Burning Bright – Chapter 1

By: Paints-the-Sky

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Martin, Vivian, or anything else associated with WAT.

Also, the song is "Numb" by Linkin Park, which is also on their album Meteora, or so I am told.

Author's Note: This is the fic formerly-known-as-"Escape." When I started this I fully intended to update weekly and actually finish… but I got the envitable WBFH (Writers Block From Hell) and have let it sit for a good six months. So now I've pulled it out again to finish it, and while I was at it, I re-vamped all the chappies too! So how do you like them apples??? Unless of course you hate apples, then I guess the answer would be "No, thanks, I don't care for them much…" …Sorry.

When I re-vamped it I was left wondering: Why the hell did I name it "Escape"? Since I couldn't come up with an answer, I changed it. The title won't make sense until Chapter 2, simply because I make it a policy to only have one song per chapter. Why you ask? Because I'm a dork. That clear enough for ya, Spanky?

Also, thanks to my beta reader, Peaches, her brutal honesty kept this from getting too corny.

PS: I have gotten some flak (whatever the hell flak is) for making Martin's dad sucha bastard. I have no idea how bastardly he acts on the show, seeing as I have seen Victor Fitzgerald on WAT for all of five seconds. But seeing as it makes the story so much better, (not to mention plausible,) I have molded him into a child-abusing guilt-mongering drunken bastard. Ahh… I feel much better.

Please Read and Review!!!

Martin tossed the papers back on his desk. He was so sick of paper work.

After he had gone off and gotten hurt in the field, it began to pile up at an alarming rate.

He was so tired of this. All this crap.

It was almost three hours after he was supposed to go home, yet

Martin didn't want to go home.

He knew what would be waiting there for him.

His father.

I'm tired of being what you want me to be,

Feeling so faithless,

Lost under the surface,

Another verbal beating. Always the same thing.

How he was such a screw up, how he should have just taken the desk job right under his father, how he was such a mistake.

Don't know what your expecting of me

Put under the pressure

Of walking in your shoes

But it was better than the real beatings he used to get.

He still had scars on his back from the belt, his father's weapon of choice.

At least those weren't as visible as the black eyes and bruises he would get. Once he had to wear long sleeved shirts for a month to cover all the bruises on his arms.

Every step that I take

is another mistake to you

Maybe he should have just done as told, accepted the desk job, been a good son, take up where is father had left off.

And every second I waste,

is more than I can take

Martin almost laughed out loud at that thought. That would have turned out really bad. All the politics, all the bullshit they found so interesting was so pointless to Martin.

He needed to make a difference in the world, to get out in the field, to help people.

His father couldn't see why.

Dad thought this "saving people" business what a load of shit.

He made sure to tell Martin that, too.

"Shouldn't you have been home three hours ago?" asked Vivian as she passed on her way out.

"Yeah, yeah," Martin rose from his chair to grab his coat.

He would have to go home sooner or later. There was no escaping Victor Fitzgerald.

Martin walked out of the building into the pouring rain. It drove into his eyes, blurring his vision, melting all the city lights into twisted little rainbows.

I've become so numb,

I can't feel you there,

I've become so tired,

So much more aware,

I'm becoming less,

All I want to do,

Is be more like me

And be less like you

Lately Martin couldn't see the point.

He couldn't remember why he had joined the FBI in the first place.

He told himself the same old story, to help people, to make a difference in the world. Maybe to find love…

But had he? Did his existence really change anything?

Martin downed another shot of whiskey. And another. Just one more, and maybe he could forget what a disappointment he was.

He was home now, and to his relief, it was empty. Dark, cold, and empty.

"I really need to get a girlfriend," thought Martin

The confrontation with his father would come, one way or another. But, Thank God, not tonight.

Martin thought of his suicide case today. A guy had left his loving wife and kids and just took off. They found him in a cabin up in Maine, but too late, he had shot himself.

Danny had asked him, "How would you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Kill yourself,"

Martin had said bullet to the brain at the time, but now, he wasn't so sure. Samantha's answer, sleeping pills, sounded easier to him.

An overdose.

He could do it right now.

Martin shook himself. These thoughts scared him.

Must be the alcohol, it is the alcohol, he convinced himself.

Still, the pills, and overdose, it would be so easy to escape. So easy.

He got up and made his way to the bathroom where he kept his pills. He flicked on the light.

His refection was instantly visible in the mirror.

He looked tired and broken, only the empty shell of what a human being was supposed to look like.

Martin didn't want to look at himself though.

He opened the mirrored cabinet and took a small white bottle of the self. "Night Time Sleep Aid" read the label.

He popped open the lid and let a stream of little blue pills flow out into his palm.

And I know,

I might end up failing too,

But I know,

You were just like me,

With someone disappointed in you,

I've become so numb,

I can't feel you there,

I've become so tired,

So much more aware,

I'm becoming less,

All I want to do,

Is be more like me,

And be less like you,

He rolled the pills around in his hand, feeling the smooth texture. So easy, So easy.

Author's Note II: Dare I continue? I won't unless you give some reviews!! Also, sorry about the uber-long A/N, I just figured I owed you guys an explanation.