Some rambling thoughts I finally managed to put into some semblance of
order. I guess it's kind of a character sketch. Thank you to DM and to KM
for their putting up with it all.
A Life Spent Watching By: Mariel
He'd spent his entire life as an observer. Carefully taking a back seat to his father's overbearing personality and his mother's sparkling one, Martin Fitzgerald had been a quiet, observant child who tried hard to always say what he was supposed to say and do what he was supposed to do. The stress of this meant that, by a young age, he'd learned to move silently and to say nothing unless he had to. So it was that, rather than learn to participate in life, he learned to stand back and to only listen, and observe it. That, he discovered, kept him out of trouble, out of the limelight where he might be embarrassed, and safely out of his parents' notice. He always, however, took note of the things he heard and saw, learning and drawing conclusions.
When he decided upon the FBI as his career path, surprise was the primary reaction from everyone who knew him. No one, not even those who would have called themselves his closest friends, had seen it coming. Quiet, reserved Martin, holding a gun and chasing down wanted felons? No one could see it.
But he'd stuck to it, and even during the worst of the training had remained enthralled by all that was FBI. He had worked hard, done reasonably well, and discovered that the observational skills he'd developed as a young boy were useful to an adult FBI agent. Yes, he was young, gauche, and sometimes stupid, but he saw things, learned from them, and continued watching.
It was, after all, what he did best.
* * *
When he joined Jack Malone's Missing Person's unit, he liked what he saw in each member of the team:
He appreciated the easy manner in which Jack Malone welcomed him into the fold on his first day. He knew the man's reputation for being one of the best, and decided very quickly that the reputation was deserved. He was impressed by Jack's dedication and perseverance, and in awe of the older man's knowledge and insight.
Martin had quickly seen that Danny Taylor initially resented his presence on the team because he'd believed it an indication of favouritism, rather than merit. He also quickly saw that Danny was a big enough man to accept he might have been wrong, and breathed a sigh of relief when their working relationship settled into something near comfortable. Martin liked the agent's integrity, his sense of humour, and his down-to-earth view on life.
And envied his fearless, relaxed attitude towards life.
Vivian Johnson was a talented, mature agent, who juggled a career, marriage and parenthood. An astute judge of character, her insights taught him much. She was also the person he found most approachable, the one he was most likely to ask a question of. With a glimmer of good natured humour, she, of all of them, tolerated him as a rookie the most easily. It was impossible not to appreciate that.
And then, there was Samantha Spade.
Samantha Spade had taken his breath away.
She was everything he imagined the perfect woman being: blonde, beautiful, smart, controlled, and confident.
Fascinated, he watched her as he watched everyone, but with far more pleasure.
And with more longing.
He learned that she'd blazed a trail straight to what she'd wanted, and had been on the team, now, for several years. She was knowledgeable, intuitive, and decisive, and didn't back down when she had a point to make - not even with Jack. She and Jack, he observed quickly, tolerated their differences of opinion when they arose, and worked together like a well-oiled machine. It did not take him long to see that they were the duo of choice, working most cases together, and as last man in, he accepted that.
And secretly wished he was partnered with her more often.
* * *
As a boy always trying to quietly fit in without notice, he found himself an adult trying to do the very same thing. And so it was that he observed the dynamics of the team carefully, trying to figure out what it was that enabled its members to work so smoothly together. In particular, because Samantha interested him and because she worked so well with their boss, he watched her and Jack closely, examining the way they worked in order to figure out what skills allowed such a smoothly professional relationship to develop. Carefully observant, he took note of the easy-going nature of their working partnership and their focus on the job. The amount of time they spent working together, he decided, was what had led to the way they seemed to know what the other was thinking, and the way they effortlessly understood where the other was coming from and anticipated where they were going.
In only a few weeks, he felt he had learned much about the people working the Missing Person's unit and about how they managed to work together so successfully. In a shorter time than he would have expected, he found himself settling back more comfortably.
But he continued to observe, because that was what he did.
* * *
After a few months on the job, observing the team and how it worked, he noticed what he considered several critical points. The first was that Jack and Samantha had a way of communicating without words that confounded him. There seemed an undercurrent of shared amusement, of shared experience, and, on some days, perhaps even of shared pain. And he saw that, after saying something significant, Jack was more likely to hold Samantha's gaze than anyone else's. The final observation, though it might have seemed insignificant to some, he held up as unusually important. He had noticed that Samantha never touched anyone but Jack, ever. She was not a woman given to pats on the back or reassuring touches on the arm. She touched Jack, though. Not often, but she did. The touches were nothing overtly personal, and yet each time he observed one, he felt something unspoken pass from her to Jack meant for him alone. There was a confidence in the touch, a sense of possession, and perhaps, he thought, a longing, or need...he wasn't sure...but it slowly began to arouse suspicions of which he felt ashamed.
He thought at first those suspicions were simply his subconscious mind's way of explaining Samantha's gentle rebuff to his one invitation out for a drink after work. She never gave a reason, just shook her head, smiled nicely, and said that she was sorry, she couldn't. He'd shrugged, not able to understand her refusal. He knew she saw men outside of work occasionally, or at least she talked as though she did. She spoke of them, however, with a detachment that made him question their purpose.
Instead of questioning her reasons directly, however, he continued to watch her. That observation, besides confirming she was beautiful and smart and controlled, continued to lead to stronger suspicions he found difficult to set aside. There was deep emotion, he decided, tightly reined beneath her smooth features, a depth of feeling that had to have a focus.
That focus, he came to believe, was Jack Malone.
Her eyes followed him when he walked into a room. She held his gaze with an intensity that always seemed to hold knowledge that they alone shared. She stood close to him when they spoke, smiled at him with more warmth, held on to his words a little more intensely...
Jack Malone. A married man. Her boss.
He immediately discarded the idea, then picked it up again. His observations were too many. Jack, too, was subtly different in Samantha's presence, held her gaze longer, drew to a stop closer beside her...He became certain there was something deeply personal between the two.
Something more than friendship born from working long hours together. Something that flaunted FBI rules about fraternization.
Something that flaunted the rules about marriage and fidelity.
* * *
The more carefully he watched them, however, the more frustrated he became. Dropping hints and veiled innuendos in Samantha's direction led to nothing. Having a healthy fear of Jack, he knew better than to toss a comment in his boss' direction. He felt at an impasse. He knew the occasional touch wasn't enough to confirm anything. Jack's exclusive rights to the use of the diminutive of Samantha's name wasn't, either. Nothing he observed added up to the torrid affair his imagination began to conjure up in his mind.
Their affair, as he imagined it, held touches that burned their skin like fire and passion that reached to the very core of their being. He imagined them meeting clandestinely in the dark entry way of her apartment building, or in some dark, smokey bar. He imagined them together, bodies pressed close, mouths joined. On an ill-lit dance floor. In a car while on a stake- out. His imagination conjured up images of Jack caressing her hair, slowly undressing her... placing his mouth against the gentle curve of her breast...He pictured them lying naked together in Samantha's bed or in some motel room, Jack kissing her soft skin, stroking her, moving inside her as their passion grew...and Samantha caressing him back, moaning in pleasure, wrapping her arms around him and murmuring his name...wanting more of him...
He wondered why others didn't suspect, but knew that to draw attention to it would only draw attention to himself and the reasons for his observations.
And he had to admit that, as someone used to being caught and punished for his transgressions, he was intrigued by the fact they were getting away with something they shouldn't. Their affair was wrong on more levels than he could list. The thought of what would happen if it was discovered made his stomach churn. How had they managed to escape detection?
On a more personal level, he discovered a sense of disillusionment, a feeling of having been let down by people who had come to represent something more than just what they did for a living. Samantha was supposed to be smart. Why was she indulging in something that could go nowhere, could lead to nothing but trouble? And Jack? He should have known better. He knew the rules. He was older, more experienced. He was married. And indulging in something he had no right to.
As he always did, Martin sat back and thought about what he knew. One of the things he acknowledged straight off was that it was none of his business, really. He had no right to care. But he did. In some strange way, perhaps because he had a crush on Samantha, or because it was happening in what he had come to feel was his family, he felt shut out.
But those who stand back and only observe usually do.
* * *
He sat back and waited for something to give; a life spent observing had taught him that something always did, if you waited long enough.
And something had, when Barry Mashburn took Samantha Spade hostage in a bookstore.
Then, in his opinion, Jack and Samantha's relationship had been made glaringly obvious. He overheard the muttered conversation between Van Doren and Jack, and realised what he had only suspected had been acknowledged fact for others. That conversation also told him that not only was the relationship long standing, it had been noted by Jack's superiors. He began to wonder if perhaps they thought the relationship was over. He couldn't tell, from what he overheard, but the fact that Jack didn't appear to have faced serious consequences surprised him and made him pause to stare at Van Doren, wondering.
When Samantha was shot, Jack made it more than obvious that he had emotions in regard to his subordinate he had no right to have.
Before he knew it, Martin found himself outside, holding his boss's gun in his hand and stepping back to watch Jack walk away from him without explanation. He watched him walk with determined steps towards the bookstore, arms stretched out from his body to show he was unarmed. He watched as the older man lifted his shirt in proof that the only thing he carried with him was his need to rescue the woman who lay bleeding on the floor inside.
As Martin returned to the theatre to rejoin the other agents monitoring the situation, he frowned. Jack had no right to throw caution to the wind and march into that bookstore as though he were Samantha's knight in shining armour. It was madness. He had a wife, two children. He had no right to what he'd done, not when he wasn't following procedure, wasn't going through the chain of command, wasn't doing his job of sitting back and delegating to others...
From the safety of the building across the street, he stood beside Van Doren and watched as the door closed behind his boss. He waited, picturing in his head what was happening inside, picturing Jack persuading Barry, in that way he had, to do what he wanted him to do, persuading him to trade Samantha for him, to let Samantha go...
And sure enough, moments later, Jack carried her out. He stood and watched as Jack placed her on a bench and Samantha reluctantly slipped her arms from around his neck. He watched as he touched her and murmured something to her... he saw the look they shared and watched as Samantha leaned towards him, cupping Jack's face in her hand in a gesture so intimate it took his breath away... and then witnessed their lingering touch as Jack pulled away and re-entered the bookstore...
Martin stood frozen as an intense surge of regret filled him. He had admitted long ago his attraction towards Samantha. He had never acted upon it, however. Not before, and not now.
The 'not now' seared his conscience. He could have been the one to rescue her. He could have been the one to say, "Take me, instead." He could have set aside everything but his feelings for the woman and acted, thinking of nothing but his need to ensure her safety.
But he had not.
Jack had. Whether or not he had the right to - professionally or personally - he had.
His thoughts raced. Was that the quality in Jack that drew Samantha to him? Had it been that assurance that he would give up everything for her that let her trust him? Love him? Had it been Jack's ability to throw caution to the wind and do what needed to be done, no matter the cost, that attracted her love and kept it? Is that what had made him worthy of her love in her eyes?
He stood, stunned. With sunken heart he realised what had given Jack the right to do as he had done.
Jack had earned it by doing the things that he did, by taking the actions he did. It made him the man that he was, and gave him the life that he led.
Martin looked inward and grimaced as the pain of realisation shot through him. He had spent too much of his life observing and not enough time acting. While he had stood passively by watching, someone else - Jack - had acted. So, he realised, had his life been. How many things had he wanted, but hesitated to move towards? How many times had he hung back, uncertain, unwilling to take a step until he knew exactly where his footing was? And how many times had he discovered that, when he was finally ready to move forward, it was too late, the moment passed? Whatever Jack and Samantha's relationship, it had happened because they had had the courage to do something about what they felt. Rightly or wrongly, they had made a decision and acted, and to hell with the cost.
Martin left the theatre and strode over to where Samantha now lay on a stretcher. He touched her hair, silently promising he would start doing more than just observe the lives around him. It was time he started not only living his life but time also to start participating in the lives around him. Samantha, he knew, might not be the woman for him. Their paths might never cross in that way - but he had learned enough tonight to realise that he could participate in her life, and she in his. If he acted.
He opened his mouth to speak.
The End A Life Spent Watching
A Life Spent Watching By: Mariel
He'd spent his entire life as an observer. Carefully taking a back seat to his father's overbearing personality and his mother's sparkling one, Martin Fitzgerald had been a quiet, observant child who tried hard to always say what he was supposed to say and do what he was supposed to do. The stress of this meant that, by a young age, he'd learned to move silently and to say nothing unless he had to. So it was that, rather than learn to participate in life, he learned to stand back and to only listen, and observe it. That, he discovered, kept him out of trouble, out of the limelight where he might be embarrassed, and safely out of his parents' notice. He always, however, took note of the things he heard and saw, learning and drawing conclusions.
When he decided upon the FBI as his career path, surprise was the primary reaction from everyone who knew him. No one, not even those who would have called themselves his closest friends, had seen it coming. Quiet, reserved Martin, holding a gun and chasing down wanted felons? No one could see it.
But he'd stuck to it, and even during the worst of the training had remained enthralled by all that was FBI. He had worked hard, done reasonably well, and discovered that the observational skills he'd developed as a young boy were useful to an adult FBI agent. Yes, he was young, gauche, and sometimes stupid, but he saw things, learned from them, and continued watching.
It was, after all, what he did best.
* * *
When he joined Jack Malone's Missing Person's unit, he liked what he saw in each member of the team:
He appreciated the easy manner in which Jack Malone welcomed him into the fold on his first day. He knew the man's reputation for being one of the best, and decided very quickly that the reputation was deserved. He was impressed by Jack's dedication and perseverance, and in awe of the older man's knowledge and insight.
Martin had quickly seen that Danny Taylor initially resented his presence on the team because he'd believed it an indication of favouritism, rather than merit. He also quickly saw that Danny was a big enough man to accept he might have been wrong, and breathed a sigh of relief when their working relationship settled into something near comfortable. Martin liked the agent's integrity, his sense of humour, and his down-to-earth view on life.
And envied his fearless, relaxed attitude towards life.
Vivian Johnson was a talented, mature agent, who juggled a career, marriage and parenthood. An astute judge of character, her insights taught him much. She was also the person he found most approachable, the one he was most likely to ask a question of. With a glimmer of good natured humour, she, of all of them, tolerated him as a rookie the most easily. It was impossible not to appreciate that.
And then, there was Samantha Spade.
Samantha Spade had taken his breath away.
She was everything he imagined the perfect woman being: blonde, beautiful, smart, controlled, and confident.
Fascinated, he watched her as he watched everyone, but with far more pleasure.
And with more longing.
He learned that she'd blazed a trail straight to what she'd wanted, and had been on the team, now, for several years. She was knowledgeable, intuitive, and decisive, and didn't back down when she had a point to make - not even with Jack. She and Jack, he observed quickly, tolerated their differences of opinion when they arose, and worked together like a well-oiled machine. It did not take him long to see that they were the duo of choice, working most cases together, and as last man in, he accepted that.
And secretly wished he was partnered with her more often.
* * *
As a boy always trying to quietly fit in without notice, he found himself an adult trying to do the very same thing. And so it was that he observed the dynamics of the team carefully, trying to figure out what it was that enabled its members to work so smoothly together. In particular, because Samantha interested him and because she worked so well with their boss, he watched her and Jack closely, examining the way they worked in order to figure out what skills allowed such a smoothly professional relationship to develop. Carefully observant, he took note of the easy-going nature of their working partnership and their focus on the job. The amount of time they spent working together, he decided, was what had led to the way they seemed to know what the other was thinking, and the way they effortlessly understood where the other was coming from and anticipated where they were going.
In only a few weeks, he felt he had learned much about the people working the Missing Person's unit and about how they managed to work together so successfully. In a shorter time than he would have expected, he found himself settling back more comfortably.
But he continued to observe, because that was what he did.
* * *
After a few months on the job, observing the team and how it worked, he noticed what he considered several critical points. The first was that Jack and Samantha had a way of communicating without words that confounded him. There seemed an undercurrent of shared amusement, of shared experience, and, on some days, perhaps even of shared pain. And he saw that, after saying something significant, Jack was more likely to hold Samantha's gaze than anyone else's. The final observation, though it might have seemed insignificant to some, he held up as unusually important. He had noticed that Samantha never touched anyone but Jack, ever. She was not a woman given to pats on the back or reassuring touches on the arm. She touched Jack, though. Not often, but she did. The touches were nothing overtly personal, and yet each time he observed one, he felt something unspoken pass from her to Jack meant for him alone. There was a confidence in the touch, a sense of possession, and perhaps, he thought, a longing, or need...he wasn't sure...but it slowly began to arouse suspicions of which he felt ashamed.
He thought at first those suspicions were simply his subconscious mind's way of explaining Samantha's gentle rebuff to his one invitation out for a drink after work. She never gave a reason, just shook her head, smiled nicely, and said that she was sorry, she couldn't. He'd shrugged, not able to understand her refusal. He knew she saw men outside of work occasionally, or at least she talked as though she did. She spoke of them, however, with a detachment that made him question their purpose.
Instead of questioning her reasons directly, however, he continued to watch her. That observation, besides confirming she was beautiful and smart and controlled, continued to lead to stronger suspicions he found difficult to set aside. There was deep emotion, he decided, tightly reined beneath her smooth features, a depth of feeling that had to have a focus.
That focus, he came to believe, was Jack Malone.
Her eyes followed him when he walked into a room. She held his gaze with an intensity that always seemed to hold knowledge that they alone shared. She stood close to him when they spoke, smiled at him with more warmth, held on to his words a little more intensely...
Jack Malone. A married man. Her boss.
He immediately discarded the idea, then picked it up again. His observations were too many. Jack, too, was subtly different in Samantha's presence, held her gaze longer, drew to a stop closer beside her...He became certain there was something deeply personal between the two.
Something more than friendship born from working long hours together. Something that flaunted FBI rules about fraternization.
Something that flaunted the rules about marriage and fidelity.
* * *
The more carefully he watched them, however, the more frustrated he became. Dropping hints and veiled innuendos in Samantha's direction led to nothing. Having a healthy fear of Jack, he knew better than to toss a comment in his boss' direction. He felt at an impasse. He knew the occasional touch wasn't enough to confirm anything. Jack's exclusive rights to the use of the diminutive of Samantha's name wasn't, either. Nothing he observed added up to the torrid affair his imagination began to conjure up in his mind.
Their affair, as he imagined it, held touches that burned their skin like fire and passion that reached to the very core of their being. He imagined them meeting clandestinely in the dark entry way of her apartment building, or in some dark, smokey bar. He imagined them together, bodies pressed close, mouths joined. On an ill-lit dance floor. In a car while on a stake- out. His imagination conjured up images of Jack caressing her hair, slowly undressing her... placing his mouth against the gentle curve of her breast...He pictured them lying naked together in Samantha's bed or in some motel room, Jack kissing her soft skin, stroking her, moving inside her as their passion grew...and Samantha caressing him back, moaning in pleasure, wrapping her arms around him and murmuring his name...wanting more of him...
He wondered why others didn't suspect, but knew that to draw attention to it would only draw attention to himself and the reasons for his observations.
And he had to admit that, as someone used to being caught and punished for his transgressions, he was intrigued by the fact they were getting away with something they shouldn't. Their affair was wrong on more levels than he could list. The thought of what would happen if it was discovered made his stomach churn. How had they managed to escape detection?
On a more personal level, he discovered a sense of disillusionment, a feeling of having been let down by people who had come to represent something more than just what they did for a living. Samantha was supposed to be smart. Why was she indulging in something that could go nowhere, could lead to nothing but trouble? And Jack? He should have known better. He knew the rules. He was older, more experienced. He was married. And indulging in something he had no right to.
As he always did, Martin sat back and thought about what he knew. One of the things he acknowledged straight off was that it was none of his business, really. He had no right to care. But he did. In some strange way, perhaps because he had a crush on Samantha, or because it was happening in what he had come to feel was his family, he felt shut out.
But those who stand back and only observe usually do.
* * *
He sat back and waited for something to give; a life spent observing had taught him that something always did, if you waited long enough.
And something had, when Barry Mashburn took Samantha Spade hostage in a bookstore.
Then, in his opinion, Jack and Samantha's relationship had been made glaringly obvious. He overheard the muttered conversation between Van Doren and Jack, and realised what he had only suspected had been acknowledged fact for others. That conversation also told him that not only was the relationship long standing, it had been noted by Jack's superiors. He began to wonder if perhaps they thought the relationship was over. He couldn't tell, from what he overheard, but the fact that Jack didn't appear to have faced serious consequences surprised him and made him pause to stare at Van Doren, wondering.
When Samantha was shot, Jack made it more than obvious that he had emotions in regard to his subordinate he had no right to have.
Before he knew it, Martin found himself outside, holding his boss's gun in his hand and stepping back to watch Jack walk away from him without explanation. He watched him walk with determined steps towards the bookstore, arms stretched out from his body to show he was unarmed. He watched as the older man lifted his shirt in proof that the only thing he carried with him was his need to rescue the woman who lay bleeding on the floor inside.
As Martin returned to the theatre to rejoin the other agents monitoring the situation, he frowned. Jack had no right to throw caution to the wind and march into that bookstore as though he were Samantha's knight in shining armour. It was madness. He had a wife, two children. He had no right to what he'd done, not when he wasn't following procedure, wasn't going through the chain of command, wasn't doing his job of sitting back and delegating to others...
From the safety of the building across the street, he stood beside Van Doren and watched as the door closed behind his boss. He waited, picturing in his head what was happening inside, picturing Jack persuading Barry, in that way he had, to do what he wanted him to do, persuading him to trade Samantha for him, to let Samantha go...
And sure enough, moments later, Jack carried her out. He stood and watched as Jack placed her on a bench and Samantha reluctantly slipped her arms from around his neck. He watched as he touched her and murmured something to her... he saw the look they shared and watched as Samantha leaned towards him, cupping Jack's face in her hand in a gesture so intimate it took his breath away... and then witnessed their lingering touch as Jack pulled away and re-entered the bookstore...
Martin stood frozen as an intense surge of regret filled him. He had admitted long ago his attraction towards Samantha. He had never acted upon it, however. Not before, and not now.
The 'not now' seared his conscience. He could have been the one to rescue her. He could have been the one to say, "Take me, instead." He could have set aside everything but his feelings for the woman and acted, thinking of nothing but his need to ensure her safety.
But he had not.
Jack had. Whether or not he had the right to - professionally or personally - he had.
His thoughts raced. Was that the quality in Jack that drew Samantha to him? Had it been that assurance that he would give up everything for her that let her trust him? Love him? Had it been Jack's ability to throw caution to the wind and do what needed to be done, no matter the cost, that attracted her love and kept it? Is that what had made him worthy of her love in her eyes?
He stood, stunned. With sunken heart he realised what had given Jack the right to do as he had done.
Jack had earned it by doing the things that he did, by taking the actions he did. It made him the man that he was, and gave him the life that he led.
Martin looked inward and grimaced as the pain of realisation shot through him. He had spent too much of his life observing and not enough time acting. While he had stood passively by watching, someone else - Jack - had acted. So, he realised, had his life been. How many things had he wanted, but hesitated to move towards? How many times had he hung back, uncertain, unwilling to take a step until he knew exactly where his footing was? And how many times had he discovered that, when he was finally ready to move forward, it was too late, the moment passed? Whatever Jack and Samantha's relationship, it had happened because they had had the courage to do something about what they felt. Rightly or wrongly, they had made a decision and acted, and to hell with the cost.
Martin left the theatre and strode over to where Samantha now lay on a stretcher. He touched her hair, silently promising he would start doing more than just observe the lives around him. It was time he started not only living his life but time also to start participating in the lives around him. Samantha, he knew, might not be the woman for him. Their paths might never cross in that way - but he had learned enough tonight to realise that he could participate in her life, and she in his. If he acted.
He opened his mouth to speak.
The End A Life Spent Watching