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laniew1 Martin was curled up in a tight ball that didn’t look at all comfortable when Danny managed to make it home.
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 2
Martin was curled up in a tight ball that didn’t look at all comfortable when Danny managed to make it home.
Dressed in a pair of ragged sweat pants that at one point used to belong to Danny and a t-shirt that, unless Danny missed his guess, had also at one point been his.
He knew without even seeing them that there were thick, warm socks on his feet because Martin’s feet were always cold.
Wrapped around him was the quilt that they’d picked up during a drive through Pennsylvania years ago.
He looked warm and peaceful, but Danny knew that the only reason that Martin was even sleeping was because everything, from the ragged sweats and the t-shirt that had definitely seen better days, to the quilt that they’d wrap around them when they napped on the couch on Sunday’s, all those items smelled like Danny.
Martin had tricked his subconscious mind into thinking that Danny was right there and that had allowed him to sleep.
Danny sat on the end table, pulled his tie off and dropping it next to him leaned over to run gentle fingers over Martin’s face.
His Martin was safe, untouched. Unlike the M.J. Fitzgerald that was either dead or missing, still, after so many years or the young Peter Renfer that they still hadn’t found any sign of even after 24 hours.
Martin’s eyes fluttered and he was suddenly awake and staring at Danny, a smile on his lips and happiness lighting his still sleepy eyes and Danny leaned down to kiss him.
Because this was his Martin and he loved every part of Martin, but he really loved how happy Martin looked at seeing him.
Martin’s eyes asked the question and Danny shook his head sadly and Martin lifted the edge of the quilt, waiting for Danny to toe off his shoes and shrug out of his coat and climbed into Martin’s cocoon with him.
He let Martin run strong hands down his back and side, molded his body to Martin’s sleep warm one, closed his eyes and sighed.
Martin kissed his eyes, his nose, both cheeks. Like the little butterfly kisses that Danny remembered in the memories (dreams) he had of his mother.
Those memories (dreams) allowed him to remember a time when he was safe and warm and loved, before it had all been shot to hell.
He’d been cold before he met Martin, hadn’t felt safe or warm or loved in the years after his parents deaths.
But the moment that Martin had burst into his life with a bright smile and quick wit that had all changed. Because Martin knew absolutely nothing about Danny’s past besides the fact that his parents were dead and his brother was in jail and he knew enough without even being told that there were just some things that Danny wouldn’t (couldn’t) tell him about it.
He’d never asked the questions that Danny wouldn’t answer (why don’t you drink, why don’t you visit your brother) he’d just accepted and loved Danny just for himself
It probably hadn’t hurt that Martin suffered from some odd form of insomnia and hadn’t had a good nights sleep in all the years before he’d met and fell in love with Danny.
Martin was murmuring indistinctly against his skin now, calm words that had no meaning but were soothing nonetheless, arms wrapped tightly around him, keeping him safe.
Grounding him in his presence and his love, offering silent support that Danny accepted gratefully.
Victor Fitzgerald would appear in their office soon, Danny had offered the M.J. Fitzgerald folder to Jack silently and Jack had perused it just as silently and then he’d walked away and made phone calls.
And now Deputy Director Victor Fitzgerald would be appearing on their doorstep, with his own team of agents to ‘assist’ them with their investigation.
Danny had to wonder if the man thought his son was still alive, if that was why Victor Fitzgerald was jumping on a plane to fly back from wherever he’d been in Italy.
His son would be about 34 now. A grown man if he was still alive, probably with a wife and children and a whole life that his parents and his sister had not been at all involved in.
If he was alive, if he was found… Danny wondered how he would react to the family that he’d been stolen from.
If he would even accept them as his own.
******************************************************************************
Martin was cooking breakfast for him, Danny sat perched in his chair waiting for the moment where he would have to intercede. He wouldn’t say that Martin was inept in the kitchen but there had been the two fires and if Danny hadn’t been there Martin might have burnt their apartment building down.
Martin was good at a great many things, anything in the kitchen with the possible exception of the coffee maker (Martin made absurdly good coffee, Danny usually took a thermos to the office) he just couldn’t operate.
But he kept trying, determined that he was going to master the kitchen. Danny had just begged him to order takeout if Danny wasn’t going to be home… because he kind of wanted an apartment and a lover to come home to.
Danny admired Martin’s perseverance, even as he bought and kept a fire extinguisher ready at all times because there was no telling when he was going to actually need it.
“I need to fly out to Washington for a few days,” Martin was saying when Danny focused on him again, Danny frowned. Which had no effect on Martin because he had his back to him.
“Family stuff going on, I’ll be back on Friday,” Martin continued on blithely unaware that Danny was scowling.
Martin hated it when Danny went out of town, whined and complained; he never seemed to realize that Danny hated it just as much when Martin was the one leaving the city… he just didn’t whine about it.
He despised those moments when Martin would go home for a few days and leave Danny all alone in their apartment.
He was only slightly placated by the fact that Martin normally scheduled his visits when Danny had a case and would seemingly be too distracted to notice that Martin wasn’t there.
Martin sometimes made impromptu visits home.
Martin turned, a bright pleased smile on his face and Danny was somewhat shocked to see scrambled eggs that looked perfectly done and bacon that looked to be just the right amount of crispy on the plates in his hand.
Danny eyed him suspiciously. Had Martin been taking a cooking class that he’d neglected to tell him about?
The toaster buzzed and ejected the toast, golden brown and Danny wondered if he was still sleeping on the couch, wrapped up in Martin and their quilt.
“Are you bribing me with food?” Danny asked, he looked from plate to plate and then back to Martin who looked slightly confused. So he clarified.
“So I won’t bitch about the fact that you’re going away.”
“I’ve been practicing.” Martin still sounded all sorts of pleased. And since Danny remembered a time when leaving Martin alone in the kitchen meant a phone call to 911 and the Fire Department (and the guys there had been on a first name basis with them for a while, which led Danny to realize that he hadn’t actually had to call them in a bit because normally they invited him to play basketball and he’d not played for weeks at least) Danny thought he might have a reason to be proud.
“My mom sent me the family recipe for Macaroni and Cheese…” Martin mumbled as he shoveled food into his mouth like it was his last meal.
“Let’s not get carried away.”
Martin grinned. “I’ll let you supervise.”
******************************************************************************
Danny didn’t go to the airport with Martin. He’d had every intention in doing so, he couldn’t go to his gate with him but he could go as far as security and kiss Martin goodbye before he went though the checkpoint and got on his plane and left Danny alone for anywhere from two to seven days.
He hadn’t been sure when Danny had asked how long he would be gone. Which wasn’t unusual but still made Danny slightly uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure why.
Victor Fitzgerald was on his way into the office. Danny had gotten the call as he was helping Martin do dishes and contemplating whether or not Martin would let him fuck him in the kitchen.
The last time he’d let him they’d broke the kitchen table, Danny blamed faulty engineering. Martin had been on the bottom though and ended up with bruises that made in uncomfortable to sit for days, Danny had thought it a bit excessive but Martin had still put the moratorium on kitchen sex and would only allow Danny to seduce him in the living room, the bedroom and the bathroom.
And sometimes by the front door but only if they knew there was no one on the other side.
Martin could be kind of a prude sometimes.
So now he was sitting at his desk, bouncing a pen against his pad of paper as they waited for Victor Fitzgerald to arrive, all he could think was that he could be at the airport kissing Martin within an inch of his life and convincing him to not leave the City.
Sam rolled her chair the short expanse and joined her tapping pen to Danny’s. It was like a little band they had going.
They heard Victor Fitzgerald long before they saw him, pens stilling as they listened to his booming voice.
He sounded angry and Danny winced.
It had been his idea, he was the one that had thought that the old M.J. Fitzgerald case was linked to the new Peter Renfer case.
And Jack wouldn’t give him up, wouldn’t let the wolves get him. But he could make his life a living hell if he so chose.
Victor came into view, Jack and a man that was obviously with him following in his wake. Danny had met him once before, he still went with his first assessment.
Victor Fitzgerald was a force of nature.
And wherever his son was he was one as well.
******************************************************************************
The house was quiet when the cab that Martin had hired pulled up.
It wasn’t surprising, his mom worked until five, his father until six on a good day.
Martin handed over thirty, waved his hand when the cab driver offered change. Opened the door, collected his bags and stepped out.
The cab pulled away as he stood there. Staring at his childhood home. He felt strangely disconnected.
‘He’s a troubled child I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by this.’
‘That’s just it, he’s a child. He deserves a chance to have a normal life.’
His parents’ voices, he remembered them. They were the first real memory that he had from his childhood.
The rest of it, any time before he hit five was just blank. A traumatic event of some sort both of his psychiatrists had offered. They hadn’t been able to tell him what kind of traumatic event, just that there had been one.
Martin bowed his head.
‘God damn it, come back here you little sonofabitch.’ A mans voice, swearing and it sounded so real that Martin looked around expecting to see someone.
But there was no one. It was only one and the street was deserted.
He hefted his bags and walked up the steps, shuffling the bags around when he reached the door so he could fumble through his pocket for keys.
He still kept his house key on his key ring even though he hadn’t lived at home in a number of years.
He fought with the door for long minutes, the lock was tricky and you had to turn the key just right and twist the door handle in clockwise then counterclockwise before it would allow the door to open.
When he was finally in he dropped his bags, pushed the door closed behind him and leaned against it closing his eyes.
It smelled like home. The cinnamon potpourri that his mother insisted on putting in every room of the house, with just the scent of home.
He felt safe here in this house in a way that he didn’t feel in New York unless Danny was standing right next to him.
******************************************************************************
| 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 2
Martin was curled up in a tight ball that didn’t look at all comfortable when Danny managed to make it home.
Dressed in a pair of ragged sweat pants that at one point used to belong to Danny and a t-shirt that, unless Danny missed his guess, had also at one point been his.
He knew without even seeing them that there were thick, warm socks on his feet because Martin’s feet were always cold.
Wrapped around him was the quilt that they’d picked up during a drive through Pennsylvania years ago.
He looked warm and peaceful, but Danny knew that the only reason that Martin was even sleeping was because everything, from the ragged sweats and the t-shirt that had definitely seen better days, to the quilt that they’d wrap around them when they napped on the couch on Sunday’s, all those items smelled like Danny.
Martin had tricked his subconscious mind into thinking that Danny was right there and that had allowed him to sleep.
Danny sat on the end table, pulled his tie off and dropping it next to him leaned over to run gentle fingers over Martin’s face.
His Martin was safe, untouched. Unlike the M.J. Fitzgerald that was either dead or missing, still, after so many years or the young Peter Renfer that they still hadn’t found any sign of even after 24 hours.
Martin’s eyes fluttered and he was suddenly awake and staring at Danny, a smile on his lips and happiness lighting his still sleepy eyes and Danny leaned down to kiss him.
Because this was his Martin and he loved every part of Martin, but he really loved how happy Martin looked at seeing him.
Martin’s eyes asked the question and Danny shook his head sadly and Martin lifted the edge of the quilt, waiting for Danny to toe off his shoes and shrug out of his coat and climbed into Martin’s cocoon with him.
He let Martin run strong hands down his back and side, molded his body to Martin’s sleep warm one, closed his eyes and sighed.
Martin kissed his eyes, his nose, both cheeks. Like the little butterfly kisses that Danny remembered in the memories (dreams) he had of his mother.
Those memories (dreams) allowed him to remember a time when he was safe and warm and loved, before it had all been shot to hell.
He’d been cold before he met Martin, hadn’t felt safe or warm or loved in the years after his parents deaths.
But the moment that Martin had burst into his life with a bright smile and quick wit that had all changed. Because Martin knew absolutely nothing about Danny’s past besides the fact that his parents were dead and his brother was in jail and he knew enough without even being told that there were just some things that Danny wouldn’t (couldn’t) tell him about it.
He’d never asked the questions that Danny wouldn’t answer (why don’t you drink, why don’t you visit your brother) he’d just accepted and loved Danny just for himself
It probably hadn’t hurt that Martin suffered from some odd form of insomnia and hadn’t had a good nights sleep in all the years before he’d met and fell in love with Danny.
Martin was murmuring indistinctly against his skin now, calm words that had no meaning but were soothing nonetheless, arms wrapped tightly around him, keeping him safe.
Grounding him in his presence and his love, offering silent support that Danny accepted gratefully.
Victor Fitzgerald would appear in their office soon, Danny had offered the M.J. Fitzgerald folder to Jack silently and Jack had perused it just as silently and then he’d walked away and made phone calls.
And now Deputy Director Victor Fitzgerald would be appearing on their doorstep, with his own team of agents to ‘assist’ them with their investigation.
Danny had to wonder if the man thought his son was still alive, if that was why Victor Fitzgerald was jumping on a plane to fly back from wherever he’d been in Italy.
His son would be about 34 now. A grown man if he was still alive, probably with a wife and children and a whole life that his parents and his sister had not been at all involved in.
If he was alive, if he was found… Danny wondered how he would react to the family that he’d been stolen from.
If he would even accept them as his own.
Martin was cooking breakfast for him, Danny sat perched in his chair waiting for the moment where he would have to intercede. He wouldn’t say that Martin was inept in the kitchen but there had been the two fires and if Danny hadn’t been there Martin might have burnt their apartment building down.
Martin was good at a great many things, anything in the kitchen with the possible exception of the coffee maker (Martin made absurdly good coffee, Danny usually took a thermos to the office) he just couldn’t operate.
But he kept trying, determined that he was going to master the kitchen. Danny had just begged him to order takeout if Danny wasn’t going to be home… because he kind of wanted an apartment and a lover to come home to.
Danny admired Martin’s perseverance, even as he bought and kept a fire extinguisher ready at all times because there was no telling when he was going to actually need it.
“I need to fly out to Washington for a few days,” Martin was saying when Danny focused on him again, Danny frowned. Which had no effect on Martin because he had his back to him.
“Family stuff going on, I’ll be back on Friday,” Martin continued on blithely unaware that Danny was scowling.
Martin hated it when Danny went out of town, whined and complained; he never seemed to realize that Danny hated it just as much when Martin was the one leaving the city… he just didn’t whine about it.
He despised those moments when Martin would go home for a few days and leave Danny all alone in their apartment.
He was only slightly placated by the fact that Martin normally scheduled his visits when Danny had a case and would seemingly be too distracted to notice that Martin wasn’t there.
Martin sometimes made impromptu visits home.
Martin turned, a bright pleased smile on his face and Danny was somewhat shocked to see scrambled eggs that looked perfectly done and bacon that looked to be just the right amount of crispy on the plates in his hand.
Danny eyed him suspiciously. Had Martin been taking a cooking class that he’d neglected to tell him about?
The toaster buzzed and ejected the toast, golden brown and Danny wondered if he was still sleeping on the couch, wrapped up in Martin and their quilt.
“Are you bribing me with food?” Danny asked, he looked from plate to plate and then back to Martin who looked slightly confused. So he clarified.
“So I won’t bitch about the fact that you’re going away.”
“I’ve been practicing.” Martin still sounded all sorts of pleased. And since Danny remembered a time when leaving Martin alone in the kitchen meant a phone call to 911 and the Fire Department (and the guys there had been on a first name basis with them for a while, which led Danny to realize that he hadn’t actually had to call them in a bit because normally they invited him to play basketball and he’d not played for weeks at least) Danny thought he might have a reason to be proud.
“My mom sent me the family recipe for Macaroni and Cheese…” Martin mumbled as he shoveled food into his mouth like it was his last meal.
“Let’s not get carried away.”
Martin grinned. “I’ll let you supervise.”
Danny didn’t go to the airport with Martin. He’d had every intention in doing so, he couldn’t go to his gate with him but he could go as far as security and kiss Martin goodbye before he went though the checkpoint and got on his plane and left Danny alone for anywhere from two to seven days.
He hadn’t been sure when Danny had asked how long he would be gone. Which wasn’t unusual but still made Danny slightly uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure why.
Victor Fitzgerald was on his way into the office. Danny had gotten the call as he was helping Martin do dishes and contemplating whether or not Martin would let him fuck him in the kitchen.
The last time he’d let him they’d broke the kitchen table, Danny blamed faulty engineering. Martin had been on the bottom though and ended up with bruises that made in uncomfortable to sit for days, Danny had thought it a bit excessive but Martin had still put the moratorium on kitchen sex and would only allow Danny to seduce him in the living room, the bedroom and the bathroom.
And sometimes by the front door but only if they knew there was no one on the other side.
Martin could be kind of a prude sometimes.
So now he was sitting at his desk, bouncing a pen against his pad of paper as they waited for Victor Fitzgerald to arrive, all he could think was that he could be at the airport kissing Martin within an inch of his life and convincing him to not leave the City.
Sam rolled her chair the short expanse and joined her tapping pen to Danny’s. It was like a little band they had going.
They heard Victor Fitzgerald long before they saw him, pens stilling as they listened to his booming voice.
He sounded angry and Danny winced.
It had been his idea, he was the one that had thought that the old M.J. Fitzgerald case was linked to the new Peter Renfer case.
And Jack wouldn’t give him up, wouldn’t let the wolves get him. But he could make his life a living hell if he so chose.
Victor came into view, Jack and a man that was obviously with him following in his wake. Danny had met him once before, he still went with his first assessment.
Victor Fitzgerald was a force of nature.
And wherever his son was he was one as well.
The house was quiet when the cab that Martin had hired pulled up.
It wasn’t surprising, his mom worked until five, his father until six on a good day.
Martin handed over thirty, waved his hand when the cab driver offered change. Opened the door, collected his bags and stepped out.
The cab pulled away as he stood there. Staring at his childhood home. He felt strangely disconnected.
‘He’s a troubled child I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by this.’
‘That’s just it, he’s a child. He deserves a chance to have a normal life.’
His parents’ voices, he remembered them. They were the first real memory that he had from his childhood.
The rest of it, any time before he hit five was just blank. A traumatic event of some sort both of his psychiatrists had offered. They hadn’t been able to tell him what kind of traumatic event, just that there had been one.
Martin bowed his head.
‘God damn it, come back here you little sonofabitch.’ A mans voice, swearing and it sounded so real that Martin looked around expecting to see someone.
But there was no one. It was only one and the street was deserted.
He hefted his bags and walked up the steps, shuffling the bags around when he reached the door so he could fumble through his pocket for keys.
He still kept his house key on his key ring even though he hadn’t lived at home in a number of years.
He fought with the door for long minutes, the lock was tricky and you had to turn the key just right and twist the door handle in clockwise then counterclockwise before it would allow the door to open.
When he was finally in he dropped his bags, pushed the door closed behind him and leaned against it closing his eyes.
It smelled like home. The cinnamon potpourri that his mother insisted on putting in every room of the house, with just the scent of home.
He felt safe here in this house in a way that he didn’t feel in New York unless Danny was standing right next to him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-06 04:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-06 07:58 pm (UTC)Thanks for sticking with me!