#50 -- Spade
Disclaimer: I own neither Without A Trace, nor the characters involved. They belong to Warner Brothers Television. I make no money from these works, they are for entertainment purposes only.
Title: "Fluffy Blanket or White Flag?"
Fandom: Without A Trace
Character: Martin Fitzgerald
Prompt: #50 Spade
Word Count: 2,500 (approx)
Rating: PG (language)
Spoilers: A major storyline for Season 6…
Author's Notes:: Thank you squeelated and jennukes for the beta.
Fluffy Blanket or White Flag?
"What are you doing?" The acid in Sam's voice violates several OSHA regulations involving hazardous materials. So does the ice, the combination of the two turning the bullpen into a very dangerous workplace.
"Research." Martin moves his cursor away from the browser's 'close' button, since it is clearly far too late to hide his surfing destination. He'd been hoping to do this on the QT, given Sam's sensitivity on the subject, but sometimes he just isn't that lucky.
"Baby furniture." The tone tells him that if he doesn't confess to his own pregnancy rather quickly, he might want to change that search to 'hospital beds' because he'll be living in one for the rest of his probably short, miserable life.
"Have you even thought about this stuff?" He digs into his store of sports knowledge, telling him that sometimes offense is the best defence. "This isn't like going out and buying a new sofa or end-table, you know. You want something that exceeds CPSC standards, not just meets them." He shakes his head. "You have no idea, do you?"
"I am perfectly capable…" Her fingers clench into fists.
"I'm sure you are. You've also got a hell of a lot on your plate. I'm just trying to make your life a little easier." He keeps his voice calm, but can't keep the wariness out of it. Sam, without any interference, is bad enough. Hormonal Sam isn't something he wants to tangle with.
"I don't need…"
"Sam, I've seen your apartment. Where the hell are you going to store diapers? A baby needs somewhere to sleep, somewhere to eat, to be dressed and changed… not to mention travel gear. You're going to need clothes, you're going to need toys," he begins ticking the list off on his fingers, "furniture, safety gear… that place you live is a death-trap. I'm at an advantage. I've done this before."
"You've had a kid." The look she gives him says that not only does she not believe him, but is two seconds away from making sure he never gets to have any.
"No. I'm older brother to someone who has two. If you'll recall, my cousin has one. I'm saying I've done this…" he gestures to encompass her, himself, and the computer, "…before. I've done the pack-mule/delivery-guy/emergency-babysitter/general-gopher/research-assistant/bank-loan-officer job." He decides to leave the 'punching bag' designation out of the mix. His sister was bad enough, but Sam actually knows how to hit someone and he doesn't want to give her ideas. "I know what you need, the things you never think of until it's two in the morning and you have a screaming three-month-old threatening to make your eardrums explode while the landlord is banging on the door telling you that if you don't keep the noise down, he's calling the cops. The things you say you'll get 'later', only 'later' shows up a hell of a lot quicker than you thought it would and the kid is lucky to be alive after sticking something in the electrical socket you thought they couldn't reach yet." He shakes his head, partly in frustration and partly in remembrance. "Thanks to one of my nieces, I know almost every conceivable way a child can hurt itself and still live, and a lot of those you wouldn't even imagine as a problem." He doesn't add that he's seen about ninety-percent of them in her apartment. From unsecured cabinet doors to sharp-edged coffee tables, not to mention that loose drawer pull in the bathroom that would be so easy to pull off and fit into a small mouth. "How's your infant-CPR?"
"My what?"
"I'm just saying it can come in handy. God-willing, you never need it, but…"
"Are you implying…"
"That healthy, developing minds can get into a lot of trouble? Yes." He softens his tone. "Sam, just because you're the one going to be a mother doesn't mean you have to do it alone."
"What's that supposed to mean?" There's more than a hint of suspicion in her voice.
"There is nothing wrong with getting a little help." He looks at her seriously, hoping she doesn't take his next criticism as criticism. "You're about as good at asking for it as I am. Every single one of us will give you a hand, any way we can." He'd planned to give her this info fait-accompli when she was in a better mood, thus saving the embarrassment all-round. "I'd like to say I draw the line at babysitting a sick toddler with an hour's notice, but I've been puked on enough to make that a lie. Now, I know you're a little freaked out over this whole thing…"
She gives him another look, this one stating that he might want to cite his sources for that little tidbit of information, and they'd better be unimpeachable.
"You're taking peoples' heads off the moment they bring it up. I know you, Sam. Any time you get scared, you start trying to make everyone leave you alone. You like handling things on your own, because you like to think you can control yourself, but other people make things messier. Trust me, that is exactly what makes things worse."
"And you know this, because…"
"Sam," he drops his voice automatically, because there's no sense broadcasting to the world even if lot of them might already know, "if you hadn't come knocking down my door… that's where handling it alone got me. Okay? If it helps, consider this a return on that favour… an instalment at least."
She visibly starts to settle, the prickliness disappearing from her expression, and he feels a little better about playing dirty and bringing up his near-death experience. Besides, he does know her, and she is a lot like him. She doesn't take well to being coddled, or patronised, but she understands the need for repayment. As long as she figures he's expiating his guilt, and his guilt towards her in particular, she's more likely to let him get away with it.
Because that's another issue, one he knows bits and pieces of. She doesn't trust him, Danny, or even Jack fully with the welfare of her child, because they're men. On a gut level, she doesn't expect men to have the best interests of children in mind over their own. He can't blame her. She's had some pretty serious reinforcement of that idea over the years. From that angle, their relationship was on borrowed time from nanosecond-one. The more he wanted honesty and permanence, the more she distrusted what he was saying. Sure, it's sexist, but it's less prejudice than phobia in her case. Men have done her some serious damage over the years, creating wounds he couldn't heal in the short time she gave him. Not when hampered by his own injuries and insecurities.
No, he can't blame Sam for not trusting men, not when he has trouble trusting women. It's not a pretty fact, and one he hates to acknowledge, but sometimes he has to. Look what happened when Viv took over. He likes Viv. He respects Viv. He also lied his ass off and ignored her orders like he'd never heard them. With Sam… the more skittish she got, the more he couldn't help but feel that if he didn't get out, she'd pull him under. Half the reason her threats worked when Danny's failed is that he believed she'd betray him, more than he ever believed it of Danny.
"You still could have asked. You don't have to start running my life for me."
"If I'd asked, you would have said no." Not asking, therefore, is far more efficient. "That's why I am asking forgiveness." He hopes that even though they're no longer together, she won't be able to resist his ought-to-be-patented 'aren't I cute and nice, please don't hurt me' face. It's not one he pulls out too often, preferring to win his fights with sharp words, instead. Sometimes, though, a battle calls for heavy artillery. In the sympathy wars, this is the equivalent to a fifteen-megaton nuclear bomb. If she's got even an ounce of maternal instinct, she's going to cave.
"It's just between Danny and Jack… and Elena looking freaked every time I seem even a little spaced like I sometimes am just normally…" A sudden thought seems to occur to her. "Who told you?"
"You did." Not actually told, per se, but he's more than willing to accept the evidence of his own eyes.
"I didn't say…"
"Sam…" He drops his gaze from her face to where she's rounded out just a little, in ways she never would have tolerated otherwise. "I'm not blind. Just because we stopped seeing each other doesn't mean I stopped looking."
"Oh." She blushes, just slightly. "It's that obvious?"
"No… but like I said, I've seen this sort of thing before. I know a lot of the cues. You've changed your eating habits…"
"I have not. As a matter of fact, Danny's been on my case about…"
"Yes, you have. You used to always avoid the powdered sugar jelly donuts, because they made a mess. The other day, you had two, probably because you were craving them. You're driving a little more carefully, which doesn't mean a hell of a lot in your case, but you're also more impatient with other bad drivers than you usually are." He smiles, just slightly. "It used to be when you got nervous you folded your arms at chest height and chewed on your nails. Lately, you're holding them lower. Protectively. I know what it adds up to. I'm not as stupid as you think I am."
"I don't. It's just…"
"Awkward. I know." Martin sighs. "That's why I was kind of hoping you wouldn't catch me until after you'd made things a little more… official. But… since we're kind of past that, who's the lucky guy?" As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he'd bitten his tongue off, instead. The look on her face is a mixture of fear, loathing and a whole lot of hurt.
"Hopefully nobody, okay?"
He nods, slowly. "Want me to take care of him? I'm pretty sure I've worked here long enough to make somebody disappear. Just give me his name, and you make sure you're seen somewhere in public, nowhere near his place…"
At first he's not sure what the sound she makes is, if it's a laugh or a sob, and the hand over her mouth is no clue. Then her knees start to buckle and she sinks slowly to the ground until she's sitting by his desk. "Oh, God. Oh, God. You have no idea how tempted I am to take you up on that offer. The stupid thing is that he wouldn't even have known if I didn't track him down with that waiver in the first place. I just…"
"Didn't want to take a risk." He imagines that if he were in the same situation, he'd have done the same thing. He also can't imagine signing one if it came to that. Not that he imagines this guy's motives are anything like what his own would be. He wants kids. It's the one thing he's wanted in his life even more than this job he's more than willing to die for. He just always assumed he was going to be a dad someday, but as the days keep slipping by, he's beginning to worry. Every breakup, every first date that doesn't even last as long as that, every morning he wakes up alone, remind him that he's running out of time.
That's probably why his first reaction when he realised Sam's condition was anger. They'd been so careful, because Sam didn't want to take the risk. He knows he would have fought harder for the relationship if he'd thought there was a chance. Hell, that's half the reason he ended it. Keeping things secret meant topics like 'us', 'future' and 'family' were automatically out. To find out that the father is some asshole she doesn't even know brings the sting back up to the surface.
He can't really stay mad, though, because he knows for Sam, this is a nightmare. She never talks much about her mother, but he gets the idea she could rival his own. Everything Sam has done in her life has been so she won't turn out like that, and now? Whose face is she seeing when she looks in the mirror? She probably doesn't know whether to laugh, cry, or go completely insane.
"I mean it, though. We're here for you. All of us. Even at three in the morning with a stop at the all-night pharmacy for baby-aspirin and an extra pack of diapers on the way… which happens more often than you want to think about." He smiles, genuinely. "Just be thankful it's only one."
Sam winces. "Don't even say that."
"Been there, done that… referee the fights." His sister has had enough trouble even with another parent around. Sam would end up institutionalised. Chaos is not her forte, and if there is one thing that comes with multiple children at once, that's it. Even with one… he wonders if she's thought ahead to the toddler stage, yet, and the possibility of a child skating on raw eggs across the kitchen floor. He decides not to frighten her.
"I'm surprised…" She closes her eyes and chews on her lip. "I'm surprised you're taking it so well. I expected you to be… I mean I know you always wanted…"
"And you didn't. Fate's got a really frickin' sick sense of humour. I figured that one out a long, long time ago."
She nods, slowly, still not opening her eyes. "So, we're good, then?"
"What else would we be?" Realistically, there are a million answers to that question, but none of them fit the person he is. "Though, I resent the implication of the word 'good.' Personally, I'd describe myself as 'fantastic.'"
"Jerk." She punches his leg and being Sam, it's hard enough to hurt. She's smiling, though, as she stands up. Her face becomes serious again, quickly. "Thanks," she says, softly.
"Anytime. My cubicle is your cubicle. Just don't touch anything. And if it has anything do to with morning sickness, you can use your own garbage can."
"You're a prince."
"I've heard it said, but I keep trying to tell you guys: politics isn't my thing." After all, if he were trying to play heir to the throne, he would have left this place behind ages ago. "Besides, you're the one who doesn't want us babying you. I wouldn't let you puke in my garbage can under normal circumstances, either." He waves at the screen. "So, I'll give this to you when I'm done?"
"Why not?" At least she's resigned to the idea, instead of killing him, now. "I can use it to line the garbage can before I throw up."
He acknowledges the score with a mock wince. "Motherhood isn't going to mellow you, is it?"
"Not a chance."
Good, he thinks, as she walks away. He doesn't want her to change. A kid could do a lot worse than having Sam Spade for a mom. When the time comes, he'll remember to mention that.
Title: "Fluffy Blanket or White Flag?"
Fandom: Without A Trace
Character: Martin Fitzgerald
Prompt: #50 Spade
Word Count: 2,500 (approx)
Rating: PG (language)
Spoilers: A major storyline for Season 6…
Author's Notes:: Thank you squeelated and jennukes for the beta.
Fluffy Blanket or White Flag?
"What are you doing?" The acid in Sam's voice violates several OSHA regulations involving hazardous materials. So does the ice, the combination of the two turning the bullpen into a very dangerous workplace.
"Research." Martin moves his cursor away from the browser's 'close' button, since it is clearly far too late to hide his surfing destination. He'd been hoping to do this on the QT, given Sam's sensitivity on the subject, but sometimes he just isn't that lucky.
"Baby furniture." The tone tells him that if he doesn't confess to his own pregnancy rather quickly, he might want to change that search to 'hospital beds' because he'll be living in one for the rest of his probably short, miserable life.
"Have you even thought about this stuff?" He digs into his store of sports knowledge, telling him that sometimes offense is the best defence. "This isn't like going out and buying a new sofa or end-table, you know. You want something that exceeds CPSC standards, not just meets them." He shakes his head. "You have no idea, do you?"
"I am perfectly capable…" Her fingers clench into fists.
"I'm sure you are. You've also got a hell of a lot on your plate. I'm just trying to make your life a little easier." He keeps his voice calm, but can't keep the wariness out of it. Sam, without any interference, is bad enough. Hormonal Sam isn't something he wants to tangle with.
"I don't need…"
"Sam, I've seen your apartment. Where the hell are you going to store diapers? A baby needs somewhere to sleep, somewhere to eat, to be dressed and changed… not to mention travel gear. You're going to need clothes, you're going to need toys," he begins ticking the list off on his fingers, "furniture, safety gear… that place you live is a death-trap. I'm at an advantage. I've done this before."
"You've had a kid." The look she gives him says that not only does she not believe him, but is two seconds away from making sure he never gets to have any.
"No. I'm older brother to someone who has two. If you'll recall, my cousin has one. I'm saying I've done this…" he gestures to encompass her, himself, and the computer, "…before. I've done the pack-mule/delivery-guy/emergency-babysitter/general-gopher/research-assistant/bank-loan-officer job." He decides to leave the 'punching bag' designation out of the mix. His sister was bad enough, but Sam actually knows how to hit someone and he doesn't want to give her ideas. "I know what you need, the things you never think of until it's two in the morning and you have a screaming three-month-old threatening to make your eardrums explode while the landlord is banging on the door telling you that if you don't keep the noise down, he's calling the cops. The things you say you'll get 'later', only 'later' shows up a hell of a lot quicker than you thought it would and the kid is lucky to be alive after sticking something in the electrical socket you thought they couldn't reach yet." He shakes his head, partly in frustration and partly in remembrance. "Thanks to one of my nieces, I know almost every conceivable way a child can hurt itself and still live, and a lot of those you wouldn't even imagine as a problem." He doesn't add that he's seen about ninety-percent of them in her apartment. From unsecured cabinet doors to sharp-edged coffee tables, not to mention that loose drawer pull in the bathroom that would be so easy to pull off and fit into a small mouth. "How's your infant-CPR?"
"My what?"
"I'm just saying it can come in handy. God-willing, you never need it, but…"
"Are you implying…"
"That healthy, developing minds can get into a lot of trouble? Yes." He softens his tone. "Sam, just because you're the one going to be a mother doesn't mean you have to do it alone."
"What's that supposed to mean?" There's more than a hint of suspicion in her voice.
"There is nothing wrong with getting a little help." He looks at her seriously, hoping she doesn't take his next criticism as criticism. "You're about as good at asking for it as I am. Every single one of us will give you a hand, any way we can." He'd planned to give her this info fait-accompli when she was in a better mood, thus saving the embarrassment all-round. "I'd like to say I draw the line at babysitting a sick toddler with an hour's notice, but I've been puked on enough to make that a lie. Now, I know you're a little freaked out over this whole thing…"
She gives him another look, this one stating that he might want to cite his sources for that little tidbit of information, and they'd better be unimpeachable.
"You're taking peoples' heads off the moment they bring it up. I know you, Sam. Any time you get scared, you start trying to make everyone leave you alone. You like handling things on your own, because you like to think you can control yourself, but other people make things messier. Trust me, that is exactly what makes things worse."
"And you know this, because…"
"Sam," he drops his voice automatically, because there's no sense broadcasting to the world even if lot of them might already know, "if you hadn't come knocking down my door… that's where handling it alone got me. Okay? If it helps, consider this a return on that favour… an instalment at least."
She visibly starts to settle, the prickliness disappearing from her expression, and he feels a little better about playing dirty and bringing up his near-death experience. Besides, he does know her, and she is a lot like him. She doesn't take well to being coddled, or patronised, but she understands the need for repayment. As long as she figures he's expiating his guilt, and his guilt towards her in particular, she's more likely to let him get away with it.
Because that's another issue, one he knows bits and pieces of. She doesn't trust him, Danny, or even Jack fully with the welfare of her child, because they're men. On a gut level, she doesn't expect men to have the best interests of children in mind over their own. He can't blame her. She's had some pretty serious reinforcement of that idea over the years. From that angle, their relationship was on borrowed time from nanosecond-one. The more he wanted honesty and permanence, the more she distrusted what he was saying. Sure, it's sexist, but it's less prejudice than phobia in her case. Men have done her some serious damage over the years, creating wounds he couldn't heal in the short time she gave him. Not when hampered by his own injuries and insecurities.
No, he can't blame Sam for not trusting men, not when he has trouble trusting women. It's not a pretty fact, and one he hates to acknowledge, but sometimes he has to. Look what happened when Viv took over. He likes Viv. He respects Viv. He also lied his ass off and ignored her orders like he'd never heard them. With Sam… the more skittish she got, the more he couldn't help but feel that if he didn't get out, she'd pull him under. Half the reason her threats worked when Danny's failed is that he believed she'd betray him, more than he ever believed it of Danny.
"You still could have asked. You don't have to start running my life for me."
"If I'd asked, you would have said no." Not asking, therefore, is far more efficient. "That's why I am asking forgiveness." He hopes that even though they're no longer together, she won't be able to resist his ought-to-be-patented 'aren't I cute and nice, please don't hurt me' face. It's not one he pulls out too often, preferring to win his fights with sharp words, instead. Sometimes, though, a battle calls for heavy artillery. In the sympathy wars, this is the equivalent to a fifteen-megaton nuclear bomb. If she's got even an ounce of maternal instinct, she's going to cave.
"It's just between Danny and Jack… and Elena looking freaked every time I seem even a little spaced like I sometimes am just normally…" A sudden thought seems to occur to her. "Who told you?"
"You did." Not actually told, per se, but he's more than willing to accept the evidence of his own eyes.
"I didn't say…"
"Sam…" He drops his gaze from her face to where she's rounded out just a little, in ways she never would have tolerated otherwise. "I'm not blind. Just because we stopped seeing each other doesn't mean I stopped looking."
"Oh." She blushes, just slightly. "It's that obvious?"
"No… but like I said, I've seen this sort of thing before. I know a lot of the cues. You've changed your eating habits…"
"I have not. As a matter of fact, Danny's been on my case about…"
"Yes, you have. You used to always avoid the powdered sugar jelly donuts, because they made a mess. The other day, you had two, probably because you were craving them. You're driving a little more carefully, which doesn't mean a hell of a lot in your case, but you're also more impatient with other bad drivers than you usually are." He smiles, just slightly. "It used to be when you got nervous you folded your arms at chest height and chewed on your nails. Lately, you're holding them lower. Protectively. I know what it adds up to. I'm not as stupid as you think I am."
"I don't. It's just…"
"Awkward. I know." Martin sighs. "That's why I was kind of hoping you wouldn't catch me until after you'd made things a little more… official. But… since we're kind of past that, who's the lucky guy?" As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he'd bitten his tongue off, instead. The look on her face is a mixture of fear, loathing and a whole lot of hurt.
"Hopefully nobody, okay?"
He nods, slowly. "Want me to take care of him? I'm pretty sure I've worked here long enough to make somebody disappear. Just give me his name, and you make sure you're seen somewhere in public, nowhere near his place…"
At first he's not sure what the sound she makes is, if it's a laugh or a sob, and the hand over her mouth is no clue. Then her knees start to buckle and she sinks slowly to the ground until she's sitting by his desk. "Oh, God. Oh, God. You have no idea how tempted I am to take you up on that offer. The stupid thing is that he wouldn't even have known if I didn't track him down with that waiver in the first place. I just…"
"Didn't want to take a risk." He imagines that if he were in the same situation, he'd have done the same thing. He also can't imagine signing one if it came to that. Not that he imagines this guy's motives are anything like what his own would be. He wants kids. It's the one thing he's wanted in his life even more than this job he's more than willing to die for. He just always assumed he was going to be a dad someday, but as the days keep slipping by, he's beginning to worry. Every breakup, every first date that doesn't even last as long as that, every morning he wakes up alone, remind him that he's running out of time.
That's probably why his first reaction when he realised Sam's condition was anger. They'd been so careful, because Sam didn't want to take the risk. He knows he would have fought harder for the relationship if he'd thought there was a chance. Hell, that's half the reason he ended it. Keeping things secret meant topics like 'us', 'future' and 'family' were automatically out. To find out that the father is some asshole she doesn't even know brings the sting back up to the surface.
He can't really stay mad, though, because he knows for Sam, this is a nightmare. She never talks much about her mother, but he gets the idea she could rival his own. Everything Sam has done in her life has been so she won't turn out like that, and now? Whose face is she seeing when she looks in the mirror? She probably doesn't know whether to laugh, cry, or go completely insane.
"I mean it, though. We're here for you. All of us. Even at three in the morning with a stop at the all-night pharmacy for baby-aspirin and an extra pack of diapers on the way… which happens more often than you want to think about." He smiles, genuinely. "Just be thankful it's only one."
Sam winces. "Don't even say that."
"Been there, done that… referee the fights." His sister has had enough trouble even with another parent around. Sam would end up institutionalised. Chaos is not her forte, and if there is one thing that comes with multiple children at once, that's it. Even with one… he wonders if she's thought ahead to the toddler stage, yet, and the possibility of a child skating on raw eggs across the kitchen floor. He decides not to frighten her.
"I'm surprised…" She closes her eyes and chews on her lip. "I'm surprised you're taking it so well. I expected you to be… I mean I know you always wanted…"
"And you didn't. Fate's got a really frickin' sick sense of humour. I figured that one out a long, long time ago."
She nods, slowly, still not opening her eyes. "So, we're good, then?"
"What else would we be?" Realistically, there are a million answers to that question, but none of them fit the person he is. "Though, I resent the implication of the word 'good.' Personally, I'd describe myself as 'fantastic.'"
"Jerk." She punches his leg and being Sam, it's hard enough to hurt. She's smiling, though, as she stands up. Her face becomes serious again, quickly. "Thanks," she says, softly.
"Anytime. My cubicle is your cubicle. Just don't touch anything. And if it has anything do to with morning sickness, you can use your own garbage can."
"You're a prince."
"I've heard it said, but I keep trying to tell you guys: politics isn't my thing." After all, if he were trying to play heir to the throne, he would have left this place behind ages ago. "Besides, you're the one who doesn't want us babying you. I wouldn't let you puke in my garbage can under normal circumstances, either." He waves at the screen. "So, I'll give this to you when I'm done?"
"Why not?" At least she's resigned to the idea, instead of killing him, now. "I can use it to line the garbage can before I throw up."
He acknowledges the score with a mock wince. "Motherhood isn't going to mellow you, is it?"
"Not a chance."
Good, he thinks, as she walks away. He doesn't want her to change. A kid could do a lot worse than having Sam Spade for a mom. When the time comes, he'll remember to mention that.