#97 Writer's Choice
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: "A Non-statistical Analysis and Comparison of Behaviours Expressed by Little Brothers and FBI Agents"
Fandom: Without A Trace
Character: Martin Fitzgerald
Prompt: #97 -- Writer's Choice
Word Count: 2,530 (approx)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Season 4 (though set beyond)
Author's Notes:: Thank you to kate98 for the beta. A little lighter than I normally go, but hey, change is good. No... I didn't just vanish. Still here. I think.
A Non-statistical Analysis and Comparison of Behaviours Expressed by Little Brothers and FBI Agents
The first sound they hear, after the chime of the doorbell, is a scream.
"Do you think we've come at a bad time?" Jack keeps staring straight ahead, despite the smile he's not even bothering to hold in.
Martin shrugs. "Sounds like it." He's grinning too.
The scream sounds again, and this time the words are more articulate, if only slightly. "Don't you dare open that door, Andrea. Not until I go get dressed."
Both men fail miserably at not-laughing. "F.B.I." Jack pounds on the door now. "Open up."
"You open that door, and I swear to God, I'll kill you."
"But…" A smaller voice, obviously closer buts in. "Aren't you supposed to open the door to these guys?"
"Not while I'm naked." The volume is slightly lower, but they're listening for it now. The pronouncement brings identical grins, wider than anyone would think possible from two men in dark suits and sunglasses.
"But…"
"Andrea…"
They're gentlemen enough to wait for the slamming of an inner-door. Then Jack knocks again. "Andrea? Could you let us in, please?"
"Um…" The door opens slightly. Jack and Martin hold up their badges. The door inches open a little wider.
'Andrea' is older than they expected, for someone so naïve as to the rules of law-enforcement, at least twelve or fourteen. Nothing says you have to let the FBI in, unless they're packing a search-warrant. Right now, Martin kicks himself for not grabbing a blank one, just for a joke. They didn't expect to have to negotiate their way in here, though. Andrea glances back over her shoulder, as though unsure whether to be more afraid of the agents of Law standing in front of her, or the agent of Rage who just disappeared behind her. They can't blame her. They'd be scared, too.
"It's okay." Martin pats Andrea on the shoulder and slips past her. Jack follows his junior agent. There are a couple of doors close enough to be the applicable one, but one still stands open. Puddles of water on a tile floor are testament to a hasty exit. Martin moves silently over to the other door and knocks. "Hellooo."
"In a minute!" The volume returns, with a new level of exasperation to it.
Martin nods, and starts counting. One-one-thousand, Two-one-thousand…
***
Three-one-thousand. She's going to kill those guys. She's going to murder them and no one's going to convict her, not even their best friends. She knows Martin is timing her. The little rat-bastard is like that. If she's even one-one-thousand over the sixty, he is going to nag and nag and nag her. Well, he has no idea who he's dealing with. Lisa Harris is a world champion speed-dresser. He's counting for sixty seconds, and it's gonna be sixty seconds.
By 'fifty-eight-thousand' she yanks the door open to find herself face-to-face with the kind of grin she hasn't seen since she left home and three little brothers. Rat-bastard. It only widens as his gaze travels her frame. "What?"
"You forgot your socks," Martin snickers.
In response, she drops the wet towel over his head and turns to go get some.
"Aww, Lisa…"
She turns back and plants a hand in the middle of his chest, shoving him into the middle of the hall. "Stay!" She can hear Jack chuckling, and it better not be at her. Bad enough that they're asking her for a favour on the weekend… The weekend for God's sake! She was part-way through a major cleaning job and covered in dust and cobwebs when they called, but to laugh like this…
The only reason they're getting away with it is these guys need more laughter in their lives, not less. Still, it shouldn't be at her expense, not under these circumstances. You mock me, and then you ask for a favour?
Welcome to law enforcement. Her next thought takes on a drier tone. The behaviour is entirely natural for the species. Too bad it shares the same genus as 'little brother.' Really, a lot of the jokes are the same. Lame attempts at humour that are for some reason hilarious to the joker. Like the dead amphibian that someone left in her desk drawer on the first day. They must still be wondering about the lack of screams, though Martin doubled over with laughter when he heard the story, probably the only person to make the connection between it and the appearance of the bottle of Dryed Frogg Pils on her desk. Other people just look strangely at the spelling, but she and Martin read many of the same books. Sanity is a hallucination. She should get that on a T-shirt someday.
Socks on, she heads out again, to find Martin has wandered into the bathroom, presumably to put the towel away, though now he stands examining her make-up collection.
"I'd go with the blue," she tells him. "It'll pick up your eyes." She reaches past him for a comb, noting with satisfaction that her hair has brushed up against his shirt, dampening it. They're just like little brothers: once they're in the house, you have no privacy whatsoever.
"Really? You sure it wouldn't be overwhelming?"
"Try it and see." Why did her car have to pick now to decide it needed a new transmission? Now when her niece has come to visit? And why can't she learn how to use the word 'no'?
He tries to look casual, but she can see the slight red flush on the back of his neck as he puts the powder down. Good. That'll teach him to try to embarrass her.
She finishes combing her hair, trying to ensure that a few stray drops splash on to him. He seems to get the hint and moves out into the hallway again.
She ties her hair back and joins them. As they head towards the door, the brat strikes again.
She whirls around. "Hey! Hands to yourself!"
He smirks, at the same time trying to look innocent. "You were untucked. I was just helping." Jack snickers and doesn't even try to hide it.
This is why I moved out. 'Helpful', my ass. Sure, the documentation says that Martin is the oldest of his siblings and Jack didn't have any, but they certainly don't act like it. She's fighting down an urge to smack both of them. Andrea just watches silently. She's such a shy, quiet type, and almost too obedient at times. She did not get it from her father's side of the family.
Lisa takes her aside. "Okay, now I don't care if the next people pounding on the door are the police, the FBI or the IRS. They don't come in, not while I'm not here." She doesn't feel too bad about leaving her alone, as long as she stays in the apartment and keeps everybody out. By twelve, she'd assumed half the household parenting duties. Andrea's lucky to be alive, given that several times her father nearly didn't make it past the age where girls were icky.
Andrea nods. "It's just you said you were expecting…"
"I know." Again, she regrets her inability to use the negative. There is a big difference between 'no' and 'you'll have to pick me up, because I have no car.' True, the word is in there, but she needs to learn how to isolate it.
"Okay." Andrea suddenly gives her an odd little look. "I thought boys were supposed to try to undress you."
Lisa allows her own little snicker. "Yeah, well," She raises her voice to a level that can be overheard. "Martin can be a little slow sometimes."
"Please," Martin raises his hands like he's surrendering. "There are children present."
"Yeah, and you're all over there."
Martin confirms it, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes.
"One day, it really will freeze like that."
He makes an even more distorted face, reminding her of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes. She resolves to get him a toy tiger.
"That must get you a lot of dates." It probably does. Girls take one look and decide they've found the other genetic half to their offspring. If only they knew. Lisa tries to remember she's immune to that sort of cuteness. She tries to remember that it's usually accompanied by such lovely things as gunk and slime.
"Awww Wisa… feeling a wittle cranky are we?"
She doesn't answer until they're out the door, when she hits him. No need for Andrea to witness this level of violence, or be forced to testify.
"Ow." He rubs his injured arm, looking insulted. "Jack, she just assaulted me."
"Lucky you," Jack tells him. "They never assault me."
"What you need," Lisa mutters, heading to the car to claim shotgun before Martin can, "is a good spanking."
"Is that an offer?" Martin suddenly sounds intrigued, catching up and reaching for the door handle at the same time. "'Cause, you know, I should be free around sixish…" His grin gives it away though. He's just out to get her.
"Get in the car." She smacks his hand away and gets into the front seat.
***
He sits down in the back, adopting a pose akin to a sulk. "You know, Jack, she's the short one."
"I've got a front seat." Jack gets into the driver's seat, showing no mercy to his poor damaged and distressed junior agent.
Martin reaches around and pokes Lisa in the side. "Trade." It's too late, though, the car is pulling away from the curb.
She smacks his hand again. "No. Now stop it."
"Oooh. Ticklish." It's fun getting a rise out of her, more fun than getting one out of Sam. Sam just gets touchy nowadays, but Lisa still snarks back. He pokes her again. "Lisa's ticklish." He's also had way too much caffeine and sugar, but that's what happens when people insist he attend meetings where all they serve is coffee and donuts.
She turns around in her seat to point at him. "Stop it."
He stares out the window. Unwilled by him, his leg twitches, hitting the back of her seat. She tenses ever so slightly. Hmmm…
He begins to rhythmically kick the back of her seat. Not hard enough to damage the car, but enough that she can feel it. She is the shorter one. She should be back here with the lesser leg-room, and there was no need for her to leave the seat shoved back.
"Look, you little rat-bastard…"
He straightens up slightly. He's getting to her. This is good.
Jack turns briefly to look at Lisa, a semi-shocked look on his face. "What?"
"That's his name from now on," Lisa announces. "Rat-bastard."
"Really." Jack sounds like he wishes he could get away with calling the son of a deputy-director by that name.
Martin grabs the back of the seat and pulls himself forward. "You don't really mean that, do you, Lisa?" He puts on his best 'aren't I cute?' face.
She half turns around to look at him directly, and gently cups his chin in her hand. "Yes. I do."
He sniffles. "I thought you liked me. All this time, when you listened to all my stories, and said such nice things about me…"
"I'm sorry. I'm a psychiatrist. I thought you knew."
His lip begins to wobble. "Why are you being mean now, then?" He shoulda been an actor, he's that good.
"Because you remind me of someone I love very dearly." She smiles and pats his cheek. "Now, more so than ever. This is for your own good. Behave yourself, and maybe later I'll break into the cookies for you."
What the… On the other hand, she is offering food and he's been known to go a long way for consumables. He drops his voice, even though it doesn't matter because Jack is only inches away. "I bet you'd like me better if I was bad."
In response, she lets go of his face and begins to rummage in her purse.
"What are you looking for?" Jack asks.
"Something to sedate him with."
Martin coughs. "Um… Lisa… hate to break it to you, but…" Now that he's started this no-narcotics thing, he'd like to keep going on it.
"I'm sure I have a hammer or a wrench in here somewhere."
Jack laughs. "Thank you for not going into anaesthesiology." He finishes turning a corner before continuing. "I have my gun, you can pistol-whip him if you'd like."
Martin drops back to his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "No fair you guys ganging up on me. Look at this. Two shrinks picking on a lowly little CPA…"
"Isn't there also a Masters in business there?" Jack directs his question at Lisa, rather than the person the question actually happens to be about. "Not to mention all that tech knowledge he pretends not to have."
Martin says nothing. He'd rather not draw attention to his status as a heavily-closeted geek. After all, look at Mac. The guy hardly ever sees daylight. If Dad finds out that Martin has even half the skills he does, he'll take Martin's gun away and lock him in a basement somewhere. Worse, he might have to teach the old man how to use his computer, and that would just be hell. Instead, he just mutters. "Not fair."
"Poor baby. Would 'ums like a soother? Maybe his teddy-bear and a sleepy-bye?"
"Do I get a kiss goodnight?" Martin perks up, hopefully.
"You'll get something in the kisser." Lisa murmurs.
"Oooh. Starting with the S&M. Very kinky." This is why, out of all the shrinks on staff, Lisa has the support of the team. If he pulled this line with anyone else, he'd be out on his ass for harassment. She can adjust her style depending on the person and the situation. He's seen other shrinks over the years - spend an hour in dead silence with one of them and you get lectures about 'wasting time' and 'not being committed to the process.' Lisa seems to understand that sometimes it's hard to talk. Of course, she's also good at spotting when you're telling a lie. That is a drawback.
"Hmm. This oughta work." She pulls something out of her purse, but he can't see what. There's the sound of something tearing.
"You carry duct tape around with you?" Jack sounds incredulous.
"You never know what you're going to need, Jack. I'm assuming you have a fairly large trunk on this thing? In my experience, it's key to a quieter ride."
"Ganging up on me." Martin slouches down again so his shoulders and knees are almost level. It's a posture he picked up as a teenager, for all those interminable rides with his parents. I'm not talking to you, it says, I can't hear you, either. It doesn't matter though, because with in minutes they're there, and three joking friends become a trio of sober, serious professionals by reflex. It doesn't matter who they are or how they feel about each other. There is a job to do. That's what they're here for. They behave.
Title: "A Non-statistical Analysis and Comparison of Behaviours Expressed by Little Brothers and FBI Agents"
Fandom: Without A Trace
Character: Martin Fitzgerald
Prompt: #97 -- Writer's Choice
Word Count: 2,530 (approx)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Season 4 (though set beyond)
Author's Notes:: Thank you to kate98 for the beta. A little lighter than I normally go, but hey, change is good. No... I didn't just vanish. Still here. I think.
A Non-statistical Analysis and Comparison of Behaviours Expressed by Little Brothers and FBI Agents
The first sound they hear, after the chime of the doorbell, is a scream.
"Do you think we've come at a bad time?" Jack keeps staring straight ahead, despite the smile he's not even bothering to hold in.
Martin shrugs. "Sounds like it." He's grinning too.
The scream sounds again, and this time the words are more articulate, if only slightly. "Don't you dare open that door, Andrea. Not until I go get dressed."
Both men fail miserably at not-laughing. "F.B.I." Jack pounds on the door now. "Open up."
"You open that door, and I swear to God, I'll kill you."
"But…" A smaller voice, obviously closer buts in. "Aren't you supposed to open the door to these guys?"
"Not while I'm naked." The volume is slightly lower, but they're listening for it now. The pronouncement brings identical grins, wider than anyone would think possible from two men in dark suits and sunglasses.
"But…"
"Andrea…"
They're gentlemen enough to wait for the slamming of an inner-door. Then Jack knocks again. "Andrea? Could you let us in, please?"
"Um…" The door opens slightly. Jack and Martin hold up their badges. The door inches open a little wider.
'Andrea' is older than they expected, for someone so naïve as to the rules of law-enforcement, at least twelve or fourteen. Nothing says you have to let the FBI in, unless they're packing a search-warrant. Right now, Martin kicks himself for not grabbing a blank one, just for a joke. They didn't expect to have to negotiate their way in here, though. Andrea glances back over her shoulder, as though unsure whether to be more afraid of the agents of Law standing in front of her, or the agent of Rage who just disappeared behind her. They can't blame her. They'd be scared, too.
"It's okay." Martin pats Andrea on the shoulder and slips past her. Jack follows his junior agent. There are a couple of doors close enough to be the applicable one, but one still stands open. Puddles of water on a tile floor are testament to a hasty exit. Martin moves silently over to the other door and knocks. "Hellooo."
"In a minute!" The volume returns, with a new level of exasperation to it.
Martin nods, and starts counting. One-one-thousand, Two-one-thousand…
***
Three-one-thousand. She's going to kill those guys. She's going to murder them and no one's going to convict her, not even their best friends. She knows Martin is timing her. The little rat-bastard is like that. If she's even one-one-thousand over the sixty, he is going to nag and nag and nag her. Well, he has no idea who he's dealing with. Lisa Harris is a world champion speed-dresser. He's counting for sixty seconds, and it's gonna be sixty seconds.
By 'fifty-eight-thousand' she yanks the door open to find herself face-to-face with the kind of grin she hasn't seen since she left home and three little brothers. Rat-bastard. It only widens as his gaze travels her frame. "What?"
"You forgot your socks," Martin snickers.
In response, she drops the wet towel over his head and turns to go get some.
"Aww, Lisa…"
She turns back and plants a hand in the middle of his chest, shoving him into the middle of the hall. "Stay!" She can hear Jack chuckling, and it better not be at her. Bad enough that they're asking her for a favour on the weekend… The weekend for God's sake! She was part-way through a major cleaning job and covered in dust and cobwebs when they called, but to laugh like this…
The only reason they're getting away with it is these guys need more laughter in their lives, not less. Still, it shouldn't be at her expense, not under these circumstances. You mock me, and then you ask for a favour?
Welcome to law enforcement. Her next thought takes on a drier tone. The behaviour is entirely natural for the species. Too bad it shares the same genus as 'little brother.' Really, a lot of the jokes are the same. Lame attempts at humour that are for some reason hilarious to the joker. Like the dead amphibian that someone left in her desk drawer on the first day. They must still be wondering about the lack of screams, though Martin doubled over with laughter when he heard the story, probably the only person to make the connection between it and the appearance of the bottle of Dryed Frogg Pils on her desk. Other people just look strangely at the spelling, but she and Martin read many of the same books. Sanity is a hallucination. She should get that on a T-shirt someday.
Socks on, she heads out again, to find Martin has wandered into the bathroom, presumably to put the towel away, though now he stands examining her make-up collection.
"I'd go with the blue," she tells him. "It'll pick up your eyes." She reaches past him for a comb, noting with satisfaction that her hair has brushed up against his shirt, dampening it. They're just like little brothers: once they're in the house, you have no privacy whatsoever.
"Really? You sure it wouldn't be overwhelming?"
"Try it and see." Why did her car have to pick now to decide it needed a new transmission? Now when her niece has come to visit? And why can't she learn how to use the word 'no'?
He tries to look casual, but she can see the slight red flush on the back of his neck as he puts the powder down. Good. That'll teach him to try to embarrass her.
She finishes combing her hair, trying to ensure that a few stray drops splash on to him. He seems to get the hint and moves out into the hallway again.
She ties her hair back and joins them. As they head towards the door, the brat strikes again.
She whirls around. "Hey! Hands to yourself!"
He smirks, at the same time trying to look innocent. "You were untucked. I was just helping." Jack snickers and doesn't even try to hide it.
This is why I moved out. 'Helpful', my ass. Sure, the documentation says that Martin is the oldest of his siblings and Jack didn't have any, but they certainly don't act like it. She's fighting down an urge to smack both of them. Andrea just watches silently. She's such a shy, quiet type, and almost too obedient at times. She did not get it from her father's side of the family.
Lisa takes her aside. "Okay, now I don't care if the next people pounding on the door are the police, the FBI or the IRS. They don't come in, not while I'm not here." She doesn't feel too bad about leaving her alone, as long as she stays in the apartment and keeps everybody out. By twelve, she'd assumed half the household parenting duties. Andrea's lucky to be alive, given that several times her father nearly didn't make it past the age where girls were icky.
Andrea nods. "It's just you said you were expecting…"
"I know." Again, she regrets her inability to use the negative. There is a big difference between 'no' and 'you'll have to pick me up, because I have no car.' True, the word is in there, but she needs to learn how to isolate it.
"Okay." Andrea suddenly gives her an odd little look. "I thought boys were supposed to try to undress you."
Lisa allows her own little snicker. "Yeah, well," She raises her voice to a level that can be overheard. "Martin can be a little slow sometimes."
"Please," Martin raises his hands like he's surrendering. "There are children present."
"Yeah, and you're all over there."
Martin confirms it, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes.
"One day, it really will freeze like that."
He makes an even more distorted face, reminding her of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes. She resolves to get him a toy tiger.
"That must get you a lot of dates." It probably does. Girls take one look and decide they've found the other genetic half to their offspring. If only they knew. Lisa tries to remember she's immune to that sort of cuteness. She tries to remember that it's usually accompanied by such lovely things as gunk and slime.
"Awww Wisa… feeling a wittle cranky are we?"
She doesn't answer until they're out the door, when she hits him. No need for Andrea to witness this level of violence, or be forced to testify.
"Ow." He rubs his injured arm, looking insulted. "Jack, she just assaulted me."
"Lucky you," Jack tells him. "They never assault me."
"What you need," Lisa mutters, heading to the car to claim shotgun before Martin can, "is a good spanking."
"Is that an offer?" Martin suddenly sounds intrigued, catching up and reaching for the door handle at the same time. "'Cause, you know, I should be free around sixish…" His grin gives it away though. He's just out to get her.
"Get in the car." She smacks his hand away and gets into the front seat.
***
He sits down in the back, adopting a pose akin to a sulk. "You know, Jack, she's the short one."
"I've got a front seat." Jack gets into the driver's seat, showing no mercy to his poor damaged and distressed junior agent.
Martin reaches around and pokes Lisa in the side. "Trade." It's too late, though, the car is pulling away from the curb.
She smacks his hand again. "No. Now stop it."
"Oooh. Ticklish." It's fun getting a rise out of her, more fun than getting one out of Sam. Sam just gets touchy nowadays, but Lisa still snarks back. He pokes her again. "Lisa's ticklish." He's also had way too much caffeine and sugar, but that's what happens when people insist he attend meetings where all they serve is coffee and donuts.
She turns around in her seat to point at him. "Stop it."
He stares out the window. Unwilled by him, his leg twitches, hitting the back of her seat. She tenses ever so slightly. Hmmm…
He begins to rhythmically kick the back of her seat. Not hard enough to damage the car, but enough that she can feel it. She is the shorter one. She should be back here with the lesser leg-room, and there was no need for her to leave the seat shoved back.
"Look, you little rat-bastard…"
He straightens up slightly. He's getting to her. This is good.
Jack turns briefly to look at Lisa, a semi-shocked look on his face. "What?"
"That's his name from now on," Lisa announces. "Rat-bastard."
"Really." Jack sounds like he wishes he could get away with calling the son of a deputy-director by that name.
Martin grabs the back of the seat and pulls himself forward. "You don't really mean that, do you, Lisa?" He puts on his best 'aren't I cute?' face.
She half turns around to look at him directly, and gently cups his chin in her hand. "Yes. I do."
He sniffles. "I thought you liked me. All this time, when you listened to all my stories, and said such nice things about me…"
"I'm sorry. I'm a psychiatrist. I thought you knew."
His lip begins to wobble. "Why are you being mean now, then?" He shoulda been an actor, he's that good.
"Because you remind me of someone I love very dearly." She smiles and pats his cheek. "Now, more so than ever. This is for your own good. Behave yourself, and maybe later I'll break into the cookies for you."
What the… On the other hand, she is offering food and he's been known to go a long way for consumables. He drops his voice, even though it doesn't matter because Jack is only inches away. "I bet you'd like me better if I was bad."
In response, she lets go of his face and begins to rummage in her purse.
"What are you looking for?" Jack asks.
"Something to sedate him with."
Martin coughs. "Um… Lisa… hate to break it to you, but…" Now that he's started this no-narcotics thing, he'd like to keep going on it.
"I'm sure I have a hammer or a wrench in here somewhere."
Jack laughs. "Thank you for not going into anaesthesiology." He finishes turning a corner before continuing. "I have my gun, you can pistol-whip him if you'd like."
Martin drops back to his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "No fair you guys ganging up on me. Look at this. Two shrinks picking on a lowly little CPA…"
"Isn't there also a Masters in business there?" Jack directs his question at Lisa, rather than the person the question actually happens to be about. "Not to mention all that tech knowledge he pretends not to have."
Martin says nothing. He'd rather not draw attention to his status as a heavily-closeted geek. After all, look at Mac. The guy hardly ever sees daylight. If Dad finds out that Martin has even half the skills he does, he'll take Martin's gun away and lock him in a basement somewhere. Worse, he might have to teach the old man how to use his computer, and that would just be hell. Instead, he just mutters. "Not fair."
"Poor baby. Would 'ums like a soother? Maybe his teddy-bear and a sleepy-bye?"
"Do I get a kiss goodnight?" Martin perks up, hopefully.
"You'll get something in the kisser." Lisa murmurs.
"Oooh. Starting with the S&M. Very kinky." This is why, out of all the shrinks on staff, Lisa has the support of the team. If he pulled this line with anyone else, he'd be out on his ass for harassment. She can adjust her style depending on the person and the situation. He's seen other shrinks over the years - spend an hour in dead silence with one of them and you get lectures about 'wasting time' and 'not being committed to the process.' Lisa seems to understand that sometimes it's hard to talk. Of course, she's also good at spotting when you're telling a lie. That is a drawback.
"Hmm. This oughta work." She pulls something out of her purse, but he can't see what. There's the sound of something tearing.
"You carry duct tape around with you?" Jack sounds incredulous.
"You never know what you're going to need, Jack. I'm assuming you have a fairly large trunk on this thing? In my experience, it's key to a quieter ride."
"Ganging up on me." Martin slouches down again so his shoulders and knees are almost level. It's a posture he picked up as a teenager, for all those interminable rides with his parents. I'm not talking to you, it says, I can't hear you, either. It doesn't matter though, because with in minutes they're there, and three joking friends become a trio of sober, serious professionals by reflex. It doesn't matter who they are or how they feel about each other. There is a job to do. That's what they're here for. They behave.