He shut the door behind him and sighed. His dark, empty, cold apartment greeted him, same as every other night, but for some reason it was different tonight.

Perhaps it was he who was different.

Tonight had been a race around the clock to save a father who was trying to save a son.

Something Martin was unfamiliar with.

He sighed again, and made his way to the bedroom, untying his tie along the way, and kicking off his shoes into a corner.

He quickly changed out of his suit, and into a pair of sweats. Shuffling back into the living room, he let himself fall onto the couch in an undignified manner.

He pushed the palms of his hands against his forehead, feeling a migraine coming on. In some bizarre twisted way, he was jealous of Richard. Not the being on death row part, but the part about having a father willing to risk everything for him. Martin had always felt lucky when Victor dropped a dime to call him.

Not that it happened very often.  And when it did, it always went the same route.

You're a failure.

You're messing up my plans for you.

You shouldn't be wasting your time with Jack Malone.

It was never in those words, per se. But Martin could hear them, underlying what Victor called his best intentions.

The phone rang shrilly. Martin groaned, resisting the urge to throw something at it. Though the ringing wasn't helping his headache, he had no desire to talk to anybody right now.

Especially since his sixth sense told him it was his father. Bastard always seemed to know when he was feeling vulnerable.

The phone rang twice more before the machine picked it up.

"Martin?" Damn his sixth sense. Pause on the machine.

"Martin, I just called to say that I just heard about the Wilson case. And I heard that you were the brains behind the whole thing. I'm proud of you."

Martin's jaw dropped, and he sat up a little straighter. Did his dad just say what he thought he said?

"This is exactly the type of work that will get you promoted." Martin flopped back down into the sofa. There it was again. Anything to get Martin away from violent crimes. His father rambled on for a few minutes, but Martin didn't pay attention. The call didn't end with any good tidings or best wishes. Nope, only something Victor would say.

"Call your mother." Click. Now that the call was ended, Martin allowed himself to throw a pillow at the phone. It missed by a mile. He closed his eyes, and allowed himself to drift off slightly, awakening when he heard the sounds of a key in the lock.

He smiled slightly as Samantha walked in, obviously coming straight from the office. "Hey."

God her smile was contagious. "Hey yourself." She responded, flopping down next to him, burying her head in his shoulder. "Mmm you feel good." She murmured.

"So do you." He said huskily, partly from the need to sleep, partly from being in proximity of the woman he loved.

"I think Danny knows something's up." She said suddenly. "He gave a grin bigger than the Cheshire Cat's when I left."

"Oh well." Martin murmured, too sleepy to really care. All was silent for a few moments.

"We're missing a pillow." Samantha said suddenly, quite randomly in Martin's opinion.

"It's over there." He gestured with his hand. "I threw it at the phone."

"Why'd you do that?"

"My dad called." He said, sheepishly. He was probably the only person in the country who threw pillows because his father called. She nodded slightly.

"What'd he have to say?" She asked, feeling the pull of sleep come over her as well.

"It's on the machine." Martin said simply, not wanting to go over it. She nodded.

"Let's go to bed." She yawned, standing up and pulling on his hand. He complied, and with minutes found himself in bed, with Samantha curled up against him.

So maybe he didn't share the bond that Richard had with his father, he still had people that loved and needed him.