Title: Ice Forms Over

Disclaimer: Slash, language, violence, and angst.

POV: Danny

Chapter Five: Looking for Tomorrow

"Did you find Martin yesterday?" Jack asks as he stops by my desk early the next morning.

"Yes, sir, I did," I reply. "He wanted to go home. Last I saw him this morning he was sound a sleep in my bed." Jack raises an eyebrow. "I've been sleeping on the couch. I figured it would be more comfortable for him to sleep on an actual bed." Jack just kept looking at me. "Would you stop staring at me like that?"

"You'll be filling out some paperwork today. I need files sorted," Jack says.

"And? What are Elena and Sam doing?" I'm really not in the mood to do paperwork. I like being out in the field. It's very justifying work to locate missing people and put criminals behind bars.

"They're tracking down a missing school teacher," he replies nonchalantly. I give him a quizzical look. He holds up his hands in defense. "I don't need three agents working one case. It's not high-profile. I believe the girls can handle it."

"Where's Vivian? Can't she do the paperwork?"

"Nope, she's at home. She called in this morning. Her son was sick through the night and he still wasn't feeling well this morning. Viv is going to take him to the doctor," Jack answered.

I sigh. "So I get desk duty."

Jack sits on the edge of my desk. "Look, Danny, I don't want you to think I'm ignoring you. I have very little pull right now. I need to be careful. And so do you."

I don't like the ominous tone in his voice. And did he just threaten me? "Please, don't make me read between the lines. What is it that you're not saying?"

Jack took a quick glance around the office before he answered. "Mr. Fitzgerald isn't happy. Seems he talked with Martin sometime yesterday or very early this morning. Martin won't come home for treatment and that angers his father. When Mr. Fitzgerald found out that Martin is staying with you he paid me a visit."

"He didn't yell at you again, did he? Because just like the shooting, this isn't your fault," I interrupted.

He shakes his head. "He pretty much said that you're 'on-call' all day and every day until Martin is back at work. If Martin calls you because he needs something, Mr. Fitzgerald expects you to run to his aid."

I roll my eyes. "I plan on helping Martin with or without his father's permission. Martin is my closest friend."

We make polite chitchat for a few more minutes. Then Jack leaves me to my work. Sorting files is a slow boring job. I have to go through each file to make sure everything is in order. If something has changed since the file was created then I have to fill out more paperwork. I got through cases of abduction and runaways. There are even cases of hostages and slave trades. Humans are amazingly cruel to one another. Every little thing can provoke s person to commit a crime. And some crimes are down right vicious.

Take the case of Lily Taylor. A thirteen-year-old stolen from her bed in the middle of the night and her parents had been the prime suspects. The family was blue-collar and they had no enemies to speak of. Who would want their little girl? We found her four days after she went missing. This case had turned out wrong. We try to return them home alive and well. That was not to be. Someone had it in for the family. They sexually assaulted and then strangled the young girl. Her seventeen-year-old brother came forward and confessed to the crime two hours after the body was found. He was tired of the family playing favorites. Lily got away with everything because she had a higher IQ than her brother. A typical family with a dark secret that they weren't ready to admit. Now one child is gone and the other is in jail.

My lunch hour comes and goes with me still sitting at my desk. Martin doesn't call at all. He must be coping well today. The girls return from their case around quieting time. I overhear them discussing the missing teacher and how she ran away from her abusive husband. I don't blame her for wanting to leave. I was raised to never hit a woman. My parents were firm believers that marriage was a partnership; I feel the same.

The drive is quiet and uneventful as I make my way home. Thoughts of Martin have been at the back of my mind all day. He never once called. Part of me fears that he may have repeated yesterday's actions. The apartment is dark when I open the door. There's no sound.

"Martin?" I close the door behind me. He doesn't answer. "Martin, are you here?"

A moan comes from the bedroom.

I smile. "No wonder why you didn't answer, you must be sleeping."

A few steps away from the kitchen the nagging feeling begins. Dread settles on my shoulders and the intense urge to check on Martin takes over. I turn to make my way to the bedroom. The door is open a crack and the slight glow of the bedside lamp tries to reach out. Hesitantly I push the door open. Martin lies on the bed, eyes closed. From this distance he looks fine. That is, until I notice the way he's shivering and the slight sheen of sweat on his body.

"Martin." I say his name loud hoping it will wake him up. He doesn't open his eyes.

I got to the bed and gently shake him. There's still no response. My hands find the pulse on his neck, giving me little reassurance that things are fine. I place a hand over his forehead. He's burning up. I grab the phone on the bedside table and call for an ambulance. The emergency operator on the other end of the phone tells me to wrap him in blankets and give him some aspirin. She says it'll break the fever and that he'll be fine. Only after I tell her that Martin is an FBI agent getting over a gunshot wound and that he won't wake up does she take the call more seriously. She sends the ambulance and I hang up the phone.

I wrap Martin in the blanket that's folded at the foot of the bed. Then I open the apartment door to give the paramedics one less obstacle. The phone starts to ring shrilly. I argue with myself over whether or not I should answer. It could be my brother calling to chat about his business or it could be Martin's dad calling to check up on him. The chance to answer the phone never comes because the paramedics show before I can make a choice. What should have been a night of talk and TV and dinner is now a night of questions and worry.