. He knew the next couple of days would be difficult but this was necessary. He'd stopped at the bank on the way over and withdrew some money. Jack had told him the night before that he'd meet him at the train station with his wallet. The police had returned it and Jack had been holding it for him. It was as if the pieces were falling back in place. He knew the doctors would not clear him to drive for several weeks, not until the contusion on his brain fully healed. His ribs still ached most of the time and breathing hurt a bit, but it was the headaches that were killers. They came without warning and right now he had a doozy. The last thing he needed was that steely gaze of his father. But he had opted to come in the morning because the older man told him the night before he had a 'ten a.m. at the Pentagon.' So he'd bought himself a few hours.
Jean was just coming outside to check the mail when she saw Martin a few feet away. Her bottom lip trembled and then the waterworks erupted again. She flew towards him and he caught her, holding her close.
"Come on, mom, don't cry," Martin suggested. "I'm fine now."
She pulled back and held his handsome face in both hands. He was a handsome boy and she was so proud of him. She'd prayed all these weeks that his ability to speak and understand would return. Now he was stood before her, and the light was back in his eyes.
"I missed you," she confessed. Then she thought of the emotional stranger that he'd been during his last visit. As frustrating as his amnesia and muteness were, she liked the giving part of him that had been exposed. "But I hope you'll keep a part of him with you, I loved him too. So sweet and loving."
"I'm not..." Martin bit the words off, he wouldn't fight with her. Why did everybody want him to change? "I'm kinda tired mom and my head is killing me. If it's okay, I want to take my meds and hit the bed." And hide? He shoved that angry small voice away and entered the house.
Victor's apprehension proceeded before him into the house. He paused inside, listening to the silence. He hung his coat up and peeked into the kitchen. The scent that he found told him chicken of some kind was in the oven. He found his wife sitting quietly in the study.
"He's out," Jean answered and shook her head. She saw the same fear in her husband's eyes she had in her son's. Odd, that they would have that in common. "And he's hiding too."
"I'm not hiding, this is my house!" Victor barked.
"Hiding!" she emphasized. "You promised me in the hall outside his room in ICU that day that you would talk to him. He almost died Victor. It's time you two bury the hatchet. I won't have that bickering anymore." She saw his hackles coming up and pressed onward. "And yes, I told him the same thing. He went for a walk to think about it. I told him you'd meet him at the King's Arms, he's waiting there for you." She moved past him to check on the dinner. She stopped by her husband and saw the man that no one else did. They only saw the arrogant Deputy Director of the F.B.I. They didn't see the frailty and fear that she now saw. She rested a hand on his cheek and found his eyes. "Just love him, Victor, is that so hard? Welcome him back for what he is. He'll never be a senator, honey, that's not his calling. But he's a fine young man, someone any father would be proud of. All he needs is to hear that."
"I know," Victor stammered. "I know..." He slumped a moment and shook his head. "I keep thinking about seeing him in that bed. All those tubes in him, that monitor... but..."
"But what?" She caressed his troubled cheek. "You're as stubborn as he is, it's a wonder I've survived all these years. That damned Fitzgerald pride..."
"But I guess," Victor returned, catching his hand on the back of her neck, "I've been wrong and I have to tell him that. My son, Martin..."
"Thank you," she accepted the hug and kiss and then felt a weight lift from her heart. She only hoped Martin would drop his barriers.
"Who the hell does he think he is!"
Doctor Lisa Harrison sat back in her chair and watched the angry young man stalk the room again. Although they had made some progress during last week's sessions, this one was different. Jack Malone had called earlier and told her that Martin's voice and memories had returned. So she knew both young men were jockeying for position. All she'd done was ask about Martin and Danny Taylor had exploded. The reserved, polite answers she'd tolerated during the earlier sessions were gone. This is what he needed to purge and what she'd been waiting for.
"Confused," she added. "He's been through a lot, Danny. It won't be easy for him, especially given your history."
"I'm not the problem!"
"You don't think so?" she prodded and he found a chair. His fingers tapped impatiently on the table next to him and the handsome features were puzzled into a brooding mask.
"There he was in my kitchen, using mortar and bricks... puttin' that damn wall back up!" Danny vented. "I won't have it," he attested, eyes flashing. "I'm takin' every one of them fu... damn bricks down one by one."
"You need to heal yourself first," she warned.
"I need some air," Danny disagreed, eyeing the clock. "Times up, doc. I'll see you Thursday."
"Danny, just think before you act. He's been traumatized and he's got a lot of healing to do. It won't happen overnight. Don't give him any new wounds."
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered and reached for the door.
He found the elevator and waited for the doors to open. He wasn't even sure where the hour went. All she'd done was ask about Martin and it was as if Pandora had lifted the lid on that box again. Every fly and spider he'd been hiding carefully during their earlier sessions had flown out. It was as if he was unable to control himself. He couldn't stop talking about his frustration in reaching Martin. He was still wearing a scowl when the door opened.
"You know if you're not careful, your face will freeze like that?"
"Sam?" Danny blinked.
"Then what would those throngs of desperate females do?" she teased but he didn't smile. "Hey? What's wrong?"
"Everything's all fucked up," Danny noted with a long sigh and rubbing the bridge of his nose. The headache he'd been holding at bay all morning just broke through with sharp talons.
"Come on." Sam took his arm and steered him into the elevator. "I'll buy you lunch."
Gino's wasn't crowded yet, it was only eleven a.m. and the mad rush for lunch wouldn't begin for another hour. They were able to snare one of the few, prized booths in the corner of the cozy eatery. Its dark wood and brass fixtures spoke of another era. The waitress put down two cups of coffee and then two bowls of Escarole soup. Sam was halfway through the bowl when Danny placed the warm, crusty roll he'd been buttering down.
"Why is he doing this?"
"What happened? Jack said Martin seemed better, he was talking..."
"Yeah," Danny scoffed, shoving his empty bowl away. "He was talking alright, every perfect one word answer. It was real chilly again, just like he was before."
"Danny, he's been through a lot, you have to give him some time, it's only been a couple of days." She was surprised that Danny was this upset but she was glad at the same time. He cared enough to fight for what he'd lost and that was a good sign.
"He's gonna go back, I can feel it. That smug, smartassed, cocky, son-of-a-bitch that I..."
"That you didn't like," Sam filled in, pausing as the waitress reappeared. She took the empty dishes, filled their mugs and left more bread. "First of all, you have to stop yelling at him."
"Me?" Danny's voice rose a full pitch. "Sam, I'm not the problem."
"Oh, come on, Danny, this is me you're talking to, okay? You went in with both barrels right off, didn't you?" She waited but he didn't reply, rather he leaned heavily on his arms on the table. "You can't push him that hard, you'll push him away. You don't think this is hard for him too? First of all, he damn near died. His body hurts. I had a concussion once, a bad one. Those headaches are killers. His brain was bruised badly, his ribs are healing... how would you feel if you lost that much time? If you suddenly remembered living on the streets, urinating in alleys and having the world look at you like dirt? It has to be hard and don't forget he's going back to face Victor today. He remembers that warehouse, Danny, and I'll bet a part of him wants that Martin back. But right now, he's not ready to embrace it. He's got too much on his plate and I'll bet he's a little scared."
"Maybe I was too hard," Danny admitted. "But I just... you guys didn't see him... live it... he was amazing. I felt something, Sam, here, you know?" He tapped his gut and swallowed hard. "Last night when I held onto him, when he finally spit that shit out... I swear, Sam, I felt his soul."
"Then hold onto to that, Danny," she encouraged, drinking in the tremble in his voice. She reached over to lay her hand on his. "He felt it too and I'll bet it shook him up. You've always been emotional, proud to wear your heart on your sleeve. But I think he sees showing emotion as a sign of weakness or at least he did before. It could be he wants to change but he's afraid." She withdrew her hand and saw the dark eyes darting back and forth. "Give him some time and let him talk. Don't bark at him and push him against a wall."
The waitress came back and put their plates down. Sam took a good bite out of her Tuscany Panini, loaded with grilled chicken, roasted peppers, provolone a nd spinach. Danny wolfed down half of his meatball parmigiana sandwich before pausing for air. He carefully digested the words Sam spoke along with the food. Was she right? Had he wanted it so badly he pushed Martin away? They both had a few days to think things over. He would take a more positive approach. Maybe you can draw more flies with honey.
"You know what?" Danny complimented softly. "You bottle blondes are pretty smart." He chuckled and ducked when a roll few at him. Then he gifted her with his best Danny smile. "Thank you... Samantha..."
The historic tavern had been around since the Revolutionary War. It's stone walls still held onto secrets told by bright-eyed patriots long dead. It had a large open hearth and it's walls were decorated with antiques of that troubled time. It had a fine selection of ales and a good menu full of hearty fare.
Victor spotted Martin at a table by the window. The pensive profile didn't offer much hope. He knew by the clouds in the normally fired up blue eyes that his son was troubled. He kept his wife's words and advice close to heart and made his way to the table.
Martin looked up when his father approached. His gut began to react as it always did and he felt the half dozen snakes uncoil and bare their fangs. But something was different this time. He saw something in the gray eyes that startled him, contriteness and maybe hope? So the snakes receded and he waited.
"I uh... ordered coffee."
"Thanks, Martin," Victor replied and sat down. Before he could even speak, the waiter came over. "Uh... the uh... crab cake special and uh... chowder." He eyed the blackboard on the wall with the daily specials on it.
"Prime rib sandwich and shrimp bisque," Martin stated and then waited for the waiter to leave. "Thanks for coming, dad, I know you're busy."
"Not too busy for you," Victor admitted, meeting his son's gaze. He saw hope flickering there and didn't waste the opportunity to seize it. "The old Victor might have been... but not this one. That day in the ICU when your mother and I first saw you..."
Martin was taken aback at the break in his father's voice. Moreover he was moved that the older man couldn't go on. Maybe his mother had been right this morning. She'd warned him to tread easy, that his father had changed. She'd encouraged him to keep an open mind and reminded him that they both needed to reach out.
"I nearly lost something so very precious... something I had no idea I held." He remarked of Martin. "The day you were born, I vowed I would be a father you could be proud of. But... it was hard for me the older you got to show... that."
"I know, dad, it's okay," Martin replied. "It's hard for me too."
"I want to start off by saying, how sorry..." Then Victor shook his head. "No... how wrong I was that day on the phone. Do you remember that day? The day before you went missing? We argued on the phone."
As Martin sat back to recall that day and the heated words, the waitress put their soup down along with a basket of hot herbed bread and honey butter in a chilled crock. He thought back in time and recalled that conversation and how underneath all the venom, he was very hurt by what he perceived as disappointment from his father.
"I was upset... I disappointed you again. It seems I can never do the right thing." Martin reflected.
"You have never," Victor emphasized, "never, disappointed me, Martin. You're a fine young man, one any father would bust his buttons over. I was the jackass with my head buried in the sand. All these years... all the wasted time. I should have told you...."
"I know you wanted me in Washington, dad." Martin proceeded to the root of the problem. "From the time I got into High School, that's all you talked about. You'd drag me to parties to introduce me to the 'right' people in the Senate. I never wanted that. I tried to tell you but you never heard me."
"I'm listening now," Victor admitted. "And I'd like to hear what your goals are, Martin. I can't make up for the damage I did all those years. Those are scars I'll carry to my grave. But I would like to think that now the sky is blue not cloudy."
"I'd like that too, dad," Martin agreed. It wouldn't be easy and they would still have their battles. Martin admired Jack Malone and he knew his father didn't approve of the team leader, but at least now he respected Martin for who he was and for having the courage to be his own man. That changed everything. So over a lunch that both would remember for a long time, they started rebuilding their relationship.
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