Debriefing Riggs

Season 2

Episode 3

Born To Run

Was it really that surprising that he ended up alone and drinking in his trailer again? Probably not. This case had been hell. For one, Brooks hadn't been there to have his back, as his captain had attended a mandatory leadership course. Which was bullshit as far as Martin was concerned. Brooks wasn't the average LAPD captain and that was a good thing! The man knew how to run his department and had one of the highest crime solving rates in the USA. They should let him do his job!

Then there was the thing with Palmer. He knew he'd screwed up and he'd wanted to make things up to her, had even bought her flowers and was ready to take their relationship to the next level, but then she'd ended it. He was no fool; he knew he'd brought this on himself, but he regretted the way it had ended. He'd needed more time to get used to being with someone after being alone for such a long time. She had given him a chance and he'd thrown it away.

Gulping down most of the Jack Daniels left in the bottle, he tried to numb the memories that had resurfaced when he'd found out Shaye had been manhandled in such a way it had left bruises. He probably shouldn't have hit Phil, but the man's face had turned into his father's and before he knew, he'd slugged the guy. Flashbacks were a pain in the ass.

Roger knew something was wrong and had tried making him talk, but he refused to expose his partner to the source of filth that lived deep inside his memories. Nathan Riggs had done more than beat him up; that man had broken his mind into so many pieces that he'd never be able to put it all back together again.

The moment before he'd punched Phil he'd been back at home with his father kicking him when he was already down, curled up on the floor, and desperately trying to protect his head and neck from the most savage kicks.

Just one of those things was enough to make him start drinking again, but all of them combined? They'd pushed him over the edge and he'd fallen into that abyss without a chance of escape. Now that he'd finished one bottle, he opened the next, put it to his lips and resumed drinking – he was drowning in so many ways.

"Martin?"

Apparently he was drunk enough to hear voices! Since Brooks wasn't here, he proclaimed himself officially insane. Hearing voices was new!

"Martin, I'm coming in."

That was definitely weird. Frowning, he lowered the bottle and stared at the liquid. Maybe he should see Cahill in the morning and have himself committed, spare her the hassle of having to hunt him down. The door opened unexpectedly, causing Martin to reach for his gun. It might be Brooks' voice, but the boy inside him feared it was Nathan Riggs playing games. What if daddy dearest had tracked him down and was here to end him? To finally finish what he'd started all those years ago?

Brooks found himself starring down the barrel of Martin's Beretta. He fought to stay calm, knowing yelling at the other man would only cause complications. The air inside the trailer was stifling and stank of booze. Martin sat on the floor with his back against the kitchen unit. In his left hand he held a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels and his right still aimed a gun at him. It seemed he'd arrived just in time to prevent the worst.

"Martin? What are you doing? Lower that gun and stop drinking!" He'd acted at once after receiving Roger's phone call. His friend had told him about Martin punching a civilian and the way the Texan had frozen the moment before it happened. Both Roger and he had seen too many survivors not to recognize the tell tale signs of past abuse. It had urged him into action and the moment he'd been able to leave, he'd gone straight to the trailer. He should never have agreed to attend that leadership seminar, but he'd known refusing might cost him his position as a LAPD captain.

"You're not real," Martin whispered. He had trouble voicing his thoughts. For some reason his lips, tongue, and brain refused to function properly. "You're not here."

"Well, I am, and it appears not a minute too early. Put down the gun, Martin. It doesn't do to threaten your captain." Brooks carefully advanced on the drunk man and eventually sat on his heels next to him, hoping to appear less threatening that way. Something in those brown eyes warned him to proceed with caution.

Martin lowered the weapon and it dropped onto the floor. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. Was it really Brooks? It wasn't his father, he knew that for sure. Nathan Riggs would have hit him by now.

"What are you doing, Martin? Give me that." Brooks gently freed the bottle from Martin's fingers and placed it aside. Now that he'd removed all potential weapons, he felt a bit more confident. At least Martin couldn't club him with that bottle. "Why are you on the floor?" he asked, trying to distract the seemingly entranced man.

"What?" Martin blinked. What kind of question was that?

"How much did you drink?" Looking about, Brooks encountered several empty beer bottles, an empty bottle of scotch and the Jack Daniels Martin had been in the process of drinking. At least he didn't see any weed. Combining drugs always complicated matters.

"Not enough," Martin mused as he cocked his head and tried focusing on his visitor. "Why are you here and not there?"

"I left the moment the seminar ended." Brooks spied some bottled water, uncapped it, and handed it to the younger man. "Drink that instead." Sobering up Martin would be hard. Maybe it was best to let him sleep it off.

"That's water!" Martin complained, giving the bottle a disgusted look. He wasn't drinking that!

"Yes, it is. No more booze for you. I thought you were sober these days!" While removing empty beer bottles, bullets, and even a knife from the couch, he shook his head in disapproval. "I can't leave you alone, can I?" The next time he had to go away he would make sure Roger, or maybe even Todd, kept a close eye on Martin . "Let's do this."

Martin had no idea what the older man was up to, but caught on when Brooks tried to haul his sorry ass onto the couch. He moved along, trying to cooperate, but he was sluggish and his body a dead weight.

In the end, Brooks managed to move him onto the couch. After gathering a blanket, he covered Martin with it and then sat down in the chair, which he pulled closer to the couch. "What did you do to yourself?" he muttered beneath his breath.

"I got drunk," Martin said, thinking it self-exploratory.

"I can see that. But why?" Brooks decided against bringing up Roger's phone call. Martin should be sober when discussing that.

"Didn't want to feel," Martin confessed weakly. He closed his eyes, turned onto his side facing away from Brooks, and pulled the blanket over his face, hiding from the memories and most of all from Nathan Riggs. The bastard would probably find him in his nightmares though. He knew better than to think he'd escape that monster.

"We'll talk about that when you're sober," Brooks said decisively. "Sleep it off. I'll stay. You're not alone, Martin." No way would he leave the young man alone tonight. He'd keep a close eye indeed.

"Suit yourself," Martin mumbled, already half asleep. He didn't want to go to sleep though – it was where the monster lived, ready to pounce on him and draw him under.

"Martin, you're safe. Just sleep it off. I'll watch over you." Brooks noticed the tension in Martin's body and the way he'd covered himself with the blanket, as if hiding himself from view.

Emotionally exhausted and with the booze wrecking havoc on his system, Martin's body shut down. He slipped into sleep without realizing it.

"I do hope you have coffee though," Brooks pondered. He had the feeling he was in for a long and exhausting night.

/

His suspicion turned out to be true. Throughout the night, Martin suffered from several nightmares. Brooks did his best to soothe the restless man, but Martin would crawl away from him, begging him to stop. It didn't take Brooks long to realize why Martin was trying to get away from him; namely in order to avoid getting kicked and punched. While dreaming, Martin didn't fight back, he just took the abuse and whimpered.

When morning came, Brooks felt every bit as exhausted as Martin looked. He'd finally found out why Martin had been put into foster care; he'd been brutally abused at home. Martin kept begging his father to stop hurting him. Each time he heard it, the plea broke his heart.

The first rays of sunlight finally touched the trailer and warmed the interior, bathing everything in a soothing, golden light. Brooks soaked up the light, letting it warm him. Martin would wake up soon, and then he had to deal with the emotional storm that would surely follow.

/

Martin's mouth felt awfully dry. His back hurt, his head pounded like mad, and his body protested even the smallest motion. He suffered hangovers before, but seldom to this extent. Not to mention the nightmares that had tormented him throughout the night. He felt like both an emotional and physical wreck. Ever since he'd started working for the LAPD he hadn't taken a day off, but he might have to do so today. He was in no shape to work.

"So, you finally decided to rejoin the living?"

Hearing Brooks' voice so unexpectedly, and even worse, from so close, sent a shock through his system. What the fuck?

"Not feeling great, I assume? Do you keep aspirin here?"

Did he smell coffee? It almost sent him hurling, but he managed to repress the reflex. "What?" he managed – barely though.

"I don't think there's a magic hangover cure for you today. Aspirin might help. Lots of water too." Brooks nursed his coffee and watched Martin slowly turn onto his other side. Scruffy hair hid some of Martin's features, but when those brown eyes opened, he saw the shame in them. Martin instantly closed them, probably because the sunlight hurt, but that single moment had been enough. Martin knew what had happened last night; he remembered it all.

"What are you doing here?" He spied at Brooks from between half closed eyelids. The light hurt, but the discomfort was bearable. He'd brought this down on himself, so he should also bear the consequences.

"Looking after you." Brooks sipped from his coffee and carefully studied his charge. "Are you still tired?"

"A bit, but I'll manage." Dialing down the pain, he pushed himself upright. He instantly regretted it though as nausea hit him.

Brooks however was prepared, handing Martin the waste basket to throw up in. He sat down next to him and moved the unruly hair away from the face. It didn't taken Martin long to empty his stomach and Brooks quickly went outside to dispose of it. Once back, he offered him the bottled water again, which the Texan accepted.

He felt marginally better now that he'd gotten it all out of his system and gratefully drank the water. Having Brooks watch him throw up was something he wasn't proud of and he cringed, realizing what a pitiful impression he made. "Sorry," he whispered, apologizing for his behavior.

"That's not necessary," Brooks assured Martin. "We should focus on you being comfortable for the time being. You do realize we need to talk about this?"

Which made Martin cringe all over again. He didn't want to talk it over! But then again, he figured he owed Brooks some answers. "Not now," he begged, as his head was killing him.

"Not yet," Brooks agreed, "But soon. I do want answers, Martin."

Hearing that caused shivers to run down his spine. Brooks knew too much already, especially now that the older man knew about his nightmares. He knew he tended to trash in his sleep and to get vocal when the dreams were at their worst. Molly and Jack had often stayed with him when he'd had an especially bad night. He should be grateful Brooks was giving him the time to recover.

"Can you eat?"

Brooks' question almost trigged another bout of nausea. "Please, no food," he begged. He didn't have much to eat at the trailer any way.

"You're missing out on an amazing sandwich," Brooks hinted as he uncovered the food and started eating. Seeing Martin's confusion, he explained, "Todd dropped off some supplies before heading to work. I come fully supplied!" Hopefully some humor helped defuse the situation.

So Brooks had dragged Todd into this mess too? Martin sighed and pressed deeper into the comfort of the couch. Sitting upright was taxing and he desperately wanted to get horizontal again.

"Still nauseous and tired?"

Martin nodded carefully. "Yeah."

"Then lie down and get more sleep. It's probably the best cure for now."

Martin didn't need to be told twice. He stretched onto his side, pulled his knees close to his chest and covered himself up with the blanket. "You don't have to stay." He didn't want Brooks cooped up in here with him. "You should go to work."

"No, I'm not supposed to return from that seminar until tomorrow, so we're good." He'd rather monitor Martin.

"You'll get bored," he whispered, already on his way to drift back into sleep again.

"I can deal with that." Brooks watched the young man go back to sleep and then finished his sandwich. While getting a refill, he examined the trailer more close, encountering a shitload of weapons and several military items. Martin was well prepared in case of an attack. He sat down again and continued to study the Texan, trying to come up with ways to address the real issue later.

/

His headache had thankfully receded when he woke up the next time. His stomach felt empty and he was hungry, which was a sure sign that the worst was behind him Stalling, he kept his eyes tightly closed, listening to the soft swooshing sound of waves drifting into the trailer. A refreshing breeze had removed all remaining stench from his drinking excess and rays of sunlight warmed his skin.

"I know you're awake," Brooks said, calling Martin on his act. "You should eat and drink some water. Maybe even shower if you feel up to it. You look a bit more human than before," he quipped, despite the fact that he genuinely worried about the younger man. This time around the nightmares hadn't been that bad, but Martin's sleep had been restless nonetheless.

Martin pushed the blanket out of his way and gingerly met Brooks' questioning gaze. "I feel better," he acknowledged, wanting to reassure his captain. "I'm sorry about everything," he apologized, guiltily.

"As I said earlier, apologies aren't necessary. What do you want to do first? Eat or shower?"

"Is that your way of telling me that I stink?" Martin joked, but his heart wasn't in it. He smelled, he knew that. "Shower first, I guess." He pushed himself to his feet, tested his balance which proved fine, and headed for the shower. "I'm guessing telling you to go home won't work?"

"That's correct," Brooks replied, feeling relieved at seeing Martin steady on his feet. "I'm making more coffee. You want some too?"

"Yeah." Now that his stomach cooperated he could do with some caffeine. He retreated into the shower, striped, and tossed his dirty clothes in a corner. Stepping beneath the feeble spray he tried to clean himself up. He even washed his hair for once. A few minutes later, he wrapped a towel around his wet hair, and after drying his skin, wrapped another one around his waist. Damn, he'd forgotten to bring some clothes in here.

Stepping back into the trailer's main area, he found the table set with coffee and sandwiches. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recalled Brooks telling him that Todd had dropped off food earlier in the day.

Considering the Texan's lifestyle, Brooks was surprised to find the younger man in such a good physical shape. Martin didn't strike him as the kind of guy who hit the gym regularly and yet, he was all rippling muscle. Nature had indeed been kind to Martin Riggs.

"Just getting dressed." Martin picked up boxers, a relatively clean shirt and passable jeans, which he quickly slipped into. He ran a hand through his unruly mob of hair in an attempt to tuck the long strands behind his ear. However, his hair tended to curl when it was wet and he merely succeeded in messing it up further.

Eventually he sat down opposite Brooks and mouthed a thanks upon accepting a mug of hot, black coffee. "I really screwed up, didn't I?" He buried his fingers in his damp hair, thinking he should apologize properly.

"It could have been worse," Brooks stated, which drew Martin's attention. Now that he'd established eye contact, he continued, "You didn't blow up the trailer, didn't demolish the beach, and you're alive! You're even in one piece, I consider that a win!" Catching Martin chuckle, he realized their friendship was still intact and maybe even stronger than before. Martin had truly bonded with him.

"I happen to like this beach. It was Miranda's favorite spot. She always came here to think."

That explained why Martin had picked this beach to park his trailer on. Brooks noticed the open expression, the tell tale signs of nervousness haunting the Texan and knew he had to be careful. "Eat something."

Reluctantly Martin picked up a sandwich and started eating, not really tasting a thing. He knew this was merely the beginning. Brooks wouldn't let this go, and maybe, deep down in his heart, he counted on his captain to call him on his bullshit. "What do you want to know?" he asked after finishing the sandwich. Although his stomach behaved, he didn't want another one. Maybe later, once Brooks had finished interrogating him.

A lot, but he knew better than to overwhelm Martin, who was still struggling with what had happened. "While I was at that seminar, Roger called me. He told me you'd punched a civilian named Phil. Apparently he'd left bruises on a girl. Roger mentioned you freezing up before you hit the guy. Why don't we start with what happened there?"

Martin nodded; realizing only too well that there was no easy way to do this; he just had to face it and man up. "Yeah, I did punch the guy. He was an abusive bastard."

Brooks tried to make eye contact again, but this time, Martin's gaze was fastened on his coffee mug. "What happened when you froze? Roger has this theory, but I want to hear it from you."

Martin sat back, rested his head against the back of the couch, and stared at the ceiling. He really didn't want to do this, but Brooks would find out sooner or later. If he got this over with now, they might be able to move on. Or maybe he'd lose the guy's friendship because of what happened to him as a kid. He hoped not.

"Martin, I won't judge. I merely want to understand what you're going through. I'm your friend and here to help." Hopefully Martin knew that in his heart, if not, he would remind him.

"It was a flashback, all right?" Martin closed his eyes, his brow furrowing and his lips forming a tight line.

"A flashback," Brooks repeated, making sure he was getting it right. "What did you remember?" If Martin's nightmares were an indication of the Texan's youth, he had a pretty good picture of what had made Martin punch the guy.

Martin opened his eyes, but stared into his coffee. He couldn't do this while looking at Brooks. "My father used to beat me up. I always had bruises, but I learned to hide them. Jackets cover up a lot, so do long-sleeved shirts and turtle necks." Oh, how he still hated wearing turtlenecks!

Hearing his suspicions confirmed, merely urged Brooks to support the younger man. "Is that why they moved you into foster care?"

Now that was a question he didn't want to get into. "It's complicated," he muttered, hoping Brooks would let it go.

Realizing he needed to back off a little, Brooks tried a different question. "Is it safe to say your father was an alcoholic?" Martin must have gotten his preference for booze somewhere.

"Yeah." Martin sipped and the bitter taste of coffee slid down his throat. "It wasn't that bad while mother was still alive. He got worse after she killed herself." Okay, he hadn't wanted to let that slip either! He looked at Brooks, saw the shock on the older man's face, and quickly returned to staring into his coffee. Why the hell hadn't he thought to phrase that differently? Why hadn't he said – after she died?

"Your mother committed suicide?" Brooks felt in way over his head, but wasn't giving up now that Martin was finally opening up to him. Things were much worse than he'd feared!

"She had cancer and chemo wasn't working. She put a gun to her head and blew out her brains," Martin stated emotionlessly. If he allowed his emotions to get the better of him now, he would end up doing something utterly stupid.

Brooks swallowed hard, feeling for the young man, who was so clearly hurting and fighting so hard to hide it. "I'm sorry."

Martin shrugged. "Not your fault, so don't feel bad about it! That's life." And life was a bitch out to get him.

"So when you punched Phil," Brooks said, trying to get back to safer grounds – relatively safer, "you were remembering what happened at home?"

"In a way," Martin admitted. "I never fought back. My father is build like a brick wall. Even if you hit him, he doesn't budge. And when I was a teenager, I didn't have the punch I pack now. Fighting back only cost energy, which I needed in order to get away from him. When I realized Phil had hurt that girl, I snapped. It won't happen again," he quickly reassured Brooks, hoping his captain wouldn't suspend him over the incident.

"The guy had it coming as far as I'm concerned," Brooks said, shrugging, trying hard to reassure Martin.

"Thanks," mumbled Martin, finishing his coffee. Since the door to the trailer was open, he looked at the waves rolling towards the beach. This was heaven and hell in one. It was the place where he felt closest and the furthest away from Miranda.

They still had a lot to discuss, Brooks knew that, but he also realized Martin was hurting too much to tell him more. So he decided to address it later, when a better opportunity came along. Following the direction of Martin's gaze, he said, "This is a nice spot. I love the sea. I used to be a surfer, but nowadays I hardly find any time for it."

Relieved that Brooks was giving him some breathing space, Martin managed a weak smile. "Never surfed myself. I had to do a lot of swimming and diving as a SEAL. The water was often freezing and the chill always crawled into my bones." Or boiling hot and it would scorch his skin, making it feel like he was burning alive. But he didn't add that; Brooks' expression told him the guy got what he was trying to say. "So what happens now?"

Brooks studied Martin closely and smiled. "Well, we're both back to work in the morning, so we should use the remaining time well. We can watch a little television, stroll down the beach, or go for proper food. What do you feel up to, Martin?" The smile that suddenly surfaced on the younger man's face lit up his features. He had no idea what he had done to cause it though.

"Maybe burgers," Martin suggested. He was ready to eat a decent meal now that his stomach continued to behave. Giving his captain a shy look, he added in a thoughtful voice, "Thanks for not pushing the matter."

"I won't pressure you into talking when you're clearly uncomfortable with the idea. We have time." Brooks got to his feet, stretched, and turned toward the doorway. "Do you know a place which serves decent burgers?"

"The best!" Martin stepped into his boots and followed the older man outside. Opening up hadn't been as bad as he'd feared. Brooks had come through again.

TBC