Title: Ice Forms Over
Disclaimer: Slash. Violence. Language. Angst.
POV: Danny
Chapter Nine: A Gamble
Jack hands me an assignment for the day. He gives me permission to take Martin out in the field with me. I smile inside at the thought of spending more time with Martin. He's been back at work for two days now. Things between the team have been a little rocky. The others have been treating him like he's a fragile piece of glass. Every time Sam talks to him he falls into a pit of depression. I've been dying to ask him what's going on.
I catch Martin as he's coming and surprise him with the task at hand. I honestly believe that a day out of the office will do him good. Maybe if he can prove to the others that he can do his job they'll stop treating him like a breakable object. As we hop into the company car I see him bit his bottom lip.
"You okay, Marty?" I question as he starts to sweat. I put a hand on his shoulder. Of course, he's having a panic attack. The last time he was in a car like this he nearly lost his life. "Take a deep breath, it'll be okay. We're just driving to a house in a typical neighborhood. Nothing to worry about."
He flashes me an encouraging smiling. "I just need to face my fears. It's the only way to get over it, right?"
"Right and we'll be fine. We're just checking up on a missing teenager. No politics involved," I say starting the car.
Martin is quiet the entire ride to the scene. I can tell that his mind is replaying the night of the shooting by the way his hands shake and how he leans his head back with his eyes closed. There's no reason to blame him. That night has played out in my mind nearly every night. I don't fear the return of the memories; I spend the time trying to think of how I could have made it different. Than there's the guilt. The guilt of Martin closing in on death while I sustain a concussion and some bruises. Doesn't seem fair, does it?
"What are you thinking about?" Martin finally asks as we pull up to the curb.
"Nothing really important," I reply. What I really want to tell him is that I'm thinking of him. I'm always thinking about him.
"Oh," he sighs. "I've been thinking that I'm not ready for this, I'm not ready to work in the field again."
"Sure you are," I encourage. "You can't let your wound haunt you for the rest of your life."
He must agree with me in silence for he climbs out of the car and follows me toward the house. The place is a small one-story white brick home with a covered porch. Rose bushes grow the length of the cement walkway. A tan mini-van sits in front of a one car garage. The place looks normal and well lived-in. A basketball net rests beside on the ground beside the driveway and a dog toy rests near the front door. I give Martin one more look before knocking on the door. I fight the urge to take his hand and tell him that everything will be alright.
The door opens. A woman in her forties stares out at us. Her mouse-brown hair is up in a loose ponytail. Her clothes are a pair of old gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt proclaiming that she loves New York. She holds the door open to let us in.
"Mrs. Dolbac, I'm Special Agent Taylor and this is my partner, Special Agent Fitzgerald," I introduce. "We're here about your missing son, Ricky."
She nods. "It's nice of you to come but Ricky isn't missing. I keep telling the cops that and they don't believe me."
Martin and I follow her into the living room and seat ourselves on the couch while she sits in a Lay-z-Boy chair. "Could you please explain what you mean, Mrs. Dolbac?" Martin asks.
"Ricky isn't the best son. It's been hard raising him by myself since his father died in a fire," she starts. "Ricky was only ten when that happened. I moved us out here to get away from the memories and thought it would help make Ricky feel better. Instead he made friends with this miscreant named Sean London." I make sure to write down that name. "Sean has had a bad influence on my son. He's gotten Ricky into drinking, gambling and I even caught him stealing from me once."
"Why did you call the cops this morning?" I question.
"Well," she starts off, resting her hands in her lap, "Ricky was here when I went to bed night before last. I was awakened at about four am to hear my son talking on the phone. Not sure who he was talking to but my money is on Sean. Anyway. He kept telling the person on the other end that he'd get them the money by the end of the day. I'm ashamed to say that I went back to bed without asking him what the conversation was about."
"Does he usually get calls early in the morning?" Martin inquires. I glance his way to see him trying hard not to let his thoughts stray from the case at hand.
"If he does, I don't usually hear them. He was gone all day. When I got up this morning at seven am, he was still gone. I called the cops because I know that Ricky is in trouble. They won't do anything unless he's listed as a missing person under unusual circumstances. So I admit I lied to them. I told them that someone had broken in and that they had taken my son," she finishes.
Martin rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "You do know that lying to the cops is a crime, Mrs. Dolbac?"
She nods. Tears form in her eyes. "I'm well aware of that, Agent Fitzgerald. But my son wouldn't run away. The TV that I gave him for his birthday last year is missing from his bedroom. I think he sold it to get the money so that he could pay-off Sean. He hasn't come home or called since yesterday morning. I'm pretty sure that Sean has him holed-up somewhere and won't let him go."
I stand to signify our departure. "In cases like this the kid usually runs away from home. But since you haven't heard from and since he's in debt to someone else we'll take a closer look. My partner and I will track down Sean London and see what we can learn about your son."
We handshakes and the passing of business cards we wish Mrs. Dolbac goodbye. Outside Martin leans against the outside of the car. Sitting inside I call up headquarters and read them the description of our missing teenager. While watching Martin pace I'm hit with the sudden feeling that something bad is going to happen. That's when the call comes through about a teenage boy matching Ricky's description.
I lean out the door. "Hey, we got to go, Martin. Someone spotted our missing teen three blocks from here."