Counting Days
Disclaimer: I don't own Without A Trace. Jerry Bruckheimer Television and CBS Productions have that privilege. I'm just borrowing it for fun. No money was made. I don't own Tylenol. Medication should only be taken under a doctor's supervision.
Notes: This story is a sequel to my earlier venture Letting Go. So it will make a lot more sense if you read that one first. In fact, you could probably consider this a bit of an Alternate Reality, since I got tired of waiting for TPTB to resolve Martin's drug problems and decided to resolve them myself; thus taking a sharp left turn from canon after "When Darkness Falls". Thank you to Julie for her work as beta. Warnings: a bit of bad language.
Day 4: (Monday) Martin probably shouldn't have driven to work this morning. He'd been distracted with how he looked; planning what he was going to say. He barely remembered the drive in. On the other hand, the idea of accepting Danny's offer of a ride seemed too clingy and dependent. After finding a parking spot he ended up making two trips back to his car for forgotten items such as his wallet and cell phone. It was probably a good thing that Jack was putting him on desk duty. As scattered as he was, he wasn't in any condition for field work.
Martin was almost to the elevators before he noticed Jack standing beside them watching him speculatively. He wasn't entirely surprised to find one of his coworkers waiting to accompany him up to missing persons, but he'd expected it to be Danny.
"Danny's upstairs getting coffee for everyone," Jack volunteered.
Martin nodded, ducking his head and wondering when he'd become so damn easy to read. Sure, Jack had years of experience reading others, but up until a couple of days ago he'd managed to keep a major drug addiction hidden from everyone he worked with. It wasn't that he was proud of what he'd done, but at least he hadn't been broadcasting his every thought to those around him, as Jack's comment seemed to imply.
After entering the elevator and pushing the button for their floor, Jack asked, "Ready to head into the lion's den?"
"I guess," came Martin's unenthusiastic reply. Coming clean to the whole team had seemed like such a good idea Friday night. Now Martin almost wished Jack had fired him just so he could avoid telling the others how pathetic he was. It really shouldn't be stressing him out this much. Jack already knew about his addiction. Danny knew. Though Vivian hadn't said anything directly, they were all sure she had figured it out Friday night when she dropped off the chicken soup. "Damn it!"
"What's wrong?" asked Jack.
"I . . . I forgot Viv's soup container in my car," Martin replied, a bit embarrassed at his outburst.
"I'm sure Viv won't mind waiting until lunch for you to go back and get it," Jack smiled indulgently, hoping to ease Martin's frazzled state.
The gesture was lost on Martin, who was already back to thinking about the upcoming meeting; rehearsing what he was going to tell the others. He was really only telling Sam and Elena, after all. Elena was new to the team, he hardly knew her. She seemed nice enough, but in the end her reaction to the revelation of his addiction wouldn't really affect him either way. Was he panicking this much just over the thought of telling Samantha?
"Martin?" Jack's voice jerked Martin back to reality. Jack's intent gaze was a bit concerned as he continued to hold the elevator doors open.
How the elevator had reached their floor and opened its doors without Martin noticing, he wasn't quite sure. "Right, sorry," Martin murmured stepping into the hallway.
"You need to relax, Martin." Jack tried again to offer support. He'd expected this morning to be hard for Martin. But he hadn't expected Martin to look as brittle as cracked glass, just waiting for a stiff breeze to shatter it. "Just remember you've already taken the hardest step," referring to Martin's entering rehab.
Martin nodded and reminded himself that regardless of what was about to happen, he had friends who would stand by him.
Satisfied, Jack moved down the hall, with Martin falling in step. A curt, "My office," to the rest of the team brought them along behind.
Danny brought up the rear, locking the door to prevent interruptions. He presented cups of coffee to Jack and Martin, and then stood at Martin's side in silent solidarity. Jack made the unusual move of settling on the couch. Vivian followed his lead, easing back into the cushions while sipping her own warm brew. Elena snagged one of the chairs by Jack's desk looking somewhat puzzled. This certainly wasn't how they usually started their workweek.
"What's going on Jack?" asked Sam, standing beside the couch. She was more than a little confused by the mixed signals floating about the room. That confusion only deepened when instead of answering Jack's eyes darted to Martin.
Martin forced down a gulp of coffee, cleared his throat and admitted, "Actually, I'm the one that wants; needs to tell you . . . some things." Damn, this speech had sounded so much better when he'd practiced it in his head earlier. "There are going to be some schedule changes for me. My hours will be cut back and I won't be doing any field work, for a couple weeks," Martin's eyes met Jack's, "maybe longer."
"God, Martin." Sam took a hesitant step towards Martin. "How sick are you?"
"Sick?" Damn again, Sam had taken his absence Friday and drawn the wrong conclusion. "Not sick, really. I, uhm, I checked myself into rehab on Friday." Vivian nodded encouragingly, while comprehension dawned on Elena's face. Only Sam still seemed confused. "Drug rehab," Martin clarified, "specifically the Phoenix Center."
Surprisingly it was Elena who broke the silence. "They have a really good program," she volunteered. "A friend of mine went through there and they helped her build a new life. She said every person working at the Center was top notch."
Martin smiled, surprised at how pleased he was to have someone else confirm his own assessment of the Center.
"But you're not a drug addict," came Samantha's belated denial.
"I wish I could agree with you, but if I did I'd be lying. I'm hooked on painkillers." Martin wasn't sure which hurt more, saying those words or hearing Samantha deny his problem.
"I'm assuming," Vivian entered the conversation, "that since you're here right now that you've enrolled in one of their out-patient programs?" Her gentle but insistent tone reminded Martin of an interview she'd once run on a traumatized child.
"Yeah, I have to attend meetings or therapy before and after work every day for the next couple weeks, that's part of why my schedule is being limited. They'll also be calling me here to monitor my progress." Martin immediately wished he could take that last statement back. It made him sound like a three-year-old that needed to be checked up on rather than a mature independent adult. "I figured, since you'll be the ones picking up my slack, you had a right to know what was going on."
"Just so we're all on the same page here," Jack spoke up for the first time. "Martin's addiction to painkillers and his enrollment in a rehab program are not common knowledge. No one outside this room knows about it and for the most part it's going to stay that way."
"For the most part?" tested Vivian.
"Martin will tell his family when he's ready. In the mean time his caseworker suggested finding a psychiatrist here that could pinch-hit if Martin started having any problems. I was going to talk to Dr. Harris later today," explained Jack.
"Why don't you let me," offered Vivian. "If you want to keep this off the record," Martin's nod confirmed her guess; "I already have an appointment with her after lunch to go over a case. I can test the waters and see how she reacts with less chance of raising suspicion if she's disagreeable."
"Works for me," said Jack. He hadn't been looking forward to jousting with the all too observant doctor while Martin's career hung in the balance, even if he did think she could help. "Now, I think it's time you let me have my office back. I want the last of the paperwork for the Allison Brands case on my desk in three hours." Jack rose from the couch and unlocked his door dismissing the team.
Samantha was the last to leave. Pausing beside Jack she whispered, "I just can't . . . This is Martin we're talking about."
Jack could understand why Sam was having a hard time accepting Martin's condition. He wasn't sure he'd have believed it himself if he hadn't walked in on the middle of Martin trying to detox. "It will work itself out," was the best assurance he could offer.
Day 6: (Wednesday) Dr. Elizabeth Zimmer made another note. The session was almost done and she could tell Martin was eager to leave. Not that she blamed him. They'd been delving into his past, re-examining the events around his initial bout with addiction, something he was still quite resistant to talking about. Deciding to let it go for now she asked, "Have you told your family that you've entered a drug rehabilitation program?"
"Actually, yeah," Martin straightened in his seat, glad to be talking about something - anything - else. "I had a long talk with my Uncle Roger and my cousins Jamie and Brenda last night. They were really supportive. I think Uncle Roger felt guilty for not spending more time with me after the shooting, but I explained to him that's not how I ended up addicted."
Zimmer made another notation. "What about your parents? Have you considered telling them yet?"
For a moment Martin absurdly wished they were back to talking about his childhood trauma. "I thought I'd wait until I could tell them face to face."
"So when do you plan to have this face to face with them?" the doctor asked.
"I already had plans to visit them during the last weekend of this month. By then I'll have almost a month of sobriety. It will be as good a time as any to tell them." Or as bad a time as any, he thought to himself.
"Do you think your parents will be upset that you waited so long to talk to them?" Zimmer prodded.
"My father will be disappointed no matter when I tell him." Was that bitterness in his voice? Get a grip! "My mother will probably be . . . relieved to know the crisis is over and I'm already working on a fix for the problem."
"Well, I think we'll end here for now. I believe Rachel has you scheduled for a workshop after work this evening." Dr. Zimmer reminded.
"And then an N.A. meeting afterwards," Martin confirmed. He offered his hand in farewell and headed out as quickly as he could. He'd never thought the day would come when he looked forward to desk duty, but right now he couldn't wait to get to work.
Walking through the bullpen, Jack noticed Danny waiting by his printer. "Is that your expense sheet?"
Danny snatched up the paper as soon as it stopped printing and turned to dig through a pile of paperwork on his desk. "No . . . this is the expense sheet," Danny replied, pulling a page out of the stack and handing it to his boss. Noting that the only other person in the vicinity was Elena, Danny waved the newly printed paper. "This is my attempt to be a good sponsor and help ease the road with Martin's parents. Though something tells me his dad isn't going to be as cool about this as he was when Martin was thirteen."
"You never know," commented Jack, though he too expected Victor to pretty much go ape-shit. "We'll be there to pick up the slack if Senior drops the ball."
Danny smiled. "Anyway, on the off chance his parents want to be supportive paragons, I looked up the Nar-Anon meetings near their home in D.C."
"Nar-Anon?" asked Jack, thinking it sounded familiar and he should probably know what it was.
"Yeah, it's like Al-Anon or Alateen. Basically it's a support group for the friends and family members of addicts." Danny explained.
"They any help?" Somehow Jack just couldn't see Victor pouring out his woes to a group of strangers.
"I've never actually been to one of those meetings, Jack, but Sylvia told me they've helped her through some rough spots," Danny answered. Jack looked thoughtful as he took the expense sheet back to his office.
The Narcotics Anonymous meeting was wrapping up. The group had spent a fair amount of time offering support to young man named Mike who, despite a year of sobriety, was particularly shaken because his dorm roommate had thought it would be hilarious to spike his orange juice with vodka this morning. Mike had recognized the flavor and spit it out, but the taste had been enough to send him into a dangerous spiral of obsessive thoughts. Though Martin himself had stayed quiet, several people had spoken up with suggestions of how to cope and even how to deal with the roommate, though some of those suggestions weren't entirely legal.
Shrugging into his coat, Danny asked, "So have you given any thought to talking at a meeting?"
"No, not really," Martin started to look worried. "Is that something I should have started doing already?"
"Relax, Martin," Danny cut him off before he could get too wound up. "There's no rule about speaking up at a meeting. I didn't do it until I was four months in and the meeting got extended thanks to blizzard conditions. Some people never talk much at meetings. I was just wondering if you'd thought about it."
Entering the hall Martin did a double take when he recognized one of the people leaving the room across from them. "Jack?" Danny's eyes followed the path of Martin's.
Jack glanced over at the sound of Martin's voice. His let the corner of his mouth lift in a small show of recognition and then returned his attention to the elderly lady he'd been chatting with. A moment later the two parted with a friendly handshake and Jack joined his two off duty agents. "Hello, boys."
"Hi," Martin returned somewhat uncertainly. "Jack, what are you doing here?"
Jack jerked a thumb towards a sign hanging beside the door he'd just exited. "Nar-Anon meeting."
"But isn't that the support group for family members?" Martin asked.
"And friends," Jack insisted, letting those two words make his entire argument.
Smiling as he looked from his shocked younger friend to his determined older friend, Danny threw an arm around both of their shoulders. "I don't know about the two of you, but I'm starved." Steering them towards the parking lot with minimal resistance, Danny continued, "It just so happens that I know a great little Cuban restaurant not far from here." Friends were wonderful things. Well worth sharing the secret location of his favorite restaurant with.
Day 9: (Saturday) Jack honked his car horn as soon as Martin stepped out of the Phoenix Center's main doors.
Looking towards the sound Martin quickly jogged over and climbed in. "What's going on? Danny was supposed to pick me up." At least that's what Danny assured him when he'd dropped him off eight hours ago. Martin had originally planned to drive himself; unfortunately, his truck's alternator had decided to give out.
"Danny got a call about his nephew needing to go to the hospital, something about not being able to get a hold of Sylvia." Jack checked his rear and side view mirrors before pulling into traffic. "He said you just needed a ride to the mechanic's, to pick up your truck."
"Yeah, they should be done with it by now," assured Martin. "Do you know what's wrong with Nicky?"
"The impression I got was he just needed stitches. Honestly, I think Danny was more concerned about Sylvia being unreachable," explained Jack.
Martin nodded in understanding. Since joining the missing persons unit he'd too become hypersensitive to friends and family being out of touch. The two settled into a companionable silence while classic rock played in the background. Just a few miles from the repair shop, Martin's cell began to trill. Identifying the caller, Martin flipped it open with a, "Danny, how's little Nicky doing?"
"Not too bad. His right arm now has 15 stitches he can show off to all his friends. Hopefully, next time he'll think twice before taking a bet to jump over a bunch of broken stairs." The scolding tone in Danny's voice led Martin to think that Nicky was nearby and Danny was trying to reinforce the lesson.
"Fifteen stitches in his right arm," Martin informed Jack. "Were you able to track down Sylvia?"
"Yeah, she got here a few minutes ago. They were doing some construction at her company and one of the workers cut the telephone line," explained Danny. "Is it okay if we bump our plans back to tomorrow? Sylvia invited me to dinner tonight to thank me for helping out, and Nicky says she's making Arroz con Pollo." Martin had learned Arroz con Pollo was one of Danny's favorite meals just the other night when he'd inhaled a plate full of it at the Cuban restaurant he'd taken Martin and Jack to. "Unless you feel like I'm bailing on you." Danny back-stepped at Martin's quiet.
"No way," insisted Martin. "Spend time with your family. Make sure your nephew knows better than to accept stupid dares. I'll just find something else to do tonight." It took a few more reassurances, but Danny soon hung up to join his family. During the conversation Jack had arrived at Martin's mechanic's shop and pulled into the tiny parking lot.
"The taxi ride is over," quipped Jack. "Are you good from here?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine," said Martin. Truthfully, he was a tiny bit nervous. He'd been so busy recently juggling work, rehab and N.A. meetings that he'd barely been alone except to sleep. While it helped him avoid dwelling on darker thoughts, it didn't leave much room for self-examination, something Martin knew he needed to work on if he wanted a serious chance at long-term recovery.
"Don't be afraid to call if you need anything," Jack ordered in a suitably gruff voice.
"I got it," Martin assured. He headed in to pay for his car, thinking he needed to pick up a pad of paper on his way home. It was time to start Step 4: Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
Danny leaned back so Nicky could clear away his plate. As soon as it was scraped clean and deposited in the sink Nicky returned to ask, "Can I watch TV?"
"Yes," replied his mother, "but only for thirty minutes. Don't forget we have church tomorrow." The last was spoken to the boy's back as he dashed out of the kitchen to catch the end of his favorite show.
"The meal was delicious," complimented Danny. "You really out did yourself."
Sylvia smiled as she refilled his water glass. "It's a small thank you for the way you looked out for Nicky today. He loves spending time with you." Her statement was true enough. The boy had been scolded several times during the meal for talking with his mouth full as he tried to regal his uncle with all the exciting adventures only a boy can have. "I know you have a busy life," she continued.
"Not too busy for my nephew," Danny protested.
"Nicky told me you had to cancel your plans to stay with him," said Sylvia.
"Not canceled, just postponed." Danny toyed with his glass. "Martin will be fine for one day."
Sylvia must have heard some doubt in his voice because she noted, "You're worried about your friend."
Danny shook his head; no way was he getting into Martin's addiction with Sylvia. She would understand, being married to an addict, but it had to be Martin's choice who to tell and when to tell them. Danny wouldn't betray that confidence. "Martin's been going through a rough patch lately," he explained vaguely. "So I've been hanging with him more, trying to help him out." Honestly he and Martin had been practically living in each other's pockets the past week. The first few weeks of sobriety could meld a truly intense bond between sponsor and the one being sponsored. It always did for Danny. Given time Martin would become more competent with his coping skills and less dependant on Danny's support. The bond would mellow and shift below the surface, waiting until it was needed again. Or it could be broken if Martin surrendered to his addiction. Danny immediately tossed that thought aside. Martin was going to survive his addiction. Danny wasn't willing to accept anything less.
"Can I ask you a question?" Sylvia's tone implied that whatever her question was, it was going to be a doozy. "You're willing to help your friend Martin, and you've got a job where you help strangers everyday. Yet when Rafie was out we hardly saw you. I'm not trying to accuse, I just don't understand. How can you give so much to others, but offer nothing to your brother?"
"But I did," argued Danny even as he recognized she had no way of knowing his history with Rafie. "For years I gave him everything I had to give; all of my love and faith and trust. I made excuses for him and lied for him, all the while hoping, someway, somehow he'd find a way to make things better, even as they kept getting worse. By the time I stopping making excuses and realized how far he'd fallen . . . Sylvia, I couldn't even keep myself sober much less help someone else."
"But what about now? Have you even gone to see Rafie since he went back to jail?" asked Sylvia.
Danny just stared at his glass unwilling to look Sylvia in the eye. "Seeing Rafie brings up a lot of bad memories. I was afraid that if I spent too much time around him I'd somehow go back to being that drunk I used to be." Danny finally looked up. "I know it's not fair to Rafie, but I'm just not sure I can stay sober and be his brother at the same time."
"But you found him, when no one else could; you kept him from killing himself. I think you're a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for." Sylvia got up to leave the kitchen, but paused beside Danny. "I know your brother misses you."
"I'll think about it," was all Danny would give, but it seemed enough to satisfy Sylvia.
Day 13: (Wednesday) Martin entered the tech room where Mack was working his computer magic. "Jack said you might be done cleaning up the ATM video footage."
"Yeah, just let me pull it up." Mack's fingers danced across the keyboard.
"Sure," Martin sighed. He frowned and rubbed his left temple.
"You okay?" asked Mack. It hadn't gone unnoticed by the Bureau staff that Martin had been on desk duty for over a week, for no apparent reason. The gossip mill had offered explanations ranging from mysterious illness (a definite possibility if Martin's pale face was any indication) to being punished for insubordination, though Mack didn't buy the last. He'd seen Jack and Martin together just this morning, and they'd been as relaxed and friendly as he'd ever seen them, hardly the behavior of coworkers at odds with each other.
"I've spent the last three hours trying to decipher some totally insane accountant's idea of financial records," explained Martin as he continued to rub his forehead.
"Ah, creative bookkeeping," Mack assumed Martin meant embezzling or the like.
"I wish," grunted Martin. "At least that would make sense. I don't think the person who wrote these up could even add. Between that, the small type and various scribbles in the margins, I've got a monster headache going. I could really use some good news right now."
"Well, here we go," Mack motioned to his main monitor. "There wasn't much I could do about picture definition, but I did lighten it, which showed me this." Mack selected the part of the image that showed the unnamed suspect's wrist.
"Is that a tattoo?" Martin bent closer.
"Yeah, you can't see all of it, but that's definitely the head and part of the body of a serpent tattoo. It might help us identify the suspect."
"Good work, Mack," Martin complimented. "Would you print up some photos I could pass on to the rest of the team?"
"It will only take a couple minutes." A few more keystrokes and the printer started buzzing.
Martin gathered up the copies glad to have a new lead, no matter how small.
Martin was half way through the door when Mack's, "Hey, catch," stopped him. Martin snatched the small bottle out of the air with his left hand. "It's for your headache," Mack explained. "Just don't operate any heavy machinery in the next couple hours," Mack instructed somewhat teasingly.
Martin stared at the bottle: Tylenol with Codeine No. 3. Codeine was an opiate just like the narcotics in the painkillers he used to take. Of course, this was a much weaker dose. It couldn't be that dangerous. Would it really be wrong to take just one to ease his headache? Two or three would guarantee an end to the headache and maybe even give him a little bit of that mellow, relaxing high that would soften all the edges of an already harsh day. Christ, what am I thinking? I can't take any of these.
'Just let go.' Danny's words echoed through Martin's mind as he found the will to ease his grip, letting the innocuous bottle slip to the floor.
"Here let me get it." Mack rolled away from his computer to helpfully retrieve the fallen medication.
The sudden overwhelming fear that he'd be too weak to refuse if they were presented again had Martin kicking the bottle sideways across the room as though it was a deadly weapon.
"What the hell?" Mack jerked back confused and more than a little pissed. All he was trying to do was pick up something a coworker dropped and he nearly got kicked for his trouble.
"Don't offer me those," Martin instructed in a shaky voice. "You can't ever offer me those!" A small corner of Martin's mind was aware that his reaction was over the top and would be difficult to explain away. But a much larger part was frustrated and angry. Angry at his own weakness; and at Mack for tempting him, however unknowingly. Frustrated that even after denying himself the drugs he still felt their pull, drawing his gaze, waking a soul deep craving. Feeling that craving grow, Martin turned to leave while he still could. He was forced to stop when he nearly walked into Jack.
Everything about Jack's stance said he'd seen enough to know what was going on. Setting a hand on Martin's shoulder, he said, "Go to my office and take a couple minutes to pull yourself together. I'll be there in a few." Jack watched Martin rush from the room, tracking him until he confirmed Martin had followed his instructions. When he turned back to Mack he didn't bother to hide the rage on his face. "Would care to explain," Jack started in a dangerously quiet voice, "just exactly when you became a drug dealer?"
"Drug dealer?" Mack's voice cracked with shock. "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. All I did was offer a friend something for his headache." Mack had seen Jack in bad moods. He'd even viewed one or two particularly intense suspect interviews. But he'd never been the focus for Jack's anger before. When Jack stepped forward into Mack's personal space, forcing Mack to roll his chair back in retreat, Mack decided that an angry Jack Malone was one of the scariest things he'd ever seen.
"Something?" Jack's tone demanded an immediate response.
"Tylenol." Mack waved to the bottle resting on the floor across the room.
Jack's eyes narrowed in disbelief, then he stepped back, moving to retrieve the bottle. Eyes skimming the label, Jack's jaw clenched just before he whipped the bottle at Mack. Mack juggled the light missile a couple times before securing it. "Tylenol with Codeine; that's a narcotic, Mack. What the hell were you thinking? You're not a doctor. You can't give this stuff out to people."
"He said he had a headache," defended Mack. "If he didn't want them all he had to do was say 'no thanks'. He didn't have to freak out and kick it across the room. I was just trying to help."
"No, you were just offering the drug of choice to an addict with less than two weeks of sobriety under his belt." Jack made the command decision to bring Mack 'in the know'. It was the only way he could see to keep this incident from becoming the newest water cooler topic. As long as Mack felt like he was the wronged party he was likely to complain about what happened. But if he realized that Martin had been acting out of self-preservation he'd probably keep quiet, if asked.
"I didn't know," said Mack feeling apologetic and even ashamed of his actions.
"No one outside the team is supposed to know. Martin has enough on his plate without having to worry about having the entire Bureau looking down on him. I need to know this incident won't leave this room." Jack's words were more command than plea. He wasn't afraid to use his supervisory position to insure Martin's privacy.
"I'm not going to tell anyone," Mack quickly assured, "but Jack you should know that people are talking; at least about Martin being on desk duty. So far the theories are about unknown illnesses and insubordination, but whether someone guesses right or just passes the wrong rumor to the wrong person, it could still mean trouble for Martin."
"I'll look out for Martin," replied Jack, glad that Mack was showing a willingness to protect Martin. "You just make sure you get that bottle of pills out of this building." Observing Mack's eager nod Jack headed towards his office.
Martin paced back and forth in Jack's office; as he listened to Danny's cell phone go directly to voice mail. "Danny, this is Martin. Call me back as soon as you get this. I need my sponsor." The last sentence was a plea that held more than a bit of desperation. Martin hit 'end' without saying goodbye. He tried sitting down in one of Jack's chairs but that lasted all of about fifteen seconds before Martin was up pacing again.
The swoosh of Jack's office door had Martin spinning, expecting to see his boss. Instead Dr. Harris walked in with some folders, heading straight to Jack's desk to drop them off. Martin flashed back to the Monday after he entered rehab, when Vivian had volunteered to assess Harris's willingness to council Martin off the record.
Martin sat at one of the smaller tables reviewing the phone records of their newest missing person. Although it was already starting to look like this person might be missing voluntarily rather than due to foul play. Vivian approached with a smile leaning over Martin's shoulder. Martin looked up somewhat nervously, knowing that Vivian had just left a meeting with Dr. Harris where he'd likely been at least one of the topics of conversation.
"It's all set," said Viv. "Lisa said she wouldn't report anything about your addiction as long as you keep seeking the help you need and it doesn't compromise your work. You can talk to her anytime you want to." Vivian patted his back before moving away.
"Waiting for Jack?" Dr. Harris asked Martin. He nodded stiffly. "Is something wrong?"
Martin nearly snorted, "Aside from me overreacting and making complete fool of myself in front of Mack, everything is fine." Yep, all of the counseling he was going through was definitely having a bad influence on him. Every time someone asked him a question he promptly spilled his guts.
"Overreactions are often a matter of perspective," the doctor commented non-judgmentally. "Do you want to talk about it?"
What a question. Of course, Martin didn't want to talk about it, but at the same time he knew he needed to. Dealing with problems and temptations as they arose was one of the themes that had been pounded into Martin's head over the last several days. It was why he'd called Danny, to talk this through and get his head straight. But Danny wasn't available and Dr. Harris was right here, ready to listen so, what the hell. "Mack noticed I wasn't feeling so well: headache. He gave me some Tylenol, the kind that has Codeine in it." Martin could still feel the weight of the bottle in his hand.
"And what did you do?" prompted Dr. Harris. When she'd agreed with Vivian to keep any counseling sessions regarding Martin's addiction off the record, she'd really thought job stress would be the most likely trigger to his addiction. The possibility that a coworker, someone within the FBI, would offer Martin drugs had never occurred to Lisa. It appeared Martin had been similarly caught off guard. This incident could lead to a set back of Martin's recovery if not handled properly.
"After imagining scenarios like taking just one or finishing off the bottle, I dropped it, and then I kicked it across the room. I think I might have yelled at Mack." Martin was disturbed to realize he couldn't clearly recall what he'd said to Mack. "Then Jack appeared; told me to come here and calm down."
Lisa spared only a small thought for what Jack was likely doing to Mack right now. Her priority was Martin. "Many would say that by refusing Mack's codeine you passed a huge hurtle. Are you more confident about your sobriety, now that it's been tested?"
"Maybe I would be it if hadn't been such a near-miss thing; if I wasn't still wishing I could go back and get those pills," confessed Martin as his agitated pacing started anew.
"It might help if you looked at it from a different perspective. You told me how close you came to taking the pills, how much you still want them. Now can you tell me why you didn't?" Lisa gently tried to redirect Martin's train of thought. Dwelling on his cravings and how hard they were to resist was the surest path to relapse.
"Why?" asked Martin, his pacing halted.
"Martin, you're a drug addict who was offered free opiates from someone unaware of your condition. You could have taken several with little to no chance of being caught. Why didn't you?"
Martin sat in one of the chairs as he thought about it. "I guess for a moment my mind went back to when Danny found me clinging to that other bottle of painkillers, in my truck. He kept talking to me. Telling me I was stronger than a bunch of pills, that I wasn't alone. 'Just let go,' he said. So I did." Martin's hand mimed the action with his memory. "Then I was back in the tech room and Mack was bending down to pick up the bottle I'd dropped; give it back to me. That's when I kicked it away and told Mack not to give them to me again."
"It sounds to me like your reaction was perfectly understandable, given the circumstances." Dr. Harris settled into the chair next to Martin. Vivian had mentioned that the rest of the team was aware that Martin was in rehab, but she hadn't said anything about Danny being the one who helped Martin in that direction. Still, it made sense that Danny would be the first to pick up on signs of addiction, having struggled so long with his own.
"I remember when Danny first told me he was an alcoholic," commented Martin. "He said he'd been sober for over seven years but he still had to go to AA meetings twice a week to stay sober. I heard the words, but I just couldn't wrap my mind around what they meant. How do you get to the point where something so consumes your life that even half a decade after you've given it up it still dictates how you live? And now, here I am waiting for it to get better, for the cravings to disappear." Martin dropped his head into his hands running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I can't seem to get past the idea that it's always going to be this hard."
"Perhaps the cravings won't get better but your ability to cope with them will," Lisa pointed out. Martin nodded agreement with her words but didn't look like he believed them. "Have you given any thought to calling your sponsor?" Lisa hoped that reminding Martin he had support he could rely on might help.
"It was the first thing I did when I got here, but the call went straight to Danny's voice mail," answered Martin.
Lisa tried not to show her surprise that Danny was Martin's sponsor. Martin seemed to realize what he needed to do; it was life that was interfering with his ability to do so. "What do you think Danny would be telling you to do if he was here right now?"
"Quit worrying about the rest of my life and try to focus on getting through the next couple hours," came Martin's immediate response.
Lisa smiled. "Sounds to me like some pretty good ad . . ." Martin's cell phone interrupted Lisa. The relief on Martin's face when he identified the caller told Lisa that Danny was likely the one on the other side of the signal. "Good advice," she reiterated as she stood. "You should listen to your sponsor." Lisa motioned to the cell before turning to the door.
"I will, Lisa, thanks," said Martin before hitting the talk button on the phone.
