|Drache-Königin (edincoat) wrote in makrothumia,|
@ 2009-01-11 02:42:00
|Entry tags:||ff-fandom: without a trace, ff-length: 1 to 5k, ff-rating: frm, ff-type: slash|
wat/ most irreverent interpolation
Title: most irreverent interpolation
Author: Kjata (edincoat)
Characters & Pairings: Danny Taylor/Martin Fitzgerald, Samantha Spade, Jack Malone, Viviane Johnson
Fandom: Without A Trace
Rating & Warnings: R, potentially disturbing images concerning the abuse of a child.
Theme & Community: August 31 08, Forget whatever I said, 31_days
Disclaimer: Characters, Setting, and Original Content that this fic is based upon belongs to those who own them - Namely, anyone but me.
Original Post: here
His hands and wrists are slick with shit, the metaphorical and the literal. He tries not to wretch, holding the child close to his chest, feeling her dribble bile out of a blackened mouth and past salt-crusted skin. She's crying, new tears following the same path as before, tracks starting from the corners of her eyes and zigzagging down to end at her jaw.
He carries her roughly, knowing this will probably traumatise her more, but he doesn't care and just keeps going, following Martin's back garbed in ruined fabric, stark white streaked with the same substance on his fingers, leading him to the surface like a reeking beacon.
Samantha's voice carries down the tunnels, calling "Martin, Danny, is she all right?" and echoing around their ears in a bombardment of sound. The high-pitched tinge to her voice makes his ears want to bleed, just rupture and start to pour out red blood cells and white blood cells and maybe some spinal fluid as well. He winces along with the girl, her ruined mouth twisting just so, mirroring his expression as best as she can.
And in the dim light, ignoring Martin's soft assurances that they she's fine, bouncing right back at the team near the entrance in the same fashion as Samantha Spade's query, he can see Martin's shoulders sag, his own feet falter, and the wide-eyed yet steady gaze of their most recent case in his arms.
Her lips part, show crusted black where her insides should be, and he tries to smile back.
Viviane is authoritative whenever Jack is unable to be, and sometimes when he is perfectly capable of doing his own job. Now is one of the latter, and their real boss stands there with his jowls affixed in a scowl while watching his most senior agent run things like she had his position in the team, and he had hers.
No one mentions this shift in dynamic, the reasons for his guilt of why she does this every so often, but Samantha offers him a smile as she walks past, and Danny holds onto the girl like she will crumble into dust if he lets her go. Watches Jack in his lowered position, bowing to the alpha dog, and then turns to Martin, eyebrows raised.
Martin is watching him back, or more in focus, Danny's fingers wrapped bone white around the muddied girl, then looks up at his face. Tilts head just so, unspoken question that he is welcome to ignore if he really feels the need to, and he takes him up on that offer like always, turning away.
Samantha walks up to Martin, says something to him in a lowered tone right next to his ear. Martin nods in response, uncrosses his arms, follows her off to the side where the headquarters are set up.
Danny forces his grip to relax on the girl's arms, and when the medic finally wades through the excess that they had to drain just so he and Martin could get down there, he hands her over without really even thinking about it.
Turns his head to watch Martin speak to three techs at once explaining some sort of thing to find the next missing person, takes in the look of warmth that Samantha gives the side of the man's head. Feels anger boil up in the pit of his belly, grits his teeth and clenches his fingers, this time into fists, and starts to get away from there, heading in the opposite direction.
Having a baby might have soothed Special Agent Spade down a bit, made her more warm towards her former boyfriends and lovers, but it in turn has made Special Agent Taylor one hate filled machine that spits fire whenever he's alone, just to chase away the shadows.
And they both know it, too.
It takes one long hour in the locker room of the Bureau’s building to get the top coat off, and he longs for a bar of lava soap and the rough side of a kitchen sponge, because that is what it will take to remove the other five. He feels grimy and sticky and the taint has sunk into his skin where it will fester and never be removed, and he grimaces to himself as he pulls on clean clothing.
As if detergent ever did anything to this sort of filth, in the end.
Martin walks out from his own stall, towel riding low on his hips and only barely knotted to stay wrapped. The various scars that could only have come from this job and this job alone are dull red and greyish white, depending on age, order, and how well he was stitched together afterwards, are stark across his skin. They fluctuate a little, move only a bit, as muscles move underneath his skin to accommodate the walking and putting on his own clean clothes sort of actions.
Special Agent Fitzgerald notices Danny watching, stares back at him with a level look, then tilts his head in silent question again. An invitation to say something, work it out in sound instead of silence, with someone instead of by himself.
He turns away to finish buttoning his shirt, and then almost flees from the room.
Jack is back in charge again, Viviane standing very still and very quiet beside him, like a statue that watches over the gates when the warriors are away at war. Danny supposes that is probably what she is, the babysitter for this team of broken people whenever Jack isn't there to glue them together, and sometimes when he is but just isn't up to it.
Boss Malone congratulates them, lingers on Danny and Martin with his gaze while speaking of fast thinking and quick action when it came to finding and rescuing the girl. Informs them all that the case has been handed over to Special Victims to pursue, find the man who did this to her and bring him to justice. Says, "And if any of you want to track the progress of this, the case number is 45T28AQ."
No one writes down the information, they all just nod and turn back to their desks. There are reports to write, detailing every gruesome fact for the record of finding a tattered girl buried deep in a sealed sewage drain, sobbing with infection and certain in her six year old psyche that she was going to die.
Danny's hands used to shake after cases like these, but now they are steady as he completes his paperwork, staples it together, leaves it on Jack's desk. He has no ill reaction whatsoever, besides the little extra work his throat has to do, swallowing down the small bit of bile that comes up as when he gets back home after shift is over, makes him gag and shiver and screw his eyes shut to keep it all away.
He doesn't know what wakes him up at twenty past four that morning, but he shifts and he stands and he pulls on jeans and a sweater, shoves his feet into boots without bothering to lace them and grabs his keys and his wallet from the sideboard. Hails a taxi that miraculously drives by, gives it an Upside address, pays the fare with a twenty and a ten.
Crawls into the lift, knocks on the door, isn't surprised to find Martin awake and still wearing his suit, sleeves rolled up past his elbows and looking haggard, worn down, just this side of hopeless.
Martin tilts his head again, giving the same offer from so many times before.
He breathes in, breathes out, shoves his hands into his pockets, and says, "Hey, want to talk?"
Martin steps back to let him inside, and he slowly enters while forcing himself to remember to breathe.