Disclaimer: The characters of "The Magnificent Seven" and "Without a Trace" are not mine , they belong to whoever created them. The ATF - universe is all MOG's and there are not enough words in the world to thank her for this amazing universe she created for us. This is a work of complete fiction and I am not making money with this whatsoever (man, THAT would be the job of my dreams!). Quote in the middle of the chapter is from the song "children of the night" by Richard Marx. So now just kick back and relax and I hope you will enjoy this story!
Author's comment: The idea for this story has been running around in my head ever since WAT first aired in Germany, but I never found the curage to write it down. And one more thing: English is not my native tongue, so please don't be mad if there are typos in this. I know this is going kind of slow - but I will get to where I want to take this, I promise! And: I am sorry I had to delete this a few times - but my server went crazy and screwed everything up. Since this is my first upload here, I am still fighting witht he formatting. Sorry for that.
"The ties that bind me to my brothers
are not bound around my wrists
but rather fastened to my heart."
"No, no problems, why? She was always on time for work, did what I told her to do, she was kind of quiet, you know…" Martin Fitzgerald nodded several times, trying to resist the urge to sigh. How often had he heard the exact same words today? He had lost count. Marisol Ferrier was obviously the stereotype of a "normal" person, blending into the crowd, trying not to gather any attention. Now, that didn't make this case any easier. She'd driven her son to school exactely on time, left for work but never arrived. He looked past the middleadged female job assistant, trying to catch a glimpse of the exit of the crowded mall. With a frown he realised what he was doing. Get a grip, he chastited himlself mentally. What is wrong with you today? He focused his attention back on the woman but could not surpress a cold feeling. He had never felt good in small, cramped or crowded places. But through the years he'd learned to deal with that. Why was it bothering him now?
"But there was something, now that you ask…" Pay attention. Listen to her. It's your job.
-Really? Ya sure about that-
He physically flinched. Where the hell had that come from? This was SO not the right moment for a trip down memory lane! After dozens of interviews with Ferrier's coworkers someone was finally coming up with a clue. So he HAD to pay attention! He shook his head, trying to sort out his wondering thoughts. What was going on today?
Martin closed the door of his appartment behind him and leaned against it, taking a deep breath. Finally, this horrible day was over. They'd found out that the father of Marisol's son Gabriel –whom she had left several years ago – had somehow found her and threatened to kidnap Gabriel if she didn't give him money. They'd found her locked in the bathroom of a shabby motel room, sporting a split lip and a swollen eye. Her husband nowhere in sight. But that wasn't their concern any more, the NYPD had taken over from there. He shrugged out of his coat and finally losened his tie. Got, how he hated the ties. While putting it back into the closet in his bedroom, his eyes wandered through his apartement. What was wrong with him today?
Where did this restlessness come from? He hadn't felt like that in… years.
Why now?
But he couldn't stop the memories from surfacing. And for a moment, the large, expensive apartement changed, the rooms became smaller, darker. The windows where dirty, the walls grey and the air was heavy from cigarette smoke and the scent of mexican food. He could hear sirens in the distance, the echoes of children laughing in the narrow streets below and the angry voices of the argueing couple in the apartement next to his. Something crashed to the floor, a plate maybe. Then there was the faint tinkering of Benji's guitar by the front door. And the silent voice of old Miss Mariella singing some strange song while cooking the mexican food he could so clearly smell and almost taste. Two kids ran down the stairs at top speed, laughing out loud. He smiled. Luca and Isabel. He wondered what Miss Mariella's two youngest grandchildren where up too now…
The shrill ringing of his phone brought him back to the here and now. Disoriented for a moment he glanced around in his apartment, finally seeing his cordless phone lying on his nightstand. He took a deep breath, stadied himself and answered it. "Fitzgerald?" He was met with silence. He frowned. He could hear breathing, but whoever was on the line didn't speak. "Hello? Who is this? Can you hear me?" Again the caller didn't say anything. Martin started to worry. This was not a prank call, something was defenitely wrong here. He could even feel the tension through the phone. "Are… are you alright?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "Hello? Do you need help?" Again he listened to the hitching breath on the other end of the line, then there was a click when the line was disconnected. Martin lowered the phone and stared at it for a few moments. He had a strange feeling in his gut. Something was in the air. And he didn't like that feeling at all.
---------------------
"Uhm, Boss? Tell me again what we are doing here?" Chris Larabee sighed in exasparation. "Buck, I TOLD you not to use the radio. Keep it down!" "But Chris, he's right." JD's voice chimed in. "This is boring. They don't even need us." Another groan from their leader. "Okay, I'll tell you again, we are the BACKUP! Team 9 asked for our help, so here we are, just in case anything goes wrong. And now I don't want to hear another WORD! This is WORK, boys. So stuff it"
He pinched the brigde of his nose, taking a deep breath. He too, was not happy with the situation. Hidden behind parking cars or in black vans near the back door of the Talon at the middle of the night – that was not his favorite place to be. Expecially not if they weren't really needed. But Joseph Simms had talked about a "bad feeling in his gut" the other day, referring to the Derringer – case and the upcoming bust. So he had asked Team 7 for help. Ha! Help. Chris had to supress a snort. Simms didn't want help. Didn't ask for help. He and his men shared the oppinion that Team 9 were the ATF's finest, always rivaling with Team 7 – although there was no need to do so. Chris and the others weren't even interested in Team 9, not even payin attention to them unless it involved a case they were assigned to. And that drove Simms nuts. If anything, Simms wanted attention. Needed it badly. So if there was no capable audience in sight, he managed to organize one. So partly, Chris could understand the constant ranting of his teammembers he heard over his headset. But still, this was work. Before agreeing to this, Chris had read through the casefile, discussing it with Josiah. Milo Derringer was not really a big fish, but the man had the unnerving talent to vanish completely and reappear out of the blue, selling the newest types of weapons. Josiah had mentioned that Derringer might not be the smartest man on earth, but that there was something unpredictable about him. "Backup my ass," Buck growled through the radio. "This is just Simms showing off. He thinks he is oh so great and wants us to watch." "I am afraid Mr. Wilmington is right, Mr. Larabee, " Ezra's melodic southern accent added. "There is no need for backup here. According to Mr. Simms, Milo Derringer has no more than 6 men to protect him during the deal and team 9 alone consists of 8 members. So you see, Mr. Simms and his men should be more than capable…" "And what is this about anyway," Nathan Jackson rumbled. "The Talon. It's a dance club for god's sake! Selling weapons at the back door under a pink neon sign. How clichee is that"
"Amen to that, my friend." Josiah. "And how long are we supposed to crawl around underneath cars and enjoy the show!" Buck. "Simms doesn't need us. Never did." "Oh come on Buck. Just pretend the cars were girls," JD snickered. "Now, this would be different," Buck shot back without missing a beat. "First, I wouldn't take a girl to a place like this. The Talon stinks." "It's not the Carlton, I assure you," Ezra agreed in disgust. "Just looking at this – this THING above the door hurts my eyes. This place is filthy, dirty and most likely provides a vast amount of"
"Told ya, it stinks!" Buck interrupted him. "Boys," Chris chimed in again. "Keep it down. That's an order. Deal's running." "Oh and by the way, Buck, did I tell you that"
"JD!'" Chris barked into his headset, his temper flaring. "You have your orders to monitor those bank accounts and radio Simms and his boys as soon as the money is transferred. So I WANT your eyes glued to that computer screen until you are told otherwise!" The complaining voice of Team 7's computer expert who was sitting in the back of the black van died immidiately. As did all the other voices of his team members. After a minute of silence, a clicking sound in his ear told Chris that one of his team members had opened a private channel. "That really wasn't necessary, ya know?" the soft Texas drawl of Vin Tanner spoke up. Team 7's sharpshooter had taken his position on top of the building across the street, his eyes never leaving the Talon's back door and the parking cars. "They are right. Everything's calm here. Simms just wants an audience to applaude him when the deal's over." Chris sighed. He hated to admit this, but Vin was right. Taking out his own unease and impatience on JD had not been necessary. And as usual, all it took to calm Chris down was the fact that Vin was there somwhere, watching his back. He took a deep, calming breath and looked over his shoulder, searching the buildings nearby. Finally, he made out a small shadow, barely able to see the shape of his best friend with his bare eyes. And like so many times before, he was thankful for having Vin on his team. "How you doing up there?" he asked his friend.
"Freezing my ass off," Vin answered with a snort. "What ya think"
"You know, you don't really need to be up there. Simms has his own sharpshooter in position." Another snort. "Yeah, right, I can see him. Looks like Simms sent Carsson up here. Sits on top of that stupid hardware store to your right. Won't hit a thing from that angle. I swear to god, that kid is as blind as a fucking mole." Chris had to suppress a laugh. If anything, Vin was a pro. He took his position as sharpshooter of the team very seriously – and his abilities with firearms were legendary within the ATF. "Looks like this is going to be over soon," Chris stated, watching as Milo Derringer showed off the weapons he planned to sell tonight. The two ATF agents, who were playing the parts of the potentional buyers, nodded at each other, and one of them lifted a metal case.
"Come on, come on," Buck rumbled over the radio. "Take the damned money, I want to go HOME!" "Easy, Bucklin," Vin answered. "Hey Boss," he than added. "How bout us havin some fun here? With Simms showing off and all that?" "Ooooohhh, I really like the way you say that, Junior," Buck interjected and his smile was almost audible over the radio. "Oh please," Chris sighed," not today. Simms hates our guts as it is. No need to fuel this, okay"
"I didn't say nothing about no fuel," Vin interrupted him, "I just said that we could have serious fun here. This whole thing is as good as over, we all know that. Simms never needed us, he wanted us to watch his little show. Why not make him watch ours?" "Maybe they are right, Chris," another voice spoke up over the radio. "JOSIAH!" Chris almost shouted in surprise. "You too! What the hell is going on here? Did you plan on doing this"
"Well, let me put it like this," Ezra chimed up, "we all have a serious dislike for Joseph Simms. He underastimates us, belittles us and even has the nerve to drag us out here to be the audience for his little show. I say he deserves to find out what it means to deal with Team 7. You may correct me if I am wrong." "Sounds great to me," JD snickered. "I got this cute little scrambler in here. I can program it to disturb the frequency of Simms team's radios and send country music instead. Anyone up to the challenge?" For a moment, Chris' ears echoed with the laughter of his teammates, then Buck spoke up again, gathering his breath.
"Hey, you guys remember Nates birthday party last month? I still have one of them stinking grenades over here.." Chris had to cover his ear with his hand when several shouting voices echoed over the radio. Of corse they all remembered those. "Not bad," Nathan laughed, "Rain still hates your guts for those. But watch out for the wind. I get one whiff of that smell and I swear I'll puke all over the street. Ezra"
"Oh, I am not sure yet," the Southener answered. "Since we will have to wait for Mr. Simm's men to disarm Mr. Derringer and secure the situation before we strike, I think I will put the time to a use by calling this fine woman at the laundry shop in the Carnby Lane. She once told me that many members of team 9 bring their uniforms there and"
"Oh, I can already see where this goes," Josiah barked with laughter. "You truly are sneaky, Brother Standish." Buck also laughed. "Not bad. Ez. Not bad. What about you, Junior"
This was followed by a snicker, before Vin finally spoke up, his voice all innocene. "Me? Nothin special. I can see Simms from up here and there is somethin shiny where his hips should be. I can be wrong since I am that far away, but shouldn't that be his belt buckle?" After a moment of silence, every single team member roared up with laughter, even Chris. "Okay boys," he finally gave in. " Once Simms and his idiots have taken Derringer out, I say the stage is ours. Showtime!"
Chris Larabee slowly realised that he was lying in his bed. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the here and now. The voices were still so close, whispering in the air like the wind. Sitting up in his bed, Chris found out that it was indeed the wind he was hearing. One of the huge windows was still open and the curtain was softly moving in the warm breeze. Chris rubbed his hands over his face and tried to take a deep breath – but the pain in his chest again caught the breath in his lungs, like so many times before. He swallowed hard, trying to ban those thoughts from his mind. He snorted. Like that had ever worked before. He rose from his bed and walked over to the open window, listening to the hollow sounds his bare feet were causing on the wooden floor. It took him a while to realise that he had been staring out of the window for minutes. He shook his head and shuddered. Again. This kind of thing seemed to happen a bit too often for his liking. He cursed under his breath and walked back to his bed, catching a glimpse of the alarm clock by his bedside. 2:57. Great. That was just great. He sat down on the bed again and felt for the wooden amulet next to the alarmclock. He cradeled it between his hands. A simple leather neclace and a wooden charm. He couldn't really tell what it was meant to be. But he kept it, of corse he did. Because it had been the only thing left in that small, cheap apartment in Purgatorio. Another twang of pain in his chest caused him to hold his breath. So he waited, riding it out. His fist closed around the amulet and felt his eyes starting to sting.
"Where are you, cowboy?" he whispered, surprised and shocked by the raspy and hollow sound of his voice. "What the hell happened to you…?"
--------------------------
Martin had been writing on the report of the Ferrier case for more than an hour now and it still wasn't finished. His thoughts were still running around in his head, pulling him back to a place and a time he didn't want to see or feel right now. Or ever again. He felt his gut clench at that thought. So even his own body thought he was a shitty liar. Oh the joy. He felt the glare in his back immediately but didn't react on it. He knew it was Danny. How he knew - he couldn't say. He had always known when someone had spied on him. Some time ago, he'd relied on that instinct. Yeah, he tought bitterly. Old habits die hard. And without realising what he was doing, he lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder.
"What ya want?" He bit his lip the moment the words left his mouth. Too late. Cursing himself mentally, he prayed that Danny would let it slide or that he had overheard. Martin heard footsteps approaching. No such luck. "Well, let's see," Danny started, leaning over Martin's desk now. "You have been writing on that report for over an hour now and as far as I can see that screen is still almost blank. Then there's the fact that it's past eleven and there's no cheeseburger anywhere on your desk. And let's not forget the way you zooned out on me this morning when I complained about your coffie. What's wrong with you, Fitz?" Martin almost smiled. Of corse Danny was worried. They were co-workers, partners to a certain extend. And although Martin was not really a very outgoing person, Danny seemed to know him surprisingly well. Out of all the other members of the team, Danny was the closest to what Martin would call a friend. He almost snorted, imagining what his father would have to say to that. Friends. There was no need for something like friends if you wanted to be successful. No, they were a hindrance. Feelings in general were a hindrance and a sign of weakness. The moment you rely on others, you lose. Be your own person, only trust yourself because no one cares about you and no one can be trusted. Oh yes, he'd learned this lesson well. But every now and then, he allowed the shell to crack. Because even if had made a deal with the devil, it didn't mean that he would deny his feelings forever.
"Martin? Hey, you're doing it again!" Martin blinked when a hand was waved in front of his eyes. "I… sorry. What?" "WHAT?" Danny asked incredulously. "I've been talking to you for over five minutes now and you – " He shook his head. "You haven't heard a word, have ya?" Martin wracked his brain, trying to come up with a suitable lie, but he was saved by Jack who stepped out of his office, putting a photograph onto the board.
"Okay guys, we have a case." They gathered around the switchboard and looked at the picture of a man in his late forties with graying hair, a beard and a sharp angled face. Jack opened a file folder.
"Derning, Michael. Caucasian male, 47, has an apartment in the south bronx. His landlord called it in when Derringer didn't show up to pay for his rent." Viv snorted. "Figures." "When did the landlord call?" Sam asked, already making notes. "Around ten," Jack answered," but they had to check on him first because he sounded really drunk on the phone." Danny sighed. "Great. That means we don't have anything. Possible that Derringer payed the day before or has called and the landlord has forgotten about it." Jack gave Danny a sideward glance, than sighed. "I know, but right now the landlord is all we have. Danny, Martin, I want you to check on him. The name is Arnold Stark." He turned to the other two members of the team. "Viv, check on Derning's bank accounts. If he disappeared on purpose, maybe you'll find something there. Sam, this is Derning's file. That thing has more holes in it than swiss cheese. See what you can find." Martin grabbed his coat and followed Danny out of the office. He had a nagging feeling in his gut, as if he should remember something… but he couldn't grasp it.
------------------------
The wind was tuggin on the long, black coat – but it spite of that, it was already very warm. Chris checked his wristwatch and snorted. Yeah, right. They'd been out there all night, pulling that bust – and it had come out quiet well. Considering the odds. Usually, whenever team 7 was involved, the case would be solved in one way or another, but rarely without the occasional desaster along the way. Or desasters. Like a few days back, when they had assisted Simms and team 9… He couldn't help but smile. Simms had hated the guts of team 7 before – and now he loathed them. Well, maybe the boys had gone too far, but at the time it had felt so perfectly right. Simms and his men deserved it. And if nothing else, it would prevent them from being dragged out as Simm's backup in the middle of the night ever again.
He sighed and took a good look at the town – yes, he loved this place. Usually, the roof of the building was a prohibited area, but somehow – and Chris really didn't want to know how – Ezra had managed to get hold on a spare key to the security door. Chris had to smile again. Yes, every single member of his team had more than one special ability to add to the whole thing.
Starting out with Buck – who had been a cop, just like Chris, and who not only was able to drive almost everything that had wheels, but could come up with the craziest ideas. Most of them where long shots, but sometimes, it could make you wonder. Besides that, he was one hell of a fighter and would defend each single team member with his life. Not to mention that he was Chris' oldest friend.
Josiah not only added his physical strength to the team, but also his devotion for everything he did, and his razor sharp mind. There was rarely anything Josiah overlooked and that made him one of the best profilers around. And besides that, it was his calm demanior and his ability to conzentrate and focus in the most chaotic situations that made him stand out from the crowd. As a trained EMT and an Ex – Army medic, Nathan was the best backup a man could wish for. He always seemed to know when to step in and when to let something slide – but he never fooled around when it came to his work. He took his role in the team very seriously and was the only one – besides from Chris of corse – who was able to come up with the right amount of authority if need be. In a maverick group like Team 7, he was the most likely to sort out the chaos.
Then there was Ezra… well, Ezra was a league of his own. Of corse he was charming, polite, friendly – and if you didn't know him, that would be all there was to him. But Ezra also had the outstanding ability to convince you of almost EVERYTHING. And it wasn't only in his way with words, it was like his second nature. If he wanted you to believe that the sky was purple, he would pull every trick in the book to convince you of just that – and you wouldn't even realize it. And if you took an even closer look, you would find that there was indeed a caring heart, hidden underneath fine layers of expensive clothing.
JD, the youngest member of the team, was not only a computer expert – a whiz kid, as Buck called it – but when becoming a member of the team, he had brought in a refreshing wind of change. The boy's mind was always on the move, seeing connections easily overlooked. And once he had read something, he was unlikely to ever forget it. It wasn't photographic memory – it was more like his brain was a computer, too. And then there was his twisted sense of humor, which he shared with most of the members of the team. There was rarely a day Buck and JD didn't come up with some practical joke – and most of the times Ezra, Josiah or even Nathan were involved. And then there was… Vin. Chris sighed. That was another chapter of it's own. The young sharpshooter and weapons expert of the team often took part in the practical jokes and – god forbid– pulled his own. When it came to those, no one was safe. But it was the times when he was silent, just watching, that Chris was reminded of how good they knew each other. Vin had the sharpened senses of a tracker and was an outstanding sharpshooter, but it was the man that really added to the team. He was a kind, friendly spirit but also straight forward and drop down honest if need be. Just like Buck, he would do everything to protect his "brothers". He was young enough to hang out with JD, but at the same time held the wisedom of a man far beyond his years. There was still a lot in Vin's past that Chris and the others didn't know about – but most of the time, Chris didn't care. Vin was his best friend, had been from the first day they had met. That too, was a story of it's own.
Chris sighed again and stretched a little, enjoying the cool breeze up there, already feeling what would soon be another hot summer day in Denver. "Jeez, cowboy, y'er gettin old. Could've shot you minutes ago and ye would never know what hit ya." Chris grinned without turning around. Of course he had heard Vin step out onto the roof a few minutes ago but hadn't cared to turn to him. He trusted Vin to watch his back – and besides, it always gave him a feeling of safety whenever Vin was around. "Aww, Come on," Chris shot back, now turning around. "Twas a long night, give a guy a break." He was greeted with a mug of coffee and gratefully took it. Next to him, Vin leaned over the railing, sipping from his own cup. He nodded slowly and blinked into the sunlight. "Yeah, guess you're right. Wasn't easy, but we did it. Case closed." Chris nodded in agreement. Both were not men of many words, most of the conversation between them was silent. He shot Vin a sideward glance, trying to supress a grin.
-Your report already done-
Vin groaned and rolled his eyes.
-Don't you go there, pard. No fair-
"Has to be done, cowboy," Chris shrugged, never missing a beat in their silent conversation. "And besides, don't YOU guys complain about it, you get the easy version. I have to wait for your reports, work through all of them, write mine considering all the details from your reports and hand mine in to Travis. Try that." He snorted. "Ever tried to read through one of Buck's reports? Or Ezra's? It's a nightmare." Vin snorted, taking another sip of his coffee. "Got the cliff notes. Still not really my kind of thing." He stretched in the sunlight. "So, we were thinking, that after all the report stuff, we could head for the saloon and grab a beer and…" Chris' brows shot up. "We? So you have this already planned out?" He barely managed to keep a straight face while almost seeing Buck, JD and Vin coming up with the idea of sneaking out of the office early to get to the "saloon.
"Aw, come on, cowboy," Vin interrupted Chris' thoughts. "We've been out all night, we pulled it through, the bad guys are going to rot in prison – why not celebrate a bit? We deserve it." Chris nodded slowly, feeling the grin spread on his face. "Yeah… guess we do." With that, Chris turned and headed for the door, feeling Tanner's glare in his back. "AFTER you handed in your reports of corse," Chris added without turning around, answering the silent question of the Texan. "Slavedriver."
---------------
This time, he awoke already sitting upright in his bed. His head was pounding and his alarm clock told him that he again had slept for only two hours. Almost 4 in the morning. Great. He HAD to stop this somehow. Everyone was telling him to let go. To live on. "It's been four years, Chris," he could still hear Buck sigh."You know how much we miss Junior. And that we would do anything. Hell, he's our brother. But… four years, Chris. Think about it. We have to… live on, you know? Maybe it's about time." Chris snorted, surprised by the pain this caused in his sore throat. Live on. To hell with it. No. He would NOT give up. Never. He would NEVER stop searching. He could almost hear Nathan. "You have to think about your health, too, Chris. I can't tell you what to think or what to do – but you are running yourself into the ground. And we won't just stand aside watchin." "My health," he snorted angryly. "My health…" There were other things that were more important. Like finding a friend. Like searching harder before every trail went cold. Like thinking about every possibility. Like…
The throbbing in his head increased and he groanded, pinching the bridge of his nose. Don't care, don't… No. Not now. Maybe Nathan was right. But what could he do? Sleep? Yeah, right. That was SO out of question. So what else was there? Sighing, he felt for the phone by his bedside and dialed a number he knew by heart.
"Travis?" "Hi, Mary…" Again, his voice was rough. "Chris?" "Yeah." For a moment, there was silence. Then.
"Another dream"
"Yes"
"Tell me."
Danny Taylor sighed again. Five flights of stairs. And – of corse – the elevator was out of order. He snorted under his breath, taking in the filthy walls, the old stairs, the cigarretes lying on the ground everywhere and the duct tape holding together a crack in a window. One lonely plant on a windowsill, a young, pregnant woman with another child in her arms coming down the stairs in a hurry. Suspicious looks from every person they pass by, even the children. He had to admit, he had expected something like this, and he could deal with it. True, the apartment houses he had lived in so far had never been this bad, but he had his very own experience about living in a place like the Bronx. And as strange as it sounded, he felt better in a place like this than in one of those shiny new office buildings or in a pretty, nice suburbia family home with a garden and a dog. He always felt out of place there, but here – he knew what to expect. How people thought and would react. He shot a sideward glance at his partner.
Now, Fitz was another thing. Even in his oldest clothes the man would still have looked terribly out of place in an apartment buiding like this. Danny caught himself before he could snort again. Well, What could he expect from a man who had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth? True, Martin was smart and often saw things someone else would have easily overlooked. And then there was this politeness. Yes, Martin was the epitome of politeness, always offering a friendly word or a smile to everyone and he rarely ever lost his temper. In most inverviews that was very helpful, but in a place like this… Martin just did not know anything about people like the ones that lived in this apartement building. Or in a place like the Bronx in general. He did not know how desperate a junkie in need of a fix could be. Or how far a young mother would go for a little money to buy food for her kids. Or how ruthless said kids could be when they saw their chance to trick you. Here, trust was a word rarely used and most of the kids didn't even know what it meant. They trusted no one – and they could not be trusted either. Whenever it came to a case that lead them to a place like this, he caught himself watching out for Martin to prevent him from doing something stupid. Sometimes the man's obliviousness was unnerving. And then again…
Sometimes he wondered about Martin. Yeah, well. It was clear as day that the man was wearing a mask, that the polite words and the ever present shy smile were nothing more than a perfectly build wall that rarely cracked. Even after two years of working together, Danny barely knew much more about Martin than the day he had joined the team. Most of the time he kept to himself, rarely ever told anything about himself – mostly, nothing more than absolutely necessary. In the first weeks, Danny had thought that was because he was Victor Fitzgerald's son and this was Martin's way of preventing to draw attention to himself. But in the months that followed, he had found out that it was part of the man's character. He smiled slightly upon remembering the first time he had read Martin's file. Two years white collar in D.C. – and then the MPU? Even today that sounded a bit strange. White collar guys didn't hunt for missing persons somewhere in the city. They stayed behind there desks. Did what they were told. Kept in the backround. And Martin? First opportunity he got, he slipped away hunting down that crazy computer nerd on his own. That had been quite a surprise. Well mostly it had been stupid, but it had also shown them that there was more to the ex-white collar guy than they had expected. Of corse it wasn't always that obvious. Mostly it were those tiny details Martin thought nobody would see. For example when he took a step back in a suspects apartement to have a clear view at all possible exits. Or his strange ability to see little details no one else seemed to notice, patterns in the chaos, so to speak. And then sometimes it seemed like Martin knew a lot more about certain things then he let on. Danny remembered one occasion when there'd been a shooting involved in their case and they'd tried to find out wether their missing person had been the shooter or not. After the CSI investigation, ballistics had handed in a report and a sketch of the scene, stating that the distance and the angle of the shot would have been an impossible hit from where their missing person had been standing. Martin had just looked at the sketch of the crime scene with a frown and said:"It's doable…" Jack had shot im a sharp glare. "What?" Danny remembered the shocked look on Martin's face, like he had given away more than he should. He had simply put the sketch back on the desk and never mentioned it again. But it had left them all wondering…
Just in that moment, Danny's cell phone rang.
"Taylor." "Danny, it's Sam. Jack want's you and Martin to come back to the office right now." "What?" Danny asked in disbelief. "But we only just arrived and didn't even get a chance to talk to Stark yet…" "Doesn't matter," she interrupted him. "Just come back, there's something you shoulld know." Than she hung up. Danny stared at his cell phone for a moment, than turned to Martin. "Change in plans. Jack wants us to come back to the office." Martin frowned – the nagging feeling that he should remember something important was back full force.
"How I long for something better
in this live I've known too well
though I know I'm bound for heaven
cause I've done my time in hell."
Someone once said:"Mother is the word for "god" in the hearts and the mouths of children." Well, maybe "god" is not the right translation, but the mother is of corse the center of the world for a little child. She is warmth, love, care, home, shelter… she is everything. To Vin Tanner, she meant his life. To him, she was the most important being in the world and so much more. Bright blue eyes, long, brown hair, a warm smile and a soothing, gentle voice. Yes, that voice. He could not recall many of the words, mostly just the sound of her voice. Friendly, melodic. Laughing with him when they were happy, lulling him into sleep at night, calling him if need be. He remembered being embraced, taken by the hand and seing the most wonderous places. With her, everything was sparkling and exciting. With her, he felt safe. She was home.
And then, slowly at first, things started to change. The voice became weaker.
The touch cooler.
The strong hands shivered.
No more embraces.
No more leaving the apartement.
No more singing for him.
Instead, a lot of strangers coming in, telling them they would help, and leaving.
Most of the time, she stayed in bed. Sleeping.
Dreaming.
It was then, that the fear in him grew. The fear that she would no longer be there when he woke up. So he stayed by her side, slept with her hand in his, never leaving her. He caught himself listening to her breathing in the dark, just to be sure that she was still there. Then he remembered being carried away like he was a baby and not five years old. Strange voices telling him to be good and to do what he was told. He remembered asking where they went, why he couldn't go home, where his mother was.
When he asked them if she was dead, the strange people just stared at him and didn't answer any of his questions any more They wanted to take him away, take him to a place he didn't want to go, simply because his instincts told him that it was not a good idea. Every voice in him was screaming, yelling at him to get away as long as he could.
And so he ran.
"Could someone please tell me what is going on here?" Danny exploded when they arrived back at the office. "First we fight our way through high noon traffic, then we climb up five flights of stairs just to come back here and"
"Calm down, Danny, I don't like this either," Jack growled, waiting for them to sit down around the huge table next to the switchboard. Martin immediately noticed that the photo was still there, but the first outlines of the timeline where gone. Usually, nobody touched or erased that timeline, except only to fill in gaps or add details. It was only erased once the case was closed. He frowned again, feeling a slight tingling in the back of his head, like someone was watching him. He flinched. He hadn't felt something like that since…
Jacks voice brought him back to the here and now.
"I asked Sam to look into Derning's file," Jack began,"just because we didn't really have much information on him." "And it' didn't get any better," Sam added, taking a deep breath. "Everything, from his ID to his driver's license is a fake and he only moved into that apartement about a week and a half ago. Before that – nothing. I scanned in the photo to get a match and even found one – but the moment I wanted to access the file, my phone started ringing… and that was it." "Excuse me?" Danny shot back in exasperation. "What the hell does that mean?" Viv snorted. "It means that we are most likely off the case. Am I right?" Jack just threw a file folder onto the desk. "His real name is Milo Derringer. He got two years in Denver for several cases of assault and dealing with illegal firearms. His sentence was reduced to two years because he helped bringing down the rest of the weapons ring. He would have been released in two weeks, but somehow he managed to escape. Nobody seems to know how or why. So they are still on him." "Who?" Danny asked, sounding like he already knew the answer.
"ATF." Jack sighed again. "There's a meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning – until then, we're supposed to sit on our hands." While the others started voicing their protest, Martin just sat there and was trying to take deep, even breaths. This was not happening. It couldn't be happening. He slowly lifted his head to look at the photo on the switchboard once again. Of corse. Now he could see it. A little less grey hair, add a pair of sunglasses… the last time he had seen that man was almost exactely four years ago. A cold feeling spread inside him and he was glad he managed to stand up without drawing too much attention. And for the first time in years, he felt the urge to run. There was only one place he wanted to be right now.
Fire.
Recoil.
Fire.
Recoil.
Safety glasses.
Ear protection gears.
Just his eyes, the target and relieving tunnel vision.
Nothing else mattered.
No one disturbed him here.
Fire.
Recoil.
Fire.
-------------
"…well, heating's over there, it's got warm water for the shower and that old TV from Sam JR. is still there too. Don't know if it's still workin' though. Y'll have to see for yourself about that. And then…" The old woman rambeled on while she pointed out several things in the small, dark apartment. But the young man with the bag slung over his shoulder didn't really listen. Instead he walked over to the window and took a deep breath. All he could see in the dawn were the few working street lights, a group of kids sitting on the steps. The sirens in the distance should have worried him. He could hear the children play in the next apartmenent and a dog running around in the apartment above. The elevator didn't work, the staircase was filthy and the walls were oviously paper thin. The smell of cigarettes, smog and several types of exotic food lay heavy in the air. A miscolored spot on one of the thin carpets told him that the window above it was leaking. The heating was tiny and in the furthest corner of the room and the painting on the walls had the appealing color of sour milk. The couch looked like it was missing a lot of it's stuffing (though he could not make out any holes in it from where he was standing) and he had not much hope for the old TV set on that frail looking desk. The kitchen looked like it was at least as old as the landlady – all in all, the whole apartmenet screamed desaster. The young man in the buckskin coat, the faded jeans and the combat boots smiled.
"This'll do."
---------
"Think you can handle it?" - "Like lickin' butter of a knife."
Fire.
Recoil.
Fire.
Recoil.
Something was wrong. He was no longer alone. He took a deep breath and shot another round of six before he lowered his weapon and looked to his left. Danny. Of corse. The other agent slowly lifted his hands off his ears and shook his head. "So here's where you've been hiding." He tsked through his teeth. "You didn't answer your phone." Martin slowly took off the ear protection gears. Danny sighed in exasperation. "I SAID you didn't answer your cell phone." Martin just shrugged. "So? Jack told us not to do anything until tomorrow morning." Danny's eyes narrowed angrily. "Are you even aware of what is happening around you! Another agency is going to take over the case, shutting us out! Doesn't that bother you at all? All you do is hide down here and … wait a second…" Danny slowly turned around and stared at the target in the distance. What the hell was that about? Usually they used targets at a distance of 50, sometimes 75 yards. But this…he could barely make out the target areas on it. He turned back to Martin, his eyes wide. "What… what distance is that!" Martin frowned for a moment, than he slowly realised what he had been doing for over 30 minutes now… and what Danny had just witnessed. The cold inside him was back and his mind raced to come up with some plausible explanation – or at least a good lie. But it was no use, the evidence – the target – was foolproof and clearly visible. "It's… ",Martin swallowed. "It's 150 yards. That's as far back as it would go," he added with a shrug, like he was apologizing for it. Danny just looked at him like he just saw a ghost and turned the switch that would bring the target back towards them. Martin turned white. "Danny, come one, don't… don't do this.." Danny just grinned at him with a somewhat crazy sparkle in his eyes and held on to the switch. The target moved towards them without mercy – and the closer it got, the more Martin seemed to shrink. When the target arrived, Danny ripped it off and stared at it. There were two large holes: one in the target's head and one where it's heart should be. They were both center mass and in a tight circle. Danny snorted and looked back and forth between Martin and the target. "You did that." Martin wasn't sure if that was a question or a statement, so he just stood there and did nothing. Danny still clutched the target, than he realised all the other targets lying on the ground next to Martin. They all looked the same. "You did that," Danny repeated and let the target go, ignoring how it slowly slid to the ground. Martin still just stood there, the ear protectors around his neck, the safety goggles still on. He sighed and took them off. The cold in him was spreading even more and it felt like a frozen fist was clawing at his heart. He could almost feel the fragile house of cards that was his life shiver and finally fall.
"Yes," he said almost inaudibly, defeat in his voice. "What do you want, Danny?" Danny almost chocked. "What – WHAT do I WANT! Martin what is going ON here! You have been acting strange for days and you are asking ME what I WANT! What is going ON with you! And what is this.." he pointed at the rest of the shooting range, "… all about! What are you, a fucking sniper! How did you… where…" "Rangers. First batallion. Three years." The words sounded hollow, lacking all emotion. Martin just stared at Danny, his eyes cold. "That what ya wanted ta hear"
While Martin haden't even realised falling back into his soft, Texas accent, Danny heard it immediately. And it confused him even more. He slowly stepped away from Martin, shaking his head in disbelief. Then he turned and left without looking back.
The man on the old couch slowly woke to the soft clicking sound of a computer keyboard. He moaned softly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. After blinking a few times he finally realised that someone was staring right at him. He smiled slightly and patted the little girl on the head. She was kneeling on the ground right next to the sofa.
"Mornin' Isabel. You guys are mighty early today, huh? Somethin' special?" She snorted up her nose and simply shook her had.
"Isa, stop that," a voice chimed up from the back of the room. Vin recognized Julio's voice and remembered the 15 year old boy asking him about writing a paper on Vin's computer the other day. "Met Isa on the steps and you see…" Vin smiled and slowly sat up on the couch. "'s okay, Julio. How's that paper of yers goin'?" The boy grimassed. "Don't ask." Vin frowned. "Ya need any help?" Julio shook his head. "Nah. Just a little more time. It's due for Friday." Vin nodded and went for the kitchen to get some coffee. He heard the door of the apartement open and close and when he came back to the small living room, the number of kids around the computer had risen to five. Little Isabel's brother Luka had finally found his sister and brought in two friends as it seemed. Vin recognized Carlos Delveara – who was about 13 years old, a little younger than Luka – and Gabriel, a friend of Luka's (but Vin couldn't for the life of him remember his last name. He didin't really like that. Usually he knew all the kids that were running around here.) "Hey, Isabel," he turned to the little girl. "Would you mind giving that to your mom from me?" He handed her a pack of sugar. "She lend me some the other day. Okay?" The girl snorted again, clutched the little doll she was holding a bit tighter, grabbed the sugar and left the apartment. The other kids exchanged worried looks. Vin sending the little one away could only mean that he wanted to talk to them. Really "talk". And that was never a good thing. "Okay," Vin said calmly, sitting down on the edge of the sofa and eyed the kids carefully. "Now spill it." Four sets of eyes stared at him for a moment.
"Now don't ya kids play dumb with me," Vin growled. "I am gone fer not even a week and what do I hear as soon as I get back?" The eyes widened all at the same time. "We didn't do nothin!" Carlos finally blurted out. Luka ellbowed his friend in the ribs, but it was too late. Vin crossed his arms and waited. Julio finally turned around in the computer chair and sighed. "It's true, Vin. We were here." Vin thought about that for a moment. He knew Julio was often unnerved by the younger ones and expecially disliked Carlos. So why should he lie? Maybe it was true. Then he smiled slowly, taking in his bait.
"You were here when WHAT happened?" Julio opened and closed his mouth without a sound, Carlos bit his bottom lip, Gabriel drew his hand over his eyes and Luka simply groaned. Vin grinned. Hook, line and sinker.
"The fight," Julio finally admitted with a sigh. "We were up here and saw it through the window." Vin slowly nodded. The old Miss Mariella had already told him about the little scene between the two rivalling gangs two days before. He'd been out on a bounty and found Mariella wandering the staircase when he came home. Since then he'd tried to get more information – and these kids where the best chance he would get.
"Who was there?" he asked carefully, his eyes narrowed. Usually, the Lobos - "his kids", were smarter than to start a fight with the older ones from the other block. This was unusual and he wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of it. Something must have happened to set his kids of like that. Again he was rewarded with silence. "Come on," he urged them on impatemtly. "I already saw Cole sporting a black eye and the cast on Letty's arm. What the HELL happened here? Who was there"
He was about to repeat the question when to his surprise Gabriel spoke up. "I think I saw Tony and… and Tank….and….and…" "Benji," Luka finally added under his breath, his head bent. Vin's eyes narowed.
"Benji!" he said in disbelief and turned to Julio. The older boy nodded slowly. Vin cursed through his teeth and punched the couch. "And I thought he really…" He sighed. Benji was one of the older kids, and one of those who had been the worst when Vin first moved into the house. Looking at it today, Benji had somewhat started the whole thing about Vin and the kids. That boy had had the nerve to brake into the apartment only one day after Vn had moved in – and Vin had caught him. The rest… was a long story. Usually Benji took over Vin's role and watched out for the younger ones whenever Vin wasn't there.
"It wasn't his fault," Luka spoke up, suddenly becoming agitated.
"It was Dom! He came here with his friends, started calling Benji names and pushing him around"
"Whoa there," Vin interrupted the kid. "We talkin' about Dom Loumes? Since when's he out"
"Couple o'days," Julio answered darkly. Vin seemd to sag a bit. Then he straightened. "Okay guys, here's what we'll do. I want you – Luka, look at me! I want you kids ta stay away from the streets as much as possible. Luka, watch out fer that little sister o' yours." He turned to Julio. "You write that paper. Carlos, Gabe, I want you two to keep an eye on Miss Mariella. Since she's livin' on the ground floor near the door she ain't safe." The two boys nodded slowly and Luka visibly swallowed. Julio cleared his throat. "What… what will you do?" Vin's expression turned dark. "I'll have a little talk with Loumes."
---------------------
Martin sighed. He had caught himself staring out of the window minutes ago, but somehow his eyes were glued to the city lights below. Nothing. He shot a glance at his wristwatch and snorted. Yeah well, why was he not surprised? It was two in the morning. In this part of town, there was hardly any activity at this early – or late – hour. He barely heard street noice, voices or sirens - nothing. Of corse this was mostly because his appartement was at the 15th floor. But still. He missed it. All bad times be dammed, he missed it badly. He missed the street noise, the footsteps from an apartement above, the dogs barking. And the children. God, he missed the children running around and knocking on his door whenever they liked. Well, there were no children in this apartement building. Most of the people who lived here were working singles, career junkies as he liked to call them. Waking up at half past five, heading for the office at half past six, coming home at half past ten in the evening. He laughed bitterly. And he was one of them. He stared at his own hands and like so many times before, he found it hard to believe what kind of person he was now. Career oriented. Cold. Detached. Keeping to himself. Only interested in his own well being. Everything he had always hated in a person. And there was nothing he could do about it. The feeling of cold returned, making it hard to breath. And for the first time ine years, the feeling of being caged was back. The walls seemed to be closing in on him and not even the large windows helped this time. He stepped back from the windows, slowly walking backwards, until he reached the middle of the room. He losened his tie, throwing it to the ground, trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes tightly.
His claustrophobia. The way he had liked his coffie.
Being a sharpshooter.
Milo Derringer.
His appartment in Purgatorio.
The kids.
Dom Loumes.
Why was all that coming back now! Why was it haunting him still, after all those years? These things seemed to be coming from another life. And they were. They belonged to a life he had left behind, because… No, he spat at himself mentally.
There is no reason that really counts.
You are a coward. That's why. And that is NO excuse. So whatever you are going through now, you deserve it.
He slowly and shakily sat down on the ground, leaning his back against the couch. Looking around he again compared this appartement to the one he'd had back then. He remembered getting up at six so that he could still catch some hot water in the shower before the others stood up and the boiler would be empty. He remembered painting the walls in a color that came at least close to white, but at most places, the god – awful green-grey color had still peeked through. Somehow he had managed to get that old TV set working. He smiled when he remembered realising that the display was monochrome. "She never mentioned that," he snorted, thinking of the old landlady he had later come to know as Miss Mariella. Not knowing had been the worst. Not knowing what had happened to his friends, if they were alright, if they still worked as a team. Chris…
No. Checking on them had been impossible. But not the kids. He had HAD to know if the Lobos were alright. So after his first year back in DC, he had caught a flight to Denver in the middle of the night and caught a cab that had dropped him off close to the outskirts of Purgatorio. He remembered walking those streets in the darkness. And he remembered praying. Praying that he would at least see one of his kids. He had hid in the shadows close to his old appartement building and seen a few kids sitting on the stairs. He could still feel the lump in his throat fade away when he had recognized Julio, Benji, Luka and Carmen, a friend of Benji's. On the steps below he had been able to make out a few of the youngsters, talking and joking. Benji had been tinkering on his guitar as usual and Julio had just sat there, listening. A few minutes later, Mariella had called for them and Benji had ushered the little group inside.
Back then, it had been enough for Martin to know that everything would turn out well. Benji had obviously come back to his senses and hopefully taken over Vin's role as their protector and friend if need be. It had helped him getting some peace.. but not entirely.
The feeling of betrayal and cowardice had remained and clung to him ever since. You ran, he cursed himself. You ran like a little kid and did what you were told. You HAD a choice.
There is ALWAYS a choice.
Right?
Again he had to take a deep breath, but this time, it didn't help. He covered his eyes with his hands and tried to shut the world out. It didn't work. The memories came flooding back to him and the room kept on closing in. With shaky hands he reached for his cell phone in his pocket and dialed a number he knew by heart.
"Yeah?" Of corse the voice was tired and sounded muffled, like there was a pillow in the way. "Hey Maddie," he managed to croak out.
"MARTIN!" From one moment to the next, the voice sounded wide awake. "Martin is that you? What the – what time is it?" Suddenly Martin felt stupid. "It's.. around two… I'm sorry Mad, I shouldn't have called you, I"
"No no no," the female voice interrupted him. "Martin, I'm in town. What's wrong"
For a moment, Martin was stunned. He hadn't expected that. Well, he had expected to talk to the mailbox of her cell phone at best. But this… was a little sudden. "You're here?" he asked carefully. "In New York?" There was a snort at the other end of the line. "No Martin, I'm in Paris. What do you think?" Then the sarcasm dissappered and her voice sounded concerned. "You want me to come over?" Again Martin was at a loss of words. He hadn't seen her since… well, since christmas and now she was here? He didn't really know how to handle that. "I.. I don't know…" "Of corse you do," she again interrupted him. "I wanted to visit you anyways. I'll grab a cab – should take me about 15 minutes. Tell Miles, okay? Last time I had to fight with him to get in." With that, she hung up. Martin couldn't help but smile when he remembered that "last time" Maddie had tried to get into this apartement building. Miles was very strickt and took his job as a doorman very seriously and back then Maddie had looked a little… disshevelled after the long trip from DC. He had refused to let her in until Martin had finally come down and confirmed to Miles that she was okay. So he finally stood up with a sigh and left his apartement for the elevator. He made it down just in time to see the young woman climb up the stairs to the main entrance. Miles was awake and on duty as usual and quirked an eyebrow at Martin. He looked at his wristwatch just so that Maritn could see it and Martin smiled a little embarassed. Finally, Miles opened the door and Maddie rushed in and gave Martin a quick hug. Martin was a little surprised by this but tried not to let it show. When they stepped into the elevator, they saw Miles shot them a disgrunteled look. "I tell you, that man hates me," Maddie whispered to Martin and they both smiled.
Half an hour later, they where both sitting in two chairs they had turned to one of the huge windows, drinking coffee. Maddie had turned down the lights and Martin was surprised to find that he liked the way the street lights from below luminated the apartement now. It was more like a faint glow and somehow.. relaxing. They both looked out of the window, not saying a word for minutes. Finally, Martin broke the silence.
"So, how's Dad"
Maddie snorted. "How should I know? I haven't been home in.. let me check…three months?" Martin nodded slowly and gave her an apologeptic smile. In his mind she was still a little girl and would always be. But Madeline Fitzgerald was 27 now, the once long brown curls were cut shorter and colored red, and she'd developed a visible tan. For some reason, she had insisted on going to college in LA and unlike Martin she had always had the iron will and the perseverance to get what she wanted. After college she'd stayed in LA and was now working in a lawyers office. "But Mum… Anne… called me yesterday," Maddie went on. Martin nodded. "Did she"
"Yes. Just the usual smalltalk. Sends her greetings." "Thanks." Maddie groaned. "God, listen to us! We're starting to sound just like THEM! Sometimes I hate them both"
Martin didn't dare to nod. And that was exactely the point. He had always envied her for her way to be straight forward with her feelings. For her freedom to express them whenever she felt like it. He remembered the many times she had stood up against Victor Fitzgerald and Martin had always watched in awe and desperately tried to find that strength and curage in himself. "Hey," she interrupted him, waving a hand in front of his eyes. "No zoning out on me okay?" Martin blinked and smiled again. "Sorry." She nodded slowly, eyeing him carefully.
"Martin, why did you call me?" For a moment he was at a loss again. Why had he dialed her cell phone number? There was no reason. Or was there?
"Thought your mailbox would answer?" She snorted again and lunged over to him to punch his shoulder. "Yeah right. Try again." When he didn't answer right away, she turned around in her chair to face him. She looked him over and didn't like what she saw. "You haven't been sleeping again, have you?" she asked sharply, an accusing tone in her voice. "Is this about Dad again? I told you, one day you two will kill each other.." "No," he interrupted her. "No, Dad's not involved. At least, not yet." She frowned when she heard how tired his voice sounded and how… worried. And finally she understood.
"Oh my… this is about THEM, right?" She took his hand and held it tightly. "What happened?" Martin had to smile at her. How often had it been like this in the past? Maddie and him against the rest of the world? Under the watchful eyes of an over protective and controlling father and with no real "mother" to turn to, they'd often teamed up and bathed in each other's strength. Like now. "You know I…" he started, his voice hoarse,"I never … I never really apologized to you back then. I shouldn't have left you alone with… with them…for all those years…" She took his other hand too. "Martin!" she shouted, shaking her head in disbelief. "How can you ever think that! I was so PROUD of you back then! When they found out and I heard about it… I was so envious!" She grinned. "You were my hero, you know? I would have never dared to do what you did." He couldn't really share her enthusiasm. "But you were only a kid and…" "I was fourteen!" she shot back. "And what does that have to do with it anyway?" She again shook her head. "You did the right thing. He would have destroyed you and you know it. And don't look at me like that, I know what I am talking about. Do you have any idea how glad I was that his attention was focused on YOU all the time? It would have driven me crazy if he had watched my every move like he watched yours. I know I was the lucky one, don't get me wrong. You did what you thought was best at the time and I would never hold that against you." Martin sighed deeply. On the one hand he was thankful for her support, on the other hand he felt the need to take away her kind of romantic point of view on this.
"You don't know half of it," he whispered, taking his hands away from her's. "I… I planned that, back then. Every little detail." He searched her eyes for an indication that she understood. "I knew exactely that being sent off to college was my only chance. So I went there, signed in so that the paperwork wouldn't get in the way and stayed a while to assure everyone that I was doing okay… and then I ran. I had sent a bag to a post office close to college weeks before and went there to get it. It held all the money I possessed back then, clothes, food…I even had a fake ID and drivers licence. And I knew where to go." Maddie nodded. "The army." She knew, of corse she knew. She was the only other person in the world – aside from himself – who knew the whole story. He had told her after he had… come back.
"Yes," he nodded, "and do you know why?" He smiled bitterly. "Not because I wanted it or liked it. I did it because they wouldn't ask too many questions. And because Dad would have never looked for me there." She shrugged. "I figured as much. What else is new?" Martin let out a breath in exasperation. Why didn't she understand! He really tried to tell her the truth, but she… this was not RIGHT! He had ran away back then, left her alone and disappeared for years! He was sure that they had thought he was dead – how could she ever forgive him for that! "Martin," she said sharply, sending him a glare. "I don't really get what you are trying to tell me here. I have known about all this for a long time – and what I didn't know, I somehow figured out on my own. Why are you trying to .. to… I don't even know a word for what you are doing to yourself here. You are not a bad person and you had your reasons for what you did. End of story." He rolled his eyes and turned back to stare out of the window. He had so hoped that at least she would understand…
"I'm really sorry," she interrupted his thoughts, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sorry I can't join you on your little self – pitty ride. And you know what? I've seen this coming." He turned to her again and glared at her angryly, but it just bounced off of her. "I miss you so much. I miss the Martin from four years ago." She looked into the distance. "Right after you were back, you were so.. angry. Determined. You were full of energy, the complete opposite of the person I remembered. And all I could think was that whatever had happened to you, whoever you'd met in those years you were gone changed you for the better. Remember how you faced off Dad back then?" The enthusiasm in her eyes turned down after she gave him another look over. "What…what happened to you, Martin?" She again took his hands. "I mean… look at you. You are running around with a burden – and this burden is your LIFE!" She snorted. "I mean the life you live NOW. Tell me what you want, but you are NOT happy. When you first joined the MPU and I visited you.. I thought that maybe this was it. You seemed so much more relaxed than in DC. But now it's back to square one." She took a deep breath.
"And that takes us back to the big question: what happened"
He took a deep, shuddering breath.
"An old ATF case showed up as a missing person." She sucked in a breath. "Oh. So what's gonna happen now?" For a moment Martin evaluated telling her that this information was classified, but her glare made him reconsider that thought.
"ATF is still on the case and they'll send someone here tomo – I mean, this morning. Around ten, I guess." She nodded slowly. "Was… was that one of your cases?" she carefully asked, not really sure what else to do. "No," he answered and she was surprised to hear both sadness and relief in his voice. "It was a case of a nother team, but we were there as backup when they arrested the suspect." She frowned. "Then why are you so worried? If it wasn't your team's case, they'll hardly sent someone you know. Or am I wrong here"
"I am not worried," he shot back – and that was all it took for her to see right through him. She stood up from her chair and kneeled down in front of his. She sighed deeply. "I can't say that I really understand you, you know. You could be happy. You could go back and have everything you want. I can see how much you long to be there, with them." She held his hands tighter. " You know what? The first days you were back those four years ago, I expected you to run again. As much as I liked the "new and improved" Martin…" she smiled for a moment, "…I really hoped you would take the chance. I thought: He has almost lived the same amount of years with this family and without it. Now is the best time. Don't let him get involved again. But…" She sighed. "You stayed. I really don't know why you are stiill here - I can only imagine that Dad has some kind of hold on you that I don't know about. But I know one thing for sure: Vin Tanner is a part of you and will always be. I can almost picture him, you know." Suddenly, her grin was back. "I saw that buckskin coat." Then she turned serious again. "And I know this may sound egoistical - but in my oppinion…when there's something you really, really long for, you don't have to answer to anyone. Just go for it." She sighed deeply, stood up and stretched. "You know what? I'll take the couch. Get some shut eye. You should try that, too. Still got a few hours before you have to leave for work, right"
He was a little baffled about that change in topic – but on the other hand, that was pure Maddie. He had always struggled to keep up with her fast moodswings and her way to jump from one topic to the next in an instand. So all he could do was nod. She yawned loudly and waved at him. "Now what? You wanna watch? Give a girl some privacy." And with that , he was ushered into his bedroom. Later, he couldn't even remember how he got into the bed.
to be continued
Ack! Please don't be mad at me. I have no idea where this came from. It just kinda happened. I will continue this, I promise!