|Drache-Königin (edincoat) wrote in makrothumia,|
@ 2009-01-11 02:39:00
|Entry tags:||ff-fandom: without a trace, ff-length: 1 to 5k, ff-rating: frt, ff-type: slash|
wat/ get him eat him
Title: get him eat him
Author: Kjata (edincoat)
Characters & Pairings: Danny Taylor & Martin Fitzgerald (pre-slash)
Fandom: Without A Trace
Rating & Warnings: PG-13, no warnings
Theme & Community: October 4th 2008: where the wild things are, 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
When he hits his head on the pavement, he permits himself a moment to marvel at how surreal everything is when your brain is bruised and probably not working right. Colours switch between being too vivid and turning dull like day-old dishwater, what looks like to be transparent people wander around his line of vision and look down upon him with pity sick and solid in their eyes, and a penguin wearing a top hat bares non-existent teeth at him before taking a sip from a china teacup.
But then everything swoops and dips, he's being pulled up through one or two or three of those ghostly people with opaque eyeballs reflecting feelings, and there is worried glance from Danny ducking down to peer upwards, bent at the knees and holding onto a woozy him to keep his balance.
He tries to make a mental note as his legs give out and they both topple over, him backwards again but with one heavy Cuban sprawled out over him to make things different this time, but he gives up after the second try.
He simply doesn't remember how to form proper thought, and he looks over at the penguin through see-through shoes and trouser legs, who is watching their struggles coldly with one wing curled around an elegant little white cup.
Danny sees Martin enter the bullpen, head down and movements sluggish as he gets to his chair and desk eventually then slumps down. He watches as his partner places each hand on the desk, bracketing his keyboard, and stares at the screensaver for his computer for a long minute or two or three.
Then one hand slowly raises up and falls down onto the mouse, and everything is normal again, movements no longer sluggish and work being done at an exceptional clip.
Danny sees Martin do this every day for three months, and doesn't say a word. After all, it isn't his business, and contrary to popular belief he does know when it is crucial to keep his nose out of the problems of others. He may be loud and boisterous and might be to personal space what Genghis Khan was to Asia, but he can pay attention to limits when he needs to.
He has a feeling if he told anyone this, they would laugh at him.
He wakes up to this little nagging stabbing pain in the heel of his hand, and he can't for the life of him figure out what it is. Close examination yielded no splinters or bruises or aberration of any sort, but he kept looking and was late leaving for work as a result. He kept peering at his hand in the subway, much to the horror of he fellow passengers, and he nearly missed his stop, in turn almost riding all the way to Brooklyn.
When Danny looks at him oddly--well, everyone is looking at him weird but since Special Agent Taylor is sitting right across from him he's the one he notices--he stops subtly rubbing the spot on his hand on the edge of the conference table and pretends to look really closely at the file in front of him.
Forty year old man, balding and actively trying to find a cure for it, disappeared right after an anime convention that he dropped his teenage son off at. He pressed a corner of a ragged thumbnail into the small section that hurts, and the pressure relieves just a bit. He presses harder, knows that it will leave an indentation plus bruise, but he figures he can say that he banged his hand on something earlier.
A fingernail shaped something. Right.
"Are you okay?" Danny asks when they get into the lift, luckily no one else but them inside. Jack had given him a look when he said who was assigned with who, as if to say 'You've been taking care of him since the incident, keep at it,' and he knew that it meant he was supposed to figure out what was the current problem with one Martin Fitzgerald.
Martin looks at him askance, probably suspicious as hell but too polite to be more obvious about it, and then moves forward when the lift stops at the garage level. "I'm fine."
Okay, so no proclamations that he will be throwing himself in front of a train anytime soon. Good, his job is half done. He uses the remote to unlock an SUV and heads towards the driver-side, keeping one eye on Martin doing the mirror-image of his motions through the windows of the vehicle.
They get in, Danny starts the engine, and he puts his hand on the gearshift. Stops, looks over at Martin's hands to see the finger digging into the hand, and says, "Are you always like this now?"
That makes the younger man start a little, pull his hands away from each other to casually drop to his sides, then looks at him as he grins. Annoyance reflects at him, and Martin says through grit teeth, "Yes."
Danny puts the car into reverse, and keeps the grin on his face right until they get to the possible witness to interview.
They get a lead, phone it in, then start back to the office to collaborate and work with the others. Martin moves his thumbnail over the indentation and yes that there is a bruise yes sir, but resists pushing in. After all, He is watching.
No, not God, though he’s pretty sure that’s happening too, but Danny. The guy sitting next to him asking innocent questions but looking evil all the while. They guy who makes pointed glances at his hands just to check on their current actions, then smiles that little smile that looks so freaking smug he just wants to hit it smear it kiss it off.
He doesn’t remember much of that incident, the time he was hit over the head with a bat and went down like a rock, then apparently started to babble about plotting penguins and how people needed to take their vitamins so that they’d stop being so see-through. There was some discussion as he recovered in the hospital about head trauma and permanent damage, but it never led anywhere because that would be awful for a Fitzgerald to contemplate, and he got a reprieve.
Times like these, however, and he wondered if Danny remembered every word, and kept them on replay in his head whenever he had to spend time with him. Just to keep perspective that his partner and sometimes friend is possibly loony, and needs to not dig fingernails into flesh as a nervous tick.
He slides his gaze over to the side, looking at Danny from the corner of his eyes. It hurts, makes his head throb a little, but outright glaring would prompt talking, and he doesn’t want talking. He wants to figure this out so it will stop, and everything can get back to normal.
He’s pretty sure Danny didn’t watch him this much before.
They get to the building with no incidents, and only a small amount of sniping between them. Danny finds himself disappointed just a little, because his only source of entertainment right now is Martin’s suffering, and though he admits he loves the guy just a little, the way he fidgets and bitches about the most stupid of things is better than sliced bread.
“I never discovered toast,” he says out loud as he pulls into a parking spot.
Martin says nothing to him until the engine goes dead and the doors unlock, and he unbuckles his seatbelt as he tosses back, “How horrible your life must be.”
He gets out of the car, watches Martin through the windows as they both move down to the rear of the car to head towards the lift, and grins widely when their eyes meet.
Slight glower mixed with amusement is what meets him as he hits the button with his elbow, and yeah, Martin will be okay.
“It’s eternal suffering, man.”