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 pulled up in front of Penn Station and honked the horn. Martin was standing by the curb and headed for the car for when he saw him. Malone popped the trunk from inside, so the young man could stow his bag in the back. A few moments later, Martin got into the car. It was early, not even seven thirty and traffic was already bad.
"Hey," Martin said, buckling his seatbelt.
"How are you feeling?" Jack asked, noticing that Fitzgerald look good.
"Pretty good, a little nervous," he admitted.
"You'll do fine, just tell the truth. We'll head to Hartford PD first, Simmons will have you look at a lineup and you can give your statement. They have a potential ID on the girl you described. They're going to show you some morgue photos from women who met the description that were killed that week."
"Great..." Martin mumbled.
"If you're up to it, on the way into town, I thought we could go over the path you took. I want to stop at that alley where you confronted Horne and Callison."
"Okay," Martin agreed and thought for several moments. He not only remembered the black times of that week in hell but the kind people who'd aided him. "If we have time, there are a few people I'd like to thank."
"Sure," Jack readily agreed, eyeing the pensive profile. "You remembered more?"
"Yeah. I remember a guy at a chicken place. He gave me a bag with food, a blanket. He treated me like a real person." Martin stopped then, his flush betraying his emotional tide.
"We met him, he's a good guy. He was worried sick about you. He even canvassed the neighborhoods at night looking for you."
"Damn..." Martin whispered. "And Annie... I remember her clearly."
"So do I," Jack grinned, "she's quite a lady."
"That she is," Martin agreed. "And I want to stop by and thank Father Joe again."
"He called my office yesterday asking about you. He's been praying for your recovery."
"I guess it's good to have friends with connections in high places," Martin teased.
For awhile, they rode in silence, but Jack knew something else was troubling Martin. Despite his reassurances of the other day, he felt maybe the rookie was still harboring doubts. He knew by the brief conversation he'd had with Taylor the day before, things had not gone well when Martin left. He also knew how hard Martin was struggling to find a common ground among the two personalities he'd shown. Then there were those old feelings about his qualifications.
"Martin," Jack began and waited for the apprehensive blue eyes to find his own. He caught them for a moment, sending reassurance, then kept his eyes on the road. "I want to apologize for barking at you the other morning."
"Jack, you don't owe me any...."
"Let me finish," Jack interjected. "I came on too hard, I know that. But one thing I won't tolerate is self-pity. One of the many things that put you at the top of my A list when I interviewed candidates for the opening on the team was your confidence. You have a fire inside, Martin, and that is something that they don't teach at Quantico. You were the top of your class, so we don't have to cover that. Despite the fact you didn't want white collar, you excelled there as well. You have several high profile collars to your credit. So when I made my selection, it was because the intense young man I interviewed had a moral compass inside that was refreshingly real. I know being Victor's son had to be hell, especially at Quantico." He peeked sideways and saw Martin's jaw clench as bad memories came back. "And there is always going to be other agents who will try to make you feel less than you are due to your name. But you need to stand tall, Junior, and look at the man in the mirror. Because, what I see, is someone I am damn proud to have as a part of my team."
"Thanks, Jack," Martin's voice was tight, he was not used to being on the receiving end of accolades. But Malone's words made a difference, he felt a bit taller.
"Look, I know you and Danny have some unresolved issues. That's normal considering what the two of you went through. You both have short fuses and there's gonna be times when you two butt heads over stuff. But I also know that what I saw in that warehouse is something that you don't always find on a team or in a partnership. You were ready to take a bullet for him. That came from somewhere."
"He wants me to be somebody that I'm not," Martin blurted. "This is me... why isn't that good enough?"
"That's something you need to talk to him about. But you have to do a little soul searching Martin. Because whether you want to admit it or not, that Martin who fought on the streets in Hartford to stay alive and who took care of his injured partner, wearing his heart on his sleeve is a part of you too. It might be a part that normally you bury, but the head injury didn't allow for that. Just don't rush to close that door and bury him again. There are tools there that helped to define you, tools that you need."
Martin didn't reply but the exaggerated sigh told Jack he'd hit a sore point. He did notice that Martin's face was pinched in pain and he was gripping the edge of the seat.
"Why don't you rest your eyes, maybe lose that headache?" Jack suggested and the brown head bobbed. He hoped that Martin would really think about using all the tools he was given.
Although the sun was shining over the skyscrapers on this brisk December day, for Martin Fitzgerald it was dark and snowy. Hidden shadows seemed to leap out at him and he was so cold it defied description. The pain in his head was unbearable and his legs were like lead.
"You okay?" Jack asked, watching Martin wince and hiss. He got no reply but the younger man's breathing accelerated. "Hey, Martin!" When the next corner brought a stop sign, Jack reached over and shook Fitzgerald's leather jacket. He jumped, startled. "Are you alright?"
"Uh... uh... yes..." Martin lied then shook his head, "no... flashbacks. It's like watching a weird movie."
"This is where Danny and I theorized you went after that second mugging. It was sometime after that when you ran into Petruzzo, right over there." Jack pulled the car over and Martin got out, walking directly to the spot where on the video, he'd approached the security guard for help. Jack parked the car and followed. He watched Martin's eyes moving down the alley and then his fists balled up. Two broken crates and a trash can received the brunt of his fury.
"That sick bastard!" Martin spat, then eyed the building. "Where is he? I wanna shove him down on his knees and ram a pipe up his ass."
Jack chuckled then, glad to see the fire back in the rookie's eyes. "He was fired. The Hartford FBI brought him up on charges, he was released on bail."
Jack let Martin release more steam and then they returned to the car. He felt that revisiting the scenes of that shattered night would help to heal the festering wounds inside. The next stop was harder, for they didn't know where Martin ran into Hilliard. Hilliard only gave a rough description but as Jack drew near to the spot, Martin sat up.
"Pull over!"
"I can't Martin, I'm in traffic." He saw the frantic eyes darting and one hand reaching for the door handle.
"MARTIN!" Jack shouted, grabbing his arm. "Stay inside the car, we're in traffic. I'll go back, I promise."
No sooner had they pulled into the next available parking spot, Martin flung the door open and ran back. Jack followed as quickly as he could and nearly ran into the recovering agent. As quickly as Fitzgerald had entered an alley after making two precise turns, he froze. Jack moved ahead and in front of him, so he could watch. Martin cocked his head and stared at an old mattress lying on the ground. He began to slowly shake his head then, whispering.
"...no... no..." Martin rasped, watching the life slip away from the dark-haired girl. He reached his hand out to her cold one, watching as her fingers slowly recoiled. "I'm sorry..."
The next images came fast and he felt Callison's fists on him and that knife pressed to his throat. The hot breath danced on his neck and those words were issued, warning him of the fatal mistake calling out would bring.
"Martin?" Jack said softly when Fitzgerald's hand moved to his throat. Martin's lips parted and he began to choke. Jack moved in as the dazed man dropped to his knees. "Hey, snap out of it!"
"I'm okay," Martin managed, cradling his gut. He felt his stomach churning and actually gagged twice. "She was right there, Jack. I tried to help her... she kept looking at me, reaching her hand out..."
"I know, I know," Jack reassured, keeping his hand on his shoulder. "They had her on that mattress, you're sure?"
"Yeah... that's where he raped her..."
"Okay, I'm gonna call it in, the lab should get something from it," Malone stated, "You gonna be okay?"
"Yeah." Martin let Jack help him up and moved over to a small retaining wall where he sat down. He raked one shaky hand through his hair and took several good, deep breaths. He was still seeing flashes of the two rogue cops attacking him.
"Martin, did Horne participate?"
"Yeah... he didn't stop Callison, he stood and watched. Then Callison said they had to kill her because she knew too much. She saw them buying coke. He tried to kill me, Jack. Callison tried too and nearly succeeded. I played dead and they decided to hide the body first, then dump me in the river. He let Callison kill her and helped moved her body."
"Okay, that's great Junior," Jack complimented. "You sure you're okay? You look as white as a sheet."
"I knew today would be rough," Martin admitted, "but it's taking a toll."
"I can call Simmons and push it back, if you want."
"No!" Martin was firm and stood up, recovering slightly. "The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can try to put it behind me."
"Okay, let's go."
It was just after ten a.m. when Tim Simmons saw Jack Malone and Martin Fitzgerald walk into his outer office. He put the phone down and went outside to greet them. The rookie looked rough but at least he was on his feet.
"Hey, good to see you again. You look much better," he said, shaking Martin's hand.
"Thanks, Tim," Martin replied, "for everything. Jack told me you really busted your ass that week for me."
"Hey, he's the kind of guy you have to stay on the good side of," he teased.
"Martin's ready to make his statement now. Once we get that done, you can call downstairs and tell them to get the lineup ready," Malone offered.
"Okay," Simmons led Martin to a table inside the interrogation room. He opened a folder with a dozen photos. "Martin, I want you to see if any of these women..."
"It's her," Martin pulled out the fourth photo. He swallowed hard and saw her pleading eyes again begging for help.
"Are you sure?"
"Am I sure?" Martin stood up, sending the chair flying. "She looked right at me; she held her hand out for help. Callison shoved his dick into her and I didn't do a damn thing. You think I can forget that? Watching him choke the life outta her? Horne stood right beside him and watched. I can't go to sleep at night without seeing her face. Yeah, it's her!"
"Alright, alright..." Simmons put both hands up defensively.
"Tim, Martin found the alley where they killed her. There's a mattress there, you need to send a team for DNA." Jack handed the address over.
"Yeah, that fits." Simmons flipped the photo over and pulled out the paper file that matched the number on it. "That's the alley that backs up to her apartment. They must have moved her." He nodded to the door. "Sorry, Jack, you have to wait outside."
"I know," Jack answered, pausing by Martin's chair. He gave Martin's shoulder a tug and met the emotive blue eyes head on, calming them with his dark ones. Once he felt Martin was ready, he left the room.
Forty minutes later, Martin emerged with Simmons and two other F.B.I. agents from a small interrogation room. Jack had to wait in the outer office, drinking coffee and reading the paper. He knew by the pinched expression Fitzgerald wore that his headache had returned. Wary of the contusion on the brain, he motioned for him to sit down.
"You have your pills with you?" Malone asked.
"Yeah, but they're too strong. I don't want them to say I was on something. I want to ID Horne. Then we can take a break. But if you can find a soda and a candy bar..."
"Your sugar is low?"
"Feels like it," Martin answered, resting his head against the back of the chair. A few minutes later his arm was touched. A snickers bar, Mallow cups and a Coke were presented.
"You eat up, I'm gonna check in with Tim."
"He did good, Jack, he's got an amazing eye for detail. That rose tattoo nailed it. He even remembered Horne having a broken watch on his wrist, the face was cracked. "
"So you think it'll stick?" Jack asked.
"Oh, yeah," Tim nodded, "I tried tripping him up several times and Joe and Max did too," he noted of the other two agents, "but he held his ground. He's a real terrier."
"Yeah." Jack watched Martin wolfing down his chocolate cache. "Listen, he's had a rough morning riding a roller coaster down memory lane. Is that lineup ready? I want to get him out of here."
"Yeah, we can go down now."
Martin finished his soda on the way down and belched twice to add punctuation to the mini-meal. By the time he got to the other side of the double glass he felt much stronger. It was very different wearing the victim's shoes. How many times had he stood by and issued the encouraging voice?
"Take your time, Martin," Tim said, watching Fitzgerald carefully eyeing every detail of the five men. Then his eyes went back and zoned in on one man. His anger rose causing his face to flush and both hands fisted. It was all he could do to control himself.
"Number two."
"You sure?" Simmons asked.
"How about you open the door and I'll introduce myself?" Martin hissed, raising his fists. "That sick son-of-a-bitch..."
"Easy, tiger," Jack issued, "don't blow this. We have him now, that's what counts."
"Okay, I'll let the DA know, they'll hold him over now. Good job," Simmons noted, patting Martin's back. "You'll have to come back to testify, but for now, we got all we need."
"Good," Jack said, 'because he's done. Thanks Tim."
It was noon when they hit the street again and Jack's wheels were spinning. "How about we get some lunch?"
"Yeah sure," Martin said, buckling up and immediately laying his head on the headrest. About ten minutes later, they parked and Martin opened his eyes. He was only a few steps onto the patio areas of the fast food eatery when the mists of time descended. The people passing by and dining seemed to be moving in slow motion. Martin was transfixed, watching a young, blue eyed man with clothes that didn't fit him and reeked of the street cleaning an alley. He then saw a middle-aged black man with kind brown eyes gripping his hand and nodding, thanking him.
"Mike..." he rasped, blinking as the terrified young man took a bag from the kind man and headed back into the memories of yesterday. He turned to Jack, swallowing hard and trying to regain his composure. He felt his face flush and his eyes fill up. He didn't realize he was staggering until Jack grabbed his elbow and shoved him into the restaurant. Rather than eat in the main area, Jack flashed his badge at the kid by the door and moved to the manager's office. He had called ahead from the FBI office and Mike was expecting them.
"Sit," Jack ordered, shoving Martin into the chair.
Martin dropped down and clutched his skull, rocking forward and moaning. A few moments later a cold soda was pressed to his hand. He tossed his pills down and took a hearty gulp. Then he saw the hand that was on his arm, a dark hand, a kind hand, a hand that saved his life. He moved his head up slowly and gasped as every memory came back. He found himself hauled to his feet and wrapped in a bear hug.
"It sure is good to see you, son. I was so worried." Mike pulled back and looked as the very polished professional he saw before him. It was a stark contrast to the homeless boy he'd met that cold afternoon. "I tried to find you, Danny... Martin..." he corrected, "I want you to know how sorry I am for not helping you more."
"Sorry?" Martin shook his head. "My God, Mike, you saved my life. That blanket you gave me was a lot more than cotton. I clung to that, it kept me warm inside and out. I got hope from that and faith. You have no idea what your gift of kindness did for me. I didn't have many bright lights that week, but yours kept me warm. If you hadn't helped me that first night, I don't think I would have survived."
"We're all family, you know," Mike said, motioning for the concussed man to sit. He looked very pale and was shaking a bit. "This planet ain't so big that you can't help a brother."
"Amen to that," Jack said, turning when a clerk from the counter set a platter of food before them.
"I hope you're hungry," Mike offered.
"You're kidding right?" Jack scoffed, tapping Fitzgerald's narrow waist. "He eats more shit than all the teenagers you have on that counter. Thirty two inch waist."
"Youth is wasted on the young," Mike commiserated.
"I'll drink to that" Jack toasted with his root beer.
The fried chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, green beans, biscuits, macaroni and cheese caused his mouth to water. Martin's stomach was growling. He ate heartily and even had two pieces of hot apple pie. He listened as Mike told of his own experiences living on the street. That really affected Martin. After they left, he kept thinking of Mike's words in the car. How often had he looked down at a homeless person? He never bothered to give them a second glance. What if Mike had treated him like that? Those thought only added to the changes that were occurring inside of him.
As they drove to where Annie's vendor's cart was located, Jack Malone kept a careful eye on his young charge. It has been a long and grueling day for the recovering agent. He knew by the pinched features and the fact Martin was blinking a lot, his headache was bothering him.
"You okay?"
"Yeah..." Martin hedged, shuffling in the seat. He eyed the streets they were driving past and shivered. Every now and again he'd spot a sign whose bright color or picture displayed would bring a flashback. He spotted a worn bench by the bus stop and inhaled sharply. There was an old man lying on it, his ragged clothes and the worn newspaper over his face brought back an unwelcomed memory. He knew that bench. "Jesus..."
"Huh?" Jack looked over again and saw the color drain from Martin's face. He pulled over and didn't mask his concern. "Are you sure you're alright? You're the same color as the snow outside."
"That bench..." Martin rasped, nodding back. "I uh... I... woke up... there. It was over that last weekend, I was supposed to get help for Danny. But... I... uh... I couldn't remember where he was... I thought he'd die before I got back." He closed his eyes and bit his lip as the memory caused a brain pain. He felt a hand on his back and let the support given due it's job. Finally the wave of agony passed and he let out a breath.
Jack withdrew his hand and pulled back into traffic. A short time later they pulled up at a busy corner. Jack turned the motor off and got out. He was halfway to Annie's cart when he realized that Martin was not with him. He turned and watched the saucer-like eyes drinking in every one of Annie's motions. Then the eyes suddenly jammed shut and the face was pressed into both hands.
"Fuckin' flashbacks," Jack cursed. This trip down memory lane was turning out not to be such a great idea after all.
The attack was sudden; it was as if two sharp icicles were jammed through his eyes into his brain. He gasped for breath and pressed the heels of his palms into his throbbing eyes. He moaned and waited, rocking in the car. The stench of the urine-laden clothing covered in vomit slammed into him. The eyes of the passersby that looked at him with disgust. Behind the multiple bright colors dancing in the midst of the agony was the image of a kind face with a gentle touch. He heard her voice as he had that day, soft and soothing.
"Easy, lad, Annie's here...'
Annie.
She had been there for him, showering him with the love and kindness that a mother would have for a lost child. He let that feeling wash over him, taking several deep breaths and exhaling slowly. He finally pulled his hands away and saw Jack approaching the car wearing a worry mask. Did he look that bad? He shook his head and put his hands up, indicating for his boss to halt. Then he got himself together and got out of the car.
"What the hell happened?" Jack asked as the pale young man approached. "Bad trip," Martin replied, casting his throbbing eyes around the busy corner. The smile came slowly, as soon as he heard her voice.
"You sure you're up to this?" Jack queried, not comfortable with the awfully pale face.
"Yeah," Martin decided walking towards the cart.
"....Kevin Barry gave his young life for the cause of liberty. Just a lad of eighteen summers, yet noone can deny. When he walked to death that morning, how he held his head up high..." Annie paused her song when a handsome young man approached . There was something familiar about his face. "Mornin' then lad, somethin' I can do fer ye?"
"How about a request?" Martin asked, watching her bright blue eyes carefully.
"A song?" She frowned.
"Not just any song, one that was special for me." He walked behind her then to the small folding chair by the brick wall behind her cart. He ran his hands on the wooden chair and his breath caught. He saw the raggdy man covered in filth with fear in his fevered eyes resting here. "Danny Boy?" He rasped, sitting down and looking over at her.
For a moment she was puzzled, but when she looked at him again sitting in the chair it came back to her. It was the sick young man with the emotional eyes who'd taken her heart. She put a shaky hand to her chest and walked over, her eyes filling with tears. She laid her hand to the side of his face and then he smiled up at her.
"It is ye... me Danny, me sweet Danny come back. Oh look at ye... yer all well then?"
"I'm fine now, Annie. My name's Martin Fitzgerald. I'm an F.B.I. agent from New York. That's my boss, Jack Malone. I was attacked near the train station one snowy night about a month ago and nearly died."
"Ay, lad, I saw the report on the news that day they found ye in that warehouse. Ye put me in mind of the rebels that stood up ta the English, ye have warrior's heart. There ye were, puttin' yerself in front of yer injured friend. I was so proud of ye..."
"Danny," Martin nodded. "He's fine now. If it wasn't for him and Jack..."
"Aye," She nodded at the dark-haired man sitting a few feet away. "The rakish lad."
"Rakish?" Martin's voice jumped along with a single eyebrow.
"What's wrong with that?" Jack growled lightly. "She's got a good eye."
"If it wasn't for you, for the kindness you showered on me..." Martin's voice broke then and he ducked his head.
"I'll have none of that!" She ordered pulling his face back up. "Wasn't I the one who worried sick about ye after ye didn't come back? Wasn't me prayers to Our Lady." She paused to bless herself "Each night that kept me heart hopin' she'd found ye? I earned those tears, laddie and I'll not have ye ruin this fer me."
Martin didn't move when she embraced him. He laid his head against her neck and tried to control himself. He felt her hand rubbing his back and although he didn't understand the soft Gaelic words spoke, they wrapped around him and filled him with warmth. She really did have a soothing touch.
Jack was sitting on a bench about ten feet away and just watched with awe. The tiny woman broke through part of the wall Martin built up. Whether it was her soft touch or the lilting voice mattered not, Martin was relaxed. He could see the pain that Fitzgerald had been harboring most of the day melt away. His own throat tightened a bit when she began to sing.
"Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling, from glen to glen and down the mountainside..."
Martin didn't move for several moments after the powerful song ended. He remained where he was, with his head on her heart and her hand on his back. He felt something break inside and a weight he'd been carrying dissolve. Pain, anguish and agony bled out, leaving him with a healing air. He inhaled slowly and savored the balm as it washed over him. Then he stood up and hugged her, swallowing back some tears.
"I'll never forget you, Annie," He managed, pulling away, he reached inside his coat and withdrew a long thick envelope. Then he snaked a hand in his pocket and took out a small box. "or repay the kindess you showed me. You took a filthy homeless man into your heart."
"A pour soul who was down on his luck," she corrected and frowned when the small box was put in his hand. "What's this then?" She opened it and gasped, her eyes filling with tears. "A claddagh?" She choked, "I've always fancied one, but never dreamed..."
"Here," Martin offered, taking the n ecklace out . It was a gold circular pendant with two hands holding an emerald green heart under a crown. "You held my heart in the hollow of your hands. It's supposed to bring good luck when given by a friend."
"Aw, laddie," she swiped her eyes. "I'll never take it off. It's lovely, ye shouldn't have..."
"And this," Martin handed her the envelope. "It a roundtrip ticket on Aer Lingus so you can go home for a visit."
"Home?" Her bright blue eyes locked on his. Oh he was such a handsome boy. "I never dreamed I see me green hills again. Oh my..." she faltered, "Me sister Katie has a cottage on the Moy... tis like sitting in God's garden. Her grandson Aidan is ta be wed in May..."
"There you go," Martin grinned, it felt so good to do this for her. "You go home for the summer and enjoy your family. When the time comes, you call me. All my numbers are inside with the information. I'll come and get you and make sure you get to the airport okay."
Jack couldn't help but smile at the glow Martin wore. Whatever had transpired when Annie held him and sang to him had done the trick. He saw a healing taking place, something that was not in any bottle or pill. Something that had to be done heart to heart. He let them talk quietly a few more until he felt Martin was ready to finally leave. He made his way over to Annie and shook her hand, then he bent and whispered something in her ear.
"Does this sister of yours have any available granddaughters?" Jack queried with a grin. "Cause the kid could use a little help."
"Aye,' she took his hand in both of hers and held on. "I'm on the job, lad." She winked and nodded.
"Good!" Jack decided, "You take care, Annie."
"Saints keep the both of ye," she offered, watching them leave.
"What was all that about?" Martin asked, his suspicions rising quickly.,
"Nothing," Jack said innocently, "Nothing at all."
Martin was a man who liked numbers and letters. He needed to see things in real columns of even black and white figures that added up. So this gray area he was now mired in bothered him. He couldn't logically explain the reason why he felt so good. Something definatly happened when he was with Annie. He couldn't explain why the terrific weight inside was now gone. Nor could he explain why he felt so good. The splitting headache was all but dead, and he felt lighter than he had since he'd woken up. So when they pulled up in front of the misson, he didn't hesitate to skip the front door and head to the side alley.
Jack followed Martin but this time, unlike the painful episodes for their stops down the brutal trip on memory land earlier that day, he wasn't worried. Whatever magic Annie had bestowed had been the key. Martin looked better than he had since regaining his memory. He hoped that would continue with the visit at the mission. Moreover, he hoped Martin's change of he art would extend to the trouble with Danny.
Martin stopped in front of the dumpster in the alley next to the side door. He watched as an image appeared of a grieveously injured man in shabby, stench-ridden clothes. The fevered bright eyes of the bloody man were fixed on the cross on the roof. Martin followed his line of vision and let the now healed orbs remain no the cross. The ghost faded away and he moved to the door.
"Probably one of your dates,' Boomer teased and moved to take a large pot of stew into the next room where the homeless men were waiting for their supper. "They're side-door types."
"In your dreams!" Juan chased back, jerking the door open with his eyes trained on the large black man "My name should be Casanova!"
"Or humble," Martin teased and grinned at the surprised look on his friend's face. He extended his hand, "Hey, man how are you?"
"Danny! Martin!" He corrected, taking the hand and hauling the now recovered man inside. He clapped the shoulder with his free hand and shook his dark head. "Look at you! You okay now?"
"Gettin' there!" Martin suggested, eyeing the large kitchen. He swallowed hard and remembered the wonderful care the men who worked here had given to the amnesiac stranger who landed on their doorstep.
"Boomer, get the Padre!' Juan hollered as the othe man came inside. "Agent Malone, this is a great surprise."
"He had a lot of loose ends to tie up," Jack said as Father Joe came into the room.
"Martin!" The priest greeted the former homeless person warmly. "How are you? I'm so glad you stopped by. We have fresh coffee and Boomer just iced a batch of his world famous brownies."
"You may be sorry you said that," Jack teased and watched Martin's mouth water.
"Good to see you, Father. I'm fine now." Martin nodded at the loud noises from the other room. "I"m sorry, we should have called first. This is a busy time for you."
"Nonsense," the priest deflected. "I'm never too busy to break bread with friends. What brings you to town today?"
Jack saw Martin's face blank over and he moved without answering towards a small room near the infirmary. He saw the rookie swallow hard and wince when his eyes hit the small cot. "Uh... how about that coffee, Father Joe? I'll fill you in, I think he needs a moment."
"Of course."
While the priest gathered up the mugs, coffee, sugar, creamer and the plate of brownies, Jack filled him in on their day.
Martin got pins and needles all over when he entered the room of the sick. He touched his temples and recalled the awful headache. He recalled how sick he'd been , throwing up and suffering watery diarrhea. Everytime he passed out, when he woke up he was cleaned up and this man was by his side. He sat down on the cot and shook his head.
"Everytime I woke up, you were here," he rasped, eyeing his friend. "Holdin' a bowl for me to puke him, wipin' my ass, tellin' me I was safe." Martin thought on that word. "Safe. You have no idea how terrifying it is not to know who you are ."
"No," Juan answered, sitting next to the former amnesiac, "but I felt that fear I saw in your eyes. I can't imagine being that sick and confused. I tried to help a little, that's all."
"Help a little?" Martin shook his head. "You saved my life. You kept me safe, just knowing you were here..." he saw Juan turn away then and try to hide but it was too late. "No way, kill that shit now. Y ou aren't guilty of anything. I was the on who walked out of here, I fucked up, not you."
"It's just that if I'd only watched you better,all of that week you endured...."
"Hey," Martin said softly, catching the soulful dark eyes. "You did watch my back."
Juan took the hand and let the guilt go away. Martin was safe and well on the road to recovery.
"Besides, I had to come back and find out what happened to you and Rosita," Martin said, looking up when Jack tapped his coffee.
"Triple chocolate, with icing!" Jack waved the dish. "I hope you made extra, Father Joe."
"Rosita?" Juan laughed and stood up, "Man she's old news. I met this chick Nicole last week. She's so hot, she left burn marks on me."
"Oh, man," Martin laughed when Juan 'very colorfully' described her best assets.
Jack watched as Martin continued to relax, devouring several brownies. He teased Juan, spoke of his harrowing nights in the warehouse and how dark it seemed. It was obvious to Jack that Martin had needed this trip badly. The parts inside that he'd been worried about were beginning to heal. He knew if Danny and Martin really talked it out, they could really fix their problems. "Listen, Father Joe, I still have about a month before I'm cleared for desk duty, due to the severity of the head injury. I can't stand having nothing to do. I'd really like to come up here and stay for awhile," Martin inquired, "That is if you can teach a rookie the ropes."
"I think that could be arranged," The priest replied. "And you're welcome anytime and we'd be very glad for the help"
"Hey!" Juan announced, eyes animated. "You come up next Thursday and stay for the weekend. Friday night is our Christmas party, we put out all the extras, stock up on the stuff that the homeles men will need and give it out."
"Sounds great," Martin agreed.
"What?" Juan asked when the priest looked at him like the cat who ate the canary.
"Isn't Saturday the Holly Festival?"
"How about that?" Juan said, draping an arm around his new friend. "Holly Festival?" Martin asked, wondering about the priest's smile and Juan's 'innocent' eyes.
"St Monica's has a dance, the Holly Festival, where the single young ladies approach the young men for dances and other festivities." The priest fought hard to keep a straight face.
"Very amourous festivities!" Juan grinned. "You know, wall to wall mistletoe" he announced. "Luckiest night of the year. With a face like that," he cupped Martin's chin and shook his head. "You'll be ass deep in..."
"Juan!" Father Joe warned as Jack laughed.
"Sorry!" Juan gushed and clapped his hands. "Good... then Sunday we got pizza and football."
"Okay, then, I think I'm free, if so I'll come down on Thursday afternoon." Martin stood up then, "Can I use your phone?"
"Sure!" Father Joe said, pointing to a door across the room. "Use my office."
"Thanks!"
Danny Taylor had just come home from a long physical therapy session. His back ached and his shoulder was sore. He knew his muscls were gaining strength again but it hurt like hell. He heard the phone ringing and leaned his weary body against the bedroom door. He eyed the shower a few feet away and then the phone again. He sighed, walked to the bedstand and picked up the phone.
"Hello."
"Hey," Martin greeted with a touch of uncertainty. He still remembered the rough words when they'd parted. Danny was right, he was afraid to look at the man in the mirror. But he wanted to try again. "Listen, Jack and I are almost done here. We outta be home by seven or so. I need a place to stay and I was wondering if your couch is available."
"I meant what I said, Martin," Danny didn't hide the bitter tone, he was angry at Martin. "Until your cerebral contusion is all gone, you can stay with me. But under one condition."
He waited and accepted the silence as it being understood. "You and me are gonna have a long talk."
"Listen, Danny," Martin interrupted."First of all, I want to apologize for the other morning, I was out of line. And you're right, I think I... we... should talk."
"Okay, I'll see you after seven sometime," Danny answered, hoping he wasn't wrong about the winds of change he'd heard in Martin's voice.
"Good, thanks Danny."
Martin felt better when he hung the phone up but a part of him began to hide again. What if he couldn't be the partner that Danny wanted? What if no matter how hard he tried, the Martin from the warehouse wouldn't come back? Danny liked that Martin better. He closed his eyes and tried to recall those days and hoped that if he looked deeply enough inside himself, he'd find the key.
Page 1 | Page 2 | Page 3 | Page 4 | Page 5 | Page 6 | Page 7 | Page 8 | Page 9 | Page 10 | Page 11 | Page 12 | Page 13 | Page 14 | Page 15 | Page 16 | Page 17 | Page 18 | Page 19 | Page 20 | Page 21 | Page 22 | Page 23 | Page 24 | Page 25 | Page 26
Return to Deirdre's Fic Archive
