Part 11
Josiah stomped uncharacteristically into the office and slammed down his thermos. He was normally an even-tempered soul, but when roused, the big profiler had a temper that was frightening.
"May I assume that our own Mr. Tanner has finally wormed his way into your heart?" Ezra commented dryly from the other side of the office after a tense beat of silence.
That earned him a Larabee worthy glare from Josiah. The big man opened his mouth to issue an instant reply but managed to get a measure of control and snapped his jaw shut. Instead, he heaved a huge sigh and reached back cradled the back of his neck with both hand as he stretched and gazed ceilingward. The others in the office visibly relaxed from their frozen states
"That boy can test an angel," Josiah finally muttered as he dropped his hands.
"Vin's feeling pretty trapped these days," JD commented. "I feel sorry for that therapist lady."
"The third occupational therapist in four weeks," Nathan growled. "He is getting around better, though."
Buck snorted. "Great. More mobility means he can spread the Tanner charm throughout Purgatorio. I shudder at the thought."
Just then Chris stepped into the room from his office and glanced up, noticing Josiah's return. "Vin eat lunch?"
Josiah dropped onto his desk chair. "More or less."
Chris studied him for a moment. "What's that mean, exactly?"
It was obvious the big man was picking his words carefully as he leaned back before speaking. "Well, let's just say that the potato soup from Millard's Bistro blends remarkably well with Vin's kitchen walls."
Chris' lips pressed into a tense, hard line and his fingers wrinkled the papers in his hand as his grip tightened. Buck let out a short laugh whereas JD, Ezra and Nathan chose to be quiet and focus on their leader. They also looked ready to duck.
"He's acting like a two-year-old," Chris finally growled, slamming the papers he held onto Buck's desk a little harder than necessary.
Buck raised an eyebrow and chose not to comment any further.
"When's Martin arriving again? Friday afternoon?" JD asked.
"Late afternoon," Nathan confirmed. "Chris, if Vin's feeling so trapped it may be time for a change of scenery."
Chris nodded and ran a hand through his hair in thought. "Martin's trying to get Vin to go back to New York and it's beginning to sound like a good idea. That's one of his reasons for coming out."
"But he hates the city," JD protested.
"Martin's mom – Katherine – lives outside the city," Chris explained. "He told me that Katherine wants Vin to stay with her for awhile. It's quiet, lots of room, Martin would be close . . ."
"And so would Victor," Buck noted.
"We could wager on who murders who," Ezra said a little too brightly.
"Martin told me that Victor's in DC for the next few months, at least until spring."
Heads nodded all around.
"Sounds like a good set up," Nathan said. "I know none of us wants to admit it, but we can use the break. Getting Vin to comply might be a problem, though."
JD rolled his eyes as Buck laughed. "Now there's an understatement. We can't even get him out to the ranch."
Chris nodded in agreement. "I think letting Martin take the lead on that job is probably best."
The atmosphere of the room lightened considerably.
M7WATM7WATM7WAT
Chris pulled up to the curb near baggage claim and thought again how odd it was to see Vin with short hair. Martin was still using a cane, but had no problem tossing his carry-on bag in the back of the truck.
"Good to see you again, Chris," Martin said when he pulled open the door and settled into the front seat. "Thanks for picking me up but I could have rented a car."
"Not a problem. Vin's Jeep needs some use."
They sat in comfortable silence with the local country station softly playing in the background. When they hit the freeway, Martin broke the quiet.
"So I understand he's been a bit . . . difficult?"
Chris chuckled. He hadn't told Martin any details, but obviously the man could read between the lines. "He's scared and frustrated."
"He told you that?"
Laughing again, Chris shook his head. "Not on you're life. I just know him. You know what I mean." The connection Chris and Vin had only a fraction of the strength that was between the twins, but it was enough for Larabee to know what Vin was going through. And Chris had to deal with his own frustration at not being able to help his friend; it wasn't a good mix and he wondered if it was fair for Martin to shoulder that grief.
As if sensing his thoughts, Martin turned and gave Chris an appraising look. "It's been hard." Not a question.
Chris nodded shortly after a slight pause. "I . . . we keep trying. Something needs to change, because what we're doing now isn't working." He gave Martin a glance. "He's miserable."
Martin took a deep breath and clicked his tongue. "I'll see what I can do. So the rest of the team supports the idea of him coming home with me for awhile?"
"Wholeheartedly," Chris said. "And we're all feeling pretty guilty about that."
They both chuckled and the during the remainder of the ride Martin brought Chris up to date on the FedBomber investigation. It had become more complicated, but any kind of identification was still impossible.
"It looks like he's an expert at changing identity," Martin said. "The only way he can disappear like he does is if he takes over someone else's life. They expect to find a body buried somewhere on the land where the cabin was."
Chris gave him a sharp look. "Murder?"
"It's the only thing that makes sense. The property there has had the same owner for decades, taxes are paid on time and the social security number is still on file and active – well, was active until the cabin burned down."
"So this guy takes over someone's life – that is, social security number and property, at least – by killing the person and getting rid of the body until he has to move on. Then he finds another victim. How does he choose the victims?"
"They'd have to be older, isolated and with no real family ties so no one misses them. That's the what happened with the cabin owner. He must have had a prior identity or identities before but they haven't found any. The F.B.I. no idea about his true identity."
"Creeps like that eventually trip up some how."
"We can only hope. Based on the stuff I saw in that cabin, this guy's been connected to at least a dozen bombings across the country in the past 11 years. This guy's smart."
When they crossed the arbitrary line that defined the outskirts of Purgatorio Chris' thoughts returned to his friend. Being with Martin for just this little while convinced him that a trip east would do nothing but good for Vin. Still, there was a touch of residual guilt that wouldn't be quenched.
M7WATM7WATM7WAT
When Martin hobbled into his brother's building on Chris' heels the meager attempt of holiday decoration did little to cheer him. He could already feel the press of anxiety that emanated from Chris growing stronger. It was hard to believe Christmas was less than a week away; celebrating the holiday was definitely not on his agenda this year. Right now, all he wanted was to ease the load his brother carried.
They mounted the stairs, not at all surprised that the elevator didn't work. By the time they reached Vin's door Martin's ankle was tender. The uncomfortable feeling was overshadowed by the wave of emotion that washed over him just standing in the hall. Martin paused before knocking on the door. Chris tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
"You ready for this?" the ATF team leader asked softly.
"Yeah. Thanks." Martin took his bag from Chris, making it clear he would face his brother alone. Chris looked worried. "It's okay. You're right – he's . . . unsettled."
Chris chuffed at the understatement.
"It's better this way," Martin reassured him. "He knows I'm here. I'll be in close touch."
With a reluctant nod, Chris left. Martin tapped on the door and tried the knob, not surprised it wasn't locked. Pushing the door open he stuck his head into the shadows of Vin's apartment.
It smelled heavy and tangy with sweat. Music played lowly from the living room. The light of the radio glowed on the bookshelf as some instrumental Christmas tune played. Martin stepped in and closed the door behind him after dragging in his suitcase.
"Vin?" he called, squinting as he pulled off his gloves. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the low light. When he thought he could see well enough, he moved into the living room and opened one of the drapes enough to light the room. The place didn't look too bad and Martin attributed it to the rest of Vin's team. They dropped in three times a day to make sure their teammate was eating and taking care of the place. The also took him out to make sure his brother wasn't isolating himself.
"Vin?" Martin called again. He limped his way to the back rooms and tapped on Vin's bedroom door. "Hey, I'm here."
"Martin." Vin's voice carried softly from the direction of the bed.
The room was pitch black. Martin slipped in and carefully moved toward the voice. As he got closer, the stabs of pain he felt in his head made him gasp; Chris told him Vin still suffered from an occasional headache, but he had no idea they were this bad. "Can I get you anything?" he asked softly as he settled on the edge of the bed.
"It'll pass," Vin whispered. Martin took his hand. "I'm glad you're here."
Martin felt the pain that uttering the words caused and squeezed Vin's hand. "Me too." He rubbed his own temple and felt sorry for his brother. Martin was sure he was only feeling a part of what Vin was.
"You take something for it?" Vin's silence answered his question. "I'll get something."
"No," Vin snapped, his grip holding Martin back. "No. Don't want it."
"Vin . . ."
"No. It'll pass."
And it did. The brothers sat there in the dark for nearly an hour before the pain began to ebb. As it did so, their strange connection became stronger and although he tried to hide it, Martin figured out Vin's reluctance at taking the pain killers. He was afraid – afraid of dependence, of accidentally overdosing, of becoming disconnected – and Martin understood every fear.
He also became overwhelmed at the barrage of input assaulting Vin's senses, even in this dark, quiet room. The moderate traffic outside, the soft music in the living room, the breeze brushing the window, the patter of footfall in an upstairs apartment – it all seemed absurdly amplified.
"My God," Martin thought as he sharply inhaled. "How can you stand it?"
"It's getting' worse. It's like the other senses are on overload. It's why I get the headaches. And no, I haven't told anyone. What's the point?"
"I think Chris knows something is off. You can't hide this forever."
"It won't be forever. It can't be."
It was then that Martin first picked up on the depth of Vin's terror. Although he was doing a good job hiding it Martin wonder to what extent the effort was costing his brother.
"I want to take you away for awhile." With that one thought Martin knew Vin understood all the reasons why. Not only was Katherine's house was in the country and away from the constant city noise, but her quiet grace could keep him centered and balanced. Although Vin considered the rest of the team family, he was definitely feeling the pressure of too much attention. They all needed a break, a change, and with this brother's help, Vin realized it.
Even the specter of Victor Fitzgerald on the outskirts was tolerable. In fact, the thought made Vin smile. With Martin taking some of his pain, face relaxed and he chuckled.
"Guess I'll have the opportunity to get to know daddy dearest."
"Not sure he's worth the effort, brother. At least mom'll be there to protect you."
Martin felt a surge of surprise from Vin. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would your mother protect me?"
"Because she didn't when you were five," Martin said quietly out loud. "And she desperately wants to make up for that. She's really stood up for you this past month. It's part of the reason, I think, that dad – Victor – escaped to DC."
"I don't want to cause no trouble between 'em." Vin's soft voice carried in the velvety darkness of the small room. "She don't deserve that."
"You didn't cause anything," Martin clarified. "Victor brought that on all by himself. He made his bed, and now he's got to sleep in it." Martin chuckled. "Chris and the boys were really expecting you to put up a fight over this idea."
A wave of mind-numbing weariness cloaked Martin's thoughts.
"I'm too tired to fight anymore."
Taken aback, Martin felt a spark of alarm and squelched it immediately by taking the admission at face value. Vin's senses were currently so overloaded and overwhelmed that Martin was sure his brother didn't pick up on the quickly quashed feeling. He let go of Vin's hand, and with it, some of their empathetic connection.
"Rest. I'll start making arrangements."
"Sounds good."
Martin left Vin in the darkened room and gently closed the door. Retreating to the living room, he found the phone and started in on the nearly impossible task of booking a flight for the two of them during Christmas week.
He eventually hung after a long, exasperating experience with a harried ticket agent, generally pleased with the results. His ear hurt. Rubbing it tenderly, Martin stood and spied his still unopened suitcase near the door. Stepping over to it, he picked it up and headed toward the guest room, thinking about calling Chris with their plans when he was suddenly hit with a parade of visuals that were more vivid than any dream.
He stumbled, dropping the suitcase and lurched against the hallway wall as he pressed his hands to his temples in an attempt to keep the visions from exploding out of his head. The pictures flicked by at a mind-numbing pace, making him nauseous. He slipped down the wall as if it were physical assault and moaned.
Then, as quickly as they came on, they stopped.
It took Martin several minutes to catch his breath and settle his stomach, and as soon as he knew his knees would hold him he was on his feet and headed to Vin's side. In the darkened room he could hear Vin's heavy breathing. Martin reclaimed his place on the edge of the bed and laid his shaky hand on his brother's thigh. Vin was sitting straight up, trembling and gasping.
When they were both breathing evenly, Martin asked, "What the hell was that?"
"Don't know," Vin thought. "But it's been gettin' worse."
To Be Continued . . .
