TITLE: Hurt
AUTHOR: Jennifoofighter
RATING: R
KEYWORDS: Martin angst, Martin and Sam POV, case file and some MS (of course).
SPOILERS/TIMELINE: This is set post episode 4x18: "The Road Home." Knowledge of episodes 1x5: "Suspect", 1x21: "Are You Now or Have Your Ever Been?" and 2x5: "Copy Cat" would be helpful but not completely necessary.
ARCHIVE: Also archived at DestinedTo.
DISCLAIMER: Hank and Co. own everything Without a Trace. No copyright infringement is intended…..blah, blah, blah. Believe me, if I owned them things would be verydifferent.
PLEASE NOTE: I will be posting whenever I can. I only mention this because I know some people grew accustomed to my daily updates and well, I'm just too busy to do that anymore. I will do my best to not keep any readers hanging too long and when I do post I'll try to make it nice and long.
SPECIAL NOTE: I'm trying to incorporate two story ideas into one so please bear with me. I'm also trying to not pull a Jenn and drag a story on and on and on…..and on.
SUMMARY: As Martin tries to rebuild his life in the wake of his addiction, a case from the past pulls him back into the Missing Persons Unit.
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I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
Nine Inch Nails, 'Hurt'
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Teaser
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Martin stared at the gun barrel glittering against the flashing police lights outside the hotel room window. He took a breath to try and steady his nerves. The air reeked with the acrid stench of stale air, sweat, and blood causing bile to rise in the back of his throat. He swallowed it back down; the last thing he needed right now was to vomit. He could feel thick beads of sweat slide down his back causing his shirt to stick to his skin. He wasn't sure if he was sweating because of the hot air blowing out of the broken air conditioner to his right, the throbbing pain in his side or the incredible craving he was having for an OxyContin or Vicodin.
Of course, the cause was most likely from seeing Andy Deaver holding a revolver to his chin threatening to kill himself.
He focused his gaze on Andy who was crouched in the small space between the nightstand and the wall looking very much like a scared little boy. His face was pale against the dried blood along his temple and Martin could see beads of sweat on his face too. Andy rocked back and forth nervously, his gaze shifting from the window and the activity outside and then back to Martin a few feet away.
Martin licked his lips trying to think of what he could say to help convince Andy to put the gun down and walk out of the room, reasons he could give him to live. But there was a nagging voice in his head that kept reminding him that his past two attempts at talking someone down during a crisis both resulted in tragedy. Images of Anwar Samir and Brian Stone flashed in his mind. He didn't want to fail again. He couldn't fail – not this time. His life depended on it as much as Andy's.
He cleared his throat and softly said, "Andy, we know what happened wasn't your fault. You don't have to do this."
Andy stared back at him through wire framed glasses, his eyes looking infinitely sad and lost. "You know what happened? You know everything?"
Martin nodded his head slowly and whispered, "Yes."
Andy watched him for a beat, trying to determine just how much he knew. Martin could see the fear and shame in Andy's eyes before the young man turned his focus down to the hotel's dirty worn shag carpet. He bit his lip so hard it broke the skin and a small drop of blood dotted his chapped lips. Tears started streaming down his cheeks and he hunched his shaking shoulders as he wept.
Martin crept slowly towards him, he wanted to comfort him, reassure him that everything would be alright but Andy noticed and immediately panicked. He pointed the gun at him and shouted, "Stay back! Don't come near me!"
Martin froze; simultaneously surprised and relieved that Andy would turn the gun on him and away from himself. He mentally chastised himself; he should have known that Andy would not want another man to touch him. He nodded his head and slumped back against the wall. "I just want to help you Andy."
The frightened young man shook his head vehemently and in a small frightened voice said, "No one can help me. It's too late."
Martin wanted to tell Andy that he knew what he was feeling. He knew what it was like when all you can feel is pain, ache, and hurt. To feel like no matter how hard you try bad things just seem to continue to happen and you desperately want someone to help pull you up from the abyss, to have them understand what you are going through but no one does. And you get angry at them for not noticing, not caring; but the hard truth is no one is able to help you because as much as you wanted it you also pretended that everything was fine; that you were fine. He knew this because it was exactly how he had been feeling and acting since the shooting. No, that wasn't true. It actually all began when things had disintegrated so badly with Sam.
Things that make you hurt don't always come from wounds you can see.
Martin looked back at Andy and gently replied, "It's not too late. Let me…."
"You can't," Andy said as he pushed the gun back under his chin, the metal digging into his skin. With a trembling finger on the trigger he cried, "I'm just tired of hurting…."
"No!"