Revelations

by caffinebunny

Who is Martin Fitzgerald, really? Crossover with Now and Again. Slash. I've warned you. I'm now officially not interested if you've read the warning then read the fic anyway even if slash offends you.

Title: Revelations

Author: Trowa B

Rating: Probably teen. Slash.

Fandoms/Pairings: Without a Trace/Now and Again – Danny/Michael.

Warnings: Violence. Danny being a horndog (what's new there?). Sex.

Summary: Who, exactly, is Martin Fitzgerald?

Author's Notes: I hate this bunny! It's going in pie if it so much as looks at me again, despite having already launched at least one idea for a sequel. glares at bunny and waves piecrust That said, I wrote this at work. Bad Trowa. Especially as it was rapidly up to about 8000 words and counting because the little darling got chatty… But anyway. I futzed with the Now and Again timeline, shunted it back a few years, because I had to make sure Heather graduated. Reached graduation. Whatever. And I suck at writing action. Just plug in your own action sequences to gloss over mine…Please?

WATWATWAT

As Martin blinked himself back to awareness – faster than Danny would expect to be possible for someone who had just been hit over the head with a baseball bat – Danny caught a pained, regretful, almost disappointed expression as it flashed across the other man's face. It was gone in less than an instant, but Danny didn't doubt what he had seen.

Which made him wonder; who, precisely, was Martin Fitzgerald?

WATWATWAT

Danny hadn't ever expected to get an answer to his question, despite noticing more oddities about his new colleague over the next few weeks. Like how did an accountant – a guy from White Collar with minimal experience in the field – notice a second person fleeing in the dark, in a public park and still manage to differentiate him from a jogger, not to mention beat Danny to the man and spear tackle him with enough force to launch the perp and himself into the duck pond.

So it was with some surprise that he found the opportunity presenting itself at the end of a successful case, when he found himself sitting in a bar with the rest of the team, drinking club soda while they all drank beer.

All except Martin. Why would Martin not be celebrating with everyone else?

WATWATWAT

Danny grinned as he watched Jack attempt to ply Martin with a bottle of beer. Seemed to him like Fitzie didn't want to end up doing something daddy would be oh-so-disappointed in him about. Well, it was time to put paid to that, he decided.

"C'mon Fitz," he cajoled, and didn't the boy flinch at that? He made a mental note to use the nickname as often as possible. "One beer won't hurt," he continued. And didn't that feel strange, the MPU's resident alcoholic trying to get someone to have a drink.

But it worked. Shoulders absolutely rigid, Martin took the bottle Danny was offering him and took a pointed swig, retreating to the dubious safety of his barstool moments later.

WATWATWAT

Jack shook his head in fondly amused exasperation. He had thought, what with mentally being his own age, that Michael would be immune to Danny's pointed teasing, or at the very least would be able to see that Danny was goading him into doing something he didn't want to do. He should have realised that practically no-one was immune to the Latino's teasing manner and challenging grin if he put his mind to it.

He wasn't entirely sure that drinking was Michael's best course of action however, and from Viv's resigned expression which quite clearly read, "Boys!" he could tell that she was thinking pretty much the same thing, with the added twist of female superiority.

"Don't worry about it," he reassured her. "Danny's the one who gets to make sure he's okay because he's the one who goaded him into drinking."

WATWATWAT

"Martin, you had one beer. You cannot be this drunk," Danny growled at the other man as he propped him on a bench at a bus stop and moved to hale a passing cab.

Martin, slouching where he sat so that he could stare up at the sky, snorted disgustedly. "Wouldn't be this damned drunk 'f you hadn' insisted on the beer." He scrubbed at his face with both hands as Danny shook his head in resigned amusement and began to turn to the passing traffic. "Las' time I felt like this w's jus' b'fore I got hit by the F train," he added morosely.

Danny paused in mid-step, hand half raised for hailing a cab, something in Martin's tone of voice telling him the other man wasn't joking. The weight of his gaze was apparently tangible, because Martin's head snapped up suddenly, blue eyes wide with surprise and a touch of panic.

Moving back to the bench, he sat down, copying Martin's slouched posture. "Sooo… That was a conversation stopper," he commented, not looking across at Martin.

After a moment, there was a much softer snort as Martin leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands. "I don't know if I can do this anymore," he murmured, so softly that Danny barely caught it, so he was apparently talking to himself.

Confused, Danny reached to put a supportive hand on Martin's back. He wasn't quite sure what the comment about the train had been all about, but it certainly sounded like Martin was in the middle of some kind of WASP-y FBI royalty crisis, and okay, so there was the whole FBI royalty thing, but he was also a member of the MPU and therefore Danny's team mate and someone he should care about and help out if he was in trouble. Within reason, of course.

"C'mon, man, tell ol' Danny all about it," he said quietly. "You'll feel better."

For the record? Laughing in the face of his offer was really not what he had expected Martin to do.

After a while, Martin's laughter died back to the odd, occasional snicker. "What's so funny?" Danny demanded, truly confused and slightly offended.

Martin shook his head. "Ol' Danny," he reiterated, before bursting into laughter once again. It lasted less time this time round, Martin slipping back into his dark mood suddenly and bringing the merriment to a screeching halt. "Six years ago, you'd have been calling me old," he added. "Then the F train, and bam, suddenly you're the old guy…"

Danny stared. "Y'know what, Fitz. Martin," he corrected himself at the glare, but the expression didn't soften,

"Michael," Martin growled. "My name is Michael." And then he passed out.

WATWATWAT

Danny stared at the other man for a long moment. How dare he drop out in the middle of a conversation like that! Well, more of a drunken ramble than a conversation, which explained the passing out, and actually the lack of sense too, but he still wanted answers, damnit. Answers which Martin was going to provide if he had to beat them out of him.

Okay, so not literally beat, because Jack would be upset with him if he tried that, but still.

Deciding there was only one way to get them, he turned back to the road, loading Martin into the back of the first cab that stopped. "We'll see how talkative you aren't when I withhold the painkillers from you tomorrow morning," he muttered darkly at the younger man, drawing a puzzled glance from the cabbie that he determinedly ignored, in favour of soaking up the feeling of Martin leaning trustingly against his shoulder in his sleep.

WATWATWAT

Michael snapped awake in an unfamiliar room and had a moment of panic before he recognised the person leaning on the doorframe watching him as Danny.

Danny, who looked to be trying to figure something out; who looked like he had been given some puzzle pieces which didn't – quite – fit with what he knew or expected. "So," Danny said, once he seemed sure Michael was awake and aware, "Michael. That your real name?"

Michael sat up. "What?" he asked, throat gone dry with dread.

"Last night," Danny reminded him. "You said your name was Michael, not Martin. This some deep dark Fitzgerald secret?"

Putting his head in his hands, Michael cursed enthusiastically under his breath. "No, Danny," he said after a moment. "Not anything like that. Just-" He trailed off. "I don't even remember how much I told you," he said softly, looking back up at Danny.

Danny just stared at him. "What do you mean, you don't remember?" he demanded. "You had one beer! How can you not remember?"

Michael shot Danny a worried look. "It's to do with some sort of reaction I have to alcohol. My metabolism's faster, so alcohol gets into my blood faster, so I get drunk faster, off less. Look, Danny, why don't you just ask what you want to know, and if I can answer, I will."

That drew a snort from Danny. "Yeah, I kinda guessed about the fast metabolism from the way you pack away that junk food." Abruptly, he dropped onto the couch next to Michael. "Y'know what, Fitz, it's too damn early for this. You wanna go get bagels?"

Okay, change of direction. From experience, this could be either a good thing or a bad thing. Good because it may mean Danny had decided that whatever the story was it didn't matter anyway; bad because it could just mean he was plotting which question was best to unravel the whole plot. Or get all the gossip at least. Michael narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Sure," he agreed. "What's it going to cost me?"

Putting his hand to his chest in feigned hurt, Danny widened his eyes. "Fitzie, I'm hurt! How could you think I was trying to bribe you with food?"

Michael snorted. "Because that's what you usually do when you want answers about something from me."

Danny's response was to shake his head, grinning broadly. "Where's the love, man? I offer you bagels and you spurn my generous offer. I'll let the Michael issue drop; for now, at least. This is your one free pass and it lasts 'til Monday morning."

"A whole day's grace," Michael asked dryly as he surreptitiously checked he was still wearing pants under the blankets. "Better than I was expecting."

"Well, most of a day," Danny agreed cheerfully. "It's eleven now."

WATWATWAT

Danny was unable to do any research into Martin's – or, as the case may be, Michael's – comments, or even corner the man and demand answers, because the following day they got sucked into a chain of three cases before they were even due into the office, each worse than the last, but thankfully spanning a grand total of only eight days. With one of the other teams out because four out of the five were down with the latest flu bug, Jack's team, with only Sam down with the disease, were stuck in the rotation and it was only the Thursday of the second week after his disjointed conversation with a drunk team mate that he succeeded in getting to his computer to do anything other than search phone records. Even then he had only succeeded in getting to the computer for something other than work issues because Jack had finally called a frustrated halt to the report writing and declared them all off duty until the afternoon or the next case, whichever happened soonest.

"Okay," he muttered, "old guys going under trains. C'mon, Google, work your magic." The page loaded and he raised his eyebrows. Okay, that was a lot of guys taking a header onto the tracks. The F train, Fitzie had said, so maybe if he substituted subway for train.

The list was smaller, but no more manageable. What else had Fitz said? Five years ago, so advanced search it was. He tweaked the search still further, making use of half remembered details from his conversation with Martin and came up with a list of names which was smaller and much more manageable. He was about to begin scrolling through to find the Michaels when a throat cleared behind him, making him jump.

"If you'd wanted to know," Martin – Michael, Danny corrected himself – said quietly, "then you could have asked me."

Just like that. Like he hadn't appeared out of seemingly nowhere.

Once Danny had calmed his racing heart, he dropped back into his chair. "No offence, Michael, but last time I tried to ask, you were all for bolting," he snapped, then after a moment relented. However angry he was at being shut out by the other man, Michael had evidently been struggling with this for longer than the two weeks Danny had known about it; had been living with it for longer than Danny wanted to think about. "So," he commented softly. "The F train?"

The other man shrugged. "Not much to tell," he said softly, edging over to perch on the corner of Danny's desk, apparently unsure of Danny's reaction. "I'd had a couple of drinks at lunch time with a friend. Someone stumbled on the platform and knocked me over the edge, and the next thing I remember is Doc Morris telling me that being thirsty is all in my imagination because I'm a brain in a jar. But I might have dreamed that. Never got round to asking the doc."

Danny stared at him incredulously. "A brain. In a jar?" 'Have you been smoking something?' his tone asked quite clearly. "This Doc have an assistant called Igor?"

"No!" Michael protested. "No assistants called Igor. Just some really evil assessments."

The stare didn't waver. "No tendency to cackle maniacally?"

Michael returned the stare. Really, Danny sounded almost disappointed. He briefly glanced at the doorway as he caught movement.

It was the only warning Danny had to shut down his screen before Viv bustled over. "Now this looks cosy. You boys aren't up to something Jack would disapprove of are you? His blood pressure doesn't need it this week."

Flashing Viv a grin, Danny spun his chair. "Just junk sci-fi, Viv. Nothing for Jack to worry about."

Michael snorted, shaking his head, before hopping off Danny's desk and grabbing his coat. "Anyone else want Starbucks?" he asked, grabbing his jacket.

Danny narrowed his eyes slightly. "Sure," he agreed affably after a moment. "Let me grab my jacket and we can get for the whole team. The usual, Viv?"

WATWATWAT

Viv watched as the elevator door closed behind the boys before turning to Jack who had emerged from his office in time to shout his order after the retreating pair. "He's just setting himself up to get knocked right back down again," she commented quietly to Jack with a slight smile.

Jack snorted. "Michael's oblivious. And Danny sets himself up to be knocked down at least once a week, depending on the case load and whether or not he's avoiding anyone persistent. And if Michael's not oblivious, he is at least smart and mature enough to redirect Danny's attention."

Viv's brow rose in an unspoken 'mature enough', making Jack smirk. It had, after all, been Michael who instigated the elastic band war this morning.

"Allegedly," he added, causing Viv to nod in satisfaction. He gestured for her to accompany him into his office.

"So," he continued, once the door was shut, "Your opinions on Mr Fitzgerald."

Viv shook her head. "Don't you mean Mr Wiseman?" she asked with a grin. "And I think he's reckless, but only when it's just his own life on the line. Which," she continued, "is sort of understandable. He's suffering from grief over the deaths of his wife and daughter, no matter how much he was already apart from them before their deaths. And he has no guarantee that he'll ever find Dr Morris again, and I know he's trying." She settled onto the couch as Jack dropped into the chair behind his desk with a relieved sigh.

"If he ever does find that doc, maybe I can volunteer to be his next subject," he commented. "Michael looks damn good for a dead man."

Viv had to laugh about that. "Yeah, but would you want Danny horn-dogging after you like that?"

Jack manfully succeeded in keeping a straight face until he met Viv's amused gaze, before breaking into laughter.

WATWATWAT

"So you wanna tell me some more about this thing? I can call Jack and tell him we're taking off for lunch?" Danny asked.

Michael shook his head. "Can I come over later? Or you can come to mine?" he asked. "I think… that might be better actually," he added after a moment's thought. When Danny inevitably freaked out about the explanation, it would mean that at least he could walk out and have somewhere to go, rather than feeling he had to call the police to remove the crazy from his own home.

Danny shrugged. "Sure. Either's good. What's your address?"

WATWATWAT

Michael was pacing nervously when Danny buzzed to be let into the building, the ticking of the clock on a shelf near him winding his nerves tighter than he could remember them being. Forcing himself to wait for the other man to knock before opening the door was possibly the hardest thing he had ever done, but finally there was a rap of knuckles on wood, deafening to Michael, who had been straining his improved hearing to catch Danny's approach.

He would not fling the door open like his daughter awaiting the arrival of her prom date. No, really.

"Hey," Danny greeted as Michael let him in. "You ok? You look a little off."

And suddenly, everything was status quo. Michael rolled his eyes at Danny. "You think? I can't imagine why, given that I'm just about to break an official secrets agreement. Well," he added after a moment, "I would be about to break it if I'd been asked to sign one in the first place, but you don't need to get the experiment to sign, now do you, because they're stuck in the lab?"

Danny's eyebrows rose. "You're babbling, Martin," he said dryly, then realised what he'd said. "Michael. Even. But you're still babbling."

Michael opened his mouth to say something else, probably to protest Danny's assertion, but Danny shook his head. "Food first," he said, waving a brown paper bag in his direction. "It's just soup and sandwiches from the deli down the street, but I figured nothing's quite as bad after a good meal. Well," he amended, "A meal. I've never tried that place before, so…" He trailed off with a shrug.

Ducking his head with a smile, Michael led the way into the kitchen. "Plates?"

Danny shrugged. "Nah. Don't you know you're supposed to eat take-out from the containers with the utensils provided?"

That caused Michael to snort in amusement. "I do. I wasn't sure you did."

WATWATWAT

Feeling much more relaxed after eating, Michael leaned back in his seat. "So. What do you want to know?" he asked.

Danny grinned across at him. "Well, you've told me all about the brain in a jar bit, with the mad scientist and his bad taste in not having an assistant called Igor. Aren't all mad scientists supposed to have a hunch-backed assistant called Igor?" he asked; which meant that Michael had been worrying for nothing. How 'bout that? "So," Danny continued, "how did you wind up in the FBI?"

Michael closed his eyes, wishing Danny had asked about the "brain in a jar" thing again; that he had asked practically anything but that. "It was two years after I was released from the hospital," he began softly.

Flashback

Michael stared at the man talking to him, expression perfectly and unnaturally blank.

Numb.

He was feeling numb.

No, feeling was probably the wrong word to use, but for now it would have to do because he didn't think he could spare the brainpower to find the right one. He was too busy processing… this. This mess that his life, in the space of fifteen minutes, had become. Lisie; his beautiful Lisa; and Heather, on her graduation day no less; dead.

All because some asshole in a semi hadn't taken his rest breaks.

And now? Now this other asshole from the government was telling him Dr Theodore Morris was missing. The only other measure of stability he had had been ripped away from him and he was being told that he was being put to work to find the man.

All he caught through the grey fog was Fitzgerald, FBI, Seattle.

WATWATWAT

Michael allowed himself to be guided into the upscale house, glancing at everything and nothing. It was like everything was at a distance; nothing getting through the grey cloud he felt was surrounding him.

There was a woman somewhere shouting angrily, but that cut off as the front door closed loudly. Not quite a slam, but very definitely deliberate. Footsteps sounded like gunshots on the tiled floor, making him flinch until he got himself back under control.

The steps softened – the woman had evidently seen the flinch. "Honestly," she snapped, "You men don't have the sense you're born with. Mr Wiseman, would you like a drink?"

The direct address speared him, even through the fog. This was not a woman to be crossed, he realised, as his gaze jerked up to meet hers. Blue eyes, he realised. Blue, like his own. And evidently far enough up in the echelons of Washington's hierarchy that she knew his real name.

"Mister Wiseman?" she tried again, voice softening further as she stepped in closer and laid a hand gently on his arm. "Michael. I'm Barbara Fitzgerald. My husband Victor and I are to be part of your cover while you're in the FBI." She took hold of his wrist and elbow, towing him further into the house without asking what he wanted to do, evidently a woman used to being in charge no matter the situation.

A mother, he amended as he gazed at the framed photos on the wall as they passed, and abruptly found a hopeless sob clawing its way up his throat.

Barbara turned back to him, releasing his wrist, and caught the direction of his gaze. "Michael?" She had heard that?

He wrapped his arms around himself as his knees, for the first time ever since he had been put into this body, refused to hold him and he sagged against the wall. The woman was at his side in moments, leading him into the kitchen and pushing him to sit at the breakfast bar while she opened the fridge.

Bringing the fixings for a cheese salad sandwich to the table, she settled catty-corner to him and set to work. "So," she said as she put a block of cheese and a knife to cut the cheese with in front of him, "tell me about them."

He frowned, arms still wrapped protectively round his midriff. "Who?"

She tutted. "Your wife and daughter. I do watch the news, Mr Wiseman. And I have higher security clearance than my husband, but don't tell him that," she added with a sly wink, patting his forearm gently. "I heard about what happened. And then to have Doctor Morris disappear so soon after; terrible."

Taking the cheese he had sliced from in front of him, she made up the sandwich and placed it in the space vacated by the cheese. "Now, you eat that and then I'll show you to your room. We can talk about what's to be done in the morning."

Michael looked at her in something akin to shock, then to his own surprise began eating the sandwich. It tasted like ashes in his mouth, but he succeeded in choking it all down and rose to put his plate in the dishwasher. He was just straightening up when a man poked his head around the door frame.

"Barb," the man called across the room, voice surprisingly deep for his small stature, "this guy's ready to sign."

Barbara nodded. "It can wait a few minutes. Offer the man a brandy and one of Victor's cigars. He'll never miss it," she added to Michael. "Gets them as gifts and doesn't even smoke them! This way, young man. Let's get you settled."

WATWATWAT

The room, he was certain, was a guest room. It was a very nice guest room, but a guest room nevertheless. And Barbara seemed oddly enthusiastic about having him there. He frowned as he got ready for bed, going over her reactions in his mind. Damn, but he wished he could discuss this with Doc Morris, Roger, anyone!

He rolled over again, trying to find a comfortable way to lie where the bed wouldn't end up suffocating him. After the rigid mattress in the safe house, he felt like he was drowning in the thick, soft, goose-down mattress-topper on this bed. Another twist and he sighed resignedly, pulling the duvet off the bed and onto the floor. He had to get some sleep, or he was going to say something he would probably regret to Deputy Director Fitzgerald of the FBI.

WATWATWAT

Victor Fitzgerald stared at the young man who looked so much like his dead son, but could find nothing familiar in the expression. Where his son's eyes in the years before his death had become shadowed and guarded, so often angry, this young man's face was open, eyes sad but alive. A slight smile which was little more than a quirk of lips was offered as they shook hands in greeting.

"So," he said eventually. "You're Michael Wiseman. I've heard good things about you from some of my colleagues. I hear you're going to be helping us find Dr Morris."

End Flashback

"He gave me a whole heap of papers to read through and sign, and that was it," Michael finished. "I was enrolled at Quantico. Did the course, did two years in Seattle, and then was moved back to New York to Missing Persons. Which is how I got the Missing Persons assignment after only two years on the job," he added, having known that Danny had been vociferous in his objections to "Martin's" assignment based on who his daddy was.

WATWATWAT

Danny stared at Martin as he finished telling the story. Michael. Damnit. Couldn't the man have picked a more different name? Well, he rationalised, maybe not, seeing as his parents had picked one and the Fitzgeralds had picked the other for their own son, whom Michael allegedly resembled and was currently pretending to be.

Michael stared back apprehensively, apparently waiting for Danny to freak out, or laugh in his face, or call Jack and tell him that his team mate had gone bat-shit insane and ask for a rubber room to be reserved for him.

Danny decided to take the bull by the horns. "You really were built by a mad scientist?" he asked, poking Mar- Michael in the side, almost as if he expected his finger to sink in. He really hadn't been expecting Michael's ticklish squeak of surprise.

From the startled expression on his face, Michael hadn't either.

They stared at each other for a moment, before Michael pushed Danny's hand away. "Doc Morris wasn't mad. Just a little… off centre, that's all."

As though he could see no reason not to defend the man. The man who had brought him back to life and then told him that the catch was he couldn't see his loved ones again. Danny was going to have serious words with this doc when he met him.

And to meet him, well, if that meant hanging around Michael to help out with research, well, it wasn't like staying in the other man's company was exactly taxing. Except when it was.

The thought which had been trying to happen since Michael had supplied him with the information finally stormed the keep and pinned Danny in place. "Waaait," he said. "You said you were forty five when you died? Really? Does Jack know? Only, I bet he'd kill to look as good at fifty as you do…"

He trailed off as Michael just stared at him, one brow raised patiently as he waited for Danny to finish. "What?" he protested at the look. "I'm just saying!"

Michael snorted, shaking his head. "I think that maybe that's something you should avoid mentioning to Jack," he informed Danny, who shrugged cheerfully.

"Not like he's allowed to actually kill me," he commented.

"No," said Martin, "He'd just bury you in paperwork and hope you suffocated under the weight of it, and I'd catch flack too because he figures that wherever you lead, I follow and vice versa."

Danny did a fair job of keeping his reaction to that statement under wraps. He was certain Michael hadn't meant it like that. He offered an easy grin, sitting forward. "Speaking of paperwork, man, if there's anything I can do to help with this, you let me know, hey?"

Michael smiled. "Thanks Danny," he said, rising tiredly. "I need a drink. You want a coffee?"

"Sure." Following as Michael entered the kitchen, Danny allowed his eyes to wander, which turned out to be a mistake, because watching Michael for any length of time led to him wanting to do things that were completely off limits.

As Michael paused to retrieve mugs, turning to check if coffee was what Danny wanted, Danny moved into his space and pressed their lips together.

WATWATWAT

Michael stared at Danny as the other man moved away again, almost as fast as he had closed the distance between them, far faster than Michael had suspected the other man was capable of moving. He cautiously raised his hand to his lips, using the movement to hide the way he licked them, curious to see if the taste of Danny's lips lingered on his own.

Academically, yes, he knew both men and women would find something to look at in his current body, but Danny was the first person to act on it since he had pursued Lisa despite Dr Morris admonishments to stay away from her. If he were honest, he was almost relieved that Danny was the first to act on it. Whatever else he was, Danny was a friend, in the same way – well, in much the same way Roger was. Roger had never tried to kiss him. Hell, Michael would never have let him if he had.

And he'd evidently done something wrong already, because Danny was looking at him like he just kicked a puppy.

He blinked. "Danny," he began, as the other man sighed.

"Just get it over with," Danny muttered, looking anywhere but at Michael. "Tell me you're very flattered, but you're not looking for a relationship, or that you're straight, or, or…"

"Danny," Michael tried again, cutting him off. "I was just thinking that fifty one is really a bit old for a crisis of sexuality."

Danny stared at him then, without warning, burst out laughing. As he caught Michael's eye, Michael ducked his head, flashing him a sheepish grin which sobered Danny instantly, a dangerous gleam appearing in his eyes.

Before Michael could react Danny was back in his space again, hands cupping Michael's head, intent now perfectly clear. And, leaning on the worktop to support his suddenly shaky knees, Michael let him. Despite the little voice in his head reminding him of Lisa, and Heather, and the need to find Dr Morris, Michael let his eyes flutter shut and allowed his body to lean into the first human touch he had allowed himself in three years.

He was shaking as Danny pulled away, a fine tremor which had nothing and everything to do with the tender way Danny's lips had caressed his own. It was as Danny's arms came round him that the tremors degenerated into full blown sobs and in lieu of holding onto Danny, of accidentally hurting Danny, he clenched his fists until he felt blood run between his fingers.

Danny held onto him until the sobs had passed, murmuring soothing words in Spanish and stroking Michael's hair gently.

"C'mon," said Danny at long last. "You go to bed and I'll head home. At least tomorrow's the weekend, and it is finally somebody else's turn to be on call."

With a watery smile, Michael was about to do just that, when Danny caught his wrist. "Hey! What's this?" he demanded, pulling Michael closer again and carefully uncurling his fingers to reveal the four perfect, bloody crescents in his palm.

Michael blinked. "It's- I-" he stammered, at a loss for words.

Danny raised a brow, waiting, until Michael sighed in defeat. "Sometimes, I don't trust myself," he murmured. "I don't… People don't touch me," he added, expression pleading with Danny that he understand without too many words. "Not like this."

And somehow, Danny did, because he sighed, shaking his head. "C'mon. We'll get you cleaned up and then you can go to bed."

Michael nodded. "You… You could stay?" he suggested hesitantly.

WATWATWAT

Carefully glossing over Michael's offer – if he did stay, he would doubtless do something to make the other man run screaming from him and he really didn't want that – Danny towed Michael into the bathroom.

Danny snorted softly to himself. So people didn't touch Michael. He had to wonder if that was by design, or if Michael was unconsciously giving people hints to keep their distance. Of course, in the FBI, the name Fitzgerald was a great big hint all of its own, so that accounted for it at least in part.

Keeping tight hold of Michael's wrist; and by the way Michael stiffened at the proprietary hand, he was now convinced that the lack of touch had certainly been by design, at least in part; he switched the faucet on and pushed the hand attached to the wrist he held under the flow, gently coaxing Michael into opening his hand out.

Michael hissed, more in irritation than pain.

Already, as the cool water flowed over Michael's palm, the wounds were looking less angry, less red, than he would have expected, something Danny chalked up to something the mad scientist had dreamed up. First hand clean, he made Michael wrap his hand around a flannel which would never be the same again and gestured imperiously for Michael's other hand.

Meekly, Michael complied, silently allowing Danny to take charge. Idly, Danny wondered if that would extend to the bedroom and then had to have stern words with himself. It would do worse than no good if he were to jump Michael now.

With both hands clean, Danny took a good look at the series of crescents, only to find that they were already scabbing over. Must be something to do with what had been done to the other man. He wondered if it was possible to find this Doc Morris and get him to work his mojo, because really, what law enforcement officer wouldn't want to be able to heal so fast?

"They'll be fine," he told Michael as he frowned at the bloody washcloth before consigning it to the trash can. "And now; I'll see you tomorrow."

He pressed a chaste kiss to Michael's cheek, before leaving the bathroom to retrieve his coat and shoes and head home. He wasn't surprised that Michael didn't emerge from the bathroom before he shut the front door behind himself, but was gratified to hear the lock turn a few moments later, so Michael's sense of self-preservation was evidently still alive and well.

Sighing softly to himself, he headed home.

WATWATWAT

The next day was quiet. Sam, newly returned from her run in with this year's flu bug was incredibly thankful for the fact that they had no live cases, even though ordinarily desk work was not her favourite. She was currently staring at Danny, who kept shooting glances at an oblivious Martin. She recognised that look.

And while she had to agree that Martin was very easy on the eyes, she really didn't think that Danny would dare chase the boss's son so blatantly. Danny looked away from Martin briefly and caught her gaze. She raised her brows at him and got a teasing grin in reply.

So Danny was either trying to drive Martin up the wall – not inconceivable, given their initial hostility towards each other and their still sometimes antagonistic relationship and tendencies towards causing trouble when bored – or Martin was not actually objecting to whatever advances Danny was making. Of course, Sam had seen nothing yet to indicate Martin was even aware of them, so she shook her head in exasperation and returned to her files.

She looked up a few moments later as Martin, still intent upon the papers he had been studying, got to his feet and headed for Jack's office without looking away from them. She looked over at Danny, who was also staring at Martin with something like surprise on his face.

WATWATWAT

Jack looked up from his paperwork at the knock on his door. Michael. He gestured for the guy to enter, only taking in the sheaf of papers he carried as the door swung open. "What is it?" he asked gruffly. The team were supposed to be going through cold cases, but out of deference to whichever government department had funded Dr Morris' creation of Michael, Jack allowed that the Morris case technically counted as a cold case and therefore Michael worked on it when the team had no active cases.

Michael handed him the papers, the same line highlighted on several sheets, its absence conspicuous on older papers. "I think I've found him," he said softly. "And I think someone's been making him continue with his work."

After scanning through the information in front of him, Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. "Making him continue with his work?" Jack echoed. "You're telling me that you've found Doctor Theodore Morris and that he's made more of you?" he demanded of Michael.

Michael had the good grace to look sheepish. "Well, more people like me," he agreed. "But yes. I think I've found the doc," he added. "The lab they've been using looks like it moves around periodically. They've just moved it back to New York. I know New York labs Jack, and this one wasn't here six months ago. It wasn't even here six weeks ago, and it's too well established to be a new start."

He looked over the information Michael had just handed him with a practiced eye. If it had been any other cold case, he wondered, would he green-light further investigation?

"Give me some time to look this over," he said eventually. "I'll see what you've got on this place."

Michael opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it, closed his mouth and nodded instead.

Jack frowned at him. "What were you going to say?" he asked.

Michael shook his head. "Just that… Well, I think I've seen the lab before, maybe a couple of times, but I didn't have the chance to check into it in detail like I have here. I mean, you guys think White Collar is dull, but we usually have cases that last months while we chase things down and dot the 'i's and cross the 't's and it's really not conducive to investigating people running illegal genetics labs that change location every couple of months. I'd need to get my notes to be sure," he added.

That prompted Jack to lean back in his chair and study Michael more closely. "You have time to get your notes now?" he asked speculatively.

Surprised, Michael nodded. "I've got them saved on a couple of discs. All I've got to do is run and grab them. I can be back here in plenty of time if we get called out."

After considering for a moment, Jack nodded. "Go get them. Take Danny with you. We'll see how far we get with this before the next live one. I'll brief the others on Dr Morris while you're out." He caught the odd expression in Michael's eyes. "Well, now's as good a time as any to tell her, seeing as the rest of us know," he informed the other man. "I'll deal with it while you're out, but you get to explain why no-one told her until now."

WATWATWAT

Sam stared as Martin hurried out of Jack's office, making a brief stop by Danny's desk to murmur something before both of them hurried towards the elevator. She exchanged a bemused glance with Viv who shrugged. "Probably got permission to go bring back lunch," the older woman suggested with a smile.

Knowing exactly how motivated the boys could be when it came to their stomachs, Sam nodded with a laugh, agreeing wholeheartedly. "Yeah. And they're probably going to that burger bar Jack keeps warning them away from," she added.

Viv laughed. "And then stopping somewhere healthier on the way back, when they've eaten their burgers. Do they really think they're subtle?"

They were still laughing when Jack called them into his office and asked them to shut the door.

WATWATWAT

"Sam, there's something you need to hear before we discuss any details of the cold case we have a lead on," Jack began without preamble. "It's about Martin, and I'd like for you to listen to it all before asking any questions."

He paused briefly, waiting for her nod of agreement before he began. "Okay, Martin isn't really Martin Fitzgerald. He's called Michael Wiseman, and he was part of a government project until the disappearance of the lead researcher, Dr Theodore Morris. Michael looks a lot like the deceased son of the deputy director, so it was agreed that he would go undercover to try to track down the group who took the doctor.

"He is, first and foremost, an agent of the FBI. With Dr Morris' disappearance happening so long ago, by the time the government admitted it had happened, the investigation could no longer be taken on as a live case, so Michael has been working on it as a cold case, as he worked on the financial records for the project while he was working White Collar."

He paused. Sam blinked at him, continuing to stare in surprise. "You're telling me Martin, our Martin, is part of some secret government project? The man with anti-guile? Does Danny know?"

Jack and Viv exchanged a look. Here was the hard part. "Michael told Danny. Not intentionally. But it turns out that Michael and alcohol don't go together."

Sam snickered. "Let me guess. Mart- Okay. Michael. Michael knew about this already, but Danny fluttered his pretty eyelashes, made cow-eyes and double-dog-dared him and Michael folded like a house of cards?"

"Pretty much," Viv told her dryly.

Jack wanted to defend one or both of the men, but Sam had pretty much hit the nail on the head. "It wasn't even a dare," he clarified for Sam, who clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her mirth. She was taking all this rather well, he noted. "But this is beside the point. Michael has been working on finding Dr Morris for some time now, and he believes he has a lead. He's just gone to collect some files with Danny."

WATWATWAT

Danny leaned on the frame of Michael's bedroom door as the man flipped through an inch thick file he had retrieved from just inside the heating duct. The paper was bible-page fine, evidently to compress the file as much as possible, but it wasn't the paper Michael was after. He pulled out two discs from near the back, tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket and straightened.

"That everything?" Danny asked.

Michael nodded. "Everything," he confirmed, hand briefly moving to the outside of the pocket to touch the burden it held, eyes distant.

"C'mon then. Jack'll be waiting. How you got him to offer to explain things to Sam, I don't know, but you'd better put your vest on for when we get back, because she'll be gunning for you, man."

Shaking his head, Michael pushed the other man from the room. "She'll be gunning for you too, Danny. You knew about it and didn't tell her. That'll make it worse in her book, because I'm an official secret, but you're the one who got the gossip."

Danny stumbled slightly, feet trying to pause while Michael impelled him forwards. "Hey! Wait! She's known me longer. She'll go for you first, which'll give me time to hide!"

Michael had to be smiling; Danny could hear it in his voice. "Ah, but she can't kill me while I'm in Jack's office handing him the file, while you walk past her to get back to your desk…"

The man had a point, Danny had to admit. He huffed in resignation as Michael locked the door behind them and they headed back to the car.

WATWATWAT

Sam was leaning on Danny's desk waiting for them when they arrived. They both glanced around hopefully, looking for Jack or Viv to come to their rescue. "They're in van Doren's office, asking for permission to pursue this. Which means, boys," they both flinched at her tone, "that you both have plenty of time to tell me precisely why neither of you felt you could trust me with this!"

And okay, that made Michael feel like an utter heel. From Danny's expression, he was feeling the same and even though they knew Sam had probably said what she had for precisely that effect, it didn't help that she was actually right.

And it was probably a bad thing that they had delayed answering at all, because she had folded her arms and was tapping her foot impatiently.

They both must have had the same moment of panic, because they both started talking at once, their explanations tripping over each other, and Sam took one look at their faces before bursting out laughing.

"Your faces," she managed between giggles and then had to sit down before she fell over.

Michael and Danny exchanged a look. Women.

"You're… not mad?" Danny asked, looking just as confused as Michael felt.

Still giggling, Sam shook her head, unable to give a verbal answer. After a moment, she took a deep breath, then another, in an attempt to calm herself. "I'm not mad," she managed after a moment. "I mean, I get why neither of you said anything, and besides, I'm only just back from the flu, so I've not had a chance to catch up on the gossip yet.

"However!" she continued, holding up a warning finger when they looked about to start talking, "That means one or both of you get to give me the low down when Dr Morris has been found. Do we have a deal?"

Meekly, they both nodded their assent, neither of them wanting to cross Sam. It wasn't good for the health. Crisis apparently averted, at least for the moment, Michael carefully handed Sam the two discs from his pocket. "Can you copy these? My re-writer's pitching a fit again."

A puzzled look crossed Sam's face, but she held out a hand for the discs. "Sure. This your case file?"

He nodded. "Most of it's financial, but there's some land info and a few death certificates and coroners reports too."

Sam and Danny stared at him. "Murders?" Danny asked.

Michael shrugged. "Could be," he admitted. "But I think we'll have to take down the organisation to get eye-witnesses, because even though the coroner had suspicions in each case, there wasn't enough physical evidence that there had been any wrongdoing."

As they spoke, Sam put the disc into her computer and opened it to copy the files across. "Marti- Sorry, Michael. Where did you get this information?"

He shrugged. "Because of 9/11, the government suddenly got access to a lot of information that they didn't have access to before," he explained softly, "Particularly in cases where terrorism is suspected. And hey, you've kidnapped a scientist who can construct super soldiers, that's going to be viewed as terrorism."

"We're talking about terrorism now?" asked Jack from behind him. He resolutely did not jump, but from Sam's smirk, she had deliberately not warned him. Oh, they were going to be paying for the secrets for a long time.

He cleared his throat as Danny darted in next to Sam, ostensibly to assist in copying the discs but probably more to get himself out of the firing line. "Well, Dr Morris built a person who was stronger, faster and with better endurance than an average person, with a greater ability to withstand injury, so yeah. The government view it as an act of terrorism. I mean, the sort of guys who would kidnap a government scientist probably wouldn't hesitate to commit acts of terrorism as well."

Jack nodded thoughtfully, shooting an amused glance at Danny, who was resolutely staring at the screen of Sam's computer, the tips of his ears pink.

WATWATWAT

Viv let Jack discuss things with Michael while she headed back to her own desk to pull up all the public details she could about Dr Theodore Morris. She knew that Michael would likely already have all this information and more, but it didn't hurt for a second pair of eyes to take a look. They had no idea, after all, if Michael had dismissed something as irrelevant that would later prove to be the key to unlocking the case. After all, it had happened to far older, more experienced agents, and for all Michael was technically over fifty, he was also very new to the FBI.

She saved her searches as Jack called them over to the conference table, picture of Dr Morris already posted on the board.

"Okay," he said. "Dr Theodore Morris. He disappeared approximately six years ago from outside the safe house where Michael here was staying. It is not believed that the kidnappers knew at the time that it was a safe house, but there was a break in subsequent to the project the doctor was working on vacating the premises." He gestured to Michael. "Michael spent his two years in White collar researching the finances of anyone who could potentially be behind Dr Morris' disappearance."

Michael nodded but didn't rise. "I'm not going to lie to you, guys, I'm not an experienced investigator, and I'm probably far too close to this, but I'm the only one who had enough of an interest in this to keep the investigation alive this long. The government has wrapped up the two other investigations into the Doc's disappearance as unsolved in the past year, and I've started to think that it's only a matter of time until mine is wrapped up too. The only reason it hasn't been wrapped up already is that I'm not working it full time."

He paused briefly to push some copies of documents across the table to each of them. "I was going through lab suppliers today, and found a new lab in Queens. It's new to the suppliers in the past few weeks, but it's buying raw materials like an established lab. One supplier said that they used to have an almost identical supply list for a customer based in the Bronx about six years ago, but at one third of the volumes."

Danny snorted. "Let me guess. Six years ago, you lived in the Bronx."

Michael gave the other man a tight nod.

"Three times the supplies," Viv said. "Three times the projects?"

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Michael nodded. "I think so. I think that these guys are a floating lab who have been given Dr Morris by whoever kidnapped him and have been told to put him to work. I also think these are the guys who I just missed in Vegas, Seattle and Bismarck. And I think that one of my handlers is in on it, because not one of my past four reports made it further than my handlers. I can't speak to Deputy Director Fitzgerald, because he's not subtle and someone would kill him for what he knows."

There was silence round the table. Viv looked at everyone's faces, taking in the expressions which varied from surprise to steely determination.

WATWATWAT

And that was something Jack hadn't considered. That someone out there was making more people like Michael. He felt compelled, having known Michael, to call them people and not constructs or, worse, experiments. Three more.

He wondered, briefly, if they would be as human as Michael was when he wasn't acting like he had been designed to act. Wondered of they had survived the process as sane as Michael.

And there was the rub. How did someone survive such a process and stay sane. All joking aside, Jack couldn't imagine it; was surprised at how sane Michael was. He listened with half an ear as the younger looking man went over what he had found, what he had minutes previously discussed with Jack.

As he finished, he looked to Jack to continue.

"With the information Michael has, we should be able to get a good run at this before they realise we're on to them," he told the others. "We do this quickly, and quietly, and we only go in once, with SWAT backup. Sam, Danny, you speak to the supplier. We have a warrant on it's way there, so get in fast and execute it. I want everything on this company before they realise that we have it. Michael, I need you to help Viv dig up everything on Dr Morris, whether you think it's relevant or not. I'll be in with van Doren if you need me for anything. We may need more leverage."

In fact, if someone who had enough political power to be one of Michael's handlers was involved, he was certain that they would need more leverage, but he didn't want to tell his team that. He would see what favours he could trade in and then worry about the rest later.

WATWATWAT

The warrant, coupled with the information Michael provided, was sufficient to get them a search warrant for the lab, causing Michael to sigh in relief. It was almost over. He shot Danny a brief glance from his position amid the SWAT team who were their backup on the raid, and had an almost amused one returned along the same path. It was reassuring in a way that nothing had been for so long, and he had to tear his gaze away before someone noticed the way he was looking at his male team mate.

Danny and Jack would be going in first, and Michael's stomach gave a little flutter of worry, because this was the group which, even if they hadn't been behind the initial kidnap, had been keeping the Doc prisoner for almost four years. Taking a calming breath, he leaned back carefully on the side of the van, staying that way until the van stopped and they began to disembark.

WATWATWAT

It had gone badly from the start, Jack knew, with the suspects' answers a little too pat, too glib to sit right. Someone had known about the warrant and had tipped these guys off. Luckily, teams had covered every conceivable exit from the building, even the one into the old subway station below the building.

It hadn't stopped the three super soldiers the lab had created from bursting through the police cordon with their handler in tow, but it had stopped the group attempting to escape to the subway with Dr Morris.

The tall man was gaunt looking but otherwise healthy, and had greeted Jack with a thankful handshake as he looked around for the one person he was expecting to see.

Jack had looked round too, missing more than one face in the sea of FBI windbreakers. "Damnit," he muttered, pulling out his phone and hitting speed dial two.

'Taylor,' the voice greeted curtly, if a little urgently.

"Danny, where the hell are you?" he demanded of the younger man, worry and anger warring within.

There was a brief silence from Danny then, 'Left! Go left! You can try to cut them off!' before the other man returned his attention to the phone. 'With Michael! We can't let these guys get out! Michael, I said left!'

Michael said something angry and final sounding, causing Danny to snort in disgust and Sam – and he should have known she would have gone with them, just known it, having convinced both herself and them that without proper female supervision they would be worse than useless – shouted something unintelligible at the pair of them.

'We're following them. They're headed dow- whoawhoawhoa! Stop here!'

And he hung up, or dropped the phone, or something equally frustrating, which was going to get him confined to desk duty for the next lifetime if he came back in one piece. If his trio of agents came back in more than one piece each, he was handing them to Dr Morris to vivisect.

WATWATWAT

Danny and Sam followed Martin into the darkened building after the trio of lab creations. Michael had taken one look at their drawn weapons and shaken his head in amusement, but had simply gestured for them to follow him.

They were just at the fourth floor landing when a slightly balding head popped out over the railing two stories above them, closely followed by a pistol. The man took three quick shots, thankfully unaimed, that had all three agents hitting the deck near the wall, before hurrying deeper into the building.

Danny was about to take off after him when Michael grabbed his arm. "Don't! Stay with Sam and make your way up carefully. It's me they can track, not you two."

Sam flicked him a curious glance but returned her attention quickly to the stairwell above them as Michael shrugged. "Long story guys. But they can track me. You two will be safer if we split up. Get that guy; I'll go after the heavyweights."

And with that, he was gone, taking the stairs three at a time and moving faster than he could have with Sam and Danny in tow. They exchanged a glance. "We really need to corner him and find out exactly what he can do," Sam muttered.

Speculatively silent, Danny could only nod his agreement as they began their cautious ascent, this time without their nearly invulnerable cohort.

WATWATWAT

It was Sam who spied the man first. He was little taller than she, and just as lightly built, and more importantly he had yet to notice them, concentrating as he was on the PDA he held.

"That's it," he murmured into what looked like a microphone. "A few more yards and you've got him."

"Yeah?" Danny asked. "A few more yards, and we've got you too."

The man startled, bringing up a gun which clicked empty the first time he pulled the trigger. He stared at it in horror as Danny and Sam both brought their own guns to bear.

"Freeze!" Sam told him, but it was too late; the man had darted around the corner, and the sound of receding footsteps told them that he was beating a swift retreat.

WATWATWAT

Danny emptied his clip into the behemoth bearing down on him, unable at this moment to imagine why he had thought coming to find Michael to warn him about the control the handler had over his charges was a good idea. Between the oncoming soldier's bulletproof vest and his ability to simply absorb damage, the lead slugs made little more impact than to slow him slightly. Danny stared at him in horror as his gun clicked empty, but before he managed to offer up more than a strangled, "Oh shit!" of panic, Michael was there, taking the man to his knees and clamping a vice like grip around his shoulders and chin.

"You were given a choice," he hissed at his captive, "and you made the wrong one."

With that, he snapped the man's neck with a single, practiced twist. "I told you to stay with Sam," he growled as, eyes wide, Danny stared at him.

He continued to stare until Michael dropped the body to the roof and reeled away shakily, emptying his stomach behind one of the air conditioning vents. Somehow, it made the fact that he could snap a man's neck with one twist easier to take, knowing that he wasn't used to it and certainly didn't like doing it.

Hauling himself shakily to his feet, Danny rubbed soothing circles on Michael's back until the dry heaves had stopped. "C'mon," he offered. "The other ones will have heard that. We should move."

WATWATWAT

Michael nodded at Danny's comment, not telling him that they had been hunted since they reached the building; that the trio of Super soldiers were viewing this as an amusing training exercise; and wasn't Michael glad that he had been part of the project before?

He was glad that no-one had tried this before. That no-one had decided that Dr Morris' original project had such horrific potential, although he realised that this was probably the type of thing it was originally intended for.

Pulling Danny across to the stairwell they had emerged from, he made the other man take up a position inside the structure. "Stay here," he told Danny. "I can't be worrying about you, too, so stay in here, take my spare clip and do not move."

Looking like he desperately wanted to protest, Danny nodded mutely, moving down the stairs to a semi-defensible corner on the first small landing. He resolutely put his back to the wall and turned, eyes letting Michael know exactly how much he was hating this.

WATWATWAT

A gunshot made Sam duck behind the railing and race for the exit from the stairwell.

She caught a glimpse of the man who had been issuing the instructions to his trio of super soldiers as they entered the building as she darted through the doorway and pelted down the corridor in search of a weapon. Any weapon. She dismissed the fire axe, certain that she couldn't use it on a fellow human being, no matter the provocation.

The fire hose, on the other hand…

With the water cut off, there was no way to make use of that, but the brass nozzle would make a decent weapon in its own right.

Unwinding it a little and using the axe to slice the nozzle and a length of hose from the reel, Sam waited as the sound of running feet approached the corner she was hiding behind. Either this was the same guy who had fired on her and Danny and he was going to get a nasty surprise when he met the brass nozzle of the fire hose coming in the opposite direction, or. Well, she really didn't want to contemplate or.

The footsteps reached the corner and she swung, hard.

WATWATWAT

The first to find Michael was the female soldier. No lightweight, she was a full three inches taller than Michael, of a height with her male colleagues. A female brain, evidently. The doc had explained about chromosomes and rejection and the bodies own nasties chowing down on parts that didn't fit. It didn't mean he could underestimate her, however.

"C'mon," he cajoled. "You don't want to do this. Can't we talk about this like adults?" He tried to meet the woman's gaze, and was frowning as he met the oddly familiar gaze when the woman landed a crashing blow to his midsection. Luckily he saw it coming and braced – with only partial success for the impact, both of the woman's fist and of the floor rushing up to meet him. He rolled as he hit, coming to his feet in a prepared crouch.

WATWATWAT

There was an abbreviated squawk of surprise, a meaty thunk, and then the sound of a body hitting the floor and Sam breathed again. The handler then. Drawing her pistol, she rounded the corner, but she needn't have worried. No-one with a dent like that in their temple was going to cause much of a problem beyond calling in the cleanup crew.

To be safe, she searched the handler for weapons, confiscating the hold-out pistol and knife that she found. She also put the man's PDA on the floor and stamped her stiletto heel through it, before making her way to the stairs and the roof to join Danny and Michael. And to think, the boys had teased her about her footwear.

WATWATWAT

The female soldier Michael had been fighting collapsed under his next onslaught with a surprised squeak and a startled exclamation of, "Daddy!?"

His fist flew right by her as she toppled, and he froze, horrified. "Heather."

She blinked up at him, before coughing up blood into her hand, eyes studying it with a horrified fascination.

He was moving to her side when he was grabbed from behind in a choke hold similar to the one in which he had put the first soldier he took down. Determined that this was not going to happen, not in front of his daughter, he fought back with everything he had.

Experience and practice, it seemed, were on his side as he managed to get enough leverage behind one arm to bring it into the soldier's ribs with enough force to break bone. Though not of particular concern, the damage was still a shock to the newer construct, and he relaxed his grip in surprise, giving Michael room to work.

The scuffle was short but violent, ending abruptly when Michael slammed his hand open palmed into the other man's nose, releasing a gout of blood and forcing bone fragments into the frontal lobe of the stolen brain.

There was a final crash as the last of the two super soldiers fell to the floor dead, and harmless, at Michael's feet. He took a steadying breath, before making his way carefully to the side of what had once been his daughter.

She gave him a weak smile as he knelt beside her, hauling her battered form partially into his lap so that he could hold her close. "Guess I really wasn't cut out for this sort of thing, huh daddy?" she asked.

Michael managed, somehow, to return the smile, even as his eyes flooded with tears. He stroked her hair back away from her face. "You did wonderfully, honey," he told her, pushing her hair back into some semblance of order. "You did real good."

She gave him one of her patented, "Oh, please!" looks which broke his heart. "I sucked," she murmured. "Really sucked. I should have made sure it was all across my medical records." She had to break off to cough, blood spilling out onto her chin. "Sucks at sports. Lacks coordination. Do not use for crazy;" another cough, "Super soldier scheme."

Her eyes became unfocused as she reached up to lay a hand on Michael's cheek. "I love you daddy," she managed, voice small, before her last breath rattled out of her.

WATWATWAT

In the stillness following Michael's take-down of the last of the super soldiers, Danny and Sam hurried out onto the roof. Dodging Sam's attempt to stop him, Danny made his way to Michael's side and carefully knelt next to him. At Danny's gentle touch on his shoulder, he flinched, clutching the dead super soldier to him.

"I'm guessing," Danny said gently, "that there's more going on here than just someone twisting your Mad Scientist's techniques. You wanna tell me about it?"

For a moment, he didn't think Michael was going to answer him, but then he turned. His face was stark and white, his eyes now dry though tear tracks ran down his cheeks, and Danny realised that Michael was furious. Oh, he might get annoyed in the office, angry with suspects, but nothing like this cold, burning fury that was banked behind blue eyes gone icy and hard. It took everything Danny had not to recoil from the man before him.

"Michael?" he tried again.

"They made me kill my daughter," he ground out, voice as cold and hard as his eyes.

Tightening his grip on Michael's shoulder, Danny leaned closer. "They?"

"The people who took the doc. They made… they took Lisa and Heather and tried to make them like me. Only it went wrong. And…"

He trailed off, turning back to the body in his arms, just as the SWAT team appeared.

With one last squeeze of Michael's shoulder and an admonishment to not move, Danny stood, stalking over to where one of the men in black was arguing with Sam. While Sam wasn't totally sure what was going on – it seemed she had been the only one of the team who had actually accepted Michael as the person he was pretending to be – there was no way she was letting SWAT take over the scene.

A few of the team currently seemed reluctant to exit the stairwell.

"You're a little late, guys," Danny yelled over the sound of their chopper, causing the man who was ostensibly their leader to shoot him a filthy look.

"Yeah," the man demanded, "then why've you let that one live?"

He gestured at Michael, and Danny saw his friend's back stiffen. "Because 'that one' is Agent Martin Fitzgerald of the FBI. You wanna explain to his dad why you shot him? Or Jack Malone, for that matter. He'd have to interview to fill the position, and he hates interviews."

There was a moment's stillness and then the team leader gestured for the helicopter to lift and head back to base. The SWAT team checked the two other bodies on the rooftop, but didn't dare go near Michael, who was gently stroking the hair of the huge woman with her head in his lap.

"What's with him?" the SWAT guy – Rowland, Danny noted now that nametags were reappearing on Tac Vests – asked Danny.

Danny glanced across to where Sam was crouching a short distance from Michael.

Luckily his phone rang as he was about to answer. He shrugged to the SWAT guy and mouthed 'Rookie' to him. It technically wasn't a lie. Michael had only been with the team for six months now. Rowland nodded in understanding as Danny took the call.

"Taylor."

'We've got Morris,' Jack informed him without preamble. 'We're at Bellevue. You wanna bring Michael with you?'

He glanced across to where Sam was giving the newly arrived forensics guys strict instructions about what was to be done with the bodies, and then to Michael, who was staring into space over the edge of the roof.

"Sure thing. We'll be there soon."

'And Danny, don't warn him. I want to see how they both react.'

With a distracted agreement, Danny hung up and dropped his phone back into his pocket before heading over to stand next to Michael.

They stood in silence for a moment, before Michael turned to him, curiosity winning out despite everything. "What did Jack want?"

Danny shrugged. "Wants us at Bellevue to help interview one of the scientists they pulled out of the lab. C'mon. There's a change of clothes in the car."

Michael's expression turned suspicious, but Danny refused to acknowledge it. If he neither confirmed nor denied it, Jack couldn't accuse him of spilling the beans.

WATWATWAT

Looking at the two men, Jack knew that Michael at least suspected who was in the hospital room. He met Danny's gaze with an inquiring one, prompting Danny to shake his head. Well, they'd see. He gestured for Michael to precede him into the room and was watching closely enough that he caught the stiffening of the ostensibly younger man's shoulders under the shirt Danny had leant him. Almost as soon as the rigid posture had appeared, however, the tension, both the new and the old, was draining from Michael and in two quick strides, he was kneeling by the wheelchair Dr Morris was sat impatiently in as he awaited discharge.

"Mr Wiseman," he greeted quietly, placing a hand on Michael's shoulder. "You have my deepest condolences."

Jack was about to ask what for, when Danny shook his head infinitesimally.

"Wasn't your fault, Doc," Michael managed, voice cracked. "You'd already vanished when it happened."

"Still, Mr Wiseman, were it not for my research, it would not have happened."

Michael looked back at Jack and Danny. "Yeah," he murmured, "but I bet my boss has everyone responsible in custody already, so let them be sorry instead." He turned back to Morris. "What happens now, Doc?"

Morris exchanged an exasperated glance with Jack, who shrugged. "Now," he informed Michael, "I am going to sleep for a week, enjoy a proper shower, a proper shave and a proper meal. And then, Mr Wiseman, we will see." He tucked his chin slightly as he took in Michael's expression. "Michael," he said softly, even though Danny was leaning in to hear what was said, "I'm very proud of you. You have done more than I could ever have hoped when my project was given the green light. I want you to remember that, whatever else you think of me."

Jack watched the carefully blank expression on Michael's face crack slightly, a tiny smile showing through despite whatever it was that had Danny wanting to hover like a mother hen. "Thanks, doc," he murmured before standing and moving back towards Jack and Danny, following them out into the hall. With everything done but the reports, Michael didn't look like a super soldier of any description; he just looked tired with the sort of exhaustion that went straight to the bone.

After a moment, Jack reached a decision. "Danny, take Michael home and make sure he gets some rest. Reports can wait until Monday. We'll figure something out with Dr Morris for then. About the reports, Danny!" he added as the agent opened his mouth to protest.

Danny grinned sheepishly at him before turning a speculative gaze on Michael. "Need a lift home?" he asked.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Well, seeing as my car's at the Bureau and you drove us here, what do you think?" he asked.

Shaking his head resignedly, Jack left them to it, heading back to get Dr Morris discharged.

WATWATWAT

Danny could see Michael thinking as he drove them to the other man's apartment. It was just as neat and tidy as the first time he had seen it, not really a home, but a show home. The last time he had been here, he had kissed Michael.

This time it was Michael who initiated the kiss. Danny let him deepen it slightly before pulling away.

"Michael," he said softly as he stroked the other man's cheek, "I'm not offering pity sex."

Michael stared at him for a moment, confused, before resting his forehead on Danny's shoulder, arms dropping down and going around Danny's waist. "That's not-" he began. "I'm not looking for-"

Danny held him close, rubbing slow circles on his back. "Trust me, okay? Go take a shower and I'll get us take out." He pressed his lips to Michael's forehead briefly, before pulling back and giving Michael a slight shove in the direction of the bathroom.

Minutes later, with Michael safely ensconced in the running shower, Danny allowed himself a sigh of frustration. "You, shut up," he muttered, glaring at his crotch which was still indicating its enthusiasm for kissing Michael.

He phoned the deli a couple of blocks away because he knew they delivered, and knew that Michael enjoyed the chicken noodle soup they made. "Damn," he murmured to himself as he hung up. Didn't that just beat all? His first serious girlfriend in college had finally dumped him, at least in part, because he couldn't remember details like that, a trait which had persisted through three further relationships.

He ambled over to Michael's couch and dropped onto it with a sigh. He hadn't even had sex with Michael yet – though he planned on it; dreamed about it – and he could already remember what the man ordered from the deli. A voice which sounded suspiciously like Viv's informed him that if he managed to screw this up despite that, he didn't deserve a relationship, making him snort in exasperation at his subconscious. Of course it would be Viv berating him.

"Problem?"

Danny nearly jumped out of his skin. When had the shower shut off? He turned to look at Michael and blinked as his mouth went dry. The man was standing in the archway into the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel. It was quite a small towel. And Danny was quite sure; well, reasonably sure, at least; that it was probably more to do with this being Michael's space and the whole being-an-experimental-subject-and-having-no-privacy thing, and so not really caring an more who saw him in a state of undress, than it did to do with the kiss Michael had initiate prior to Danny wimping out, but he couldn't swear to it.

"Ah, no. No problem." And was that him squeaking like a teenager confronted with sex for the first time?

Michael moved forward, towel shifting to show the long line of one lean thigh practically up to his hip, and the change in lighting drawing Danny's attention to a droplet of water which was in the process of running down Michael's neck.

He licked his lips.

Michael smirked at him. Honest-to-God smirked at him. He wasn't supposed to smirk like that. It did funny things to Danny's insides and made parts of his body sit up and take notice.

And from the slightly nervous, slightly anticipatory cast his expression gained, Michael had noticed said body parts.

Danny was frozen in place as Michael crossed the room, feeling a great deal of sympathy for butterflies caught by collectors as Michael's blue gaze pinned him in place.

With Michael standing over him as he was, Danny would have agreed to absolutely anything; his protests over not doing pity sex had enthusiastically surrendered in the face of so much skin. His attention gravitated to Michael's nipples, the small nubs peaked in the air conditioned apartment. Had the door buzzer not chosen that moment to sound, Danny would cheerfully have done anything Michael wanted. And with that thought, he thanked everything holy for local delis which delivered.

Michael backed up as Danny stood. No, he decided, he wouldn't want to answer the door dressed in only a towel. It was one thing to be mostly naked in front of someone you had invited in and quite another to answer the door to a perfect stranger with only a towel for cover. It was colder for a start.

Paying the delivery guy, Danny turned in time to see Michael retreating to his bedroom and shook his head in amusement. Food before everything. Although at the moment, Danny really wasn't arguing.

WATWATWAT

When Michael reappeared he was wearing sweatpants and a loose blue t-shirt. Danny grinned at him from his position slouched on the sofa, shirt unfastened down to the top of his undershirt. With a sigh, Michael retrieved his soup and sandwich and settled on the other end of the sofa from Danny, applying himself to his meal with the sort of concentration he usually saved for financial records.

Embarrassed, Danny realised, which spoke volumes about how he would probably have reacted if his towel scheme had succeeded. He let the other man stew for a while longer, finishing his own meal at a much more leisurely pace and giving Michael time to think.

After he had put his own trash in the bin, he settled back onto the sofa, closer to Michael this time, and turned to sit so he could see the other man without twisting. "Grief makes us do funny things," he said softly.

Michael gave no indication of having heard him as he fiddled with the plastic spoon which had arrived with his soup, so Danny forged on.

"You're not ready for a relationship, Michael. Not a physical one, anyway. Not with me, not with anyone. You're still grieving for Lisa and Heather and it was just scraped raw again because of the investigation into that lab and what they did to Heather."

When Michael still didn't look up, Danny scooted closer, pressing the sides of their bodies together and wrapped his arm round Michael's waist. Michael leaned his head onto Danny's shoulder, saying nothing, just soaking up the physical comfort Danny was offering.

"I promise," Danny told him, "When you're ready, I'll be here. But you be sure you're ready, because once I have you, I'm not going to be letting you go, and your Igor-less Mad Scientist can bite me."

That drew a smothered, slightly watery chuckle from Michael and Danny smiled. The other man was at least listening to him, even if it took a while for him to hear what Danny was actually saying. He leaned forward slightly, two fingers lifting Michael's chin so he could look into the other man's too-bright eyes and he leaned in to kiss him gently.

It still amazed him that this incredible man let him get away with this, when he could so easily rip Danny limb from limb.

When Michael tried to deepen the kiss, Danny pulled away. "Now, you need to go sleep like Jack ordered. Believe me; I speak from experience when I say he'll know if you didn't. And I," he continued, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Michael's lips, "I need to go home and do some laundry."

He kissed Michael one last time and stood, moving to retrieve his coat and shoes from the hall cupboard. He turned as he reached the door and startled as he found Michael standing right behind him.

Michael jumped too, evidently not expecting Danny to turn just at that moment, but he recovered faster and took careful hold of Danny's upper arms before he could back away.

For one breathless moment, they stared at each other and Danny hardly dared to breathe as Michael raised one hand to cup the back of Danny's head and pull their lips together. Danny's lips parted in surprise, offering Michael the opportunity to deepen the kiss further than Danny had allowed earlier and Danny moaned softly.

It was over both far too soon and not soon enough and it was with Michael's parting words that Danny came back to himself halfway down the hallway. "I'll hold you to that promise."

WATWATWAT

Danny almost fell off the chair he was using to change the light bulb in his kitchen as there was a knock on his apartment door. Michael, he decided. From the looks he had been shooting Danny all week, it had to be Michael.

He peered through the peep-hole to have his suspicions confirmed. Michael was leaning on the opposite wall, in what appeared to be an attempt to look nonchalant. It just made him look more nervous.

He got points in Danny's book for not bolting as the door opened.

"Hey."

Michael gave him a tight, almost nervous smile in response and pushed away from the wall as Danny gestured for him to enter.

Danny let Michael follow him as far as the kitchen, then turned to face him. "So," he began without preamble. "You've been watching me all week."

Flushing, Michael ducked his head briefly. "You noticed?" he asked, but it was evidently a rhetorical question, because he continued, "Of course you noticed. You're an FBI agent. Noticing is what you do…"

Grinning, Danny leaned back against the counter. "Got it in one, man," he commented cheerfully, arms out to his sides as partial support.

Michael, it seemed, could take a hint, because he was in Danny's space in an instant, arms going around the other man. It had been six weeks, almost to the day, since they had been in a similar position, and it made Danny just a little suspicious. He opened his mouth to protest and was surprised when Michael hushed him, covering his mouth with his palm.

"I know what you're going to say," he murmured. "I know exactly what you're going to say. But listen to me first, okay?"

Curious, Danny nodded, worry easing as Michael removed his hand, only to slide both arms round Danny's waist to hold him close.

Settling closely against Danny, Michael sighed, relaxing slightly as Danny returned the embrace. "I'm always going to miss them, you know?" he asked. "Lisie and I married right out of college, and I'm not going to forget twenty years of marriage."

Danny tightened his arms. "I would never ask you to. You've got to know-"

"Danny!" Michael's voice was firm, brooking no argument. "That's not what I mean. Not at all. I'm not going to forget them. Not Lisa, not Heather. But I've mourned them for nearly four years. And… they wouldn't want that. Not at all. Even if Doc Morris hadn't done what he did, they wouldn't want me to mope around for the rest of my life. Lisa particularly would kick my ass for me," he added and Danny could hear the smile in his voice.

The silence stretched, but it was a comfortable one, until Michael cleared his throat. "I… I guess, what I'm saying, is… is that if you still want me, I'm yours."

WATWATWAT

Michael could feel the silence after his final words. It was heavy, a physical presence in the room with the pair of them, until Danny leaned away slightly, eyes searching. After a moment, a tiny smile appeared on the other man's face and he leaned in to press their lips together, using his own lips to part Michael's. Not that Michael planned on resisting.

The kiss quickly deepened, their tongues brushing against each other slickly, each exploring the other's mouth as their hands worked to loosen clothing, seeking bare skin.

He knew a moment of confusion as Danny pulled away from the kiss, but understood at the gasped, "Bedroom!" Danny managed as Michael slid his hands around Danny's tight ass, squeezing as he pulled their groins into contact. Both men groaned at the sensation, and Danny had to smile at Michael's flushed face and dazed expression.

Pointedly, he pushed Michael back slightly. "C'mon," he insisted, voice rough, "Bedroom. You might be Superman, but this mere mortal would like to carry on without the worktop trying to cut him in half."

Taking a deep breath, which really offered no calming effects at all, Michael leaned his forehead against Danny's and resisted the urge to kiss him again, knowing that if he did they'd never make it to the bedroom.

WATWATWAT

Danny guided Michael to his bedroom, not breaking contact as he methodically stripped him out of his shirt and shed his own with Michael's assistance. He briefly pushed Michael against the wall outside the bedroom to strip him out of his pants and briefs, and paused briefly while on his knees to run his tongue over Michael's dripping cock, making the other man whimper with need.

He smirked as he nipped and kissed his way back up the other man's body, making sure to keep contact all the way and letting the rough denim of his jeans do part of the work for him.

As Michael gasped into Danny's mouth, Danny guided them to the bed, reaching between them to unfasten his jeans only as they reached the bed. One last step, and they were toppling, Danny making sure they fell onto the bed side-by-side. No use freaking Michael out by jumping on him now. They could try that another time.

Apparently, Michael's brain didn't stop working, even during sex however, because as soon as he cottoned on to the fact that they were both naked and in Danny's bed, his enthusiasm waned slightly.

Danny had expected it and was prepared. "No penetration," he murmured in Michael's ear. "Not tonight. Not 'til you're ready." That essential fact communicated, he slipped his hand between them and took Michael's flagging erection firmly in hand. "Just feel," he added, directly into Michael's ear before nipping his earlobe.

WATWATWAT

Michael lay awake for a long time, just watching Danny. No penetration the other man had said, and no penetration he'd meant, but Danny had incredibly talented hands, and that thing he'd done with his tongue – Michael shivered at the memory of it. He hadn't been sure where to put his hands, or even if Danny would like what he did, but they'd both got off and had enjoyed lazy kisses until Danny had fallen asleep.

He was still staring when one dark eye flicked open.

"I can hear you thinking," Danny told him sleepily, reaching out to pull him close.

Michael went with it, letting Danny position him so that he was half lying on the other man, Danny's arms wrapped around his chest, cheek pillowed on Danny's shoulder. "Not regretting it?" Danny asked quietly.

"No," Michael said softly. "Not at all." He craned his neck slightly so that he could look at Danny. "Just thinking."

Danny pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Of course you were," he said. "You never stop."

Michael quirked a brow at him, expression wry. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Danny informed him, "that I'll just have to try harder to short circuit you."

Confused, Michael blinked up at the grinning man, before blinking in realisation. "Oh. Oh!"

Laughing heartily, Danny flipped them so that Michael was on the bottom and kissed him thoroughly.

WATWATWAT

"Mr Wiseman."

Michael jumped and spun away from the window.

Dr Morris frowned at the vaguely guilty expression on his experiment-cum-friend's face and leaned round him to look into the foyer. Seeing who was talking to the receptionist, he sighed. "Mr Wiseman," he said resignedly, "I know how you feel about him. Am I such an ogre that you feel the need to hide your relationship from me? You know that things have changed," and here his glance took in the burger wrapper in the bin – something Michael had the good sense to ignore, "since the last time you were under my care. You have survived in the world for four years, without more than the most basic of checkups, and you have thrived on it.

"The government are perfectly happy for you to continue your employment with the FBI, provided you are able to assist in certain situations. Indeed, they were most gratified to learn you succeeded at Quantico. Despite a few stumbles, you have proven your abilities as a trained investigator, and beyond asking you to please stop eating so much crap, I am not going to ask you to change."

Michael stared at him incredulously as he turned and headed for the stairs, passing a grinning Danny, with whom he exchanged a courteous nod.

"Not even your current relationship," he called as the door began to shut behind him. "And Mr Wiseman? I do not want details."

The Beginning...