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laniew1Oh my god. My boys are talking to me again.
The folder in his hand was similar to every other folder he’d ever looked at.
RATING: R (for language and violence)
PAIRING: Danny/Martin
Author: Melanie
DISCLAIMER: Martin, Danny and the rest do not belong to me, although I would definitely treat them better than their actual owners do. I also make no money off of them. Don’t sue.
Missing – Part 1
Thirty years ago – Norfolk, Virginia
The boy was curled into himself in the back seat, a picture of unhappiness and pain. He was almost glad he was out.
The boys near silent whimpering had caused him to hit him more than once, now he would have to wait until the bruises faded and every day he had to wait was money quickly vanishing.
He should have grabbed the girl instead, she’d seemed docile enough. But she hadn’t come to him, the boy had. Wanting to touch and pet the puppy lying at his feet. He’d smiled up at him with white teeth and a happy, sunny disposition.
The boy was probably about four but could pass for about three he decided. The buyers had wanted a boy or a girl about three.
The boy whimpered in his drugged sleep, curling tighter in on himself.
He clenched his hand into a fist and reminded himself that every day that he had to wait was money that he was losing that someone else could claim.
******************************************************************************
Today – New York City
They went through the archives once a year to clean them out and pack folders of cases gone cold into boxes that would be transported to the archives.
This was one part of his job that Danny Taylor didn’t like, he liked finding the people they were looking for, solving the cases.
Not packing the folders, the information, the leads into a box with a hope that someone else would be able to solve what they hadn’t been able to.
The folder in his hand was similar to every other folder he’d ever looked at.
It was dated, with the name M. J. Fitzgerald stenciled in fading black ink across the front of it. The name sounded familiar and when he flipped the folder open, curiosity getting the best of him and probably Sam was right and some day that was going to be the death of him he found a black and white picture of a young boy staring back up at him.
Bright, happy smile.
He leaned against a file cabinet flipping through the scant amount of details.
Four year-old Martin Jason Fitzgerald, kidnapped from a playground while under the care of his nanny.
Father Victor Fitzgerald and Danny realized with sudden shock why the name sounded familiar.
Victor Fitzgerald was the Assistant Director of the F.B.I. Although he’d just been a lowly agent when his son had disappeared.
This was his son, and Danny was half-way surprised that with the power that Victor Fitzgerald wielded like a baseball bat, that he didn’t have a special team in place just to look for his son.
If this had been his son…
Halfway down the second place he figured out why, bloody t-shirt that the boy had been wearing on the day of his disappearance had appeared two weeks later.
They’d never found a body, but every single shred of evidence indicated that the boy had probably been killed and no body would ever be recovered. It was a testament strictly to the Fitzgerald name (both mother and father) that the file had never actually been closed.
Would probably only be closed if a body surfaced for them to bury.
Victor Fitzgerald had been one of the smartest investigators in F.B.I. history, young men wanted to be him when they grew up, but he hadn’t even managed to locate his own son.
“What are you looking at?” Danny jumped and Sam Spade grinned impishly in response from the doorway.
“Cold case file,” he muttered. His heart still racing and Sam walked toward him. He could appreciate her grace even if he couldn’t appreciate her sex.
“The Martin Fitzgerald one,” she murmured as she saw the name and the picture.
Danny flipped through the rest of the folder. There was really nothing contained within it with the exception of the bloody t-shirt, and he was unsurprised that it had gone cold, even while he was surprised that it had been allowed to go cold what with who the missing boys father was.
He closed the folder and wondered if the boy was alive or if he had been killed at the young age of four.
He wondered if Victor Fitzgerald still looked for him even with a bloody t-shirt screaming that the boy had been victim of foul play.
He wondered if he had the same name, then decided that he wouldn’t because that would have been the first thing the kidnappers would have changed.
Name, appearances.
He had probably been Jason Smith by the time his kidnappers were done with him, probably had anything that he remembered of his family and his life beaten out of him and that was if he was even still alive.
He thought about his own Martin, safe in his little office uptown. Probably annoying a secretary and playing solitaire on his computer because they weren’t even close to tax season and he was bored out of his mind but would refuse to leave early, ‘because it’s the principle of the thing Danny, if we force the secretaries to stay than we should have to as well’.
Martin was a do-gooder even when the do-gooding was making sure his secretary had inane stuff to type up and someone to annoy her.
He touched his pocket, the familiar weight of his cell phone within it. He’d call him at lunch, maybe if they hadn’t gotten a case by then Danny would sneak out early and if he showed up at the office Martin wouldn’t be able to say no to him.
They could go to a movie, or they could walk in the park. Or they could go home and curl up on the sofa and watch some old black and white movie on A&E.
Martin loved those movies, loved that channel, and Danny loved him so he put up with it even though they had all those movies on DVD and it seemed kind of stupid to watch them on network TV when they could just pop a disc and watch it with no interruptions unless they made their own.
Danny smiled softly to himself, Sam snickered and Danny realized that he’d forgotten about her. Sam was used to that though and when he looked up she had her own soft smile on her face.
“Did you need something?” Danny arched a brow at her.
“Jack wanted me to get you, we have a case. Missing four year old boy, he was snatched from a park about two hours ago, his nanny called it,” Danny froze in the act of sliding the M.J. Fitzgerald folder into the cold case box.
He stared at the folder. Four year old snatched from a park and his nanny. Four year old snatched from a park and his nanny.
There was a 29 year gap between them; it couldn’t be a coincidence… could it?
******************************************************************************
Martin Scott let himself into the tiny two bedroom apartment with a sigh. He pulled at the tie around his neck and sighed even louder.
There was no one to hear him.
Danny had called at lunch, with news of a case; a missing four year old boy.
And they had been together long enough that Martin knew how this worked, though it had taken him a number of years and a three day tantrum where he’d moved out, to get it.
In normal day to day operations Martin came first, but when there was a case, especially a case with a child… well then the case came first and Martin was expected to understand that.
It had taken him a while, but he’d finally gotten it.
He could be blasé about it now, even as he grumbled inwardly at the thought of having to sleep alone (because Danny and his team would work and work until they either passed out from exhaustion at their desks or they finished the case, whichever came first) and he hated sleeping alone. Couldn’t really, he’d doze on the couch or the bed but he didn’t really sleep unless Danny was there.
It was some leftover remnant from his child hood he was sure.
The two psychiatrists that he’d seen, one when he was a teen and his parents were freaking out over the fact that he couldn’t sleep at night and the other during college when he was freaking himself out because he couldn’t sleep, had insisted that there was obviously something in his childhood that had started it.
The both tried hypnosis with little to no success and then they’d given him sleeping pills which Martin didn’t take because he didn’t care for the way they made him feel.
He’d resigned himself to not sleeping or sleeping the maximum of two hours at a time and then he’d met Danny and he could suddenly sleep the whole night through and he’d proposed marriage after their first night together.
Danny had laughed at him, thought him joking. But Martin had been totally serious and he’d done everything within his power to keep Danny with him.
He stretched, and noticed the blinking message light on the answering machine. He pressed the play button and shed his coat, winding his tie around his hand.
At first there was nothing, a slight whistling sound on the other end and then someone speaking low and fast, voice angry and hard.
Martin froze.
He knew that voice, the harsh words and he had a brief moment of where his vision cleared and he was a child and a young man had his hand over his mouth and was squeezing him tightly muttering under his breath that if he didn’t shut up he’d kill him.
The same young man shook him, hit him, told him to shut the fuck up as he cried for his parents and his sister.
Martin didn’t move, just stood there staring at the machine long after the message had ended. He should pick it up; take it to Danny or the police.
But what would he say...
‘I got this phone call and it freaked me out and I thought I might have been kidnapped as a child?’
They would have him committed, Danny would leave him because he thought Martin nuts sometimes but usually Martin could blame it on the idiots that chose to do their own taxes then tried to take deductions that weren’t legal for them forcing Martin to have to work extra hard to keep them from having to pay their life savings in fines.
If Danny thought that he might actually be insane he wouldn’t even bother packing. He would just buy new clothes for his new apartment, in a new city far away from Martin.
And that was unacceptable.
He stared at the machine, sitting there innocently like it hadn’t just tried to shatter Martin’s life into tiny little pieces.
He wanted to throw it against the wall and watch it shatter. But then Danny would ask questions and Martin wouldn’t have any answers.
Finally he walked way, shut off the light and walked into the bedroom. Tossing his coat and his tie into the wooden rocking chair that they’d bought at an estate sale the first year they’d been together. He sat down on the edge of the bed and then laid back, closed his eyes.
He wouldn’t sleep but if he could just stop thinking maybe he would figure out what he needed to do.
******************************************************************************
The folder in his hand was similar to every other folder he’d ever looked at.
| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 |
| Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 |
RATING: R (for language and violence)
PAIRING: Danny/Martin
Author: Melanie
DISCLAIMER: Martin, Danny and the rest do not belong to me, although I would definitely treat them better than their actual owners do. I also make no money off of them. Don’t sue.
Missing – Part 1
Thirty years ago – Norfolk, Virginia
The boy was curled into himself in the back seat, a picture of unhappiness and pain. He was almost glad he was out.
The boys near silent whimpering had caused him to hit him more than once, now he would have to wait until the bruises faded and every day he had to wait was money quickly vanishing.
He should have grabbed the girl instead, she’d seemed docile enough. But she hadn’t come to him, the boy had. Wanting to touch and pet the puppy lying at his feet. He’d smiled up at him with white teeth and a happy, sunny disposition.
The boy was probably about four but could pass for about three he decided. The buyers had wanted a boy or a girl about three.
The boy whimpered in his drugged sleep, curling tighter in on himself.
He clenched his hand into a fist and reminded himself that every day that he had to wait was money that he was losing that someone else could claim.
Today – New York City
They went through the archives once a year to clean them out and pack folders of cases gone cold into boxes that would be transported to the archives.
This was one part of his job that Danny Taylor didn’t like, he liked finding the people they were looking for, solving the cases.
Not packing the folders, the information, the leads into a box with a hope that someone else would be able to solve what they hadn’t been able to.
The folder in his hand was similar to every other folder he’d ever looked at.
It was dated, with the name M. J. Fitzgerald stenciled in fading black ink across the front of it. The name sounded familiar and when he flipped the folder open, curiosity getting the best of him and probably Sam was right and some day that was going to be the death of him he found a black and white picture of a young boy staring back up at him.
Bright, happy smile.
He leaned against a file cabinet flipping through the scant amount of details.
Four year-old Martin Jason Fitzgerald, kidnapped from a playground while under the care of his nanny.
Father Victor Fitzgerald and Danny realized with sudden shock why the name sounded familiar.
Victor Fitzgerald was the Assistant Director of the F.B.I. Although he’d just been a lowly agent when his son had disappeared.
This was his son, and Danny was half-way surprised that with the power that Victor Fitzgerald wielded like a baseball bat, that he didn’t have a special team in place just to look for his son.
If this had been his son…
Halfway down the second place he figured out why, bloody t-shirt that the boy had been wearing on the day of his disappearance had appeared two weeks later.
They’d never found a body, but every single shred of evidence indicated that the boy had probably been killed and no body would ever be recovered. It was a testament strictly to the Fitzgerald name (both mother and father) that the file had never actually been closed.
Would probably only be closed if a body surfaced for them to bury.
Victor Fitzgerald had been one of the smartest investigators in F.B.I. history, young men wanted to be him when they grew up, but he hadn’t even managed to locate his own son.
“What are you looking at?” Danny jumped and Sam Spade grinned impishly in response from the doorway.
“Cold case file,” he muttered. His heart still racing and Sam walked toward him. He could appreciate her grace even if he couldn’t appreciate her sex.
“The Martin Fitzgerald one,” she murmured as she saw the name and the picture.
Danny flipped through the rest of the folder. There was really nothing contained within it with the exception of the bloody t-shirt, and he was unsurprised that it had gone cold, even while he was surprised that it had been allowed to go cold what with who the missing boys father was.
He closed the folder and wondered if the boy was alive or if he had been killed at the young age of four.
He wondered if Victor Fitzgerald still looked for him even with a bloody t-shirt screaming that the boy had been victim of foul play.
He wondered if he had the same name, then decided that he wouldn’t because that would have been the first thing the kidnappers would have changed.
Name, appearances.
He had probably been Jason Smith by the time his kidnappers were done with him, probably had anything that he remembered of his family and his life beaten out of him and that was if he was even still alive.
He thought about his own Martin, safe in his little office uptown. Probably annoying a secretary and playing solitaire on his computer because they weren’t even close to tax season and he was bored out of his mind but would refuse to leave early, ‘because it’s the principle of the thing Danny, if we force the secretaries to stay than we should have to as well’.
Martin was a do-gooder even when the do-gooding was making sure his secretary had inane stuff to type up and someone to annoy her.
He touched his pocket, the familiar weight of his cell phone within it. He’d call him at lunch, maybe if they hadn’t gotten a case by then Danny would sneak out early and if he showed up at the office Martin wouldn’t be able to say no to him.
They could go to a movie, or they could walk in the park. Or they could go home and curl up on the sofa and watch some old black and white movie on A&E.
Martin loved those movies, loved that channel, and Danny loved him so he put up with it even though they had all those movies on DVD and it seemed kind of stupid to watch them on network TV when they could just pop a disc and watch it with no interruptions unless they made their own.
Danny smiled softly to himself, Sam snickered and Danny realized that he’d forgotten about her. Sam was used to that though and when he looked up she had her own soft smile on her face.
“Did you need something?” Danny arched a brow at her.
“Jack wanted me to get you, we have a case. Missing four year old boy, he was snatched from a park about two hours ago, his nanny called it,” Danny froze in the act of sliding the M.J. Fitzgerald folder into the cold case box.
He stared at the folder. Four year old snatched from a park and his nanny. Four year old snatched from a park and his nanny.
There was a 29 year gap between them; it couldn’t be a coincidence… could it?
Martin Scott let himself into the tiny two bedroom apartment with a sigh. He pulled at the tie around his neck and sighed even louder.
There was no one to hear him.
Danny had called at lunch, with news of a case; a missing four year old boy.
And they had been together long enough that Martin knew how this worked, though it had taken him a number of years and a three day tantrum where he’d moved out, to get it.
In normal day to day operations Martin came first, but when there was a case, especially a case with a child… well then the case came first and Martin was expected to understand that.
It had taken him a while, but he’d finally gotten it.
He could be blasé about it now, even as he grumbled inwardly at the thought of having to sleep alone (because Danny and his team would work and work until they either passed out from exhaustion at their desks or they finished the case, whichever came first) and he hated sleeping alone. Couldn’t really, he’d doze on the couch or the bed but he didn’t really sleep unless Danny was there.
It was some leftover remnant from his child hood he was sure.
The two psychiatrists that he’d seen, one when he was a teen and his parents were freaking out over the fact that he couldn’t sleep at night and the other during college when he was freaking himself out because he couldn’t sleep, had insisted that there was obviously something in his childhood that had started it.
The both tried hypnosis with little to no success and then they’d given him sleeping pills which Martin didn’t take because he didn’t care for the way they made him feel.
He’d resigned himself to not sleeping or sleeping the maximum of two hours at a time and then he’d met Danny and he could suddenly sleep the whole night through and he’d proposed marriage after their first night together.
Danny had laughed at him, thought him joking. But Martin had been totally serious and he’d done everything within his power to keep Danny with him.
He stretched, and noticed the blinking message light on the answering machine. He pressed the play button and shed his coat, winding his tie around his hand.
At first there was nothing, a slight whistling sound on the other end and then someone speaking low and fast, voice angry and hard.
Martin froze.
He knew that voice, the harsh words and he had a brief moment of where his vision cleared and he was a child and a young man had his hand over his mouth and was squeezing him tightly muttering under his breath that if he didn’t shut up he’d kill him.
The same young man shook him, hit him, told him to shut the fuck up as he cried for his parents and his sister.
Martin didn’t move, just stood there staring at the machine long after the message had ended. He should pick it up; take it to Danny or the police.
But what would he say...
‘I got this phone call and it freaked me out and I thought I might have been kidnapped as a child?’
They would have him committed, Danny would leave him because he thought Martin nuts sometimes but usually Martin could blame it on the idiots that chose to do their own taxes then tried to take deductions that weren’t legal for them forcing Martin to have to work extra hard to keep them from having to pay their life savings in fines.
If Danny thought that he might actually be insane he wouldn’t even bother packing. He would just buy new clothes for his new apartment, in a new city far away from Martin.
And that was unacceptable.
He stared at the machine, sitting there innocently like it hadn’t just tried to shatter Martin’s life into tiny little pieces.
He wanted to throw it against the wall and watch it shatter. But then Danny would ask questions and Martin wouldn’t have any answers.
Finally he walked way, shut off the light and walked into the bedroom. Tossing his coat and his tie into the wooden rocking chair that they’d bought at an estate sale the first year they’d been together. He sat down on the edge of the bed and then laid back, closed his eyes.
He wouldn’t sleep but if he could just stop thinking maybe he would figure out what he needed to do.
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Date: 2005-09-27 05:05 pm (UTC)