Drache-Königin (edincoat) wrote in makrothumia, @ 2009-01-11 03:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | ff-fandom: without a trace, ff-length: 500 to 1k, ff-rating: frm, ff-type: slash |
wat/ miss you more than anything
Title: miss you more than anything
Author: Kjata (edincoat)
Characters & Pairings: quasi-Danny Taylor/Martin Fitzgerald
Fandom: Without A Trace
Rating & Warnings: R, might be a bit disturbing for anyone who has a really evil-looking shrink.
Theme & Community: August 25th 08, God lives underwater, 31_days
Words: ~900
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
He remembers reading something in passing way back when he was in Law School saying how evil death is and how the gods were all advocates of life, because if death was a good thing then they themselves would be all 'yey, let's jump on the bandwagon' and die right there along with the mortals. That small bit of text, a poem or maybe just a line formatted weird in the textbook, it stays with him when he faces down a gun or runs from something soon to explode or sits and watches Martin work at his desk with blank eyes and methodical movements.
Because death really is something evil, because after all of this Martin still won't die, even if it probably would be better for him. He doesn't think he'd like it much if Martin were dead, unrequited love affection lust obsession being the main factor and all that, but he doesn't like it much that he's alive either, blank and cold like this for all eternity.
He cannot say anything about this to anyone, because they would probably ask him if he planned on killing his partner before they cautiously called for backup. He can't express this feeling of hopelessness that settles in his chest wrapped around his heart, just squeezes and restricts and makes him want to break down crying, because then he would start crying, and where would he be if that happened?
And he can't tell Martin this, because he did once, not soon after it all happened, and the blank stare that he got in return almost let the evil in to kill him. Remove him from Martin’s side via death, where the God Mars gets to mechanically go through his life underwater, slow and deadly and never leaving the earth because death is just too evil for good kind glorious possessing of a dead soul Martin.
Interviews interviews, paperwork paperwork. Break for sustenance and then return to the mundane routine. He should take that Bar Exam, he shouldn't let another life-threatening crisis concerning Martin and some bullets or Martin and some molested children or Martin being six feet under stop him from getting on with his life. If he could be a lawyer, yes he'd have to deal with scum on a regular basis just like now, but he could do it on his terms and he wouldn't be working a job that is slowly crushing him to death.
There is that evil death thing again.
Six months after, and Martin is smiling again. There is no light in his eyes, just an upward tilt to the corners of his mouth, but the others mark it as improvement and are starting to relax a little. He won't relax along with them though, because the light is still gone no matter how wide the grin can spread.
And there Martin is, light gone and lips open in a laugh. It sounds rough and disused, faltering a bit now that it has been released and unsure as to where to go, who to see. Danny wants to cover his ears and scream when he hears Martin's new laugh, because it reminds him of the giggle that was let loose when he finally found him, dug him up and tore wood into his hands trying to free him.
He still hears that giggle in his dreams, combined with mounds of dirt and a shattered six foot long pine box, and it never lets him sleep for long.
He talks to the missing person's brother, locked away at Rikers and looking the worse for wear. "Julio got the new kid, man," he tells him when he comments on how tired he looks, "it's kind of hard to sleep through the screams, you know?"
There is no information to be had here, so he thanks him for his time and leaves, walking down the double-locked cells to his next appointment. The two guards escorting him look straight ahead, because they know who they are going to see, and they aren't happy about it.
They let him into a small cell, no window and sparse light from a caged light bulb affixed to the ceiling. He sits there, fingers forming a steeple under his chin and elbows resting on the table, amusement glittering in his eyes. He looks like a cat who just caught the canary, and is now trying to decide which part he wants to rip off first.
He says to the man behind the table, "I wish I had killed you back then. I'd be in jail now, but it would've been worth it."
The man replies, "And telling me this, how does it make you feel?"
He wishes he could strangle him here, penance for Martin even though if they had figured it out earlier there wouldn't be any penance to pay. He can't, though, so he doesn't, and he leaves the cell as quietly as he entered.
Nine months after, and Martin tries to joke with him again, teasing about the Knick’s complete loss the night previous and wouldn’t he like to support a different team yet? Like maybe one that consists of actual players instead of monkeys?
He pauses, looks at the attempt with a collected viewpoint as he can, and smiles slowly. There is nothing behind it, he’s sure his eyes are lacking the same light that Martin’s are, but he tries anyway.
Replies in an affronted tone with something expected, sees the relieved ease of tension in the shoulders of his best friend, and he is glad he managed to do something right.
Twelve months after, and Martin looks at him with not-so-blank-anymore eyes and says, “So, feeling better yet?”
He finds himself to be completely confused by the question, so he just stares at him and doesn‘t answer.