Remembr With Me, But Only For a Day - for redfairie19
Title: Remember With Me, But Only For a Day
Author: desertport
Recipient: redfairie19
Author’s notes: PG. Made possible by the insightful comments of my beta, whose identity will be disclosed at the end of the challenge. The story doesn't exactly fit the challenge, but it does deal with the issues that were supposed to be raised. Hope it will be okay.
Summary: Martin returns to work after the shooting and is dismayed at what he finds.
Martin was surprised to exit the building and find a misty
rain falling. He'd been spent his first day back inside, not even leaving for
lunch. Truth be told, it had been too much work simply hobbling down to the
kiosk in the lobby for lunch. The idea of going outside and across the street
for a burger or tacos made him grimace and fall back on that promise he'd made
himself in the hospital. He'd get through this with patience and no complaints.
With that in mind, he'd settled for what Danny called
"lobby food" and stayed at his desk from morning to night, covering the office
while the team searched for the MP.
Kid with a bomb. What ever happened to normal acting out?
Sex, drugs, rock and roll. Martin remembered when lighting up a joint expressed
everything there was to say against authority. Now they had to blow up their
schools.
He shook his head. The whole team had been in that school.
If the bomb had functioned properly, Martin would have been the only surviving
member of the Missing Persons Unit. Not a distinction he was eager to earn,
though he saw the irony. Getting shot six weeks ago would have saved his life
today. Maybe it would yet. He had a long way to go before Jack let him out in
the field.
Funny how his thoughts never took such dark turns when he
worked in White Collar. Martin tugged his raincoat closed and adjusted his grip
on the cane. Damn thing offset his balance, put him in mind of a fall, and
wouldn't that be the perfect end to a perfect day. First thing he'd done at the
office was encounter Danny. Might as well end the day with a tumble down to the
street.
He'd more or less wanted to throw himself from a height
after that little meeting. He and Danny were never meant for awkward exchanges,
and it had set the tone for the rest of Martin's day. He honestly hadn't
expected an apology. He hadn't wanted one either, not from Danny. In fact, he'd
spent some time trying to think of a way to thank Danny, and he was frustrated
with his inability to find the right words. As it turned out, Danny didn't give
any indication of being receptive to a discussion of that night, and if avoiding
the issue would make him feel better, well, Martin would try not to feel too
relieved.
He had other problems to think about anyway.
The wet pavement made the cane more hazardous than usual,
so Martin took it slow as he approached the steps leading down to the sidewalk.
These would be hell, pulling on muscles still tender from surgery and stitches,
but he hadn't had to do PT today. Soon he'd crash at home, so down he went.
Under the streetlights, the sidewalk glinted a gritty
silver, and he couldn't see too far ahead. The rain was the sort to fizzle
through the air rather than fall straight down; not a bother until he made it
home, where he would be sure to find his jacket soaked through to his suit.
The cold wet of it all was refreshing, especially in
contrast to the office. Martin savored the peace out here. The occasional car
slowly made its way along the street, tires sounding grainy against the damp
asphalt, and a few pedestrians walked by in a hurry, no doubt on their way to a
warm restaurant or bar for a late meeting with friends or family. They didn't
pay attention to the young man with a cane, and Martin decided he preferred the
outdoors to the federal building where he worked, where everyone knew he'd
gotten shot and treated him like an invalid hero. They put him on the spot every
time he ventured from his desk to the bathroom or lobby or snack machines. No
one had to say a word, just look at him. Martin had never been so out of place,
and his mouth hurt from smiling in the self-deprecating way they all seemed to
need him to do.
Even Danny had seemed to need that. Martin hadn't expected
him to, but things had changed, and if Martin wanted to catch up, he'd have to
adjust. No use asking why.
Six weeks without even a phone call. He never thought that
would require an apology, but he had wondered. Martin had wondered how getting
shot could have transformed him into bad company, how it could have taken away
whatever it was Danny had seen in him. The only thing Martin really missed was
the sense of his own vitality. Maybe Danny knew it was gone too. Martin had
spent six weeks convinced that was it, that he'd lost some essential quality
that Danny needed.
Then he'd come back to work.
Few things at the office were as he remembered. Dynamics
had shifted. Danny appeared to have made it onto Jack's shit list, even before
bungling tonight's apprehension of the missing kid. Martin couldn't tell why; he
hadn't been here to see Danny's work over the past month and a half. It was odd,
though. Odd enough to set Martin to puzzling it out. Because it didn't fit.
Danny had been in that car too. He'd shielded Martin with his body when they
ducked, pressing him almost in half as bullets shattered the windshield. Later,
apparently, Danny had driven off their attackers in an exchange of gunfire.
Saved both their lives.
Martin had a habit of choosing role models who were
difficult to please, but in Jack he may have found one who set the bar higher
than even Martin wanted to reach. Danny, apparently, had stopped trying.
Or maybe Danny tried too hard. Talking to that messed up
kid, relying only on himself to keep a bomb from going off…. Danny was lucky
Jack didn't suspend him. But then, Danny always did push the line. Martin smiled
in the privacy of the dark street. In a block or so he'd break down and hail a
cab for the rest of the way home, but for now, he could spare a moment for those
times Danny had done exactly the wrong thing. That day in Graham Spaulding's
house, searching for evidence while Martin kept watch outside. Threatening that
guy Radio in the interrogation room. Danny kept Martin on his toes, got him into
trouble as often as not. Perhaps, without Martin around to balance out that
penchant for mischief, Danny had simply drifted too far past the line. It was an
arrogant idea, but Martin had long since come to think of himself and Danny as
partners; he knew where and how they complemented each other.
Which was not to say that Martin never screwed up. He had
two gunshot wounds to prove that he did indeed do the wrong thing from time to
time. The difference was that he never intended to cross the line. It just
happened. It happened with Jack and Spaulding in the car, Jack's whisper a
disgusting purr, describing the unthinkable. It happened worse in an inner city
apartment where Martin looked up and found his sidearm hot in his palm, a man
dead on the floor. He wondered now how Danny would have dealt with the situation
and decided it was a good thing Vivian had been there. She was an agent with
experience, more so than Danny or Martin, and at this rate, probably a better
future with the Bureau.
What was it she had told him about dealing with these
things? Put it in a box. File it away as part of the job. Don't think about it.
But Martin had never been able to comply, and he knew he never would. It was too
much like something his dad would do.
Danny would never take that advice seriously either. When
something happened to Danny-or even just near him-Danny found ways to work
through it. How many times had Martin come across him pacing empty rooms,
talking to himself with his hands all over the place, doing all he could to
spill out of his body what was left of a shooting or a dead MP or a particularly
volatile memory? It was a holdover from AA, by Martin's guess. Talk therapy. It
had never worked for Martin, but Danny lived by it.
The incredible thing was, it worked. While Martin brooded
and started noticing lines in his face where the skin had once been young, Danny
actually worked through his problems. He'd go to sleep exhausted from a
one-sided, aerobic conversation, and wake up playful and buoyant.
Martin might have tried to learn how to do that himself,
but he never really got a chance to see how Danny did it in the first place. All
that talk therapy, and he never unloaded on Martin. Even after they started
sleeping together, Danny only ever told him things anecdotally, no trace of the
confessional tone Martin imagined prevailed in AA. Just a straightforward
accounting of something that once happened, something that related to whatever
they were talking about at the time. Martin was half-glad for that, but he
thought it would be all right if Danny used him as a confidant occasionally.
He'd expected it after the Adisa hit, and actually had gone a few weeks
resenting the hell out of Danny for not coming by to dump it all on him.
The resentment hadn't lingered past his first few hours in
the office today. It was obvious Danny hadn't been able to talk himself out of
whatever was bothering him, and his work had suffered. Jack couldn't give him
any slack, but Martin… Martin would give Danny anything he needed. Maybe
tomorrow he'd figure out how.
Time to call a cab. He turned around to scan the street for
yellow cars, but found instead a tall figure wearing no raincoat, still and
wide-eyed like a startled cat when Martin spotted him.
"Danny?"
Danny lifted one hand, as if to say "Hi." He quickly shed
the surprise in his posture and jogged forward half a block to stand near
Martin, but not too near. His suit and shirt collar were damp, water droplets
beaded all over his black hair, but he didn't look cold. Somewhat chagrined, and
beneath that, unhappy.
"Thought you went home an hour ago?"
"I did." Danny shrugged. "Just. Sort of, hung around a bit.
I saw you leave, and…"
"You following me, Taylor?"
Danny looked down and shrugged again. "Guess so. Look.
About this morning, I feel bad, and-"
"I was going to order Chinese." Martin shuffled his feet,
trying not to put too much weight on the cane.
Danny's head jerked up. "I'm sorry, what?"
"At home. I was going to order something in. We could
share."
Danny frowned. "Really?"
Martin wondered when was the last time Danny had had a
meal. Come to think of it, he did look thinner.
"If you don't mind taking a cab."
Danny closed the distance between them and turned around to
look for a cab, all in the same smooth movement. One came by, and he flagged it
down. He probably thought Martin would collapse without a chance to sit, like he
hadn't been sitting all day. They climbed in one after the other, and Martin
took a long look at Danny, who rested against the mildewed upholstery like a man
who couldn't close his eyes at night. The car pulled away from the curb.
In the hospital, his visitors had only talked about Danny
when Martin asked about him, and no one had given Danny credit for what he'd
done at the scene of the shooting. Martin remembered, though.
He'd do his best now to help Danny forget.
End.
Author: desertport
Recipient: redfairie19
Author’s notes: PG. Made possible by the insightful comments of my beta, whose identity will be disclosed at the end of the challenge. The story doesn't exactly fit the challenge, but it does deal with the issues that were supposed to be raised. Hope it will be okay.
Summary: Martin returns to work after the shooting and is dismayed at what he finds.
Martin was surprised to exit the building and find a misty
rain falling. He'd been spent his first day back inside, not even leaving for
lunch. Truth be told, it had been too much work simply hobbling down to the
kiosk in the lobby for lunch. The idea of going outside and across the street
for a burger or tacos made him grimace and fall back on that promise he'd made
himself in the hospital. He'd get through this with patience and no complaints.
With that in mind, he'd settled for what Danny called
"lobby food" and stayed at his desk from morning to night, covering the office
while the team searched for the MP.
Kid with a bomb. What ever happened to normal acting out?
Sex, drugs, rock and roll. Martin remembered when lighting up a joint expressed
everything there was to say against authority. Now they had to blow up their
schools.
He shook his head. The whole team had been in that school.
If the bomb had functioned properly, Martin would have been the only surviving
member of the Missing Persons Unit. Not a distinction he was eager to earn,
though he saw the irony. Getting shot six weeks ago would have saved his life
today. Maybe it would yet. He had a long way to go before Jack let him out in
the field.
Funny how his thoughts never took such dark turns when he
worked in White Collar. Martin tugged his raincoat closed and adjusted his grip
on the cane. Damn thing offset his balance, put him in mind of a fall, and
wouldn't that be the perfect end to a perfect day. First thing he'd done at the
office was encounter Danny. Might as well end the day with a tumble down to the
street.
He'd more or less wanted to throw himself from a height
after that little meeting. He and Danny were never meant for awkward exchanges,
and it had set the tone for the rest of Martin's day. He honestly hadn't
expected an apology. He hadn't wanted one either, not from Danny. In fact, he'd
spent some time trying to think of a way to thank Danny, and he was frustrated
with his inability to find the right words. As it turned out, Danny didn't give
any indication of being receptive to a discussion of that night, and if avoiding
the issue would make him feel better, well, Martin would try not to feel too
relieved.
He had other problems to think about anyway.
The wet pavement made the cane more hazardous than usual,
so Martin took it slow as he approached the steps leading down to the sidewalk.
These would be hell, pulling on muscles still tender from surgery and stitches,
but he hadn't had to do PT today. Soon he'd crash at home, so down he went.
Under the streetlights, the sidewalk glinted a gritty
silver, and he couldn't see too far ahead. The rain was the sort to fizzle
through the air rather than fall straight down; not a bother until he made it
home, where he would be sure to find his jacket soaked through to his suit.
The cold wet of it all was refreshing, especially in
contrast to the office. Martin savored the peace out here. The occasional car
slowly made its way along the street, tires sounding grainy against the damp
asphalt, and a few pedestrians walked by in a hurry, no doubt on their way to a
warm restaurant or bar for a late meeting with friends or family. They didn't
pay attention to the young man with a cane, and Martin decided he preferred the
outdoors to the federal building where he worked, where everyone knew he'd
gotten shot and treated him like an invalid hero. They put him on the spot every
time he ventured from his desk to the bathroom or lobby or snack machines. No
one had to say a word, just look at him. Martin had never been so out of place,
and his mouth hurt from smiling in the self-deprecating way they all seemed to
need him to do.
Even Danny had seemed to need that. Martin hadn't expected
him to, but things had changed, and if Martin wanted to catch up, he'd have to
adjust. No use asking why.
Six weeks without even a phone call. He never thought that
would require an apology, but he had wondered. Martin had wondered how getting
shot could have transformed him into bad company, how it could have taken away
whatever it was Danny had seen in him. The only thing Martin really missed was
the sense of his own vitality. Maybe Danny knew it was gone too. Martin had
spent six weeks convinced that was it, that he'd lost some essential quality
that Danny needed.
Then he'd come back to work.
Few things at the office were as he remembered. Dynamics
had shifted. Danny appeared to have made it onto Jack's shit list, even before
bungling tonight's apprehension of the missing kid. Martin couldn't tell why; he
hadn't been here to see Danny's work over the past month and a half. It was odd,
though. Odd enough to set Martin to puzzling it out. Because it didn't fit.
Danny had been in that car too. He'd shielded Martin with his body when they
ducked, pressing him almost in half as bullets shattered the windshield. Later,
apparently, Danny had driven off their attackers in an exchange of gunfire.
Saved both their lives.
Martin had a habit of choosing role models who were
difficult to please, but in Jack he may have found one who set the bar higher
than even Martin wanted to reach. Danny, apparently, had stopped trying.
Or maybe Danny tried too hard. Talking to that messed up
kid, relying only on himself to keep a bomb from going off…. Danny was lucky
Jack didn't suspend him. But then, Danny always did push the line. Martin smiled
in the privacy of the dark street. In a block or so he'd break down and hail a
cab for the rest of the way home, but for now, he could spare a moment for those
times Danny had done exactly the wrong thing. That day in Graham Spaulding's
house, searching for evidence while Martin kept watch outside. Threatening that
guy Radio in the interrogation room. Danny kept Martin on his toes, got him into
trouble as often as not. Perhaps, without Martin around to balance out that
penchant for mischief, Danny had simply drifted too far past the line. It was an
arrogant idea, but Martin had long since come to think of himself and Danny as
partners; he knew where and how they complemented each other.
Which was not to say that Martin never screwed up. He had
two gunshot wounds to prove that he did indeed do the wrong thing from time to
time. The difference was that he never intended to cross the line. It just
happened. It happened with Jack and Spaulding in the car, Jack's whisper a
disgusting purr, describing the unthinkable. It happened worse in an inner city
apartment where Martin looked up and found his sidearm hot in his palm, a man
dead on the floor. He wondered now how Danny would have dealt with the situation
and decided it was a good thing Vivian had been there. She was an agent with
experience, more so than Danny or Martin, and at this rate, probably a better
future with the Bureau.
What was it she had told him about dealing with these
things? Put it in a box. File it away as part of the job. Don't think about it.
But Martin had never been able to comply, and he knew he never would. It was too
much like something his dad would do.
Danny would never take that advice seriously either. When
something happened to Danny-or even just near him-Danny found ways to work
through it. How many times had Martin come across him pacing empty rooms,
talking to himself with his hands all over the place, doing all he could to
spill out of his body what was left of a shooting or a dead MP or a particularly
volatile memory? It was a holdover from AA, by Martin's guess. Talk therapy. It
had never worked for Martin, but Danny lived by it.
The incredible thing was, it worked. While Martin brooded
and started noticing lines in his face where the skin had once been young, Danny
actually worked through his problems. He'd go to sleep exhausted from a
one-sided, aerobic conversation, and wake up playful and buoyant.
Martin might have tried to learn how to do that himself,
but he never really got a chance to see how Danny did it in the first place. All
that talk therapy, and he never unloaded on Martin. Even after they started
sleeping together, Danny only ever told him things anecdotally, no trace of the
confessional tone Martin imagined prevailed in AA. Just a straightforward
accounting of something that once happened, something that related to whatever
they were talking about at the time. Martin was half-glad for that, but he
thought it would be all right if Danny used him as a confidant occasionally.
He'd expected it after the Adisa hit, and actually had gone a few weeks
resenting the hell out of Danny for not coming by to dump it all on him.
The resentment hadn't lingered past his first few hours in
the office today. It was obvious Danny hadn't been able to talk himself out of
whatever was bothering him, and his work had suffered. Jack couldn't give him
any slack, but Martin… Martin would give Danny anything he needed. Maybe
tomorrow he'd figure out how.
Time to call a cab. He turned around to scan the street for
yellow cars, but found instead a tall figure wearing no raincoat, still and
wide-eyed like a startled cat when Martin spotted him.
"Danny?"
Danny lifted one hand, as if to say "Hi." He quickly shed
the surprise in his posture and jogged forward half a block to stand near
Martin, but not too near. His suit and shirt collar were damp, water droplets
beaded all over his black hair, but he didn't look cold. Somewhat chagrined, and
beneath that, unhappy.
"Thought you went home an hour ago?"
"I did." Danny shrugged. "Just. Sort of, hung around a bit.
I saw you leave, and…"
"You following me, Taylor?"
Danny looked down and shrugged again. "Guess so. Look.
About this morning, I feel bad, and-"
"I was going to order Chinese." Martin shuffled his feet,
trying not to put too much weight on the cane.
Danny's head jerked up. "I'm sorry, what?"
"At home. I was going to order something in. We could
share."
Danny frowned. "Really?"
Martin wondered when was the last time Danny had had a
meal. Come to think of it, he did look thinner.
"If you don't mind taking a cab."
Danny closed the distance between them and turned around to
look for a cab, all in the same smooth movement. One came by, and he flagged it
down. He probably thought Martin would collapse without a chance to sit, like he
hadn't been sitting all day. They climbed in one after the other, and Martin
took a long look at Danny, who rested against the mildewed upholstery like a man
who couldn't close his eyes at night. The car pulled away from the curb.
In the hospital, his visitors had only talked about Danny
when Martin asked about him, and no one had given Danny credit for what he'd
done at the scene of the shooting. Martin remembered, though.
He'd do his best now to help Danny forget.
End.