#72 -- Fixed
Disclaimer: I do not own the Without A Trace characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only.
Title: "The Prodigal Daughter Returns"
Fandom: Without A Trace
Character: Martin Fitzgerald
Prompt: #72 -- Fixed
Word Count: 5500 (approx)
Rating: PG (language)
Spoilers: Season 4
Credits: Thank you kate98 and gaia for the beta work, and to gaia for pointing out that the original name I had for my OC is one I use a little too much. She also helped define that OC's voice.
Author's Notes:: Yes, I'm making up backstory like crazy, now… but it's their own fault for not giving us any. (*grin*) The last of my entries for control_freak80's Gilmore Girls Title Challenge
Oh, and a quick note about the OC's eyes, regarding a concern mentioned by kate98 I honestly wasn't thinking about cliche... I was thinking about my sister. Any given day, her eyes might be different.
THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER RETURNS
They demand everything from her, except rank and serial number. The name makes them pause and raise eyebrows, but none of them say anything about it, because - after all - they could be wrong. She knows this routine, has been through it before - not just here, but hundreds of places. If they were on her turf, it might be her asking them. She raises her arms so they can frisk her and check for anomalous pieces of metal. The one in her ankle creates a bit of a fuss until they realise it's no weapon, nor can it be removed short of a surgical procedure. Finally, they hand her the small piece of plastic that says that wherever she goes in this place, she cannot go alone, even into the bathroom. She can tell she's thrown them with her silence and compliance. They're not used to people who don't ask questions, who exhibit no signs of confusion or reluctance when asked for some of the strange things asked for in the name of security. Rather, it's her escort who shows surprise at the way this much smaller person matches his strides. But she's used to keeping up with taller people, and walking slow has never been her style. Walking is a way to get from point A to point B. It doesn't matter if you want to go to point B or not: once you have committed to going, you go.
Point B turns out to be the right location, but the timing is wrong. No matter, today she has time to wait. Unlike other members of her family, she is very good at waiting. It's odd… they say the youngest children are the most demanding and that it's the older ones who learn patience while they watch their younger siblings get everything first. But that only happens when your big sister isn't a drama queen and your eleven-years-older-than-you brother doesn't think taking off to another city is a good way to guarantee attention. She accepted a long time ago that she would never be her parents' focus or favourite. Maybe it was an attempt to make up for the failures with the other two: close monitoring and micromanagement never worked with them, so maybe they thought they'd just leave her on her own to see what would happen. That would be Martin's take on it, anyway, Martin who was raised largely by their mother and is only now just finding out who his father might be. Perhaps it is partly true, she's never known a parent-child relationship like others describe it to be; there were simply a pair of adults in the same house, who happened to share a last name. They drove the car where it needed to go and they signed the papers that needed to be signed, but paid very little attention to her day-to-day life. Perhaps it also helped that she never argued with them. She simply did what they said if she agreed with it, or found another way to accomplish her plans if she did not. Martin's biggest problem is that he's always believed that people respond to reason. He believes in 'why' over how, as in why can't I as opposed to how canI? Martin analyses, he doesn't create.
"He should be back soon." Agent Daniel Taylor's greeting is near apologetic, though his look is one of puzzlement. Perhaps Martin doesn't get many guests. "I'm Danny Taylor."
"Yes." She wonders if he'd be angry if he knew she'd already determined that. Quite often people who wear names all the time forget that they wear them, and too few people take the time to make basic observations.
"You're…"
"Martin's sister."
His brow wrinkles further as he tries to work it out. She isn't surprised. Martin probably never mentions her.
"Alex." 'Soon' is apparently now. Martin doesn't sound happy, either, he sounds irritated. She knows why: sometimes Martin has difficulty grasping simple things like Truth.
***
Why is she here? Why is she here, now? It's not that he's not happy to see her - he is - but now and here are not the time and place he wants to have a reunion. Especially since Danny isn't the only person in his life who played hooky during those dark, lonely sick-days. Surely she could have found some way to visit then - the Air Force isn't without compassion, especially not when you use the words 'brother', 'shot', and 'near death' in the same sentence. After all, she's his kid sister, and you could pretty much take away the 'sister' part and still be accurate. Mom and Dad didn't give much of a damn. It was Martin who was usually first up at night when she cried, to feed her or change her or rock her back to sleep. He knew why: she hadn't been planned for, so therefore they had little idea what to do with her. He even picked out her name, for Chrissakes.
He fights down the rising mix of emotions until only a trace of irritation sounds in his voice when he speaks. "Alex. What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you." It's her usual style of answer, direct, blunt and with no extra details. Her changeable eyes meet his directly - today they're hazel to match the tan coloured t-shirt she wears, but they vary widely from green to blue, to almost purple. He sometimes wonders if it isn't evidence that they're less related than his parents would like to admit, but he's never felt like using her as a weapon in his ongoing war with them.
"This isn't a good time." He offers just as many details, but hell. She's used to following cryptic orders, isn't she? Aren't missions you know nothing about part of military SOP?
"When would be?" There's no reproach in the question, just a simple request for details. So that when he is available, she will be too. Somehow, it's annoying, like he's just another appointment for her.
"I'll call you." With that, he steps by her, ignoring the accusing look Danny throws his way. Danny doesn't know a thing about the situation so he's got no right to judge.
She just stands there, saying nothing. Finally, Danny offers to walk her out and they disappear.
"Martin, I know it's not my place…" Sam starts.
"You're right. It's not." He turns away from her, too, sitting down and pretending to focus on paperwork. It's between him and his sister, no one else has any say. The least you could have done was come see if I was still alive.
***
She says nothing, instead focussing her energy on remembering that she is Air Force Sergeant Fitzgerald and sergeants do not cry. She tries to be like him, warding off hurt with self-righteous anger, but it's easier to simply let it go. The elevator ride down is - impossibly - slower than the one up. She knows she won't make it, not all the way down and out to the street. She pulls the cigarette pack from her jacket pocket and taps one free, sticking it in her mouth and reaching for her lighter. Agent Taylor glances at her, his eyebrows rising to his hairline.
She's safe, though. Until flame is applied, it's just possession of legal materials. Let people glare. There's nothing they can do. Every good sergeant knows exactly how far the rules extend and isn't afraid to walk right up to that line.
Taylor says nothing, just accompanies her down to the lobby where she dutifully hands in her visitor's badge and signs the necessary paperwork. Then it's onto the street, where the lighter is put to good use and poison works its calming magic. She stands and tries to determine at what coordinates to put point B and then how to get there. The doors behind her reopen and she automatically steps aside to let whoever has somewhere to go, get there.
"He never mentioned he had two sisters." Taylor is obviously the curious type who can't let a mystery lie.
"I'm not surprised." She shifts her gaze to watch nothing of interest happen on the far side of the street. "They generally don't." She lets go a long, slow breath with a stream of smoke.
"Look… it's just been a bad day…" Even Agent Taylor seems to realise how lame an excuse that really is.
"You know what the funny thing is? If he saw me doing this, he'd be angry." She raises the cigarette to her lips and takes another drag. It's odd, talking like this to a perfect stranger, but she feels a sudden compulsion to do so. She's learned to follow her instincts. "He tells everybody he quit because he wanted to join the Academy. That was our deal. He didn't want Mom and Dad to know."
"Your parents didn't know he smoked?" Not that old, bad habits are information that Martin shares, but Danny seems to find it difficult to believe that neither parent suspected anything.
"He didn't want them to know I smoked. I started when I was seven… I stole some from him…" She shakes her head. "He was my hero, and I wanted to be just like him. When he found out, he went got very mad. He quit right then and threw out every pack he had and made me promise I'd quit too." She shrugs. "And I did."
"When did you start again?" The tone of the question suggests that Agent Taylor suspects the answer already, like he knows something about the nature of addiction. Maybe because he asks 'when' and not 'why'. Most people don't understand that there is only one reason why: I couldn't function without it anymore. I couldn't handle life without help.
"Do you know how ironic it is? To be in Afghanistan in the middle of a war-zone and get a call telling you your brother has been shot?" She blinks, slowly. People tell her it's very ironic. They say that a lot when they find out what happened. "People think I should have come home."
"Why didn't you?"
"I had a job to do. I agreed to stay there for a certain period of time. No excuses. Coming back home wouldn't have changed whether he lived or died. I didn't think a family fight would help him. We're very good at finding reasons to hate each other, Agent Taylor." Her cousin Alison told her that, once. The way Martin acts sometimes, she's sure it must be true.
"And he was your hero. Heroes aren't supposed to fall down or get hurt." He sounds like he knows that one well, too. "Sometimes we just don't like to see things." He looks at her oddly. "How did you end up in Afghanistan?"
"The usual way." She finds herself puzzled at his increased confusion. "Deployment."
"You're in the military."
"Air Force." No one ever believes it. People meeting her for the first time wonder how someone so small became an aircraft mechanic. People who know where she comes from wonder why the military at all, or at least why not officer's training.
"How did you end up…"
"I went to a recruiting office and signed up." She wonders if Martin is jealous of that. He had to fight to do the job he wanted to, but their parents didn't even question when she told them she'd joined up. Dad told her to call if she needed anything and to stay in touch - she lets him know every time she's reassigned but has yet to think of something he can give her that she can't get for herself. She's never been much for subtleties or metaphors and can't quite understand why people insist on talking to each other for no reason at all. Words are for communicating - if all you do is rehash the obvious then what is the point? Conversations about the weather serve no purpose; the time would be better spent in silence.
"Why?"
"I like it." There are rules for everything. The only life more regimented is inside a prison. Even in the chaos of war, there are rules and there are patterns. You have a job, you know what your job is, and you do your job. At home… the only rules were the ones she gave herself, patterned after her brother's. Sometimes she wonders how he managed to come up with any at all, given the lack of example he himself had. "You can rely on it."
Taylor smiles, an odd, half-smile. "You didn't exactly grow up in a reliable environment."
There's a long pause before she answers. "No."
***
"That seemed a little cold." Viv isn't as forgiving as Sam and not so easily driven away. "Even for you. What's going on?"
He doesn't want to answer. This is family stuff, and you don't go letting your private life spill over into the office. Like you're really good at obeying that rule, Marty. He grips his pen tightly before throwing it onto the desk. He wants to hold it in, but he can't. The pain in his body breaks his focus, stealing his usual control over the pains of the mind. "Did you know her first word was 'Martin?' Well, 'Marwin' really, but it was kind of obvious what she was trying to say. Alexandra? That was my idea, I think my mother would have settled for 'girl' on the birth certificate. I walked her to kindergarten, I helped her with her homework, I goddamn well taught her how to drive." Not that it took much, one lesson and she was better at it than him. "And she shows up now? When everything's all better? Waltzing in without even a phone-call, not even pausing to say 'Hey, I'm back Stateside, would it be okay to come and visit?' How would you feel if it was Reggie who did something like that to you?"
"Well, for one thing, I wouldn't turn him away from my doorstep. And if she was out of the country…"
"She's in the Air Force. I'm sure she could have found a flight home." Martin picks up his pen again, making marks on paper to indicate that the conversation is over. It doesn't matter why Alex is here, it's a case of too little, too late. How dare she not come back before. If it could happen to him here… They know he has nightmares, every survivor has them, but what he doesn't say is that his aren't the standard flashbacks to the same ugly scene. They're flash-forwards instead, what-if scenarios played out in a desert where all he can do is watch while a little blue, green or brown-eyed girl playing soldier gets blown to bits.
You never call, you never write… He knows it's not intentional, she just takes things so literally sometimes. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all. Most people know that means 'call if you're feeling lonely' or 'call if you need to talk' or 'call just so I can hear your voice.' Alex doesn't though. Alex believes it means what it says. Furthermore, she has a narrow interpretation of 'need.' 'Want' is not need. If you can get by without it, it isn't a need. Since lack of conversation is rarely fatal, he almost never hears from her. Anyone else in his family, and it would be a blessing. From her, it's an abandonment. True, he's abandoned family often enough, but he knows better than to think he can simply return to smiles and hugs and everything all right. Not only that, but need works both ways. Why couldn't you be there when I needed you? He knows what she'd say: that he didn't ask. She doesn't seem to get that there are some things you shouldn't have to ask for.
Sometimes he wonders if she isn't a bit brain-damaged, because she not only has no social skills, but she can't grasp why they might be important. He's explained it to her more than once, but she just doesn't get it. Tact is a foreign concept to her. But how is he supposed to explain to Viv that it wouldn't matter if he was fuzzy-warm or not, because Alex wouldn't know the difference? She only hears the words, never the meaning behind them. Sarcasm is completely lost on her, no matter how acid the tone. She's not a sociopath - she's got none of the destructive or manipulative behaviours - but it's like she has no concept of emotion whatsoever. He can believe in Star Trek's Vulcans because he's helped raise one.
Well, not quite, because she's not entirely logical, either, at least not in the way most people define logic. Her school grades were mostly in the 'C' range, unforgivable in this family, had Mom and Dad even been interested in anything she accomplished. The only exception was the hands-on stuff. When she switched her Math course for a Mechanics one, she started pulling down A's with ease. It was just like the driving: all she needed was to get a feel for how things worked and she could fix anything. But ask her to explain a novel or a poem, to recite the presidents or even do her own taxes, and she was lost. Instead, she dutifully saves every piece of paper regarding expenses and income, whether it's relevant or not, and turns it all over to him at the end of the year. He hates to think of her struck by an audit, because she would have no understanding of the process or even the purpose. She wouldn't be nervous, either, which would probably make them dig deeper. So he does everything he can to make sure it never happens.
Maybe that's why she's here. Maybe it's money troubles, a problem she can't sort out on her own. That's another thing that makes you wonder if she's a Fitzgerald. She doesn't ask for help when she doesn't need it, but when she does, she'll ask without hesitation or shame. She'll return the favour, but always waits until asked. She never spontaneously decides to help or pitch in - ask and she'll do so without complaint or question… their sister took shameless advantage of that sometimes, asking Alex to 'help' with the dishes then wandering off to chat on the phone. Alex never seemed to catch on or show the least bit of resentment over being taken advantage of. It was Martin who had to step in and put a stop to it. Even when he tried to explain to her that it wasn't fair for her to have to do someone else's work, she just didn't get it.
Which just brings him back to the same question. Why? What made her come back? If his impending death wasn't enough, then what was? He wishes he could summon the anger to blame it on something selfish, but he knows that's impossible. Alex doesn't know the meaning of 'selfish,' it would require feelings she doesn't have. He'd call her and ask, but he can't do that right now. Right now, he just hurts.
***
"Martin doesn't talk much about family." Taylor changes his angle to move himself upwind of the smoke. "But I've gotten the impression that 'happy' isn't a good description."
She frowns at that, wrinkling her brow. She's not sure how to describe it, maybe because she was never really a part of it. Martin was never really happy. She knows this because Martin, like her, likes rules and stability; yet Martin often left home, putting himself through chaos, so he must not have been happy there. Possibly because the only thing stable about 'home' was the instability. Martin never called it 'home.' 'The house' sometimes, or 'back' as in 'thanks for dragging me back' even though he never seemed to be thankful, but he never acted like it was somewhere he wanted to be. "You'd have to ask him. I think we saw things differently."
Taylor smiles slightly. "In other words, Martin's playing up the 'poor-pitiful-me' thing a little much."
"No." She tries to think of how to explain things to this man, who seems to know Martin rather well. "Martin is more… normal."
For some reason, Taylor seems to think that's funny. "Are you sure we're talking about the same Martin?"
"Martin Fitzgerald. My brother." She's pretty sure, she doesn't know any other Martins they should have in common.
Taylor gives her a look that many people do, a look they give before they leave her alone with her life, deciding that whatever part she is, she doesn't belong in the piece of machinery they know. "Normal. Okay. So what did you do to piss him off so much?"
"I don't know." Maybe Martin is even more normal. Maybe Martin is like everybody else who expected her to go back. Maybe Martin wanted her to break the rules, as though his near-death made things different, but he's the one who taught her about rules. If he's changed that doesn't mean she's responsible. If he'd changed his mind on that, he could have told her. "He's… different now. Maybe he isn't the same Martin." The thought makes her uncomfortable, as though Point A is no longer fixed, even though she's standing there. She came to see her brother, but now she's not sure she can find him anymore. Maybe Martin did die when he got shot, and this strangely hostile person has taken his place. Because when they spoke, she saw his hands shake and that's a weakness. Martin isn't weak. Martin is strong. And he upset people, she saw that too. Martin is the one who understands people. That Martin didn't do things right, didn't seem to understand.
"Maybe." Taylor says it quietly, like he doesn't want to be heard.
***
He walks out on the balcony, needing to escape the stares of reproach. They don't know him, they don't know his family, so what the hell gives them the right to judge? He pulls a small bottle from his pocket. Maybe Danny's right, maybe he should ease off on these things, but this is definitely not the time. He looks down at the street, at people too far away to recognise, really. Except those two figures he knows, the ones standing on the front steps, one tall and lanky in a state of perpetual slouch, one smaller and drawn up to full height even at rest. There's something else, something…
"Son of a bitch!" The pain pills fall out of his hand, forgotten. He turns around, moving through the doors and across the bullpen with quick, angry strides. Viv reflexively reaches for her gun. She's seen that look before, just before someone died.
He doesn't bother waiting for the elevator, despite the fact that he knows he shouldn't take this many flights of stairs, not yet. But he's going down, which makes it easier and pure, boiling rage cancels out any pain he might feel. He's on the ground floor before he knows it, then out the doors, grabbing the cigarette from her hand and crushing it in his fist before either of them can react. "You goddamn well said you quit!"
"Martin…" Danny makes the cardinal mistake of trying to step in.
"You stay the hell out of this." Martin shoves him backwards, knocking him off balance. This is off, usually it's Danny out of control and Martin playing the voice of reason. Then again, Danny's never been an older brother. Danny knows nothing. He turns back to his sister. "Now I don't care what your excuse is. You make a promise, you keep it."
"Whoa, whoa." Danny recovers and grabs the front of Martin's shirt, hustling him against the wall and holding him there. "Calm down, man. Right now." He knocks Martin against the wall even harder, to make his point. Danny's bigger and he's stronger, and he's tangled with more people. "Calm down." If Danny repeats something, it's a good idea to listen. There's something in the tone that reaches down, straight to the survival reflex and compels obedience. He waits until he feels Martin relax, then loosens his grip. "You calm?"
"I'm calm," Martin lies. How dare she do this, how dare she show up with cigarette in hand when she knows it's the one thing he hates. He still remembers that day, that gut-punch feeling when he walked in and found her, tiny and ten, working on a case of lung-cancer. When he found out how long it went back… mere rage wasn't enough to describe the feeling. He made her swear to quit, told her he'd tell their parents if she didn't and she bought the bluff. He couldn't tell, it would have done nothing. By then Dad was practically living at the office and Mom… he wasn't sure if she could remember her youngest child's name. He watches Alex's face and sees something flicker on it, something he can't quite figure out.
"Martin." She says his name like it's a word from another language. "I am an adult now." There's an odd, yet characteristic lack of inflection, as though each word has equal weight, stripping the sentence of meaning.
"That still doesn't give you the right to kill yourself." He can feel the tremors setting in as adrenaline dissipates in his system. "And don't tell me that that's not going to kill you, or that something else is more likely to kill you first." He's moving past rage into hysterics, he can hear it in his voice. How dare she, how dare she make this happen, make him lose all emotional control at work no less? And in front of Danny? "Get out of my sight."
"Hold it, hold it. Stay here." Danny directs the last at Alex before hustling Martin around the corner and effectively out of sight, allowing her - at least in Alex's off-kilter view of the world - to follow both directives at once.
"Now you. Calm down. Just calm down and take a breath."
"I am calm." Unfortunately, Danny also has him cornered, so he can't get out of this. What gives him the right to stop Martin from running away? Who said he could get involved in this family issue, anyway?
"You are not calm. You are not even close to calm. Calm is about five states away, and you're not even packed for the trip. Now breathe, keep your mouth shut, and listen."
He does as he's told, but only because Danny's the one doing the telling. Danny's liable to hit him if he doesn't comply. Danny is a very direct, simple person. And it's not that Martin's afraid of being hit, but Danny's his friend. It's hard to repair bridges that you didn't bother to burn because you blew them to smithereens.
"Now from what she says, she was fine, right up to a few months ago. Do you remember what happened then?"
Like he could forget. He wishes he could forget. But it doesn't explain how it connects up with Alex. What Danny's suggesting would require the ability to make emotional connections. "You don't know who you're talking about. She's not…"
"Normal? Like you? She already told me that part. She also told me the part about you being her hero. You want to play Big Brother? Fine. Let me tell you about being a little one for a second, and about finding out that the guy you worship is human and fallible. That is probably the biggest shock you'll ever get in your life. It beats out Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny put together."
Well, that one's pretty easy because Alex never believed in either. He doesn't think she has the imagination for that sort of thing.
"And you want to know something, Martin? You were under fire for less than two minutes. She probably lives with that threat every single day, every single second. And then she gets told that you're probably the one going to die. It nearly drove me to drink, and I've only known you for a few years, and believe me, I have never hero-worshiped you."
"Yeah, well, where the hell were you? You're supposed to be my friend and you couldn't even spend two minutes talking to me." He tries to stop the words, but they come out anyway.
"And now the truth comes out." Danny sounds disappointed. "'It's cool,'" he mocks. "All the while you're rebuilding that chip on your shoulder about how nobody loves poor little Martin. That's what this is really about, isn't it? You don't care about your sister, you just care about the fact that she's not listening to you."
"Shut up!" Rage returns, sending him back up in Danny's face. He slams the heels of both hands into Danny's shoulder joints at the collar. It should have broken something, had Danny not seen it coming and brought his own hands up in between, deflecting just enough energy to save him. But it's definitely a fight now, and Martin's not that much smaller or weaker.
"Stop." He hears the voice but is too caught up in anger to heed it. But then suddenly Danny's not there anymore, he's been knocked off his feet and a body transposed between them. "Stop." This time there is inflection, this isn't a request or a plea, it's an order from someone used to having their orders obeyed. Alex stands between them, shielding her brother from the guy he was attacking.
Danny nods. He wasn't the one out for blood, even though he got it. Martin can taste salt, and if he doesn't get some ice on his lip soon, he won't be giving any speeches for a while.
Anyone else, any other sister and she'd be sorting out what happened, maybe even brokering peace. Alex… he can almost hear the train of thought in her head. Her brother was in a fight, she defends her brother. Not because of anything right or wrong but simply because he is her brother and Danny is not.
Martin turns away, even though there's nowhere to go. He wants to say he's sorry, but he's never been able to. Never, ever apologise. Fitzgeralds do not make mistakes - they may be misinformed, but they do not err. Even when it might be better to say sorry, he can't.
He hears Danny get to his feet and leave. He hurts… he hurts so much…
His sister tugs on his arm and he turns around. She examines him critically, then begins straightening his shirt and tie before picking up his I.D. from the ground where it came off in the struggle. She reattaches it to his shirt pocket before she pulls a handkerchief out of her own pocket. He doesn't protest, even when she starts cleaning off his face and examining his wounds. He's too stunned to protest. What? What has he done? He just got into a fistfight. With Danny. Danny's supposed to be his friend. Why would he do that?
Having put him back together as best she can, Alex stops. She watches his hands, shaking ever-so-slightly from adrenaline and confusion, before taking them in her own.
"Why didn't you come back sooner? Why did you wait? Okay, from Danny, maybe I can understand it a little, but you're my sister."
"I'm not a doctor, Martin. I can't fix that." And there it is, her logic, her weakness… all of it in nine simple words. Four, if you break it down. I can't fix that. She must have figured that there was nothing she could do, so she did nothing. Maybe she thought it wouldn't make a difference where she was. Maybe…
Maybe she's right. Maybe it shouldn't make a difference. He should know she loves him, in her own, odd little way. She may never say it, it's just things she does. Stepping in to save him from Danny, fixing him up as best she can, afterwards… those are things she can do. Thinking of that, brings him to thoughts of something she can't. She can't lie, not to him, not to anyone else. Not even white lies, she just doesn't understand their purpose. She told Danny that Martin is her hero. If she said it, then it must be true.
"You need ice." She turns away, probably to go get some and bring it back so she can continue her repairs.
He stops her, pulling her into a hug. She doesn't respond, but that's okay. She's not like him, she doesn't crave human contact she was never allowed to have. When he was little, he would have given anything for a hug. Even now, sometimes that's all he wants, something to cling to, hang on to so he doesn't get swept away and disappear. She lets him do that, she doesn't pull away or resist.
" I have never hero-worshiped you." But Martin has. He's hero-worshiped both of them. He'd love to be like Danny, so confident of himself, so open and willing to take risks. He'd love to be like Alex, too, to not care about the insults or other peoples' opinions. Maybe that's why it hurt so much, not having either one there. Like with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, he waited but they never came. He takes a deep breath. She's here, now, isn't she? He answers her question from earlier. "Now is a good time."
Title: "The Prodigal Daughter Returns"
Fandom: Without A Trace
Character: Martin Fitzgerald
Prompt: #72 -- Fixed
Word Count: 5500 (approx)
Rating: PG (language)
Spoilers: Season 4
Credits: Thank you kate98 and gaia for the beta work, and to gaia for pointing out that the original name I had for my OC is one I use a little too much. She also helped define that OC's voice.
Author's Notes:: Yes, I'm making up backstory like crazy, now… but it's their own fault for not giving us any. (*grin*) The last of my entries for control_freak80's Gilmore Girls Title Challenge
Oh, and a quick note about the OC's eyes, regarding a concern mentioned by kate98 I honestly wasn't thinking about cliche... I was thinking about my sister. Any given day, her eyes might be different.
THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER RETURNS
They demand everything from her, except rank and serial number. The name makes them pause and raise eyebrows, but none of them say anything about it, because - after all - they could be wrong. She knows this routine, has been through it before - not just here, but hundreds of places. If they were on her turf, it might be her asking them. She raises her arms so they can frisk her and check for anomalous pieces of metal. The one in her ankle creates a bit of a fuss until they realise it's no weapon, nor can it be removed short of a surgical procedure. Finally, they hand her the small piece of plastic that says that wherever she goes in this place, she cannot go alone, even into the bathroom. She can tell she's thrown them with her silence and compliance. They're not used to people who don't ask questions, who exhibit no signs of confusion or reluctance when asked for some of the strange things asked for in the name of security. Rather, it's her escort who shows surprise at the way this much smaller person matches his strides. But she's used to keeping up with taller people, and walking slow has never been her style. Walking is a way to get from point A to point B. It doesn't matter if you want to go to point B or not: once you have committed to going, you go.
Point B turns out to be the right location, but the timing is wrong. No matter, today she has time to wait. Unlike other members of her family, she is very good at waiting. It's odd… they say the youngest children are the most demanding and that it's the older ones who learn patience while they watch their younger siblings get everything first. But that only happens when your big sister isn't a drama queen and your eleven-years-older-than-you brother doesn't think taking off to another city is a good way to guarantee attention. She accepted a long time ago that she would never be her parents' focus or favourite. Maybe it was an attempt to make up for the failures with the other two: close monitoring and micromanagement never worked with them, so maybe they thought they'd just leave her on her own to see what would happen. That would be Martin's take on it, anyway, Martin who was raised largely by their mother and is only now just finding out who his father might be. Perhaps it is partly true, she's never known a parent-child relationship like others describe it to be; there were simply a pair of adults in the same house, who happened to share a last name. They drove the car where it needed to go and they signed the papers that needed to be signed, but paid very little attention to her day-to-day life. Perhaps it also helped that she never argued with them. She simply did what they said if she agreed with it, or found another way to accomplish her plans if she did not. Martin's biggest problem is that he's always believed that people respond to reason. He believes in 'why' over how, as in why can't I as opposed to how canI? Martin analyses, he doesn't create.
"He should be back soon." Agent Daniel Taylor's greeting is near apologetic, though his look is one of puzzlement. Perhaps Martin doesn't get many guests. "I'm Danny Taylor."
"Yes." She wonders if he'd be angry if he knew she'd already determined that. Quite often people who wear names all the time forget that they wear them, and too few people take the time to make basic observations.
"You're…"
"Martin's sister."
His brow wrinkles further as he tries to work it out. She isn't surprised. Martin probably never mentions her.
"Alex." 'Soon' is apparently now. Martin doesn't sound happy, either, he sounds irritated. She knows why: sometimes Martin has difficulty grasping simple things like Truth.
***
Why is she here? Why is she here, now? It's not that he's not happy to see her - he is - but now and here are not the time and place he wants to have a reunion. Especially since Danny isn't the only person in his life who played hooky during those dark, lonely sick-days. Surely she could have found some way to visit then - the Air Force isn't without compassion, especially not when you use the words 'brother', 'shot', and 'near death' in the same sentence. After all, she's his kid sister, and you could pretty much take away the 'sister' part and still be accurate. Mom and Dad didn't give much of a damn. It was Martin who was usually first up at night when she cried, to feed her or change her or rock her back to sleep. He knew why: she hadn't been planned for, so therefore they had little idea what to do with her. He even picked out her name, for Chrissakes.
He fights down the rising mix of emotions until only a trace of irritation sounds in his voice when he speaks. "Alex. What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you." It's her usual style of answer, direct, blunt and with no extra details. Her changeable eyes meet his directly - today they're hazel to match the tan coloured t-shirt she wears, but they vary widely from green to blue, to almost purple. He sometimes wonders if it isn't evidence that they're less related than his parents would like to admit, but he's never felt like using her as a weapon in his ongoing war with them.
"This isn't a good time." He offers just as many details, but hell. She's used to following cryptic orders, isn't she? Aren't missions you know nothing about part of military SOP?
"When would be?" There's no reproach in the question, just a simple request for details. So that when he is available, she will be too. Somehow, it's annoying, like he's just another appointment for her.
"I'll call you." With that, he steps by her, ignoring the accusing look Danny throws his way. Danny doesn't know a thing about the situation so he's got no right to judge.
She just stands there, saying nothing. Finally, Danny offers to walk her out and they disappear.
"Martin, I know it's not my place…" Sam starts.
"You're right. It's not." He turns away from her, too, sitting down and pretending to focus on paperwork. It's between him and his sister, no one else has any say. The least you could have done was come see if I was still alive.
***
She says nothing, instead focussing her energy on remembering that she is Air Force Sergeant Fitzgerald and sergeants do not cry. She tries to be like him, warding off hurt with self-righteous anger, but it's easier to simply let it go. The elevator ride down is - impossibly - slower than the one up. She knows she won't make it, not all the way down and out to the street. She pulls the cigarette pack from her jacket pocket and taps one free, sticking it in her mouth and reaching for her lighter. Agent Taylor glances at her, his eyebrows rising to his hairline.
She's safe, though. Until flame is applied, it's just possession of legal materials. Let people glare. There's nothing they can do. Every good sergeant knows exactly how far the rules extend and isn't afraid to walk right up to that line.
Taylor says nothing, just accompanies her down to the lobby where she dutifully hands in her visitor's badge and signs the necessary paperwork. Then it's onto the street, where the lighter is put to good use and poison works its calming magic. She stands and tries to determine at what coordinates to put point B and then how to get there. The doors behind her reopen and she automatically steps aside to let whoever has somewhere to go, get there.
"He never mentioned he had two sisters." Taylor is obviously the curious type who can't let a mystery lie.
"I'm not surprised." She shifts her gaze to watch nothing of interest happen on the far side of the street. "They generally don't." She lets go a long, slow breath with a stream of smoke.
"Look… it's just been a bad day…" Even Agent Taylor seems to realise how lame an excuse that really is.
"You know what the funny thing is? If he saw me doing this, he'd be angry." She raises the cigarette to her lips and takes another drag. It's odd, talking like this to a perfect stranger, but she feels a sudden compulsion to do so. She's learned to follow her instincts. "He tells everybody he quit because he wanted to join the Academy. That was our deal. He didn't want Mom and Dad to know."
"Your parents didn't know he smoked?" Not that old, bad habits are information that Martin shares, but Danny seems to find it difficult to believe that neither parent suspected anything.
"He didn't want them to know I smoked. I started when I was seven… I stole some from him…" She shakes her head. "He was my hero, and I wanted to be just like him. When he found out, he went got very mad. He quit right then and threw out every pack he had and made me promise I'd quit too." She shrugs. "And I did."
"When did you start again?" The tone of the question suggests that Agent Taylor suspects the answer already, like he knows something about the nature of addiction. Maybe because he asks 'when' and not 'why'. Most people don't understand that there is only one reason why: I couldn't function without it anymore. I couldn't handle life without help.
"Do you know how ironic it is? To be in Afghanistan in the middle of a war-zone and get a call telling you your brother has been shot?" She blinks, slowly. People tell her it's very ironic. They say that a lot when they find out what happened. "People think I should have come home."
"Why didn't you?"
"I had a job to do. I agreed to stay there for a certain period of time. No excuses. Coming back home wouldn't have changed whether he lived or died. I didn't think a family fight would help him. We're very good at finding reasons to hate each other, Agent Taylor." Her cousin Alison told her that, once. The way Martin acts sometimes, she's sure it must be true.
"And he was your hero. Heroes aren't supposed to fall down or get hurt." He sounds like he knows that one well, too. "Sometimes we just don't like to see things." He looks at her oddly. "How did you end up in Afghanistan?"
"The usual way." She finds herself puzzled at his increased confusion. "Deployment."
"You're in the military."
"Air Force." No one ever believes it. People meeting her for the first time wonder how someone so small became an aircraft mechanic. People who know where she comes from wonder why the military at all, or at least why not officer's training.
"How did you end up…"
"I went to a recruiting office and signed up." She wonders if Martin is jealous of that. He had to fight to do the job he wanted to, but their parents didn't even question when she told them she'd joined up. Dad told her to call if she needed anything and to stay in touch - she lets him know every time she's reassigned but has yet to think of something he can give her that she can't get for herself. She's never been much for subtleties or metaphors and can't quite understand why people insist on talking to each other for no reason at all. Words are for communicating - if all you do is rehash the obvious then what is the point? Conversations about the weather serve no purpose; the time would be better spent in silence.
"Why?"
"I like it." There are rules for everything. The only life more regimented is inside a prison. Even in the chaos of war, there are rules and there are patterns. You have a job, you know what your job is, and you do your job. At home… the only rules were the ones she gave herself, patterned after her brother's. Sometimes she wonders how he managed to come up with any at all, given the lack of example he himself had. "You can rely on it."
Taylor smiles, an odd, half-smile. "You didn't exactly grow up in a reliable environment."
There's a long pause before she answers. "No."
***
"That seemed a little cold." Viv isn't as forgiving as Sam and not so easily driven away. "Even for you. What's going on?"
He doesn't want to answer. This is family stuff, and you don't go letting your private life spill over into the office. Like you're really good at obeying that rule, Marty. He grips his pen tightly before throwing it onto the desk. He wants to hold it in, but he can't. The pain in his body breaks his focus, stealing his usual control over the pains of the mind. "Did you know her first word was 'Martin?' Well, 'Marwin' really, but it was kind of obvious what she was trying to say. Alexandra? That was my idea, I think my mother would have settled for 'girl' on the birth certificate. I walked her to kindergarten, I helped her with her homework, I goddamn well taught her how to drive." Not that it took much, one lesson and she was better at it than him. "And she shows up now? When everything's all better? Waltzing in without even a phone-call, not even pausing to say 'Hey, I'm back Stateside, would it be okay to come and visit?' How would you feel if it was Reggie who did something like that to you?"
"Well, for one thing, I wouldn't turn him away from my doorstep. And if she was out of the country…"
"She's in the Air Force. I'm sure she could have found a flight home." Martin picks up his pen again, making marks on paper to indicate that the conversation is over. It doesn't matter why Alex is here, it's a case of too little, too late. How dare she not come back before. If it could happen to him here… They know he has nightmares, every survivor has them, but what he doesn't say is that his aren't the standard flashbacks to the same ugly scene. They're flash-forwards instead, what-if scenarios played out in a desert where all he can do is watch while a little blue, green or brown-eyed girl playing soldier gets blown to bits.
You never call, you never write… He knows it's not intentional, she just takes things so literally sometimes. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all. Most people know that means 'call if you're feeling lonely' or 'call if you need to talk' or 'call just so I can hear your voice.' Alex doesn't though. Alex believes it means what it says. Furthermore, she has a narrow interpretation of 'need.' 'Want' is not need. If you can get by without it, it isn't a need. Since lack of conversation is rarely fatal, he almost never hears from her. Anyone else in his family, and it would be a blessing. From her, it's an abandonment. True, he's abandoned family often enough, but he knows better than to think he can simply return to smiles and hugs and everything all right. Not only that, but need works both ways. Why couldn't you be there when I needed you? He knows what she'd say: that he didn't ask. She doesn't seem to get that there are some things you shouldn't have to ask for.
Sometimes he wonders if she isn't a bit brain-damaged, because she not only has no social skills, but she can't grasp why they might be important. He's explained it to her more than once, but she just doesn't get it. Tact is a foreign concept to her. But how is he supposed to explain to Viv that it wouldn't matter if he was fuzzy-warm or not, because Alex wouldn't know the difference? She only hears the words, never the meaning behind them. Sarcasm is completely lost on her, no matter how acid the tone. She's not a sociopath - she's got none of the destructive or manipulative behaviours - but it's like she has no concept of emotion whatsoever. He can believe in Star Trek's Vulcans because he's helped raise one.
Well, not quite, because she's not entirely logical, either, at least not in the way most people define logic. Her school grades were mostly in the 'C' range, unforgivable in this family, had Mom and Dad even been interested in anything she accomplished. The only exception was the hands-on stuff. When she switched her Math course for a Mechanics one, she started pulling down A's with ease. It was just like the driving: all she needed was to get a feel for how things worked and she could fix anything. But ask her to explain a novel or a poem, to recite the presidents or even do her own taxes, and she was lost. Instead, she dutifully saves every piece of paper regarding expenses and income, whether it's relevant or not, and turns it all over to him at the end of the year. He hates to think of her struck by an audit, because she would have no understanding of the process or even the purpose. She wouldn't be nervous, either, which would probably make them dig deeper. So he does everything he can to make sure it never happens.
Maybe that's why she's here. Maybe it's money troubles, a problem she can't sort out on her own. That's another thing that makes you wonder if she's a Fitzgerald. She doesn't ask for help when she doesn't need it, but when she does, she'll ask without hesitation or shame. She'll return the favour, but always waits until asked. She never spontaneously decides to help or pitch in - ask and she'll do so without complaint or question… their sister took shameless advantage of that sometimes, asking Alex to 'help' with the dishes then wandering off to chat on the phone. Alex never seemed to catch on or show the least bit of resentment over being taken advantage of. It was Martin who had to step in and put a stop to it. Even when he tried to explain to her that it wasn't fair for her to have to do someone else's work, she just didn't get it.
Which just brings him back to the same question. Why? What made her come back? If his impending death wasn't enough, then what was? He wishes he could summon the anger to blame it on something selfish, but he knows that's impossible. Alex doesn't know the meaning of 'selfish,' it would require feelings she doesn't have. He'd call her and ask, but he can't do that right now. Right now, he just hurts.
***
"Martin doesn't talk much about family." Taylor changes his angle to move himself upwind of the smoke. "But I've gotten the impression that 'happy' isn't a good description."
She frowns at that, wrinkling her brow. She's not sure how to describe it, maybe because she was never really a part of it. Martin was never really happy. She knows this because Martin, like her, likes rules and stability; yet Martin often left home, putting himself through chaos, so he must not have been happy there. Possibly because the only thing stable about 'home' was the instability. Martin never called it 'home.' 'The house' sometimes, or 'back' as in 'thanks for dragging me back' even though he never seemed to be thankful, but he never acted like it was somewhere he wanted to be. "You'd have to ask him. I think we saw things differently."
Taylor smiles slightly. "In other words, Martin's playing up the 'poor-pitiful-me' thing a little much."
"No." She tries to think of how to explain things to this man, who seems to know Martin rather well. "Martin is more… normal."
For some reason, Taylor seems to think that's funny. "Are you sure we're talking about the same Martin?"
"Martin Fitzgerald. My brother." She's pretty sure, she doesn't know any other Martins they should have in common.
Taylor gives her a look that many people do, a look they give before they leave her alone with her life, deciding that whatever part she is, she doesn't belong in the piece of machinery they know. "Normal. Okay. So what did you do to piss him off so much?"
"I don't know." Maybe Martin is even more normal. Maybe Martin is like everybody else who expected her to go back. Maybe Martin wanted her to break the rules, as though his near-death made things different, but he's the one who taught her about rules. If he's changed that doesn't mean she's responsible. If he'd changed his mind on that, he could have told her. "He's… different now. Maybe he isn't the same Martin." The thought makes her uncomfortable, as though Point A is no longer fixed, even though she's standing there. She came to see her brother, but now she's not sure she can find him anymore. Maybe Martin did die when he got shot, and this strangely hostile person has taken his place. Because when they spoke, she saw his hands shake and that's a weakness. Martin isn't weak. Martin is strong. And he upset people, she saw that too. Martin is the one who understands people. That Martin didn't do things right, didn't seem to understand.
"Maybe." Taylor says it quietly, like he doesn't want to be heard.
***
He walks out on the balcony, needing to escape the stares of reproach. They don't know him, they don't know his family, so what the hell gives them the right to judge? He pulls a small bottle from his pocket. Maybe Danny's right, maybe he should ease off on these things, but this is definitely not the time. He looks down at the street, at people too far away to recognise, really. Except those two figures he knows, the ones standing on the front steps, one tall and lanky in a state of perpetual slouch, one smaller and drawn up to full height even at rest. There's something else, something…
"Son of a bitch!" The pain pills fall out of his hand, forgotten. He turns around, moving through the doors and across the bullpen with quick, angry strides. Viv reflexively reaches for her gun. She's seen that look before, just before someone died.
He doesn't bother waiting for the elevator, despite the fact that he knows he shouldn't take this many flights of stairs, not yet. But he's going down, which makes it easier and pure, boiling rage cancels out any pain he might feel. He's on the ground floor before he knows it, then out the doors, grabbing the cigarette from her hand and crushing it in his fist before either of them can react. "You goddamn well said you quit!"
"Martin…" Danny makes the cardinal mistake of trying to step in.
"You stay the hell out of this." Martin shoves him backwards, knocking him off balance. This is off, usually it's Danny out of control and Martin playing the voice of reason. Then again, Danny's never been an older brother. Danny knows nothing. He turns back to his sister. "Now I don't care what your excuse is. You make a promise, you keep it."
"Whoa, whoa." Danny recovers and grabs the front of Martin's shirt, hustling him against the wall and holding him there. "Calm down, man. Right now." He knocks Martin against the wall even harder, to make his point. Danny's bigger and he's stronger, and he's tangled with more people. "Calm down." If Danny repeats something, it's a good idea to listen. There's something in the tone that reaches down, straight to the survival reflex and compels obedience. He waits until he feels Martin relax, then loosens his grip. "You calm?"
"I'm calm," Martin lies. How dare she do this, how dare she show up with cigarette in hand when she knows it's the one thing he hates. He still remembers that day, that gut-punch feeling when he walked in and found her, tiny and ten, working on a case of lung-cancer. When he found out how long it went back… mere rage wasn't enough to describe the feeling. He made her swear to quit, told her he'd tell their parents if she didn't and she bought the bluff. He couldn't tell, it would have done nothing. By then Dad was practically living at the office and Mom… he wasn't sure if she could remember her youngest child's name. He watches Alex's face and sees something flicker on it, something he can't quite figure out.
"Martin." She says his name like it's a word from another language. "I am an adult now." There's an odd, yet characteristic lack of inflection, as though each word has equal weight, stripping the sentence of meaning.
"That still doesn't give you the right to kill yourself." He can feel the tremors setting in as adrenaline dissipates in his system. "And don't tell me that that's not going to kill you, or that something else is more likely to kill you first." He's moving past rage into hysterics, he can hear it in his voice. How dare she, how dare she make this happen, make him lose all emotional control at work no less? And in front of Danny? "Get out of my sight."
"Hold it, hold it. Stay here." Danny directs the last at Alex before hustling Martin around the corner and effectively out of sight, allowing her - at least in Alex's off-kilter view of the world - to follow both directives at once.
"Now you. Calm down. Just calm down and take a breath."
"I am calm." Unfortunately, Danny also has him cornered, so he can't get out of this. What gives him the right to stop Martin from running away? Who said he could get involved in this family issue, anyway?
"You are not calm. You are not even close to calm. Calm is about five states away, and you're not even packed for the trip. Now breathe, keep your mouth shut, and listen."
He does as he's told, but only because Danny's the one doing the telling. Danny's liable to hit him if he doesn't comply. Danny is a very direct, simple person. And it's not that Martin's afraid of being hit, but Danny's his friend. It's hard to repair bridges that you didn't bother to burn because you blew them to smithereens.
"Now from what she says, she was fine, right up to a few months ago. Do you remember what happened then?"
Like he could forget. He wishes he could forget. But it doesn't explain how it connects up with Alex. What Danny's suggesting would require the ability to make emotional connections. "You don't know who you're talking about. She's not…"
"Normal? Like you? She already told me that part. She also told me the part about you being her hero. You want to play Big Brother? Fine. Let me tell you about being a little one for a second, and about finding out that the guy you worship is human and fallible. That is probably the biggest shock you'll ever get in your life. It beats out Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny put together."
Well, that one's pretty easy because Alex never believed in either. He doesn't think she has the imagination for that sort of thing.
"And you want to know something, Martin? You were under fire for less than two minutes. She probably lives with that threat every single day, every single second. And then she gets told that you're probably the one going to die. It nearly drove me to drink, and I've only known you for a few years, and believe me, I have never hero-worshiped you."
"Yeah, well, where the hell were you? You're supposed to be my friend and you couldn't even spend two minutes talking to me." He tries to stop the words, but they come out anyway.
"And now the truth comes out." Danny sounds disappointed. "'It's cool,'" he mocks. "All the while you're rebuilding that chip on your shoulder about how nobody loves poor little Martin. That's what this is really about, isn't it? You don't care about your sister, you just care about the fact that she's not listening to you."
"Shut up!" Rage returns, sending him back up in Danny's face. He slams the heels of both hands into Danny's shoulder joints at the collar. It should have broken something, had Danny not seen it coming and brought his own hands up in between, deflecting just enough energy to save him. But it's definitely a fight now, and Martin's not that much smaller or weaker.
"Stop." He hears the voice but is too caught up in anger to heed it. But then suddenly Danny's not there anymore, he's been knocked off his feet and a body transposed between them. "Stop." This time there is inflection, this isn't a request or a plea, it's an order from someone used to having their orders obeyed. Alex stands between them, shielding her brother from the guy he was attacking.
Danny nods. He wasn't the one out for blood, even though he got it. Martin can taste salt, and if he doesn't get some ice on his lip soon, he won't be giving any speeches for a while.
Anyone else, any other sister and she'd be sorting out what happened, maybe even brokering peace. Alex… he can almost hear the train of thought in her head. Her brother was in a fight, she defends her brother. Not because of anything right or wrong but simply because he is her brother and Danny is not.
Martin turns away, even though there's nowhere to go. He wants to say he's sorry, but he's never been able to. Never, ever apologise. Fitzgeralds do not make mistakes - they may be misinformed, but they do not err. Even when it might be better to say sorry, he can't.
He hears Danny get to his feet and leave. He hurts… he hurts so much…
His sister tugs on his arm and he turns around. She examines him critically, then begins straightening his shirt and tie before picking up his I.D. from the ground where it came off in the struggle. She reattaches it to his shirt pocket before she pulls a handkerchief out of her own pocket. He doesn't protest, even when she starts cleaning off his face and examining his wounds. He's too stunned to protest. What? What has he done? He just got into a fistfight. With Danny. Danny's supposed to be his friend. Why would he do that?
Having put him back together as best she can, Alex stops. She watches his hands, shaking ever-so-slightly from adrenaline and confusion, before taking them in her own.
"Why didn't you come back sooner? Why did you wait? Okay, from Danny, maybe I can understand it a little, but you're my sister."
"I'm not a doctor, Martin. I can't fix that." And there it is, her logic, her weakness… all of it in nine simple words. Four, if you break it down. I can't fix that. She must have figured that there was nothing she could do, so she did nothing. Maybe she thought it wouldn't make a difference where she was. Maybe…
Maybe she's right. Maybe it shouldn't make a difference. He should know she loves him, in her own, odd little way. She may never say it, it's just things she does. Stepping in to save him from Danny, fixing him up as best she can, afterwards… those are things she can do. Thinking of that, brings him to thoughts of something she can't. She can't lie, not to him, not to anyone else. Not even white lies, she just doesn't understand their purpose. She told Danny that Martin is her hero. If she said it, then it must be true.
"You need ice." She turns away, probably to go get some and bring it back so she can continue her repairs.
He stops her, pulling her into a hug. She doesn't respond, but that's okay. She's not like him, she doesn't crave human contact she was never allowed to have. When he was little, he would have given anything for a hug. Even now, sometimes that's all he wants, something to cling to, hang on to so he doesn't get swept away and disappear. She lets him do that, she doesn't pull away or resist.
" I have never hero-worshiped you." But Martin has. He's hero-worshiped both of them. He'd love to be like Danny, so confident of himself, so open and willing to take risks. He'd love to be like Alex, too, to not care about the insults or other peoples' opinions. Maybe that's why it hurt so much, not having either one there. Like with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, he waited but they never came. He takes a deep breath. She's here, now, isn't she? He answers her question from earlier. "Now is a good time."