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chapter two

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they say every man goes blind in his heart
they say everybody steals somebody's heart away
and i got nothing more to say about it
nothing more than you would me
-Mazzy Star, "Flowers In December"

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"So what you're saying is that your entire team is under a lot of stress right now?" Lisa Harris' calculated words echoed in her office.

Martin sighed, leaning back against the sofa where he sat. "Yeah, you could say that."

"It's not about what I say," Lisa replied, prompting with a slight tone of condescension that only therapists seem to get away with. "Where do you fit in all of this? There must be some reason why you're back to see me all of a sudden."

"My sponsor suggested that I come in," he admitted passively. "I'm coming up on the one year mark, and he thought it would be a good idea."

"Well, you're here."

His shoulders sagged. "I guess I am."

"And there's nothing big that's bothering you?" Lisa probed further, raising an eyebrow in quiet disbelief.

"Not really." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, suddenly feeling suffocated by his shirt collar.

"I see," she said. "You mentioned that you have been overloaded with cases and haven't had a lot of down time recently." Martin gave a small nod of assent. "One of those cases was Samantha's sister, right?"

"Yeah, it was." His hands inadvertently went to adjust his tie. "Jack and Sam found her late yesterday afternoon in Kenosha. Jack said she's going to be fine."

"That's good news, then," Lisa led. "But how are you feeling about it?"

Martin sighed; he had hoped to avoid this question. He braced himself, but spoke somewhat absent-mindedly. "I feel fine. We found Emily; we did our job."

"Martin, it's perfectly normal to feel a little bit weird about a case that hits so close to your own team," Lisa said soothingly. "Especially given your history with Samantha."

He swallowed hard, considering how he wanted to reply. He rarely spoke of his relationship with Samantha when he was in sessions with Lisa; it somehow didn't feel right, knowing that Sam also talked to Lisa on occasion - although rarely of her own free will. As a matter of fact, he rarely spoke of their relationship with anyone except his sponsor. It was simply easier that way, to keep their relationship as private as she had wished; it reduced the amount of awkward moments in the break room and with other more casual office acquaintances and co-workers.

He was approaching one year sober, though, and Danny was beginning to bother him about getting back out on the dating scene. He supposed he would cross that bridge when he came to it, but it wasn't a thought he relished. His sponsor warned against using his addiction as a crutch in regards to romance, advising that he should neither use it as an excuse for nor an excuse against.

"It didn't feel right," he finally admitted, crossing his arms protectively across his chest. "It felt like we were prying into Sam's life, and I know Sam didn't want that. She didn't call us for a reason."

"You don't think she'll appreciate it in the end?"

Martin shrugged his shoulders, his arms still crossed. "We'll see when she comes in tomorrow morning, I guess."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Lisa assured him calmly. "You said it yourself: you were just doing your job. Samantha knows that as much as anyone else."

"Vivian said as much," Martin released a quiet laugh. "She said if she ever got tasered, that we should pry into anything we could."

Lisa nodded. "What would you have done if you were in Samantha's shoes?"

His heart skipped a beat, then began to race furiously.

It had been nearly three years since Aunt Bonnie's death, and the sharp pain her memory conjured had only just diffused into a dull ache.

He bit his tongue. He understood the desire for privacy, maybe a little more than he would care to admit.

Martin's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that they were beginning to go white. He pushed his foot down on the gas pedal the second the light changed from red to green, and his car accelerated forward with a jolt. He nearly hit the car that tried to eek through the light on the street that ran perpendicular, and he struck the palm of his hand forcefully against his horn. It felt somewhat cathartic.

His cousin Jamie had called him in a panic about twenty minutes ago, and he had barely even remembered to call his rock climbing buddy, Rick, to cancel. All he could think about was getting to his aunt and uncle's house and doing anything he could to figure out where Aunt Bonnie was.

He tried desperately to rationalize as he weaved in and out of the early afternoon traffic. Aunt Bonnie was always busy and full of life; everyone adored her. It would come as no surprise to him if she had simply stopped off at the store and run into an old neighbor, and had simply become distracted in her excitement to catch up with a friend.

But try as he might, his intuition warned him that it might not be that simple.

As he approached New York City limits and neared the suburbs where the Tolands resided, he contemplated calling the team and asking for help. He knew they would be happy to assist in any way they could. But something was holding him back. If something had gone terribly awry, he wasn't sure he wanted the team knowing in an official capacity. His profile in the Bureau drew enough attention just from his father's name alone; he did not want the rest of his family to be dragged through the Bureau gossip mill. Not on something like this.

In an unofficial investigation, however, it would be helpful to have one of his colleagues around to bounce ideas off of, or to offer input. And Martin knew that if he asked, any of his co-workers would be there. He wouldn't call Jack, though. Jack was his boss, and he did not want to run the risk of this becoming more official if Jack decided it need be. Vivian had her own son to consider, and she rarely got to spend time with Reggie as it was. Danny had become a good friend after they had started off on the wrong foot, but he wasn't necessarily the confidant he would choose given Danny's tendency to run his mouth.

It all came down to one person, then: Samantha. He nodded to himself, absent-mindedly wondering why the idea didn't occur to him sooner. He didn't want to bother her on her weekend off, but his fingers had pressed the speed dial to her cell phone before he could stop himself.

He held his breath as her cell phone rang four times before she picked up.

"Hello?" She answered.

He fought a small smile. This was not her usual, no-nonsense Special Agent voice. This was Sam on her weekend off.

"Hey, Sam. It's... it's Martin."

"Oh. Hey, Martin," she greeted cheerily. "How are you?"

"I'm, uh-- Listen, I wanted to ask a favor." He willed his voice to sound more confident than he felt under the circumstances.

"Sure. What's up?"

"I--" He paused. She hadn't mentioned any big plans for the weekend, just laundry. But still, he didn't want to interrupt if she had something else important to do. "You're not busy this afternoon. Are you?"

"No, not really," Sam said. "I managed to get all of my laundry in before my crazy neighbors monopolized the machines, so my afternoon is pretty open." She paused and laughed. "I have to tell you, though, rock climbing isn't really my thing."


He released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and felt his face flush. They had only mentioned their weekend plans in passing, but she had remembered.

"I, uh-- It's not that," he stammered, suddenly nervous.

Her voice suddenly sounded concerned. "Is everything alright, Martin?"

"I'm not sure." A chill ran down his spine. "I just got a call from my cousin Jamie. She said my aunt Bonnie left the house to visit a friend who lives a few blocks away at a little bit before 11:00 this morning. No one has heard from her since, and the Saltzmans said she never showed up... My aunt, she's being treated for breast cancer, and Uncle Roger and my cousins are panicking."

"Oh, wow." Sam breathed softly. He could barely hear her voice on the line. "Martin, I'm so sorry. What do you know?"

"Honestly," he replied, his voice matching the soft, subdued tone in hers, "not much. I'm on my way to the house right now to see what I can find out."

"What can I do to help?" She said finally; her tone rising, but concern still evident in her voice.

His left foot bounced nervously against the seat as his focus shifted briefly to the car accident up ahead on the side of the road.

"Martin?" Her voice grew more insistent. "Martin, are you there?"

"Yeah, sorry." He sighed. "I just--"

"What's the address?" She asked.

"140 Clairmont Lane," he said. "Sam, you don't have to. I mean, if you have other plans--"

"You shouldn't do this alone, Martin. I'll be there as soon as I can," she replied in kind. "Do you want me to call the rest of the team?"

"It's probably nothing," he said quickly. "I don't want to bother them."

"Sure," she agreed. "Whatever you think is best."

His signal grew fuzzy as he drove through an area of highway where he almost never got reception. "Sam, I'm about to lose you, so I better go."

"Okay. I'm on my way out the door."

"I'll, uh, I'll see you when you get there," he said slowly. "I should get reception back in a couple of minutes if you need any help on the directions."

"Great," she replied. "Thanks. I'll see you soon."

They said quick goodbyes as his signal became almost nonexistent, cutting out just as he pressed the "end call" button. He flipped his phone shut and set it down in one of the cup holders to his right.

He ran his now-free hand along his face, massaging his temple. But he felt slightly better knowing that Sam was on her way.

"Martin?" Lisa Harris' voice jarred him from his thoughts.

His posture sagged in defeat. "Sorry."

"What would you have done in a similar situation?" She asked again, her clinical tone of voice becoming more insistent.

He rotated his neck, working out the kinks. His reply came out calmly, his voice never wavering. "I probably would have done the exact same thing."

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To those of you who asked: I am not promising outcomes, but this is, like I said in the intro, inherently MS in design. :)