Title: Ice Forms Over

Disclaimer: Slash, language, violence, and angst.

POV: Martin

Chapter Four: Finding You Gone

Danny is gone when I get up in the morning. I can't believe that he actually went to work. But it's what I want. I need to be alone. Sure, I spent a lot of time alone while I was in the hospital. How was I to think with doctors, nurses, and beeping machines around me? Danny's apartment is quiet and his bed is comfortable.

I roll over. The wheelchair sits beside the bed. I can't believe I'm stuck in the damn thing. My near fatal wound had healed. I had been discharged from the hospital. Doesn't that mean that I'm fine? A smile forms on my face as I sit up in bed. I'm not supposed to walk around. With Danny at work who will see me? I can walk around all day and when Danny comes home I can pretend I've spent the entire day in my wheelchair. He'll never know. For good measures I'll sit in the damn thing through the lunch hour, just in case Danny decides to come home to check-up on me.

I stand and take a few steps. The pain is nearly too much. I can feel the skin moving and straining. I fall into the wheelchair. The pain dulls but only a little. Sitting on the bedside table are my pills. I pop the top and down a pill. Then I think better of it and take another one. If one pill works fast, two pills should work even faster.

An hour passes before the boredom sets in and I find myself yearning for something to actually do. I've already flipped through the channels on the TV. Nothing is on. None of the books on the shelves seem interesting. The movies, I've seen them all. I feel dirty and grubby. Probably because I haven't showered since the accident. Sponge baths are not worth the humiliation. The doctor said I couldn't shower because I'd be standing too long. It would be too much a risk. That left me with the choice of taking a bath. I can't even remember the last time I took a bath. Not that I could bath anyway. The only clothes I have are the ones I'm wearing.

The clock chimes the hour. It's only ten in the morning. That gives me two hours to get to my apartment and back before Danny goes on lunch. I wheel out of the apartment and make sure to lock the door behind me. Danny gave me a key to his place month ago. Told me to drop by any time I wanted to. After the little confession in the hospital the other night, I guess I know why now.

Lucky for me more than half the apartments in the city have elevators. Too bad the elevator in this particular building smells like burned cheese. Just one of the many joys in sharing a building with so many other people. I curse the hospital for giving me an outdated wheelchair as I wheel myself down the sidewalk. How do wheelchair-bound people do this day after day? Half-way to my apartment I stop to catch my breath. Never try to wheel your way through busy city sidewalks. Very few people take notice of you. Those who do look at you like you're a freak. What's worse is when they look at you with pity. Who are they to pity me? The damn wheelchair is just a setback. I'll be back in the field in no time. They can't pity and FBI agent. I put my life on the line to make their nation a safer place to live.

A man bumps into me and the chair is shoved into a wall. "Stupid cripple," I hear the man curse as he stomps away. I bite my tongue and keep my mouth shut. How rude can people be? I rub my knee where it hit the stone wall.

"Jerk," I mutter.

The other people keep going, taking no notice of me or of the incident. No wonder why people went missing in this city. Everyone is too busy to notice the little things in the world that go on around them. If it doesn't involve them, why should they care? While stopped at a red light a car goes speeding by. He hits the puddle near the curb. All the people who had been standing in front of me conveniently move out the way. My clothes get soaked and I hear a few people giggle.

Three blocks from my own place and I lose my nerve. I've been soaked, pushed, overlooked, and even had someone throw their trash at me. I look at my watch. It's already two-thirty in the afternoon. So much for being quick. I never thought to take into account all the breaks I would have to take due to exhaustion. A gust of wind sweeps through the area; it's cold and causes me to shiver. How can I be so dumb? My healed wound feels like fire. I left my pain pills back at Danny's place. I pat down my pockets, seems I left my cell phone in the same place.

"What a great fucking day," I mutter to myself.

At least I have change for the payphone at the corner gas station. I stand to put the change in and punch in the number that I memorized years ago. The phone rings and rings, making me feel like no one is going to pick up the other end. I hear a click as they finally pick up.

"Danny?"

I never thought I'd be so happy to hear his voice. "Uh, hey," is all I say.

"Martin, where the hell are you? I stopped by to check on you during lunch," he says. I knew he would. I was supposed to be back before than. "I've been worried about you. Hell, Jack was going to give you another hour and call the cops if we hadn't heard from you."

"Don't you think calling the cops is a little too much?" I ask.

He chuckles. "Come on, in our line of work you can never be too safe. We make enemies every day. A pissed off killer could have taken the opportunity to kidnap you. Now where are you?"

"I just wanted to get some things from my place, that's all," I say before I give him the address for the gas station.

He tells me to stay put, that he's on his way to get me. Where am I going to go? The sun sets earlier these days. It's only a matter of time before the first snow fall. I shiver involuntarily. I'm cold. I'm sore. And I'm feeling lower than I ever have before. I can't wait to get dried off and somewhere warm. I wait for what feels like forever. A group of kids in baggy pants and shirts in sizes too large hang-out near the edge of the gas station. Every few seconds they glance over at me. They must decide on a course of action because they start to head my way.

"Hey, pops, can we borrow your wheels?" One of them yells.

A black SUV with government plates pulls into the gas station. The tallest of the punks makes a shooting motion at me with his fingers. Just a bunch of stupid juvenile punks that they're cool. I've seen too many of them in my job.

"Something we can do for you guys?" Danny asks as he steps out of the SUV. The gun on his hip is clearly visible.

The punks stop in their tracks, some of them turn around. "We were just trying to help a guy out, that's all," the tall one says.

"Sure," Danny drawls. "Good thing you didn't pull a real gun on my partner here. The FBI doesn't take gun-play too lightly." He turns his attention to me. "Come on, Martin, let's get you back home."

The punks hightail it out of the parking lot. Danny assists me with getting into the car and puts my wheelchair in the backseat. I explain to him why I left. He says he understands but wishes that I had called him instead. He would have taken me over to my place. We head that way now. He tells me to stay in the car, I insist on going up to pick out what I want. After five minutes of arguing he finally relents and lets me go up too. It's nice to see my place, untidy as usual. The ride back to his place is quiet. I'm afraid to say anything. Danny is being so nice to help me out and all I'm doing is causing him problems.

Back at his place we split ways. He goes to the kitchen to start dinner. I head for the shower I've been waiting to take all day. By now it's only four-ten in the afternoon. Jack must have given him the rest of the day off. I wheel myself into the bathroom and close the door. Gingerly I remove my clothes. The wound on my lower abdomen, above my right leg, is red and ugly. I start the water and wait a few minutes for it to warm-up before I limp into the shower.

The water feels pleasant on my skin. I can feel the chill leaving my body. A shock of pain courses through my body. I'd been so eager to take my shower that I had forgotten to take my pain medication. My nerves work overtime and the pain is almost numbing. I slip and fall in the slickness.

"Shit," I yell as my head hits the wall.

There's a knock at the bathroom door. "Martin, are you alright?"

I weigh my options. I can either tell him I'm fine and try to stand, dry off, and get dressed by myself. Or, I can tell him I need help and he can see me in my birthday suit; which, in the long run, would be embarrassing. I sigh. It's time to let go of any pride I have left. The time has come for me to admit that I need help.

"Martin?"

"I fell and hit my head."

"Do you need some help?" He asks.

"That would be nice," I say as I try to stand on my own.

Danny opens the door. He helps me from the shower and to dry off. Not once does he appear uncomfortable in helping me; while I feel a tad ashamed. He leaves me to dress myself, which I do without a problem. I wheel into the bedroom to take a pain pill. I can hear him fussing around in the kitchen and smell dinner. I look around his bedroom. This is the home of a man who hated me when I first started work. The same man is now my closest friend; a friend I would never want to lose. He confessed a secret to me, a secret of his love. Why doesn't that fact bother me? Could it be that I feel the same?