"You are lost, just admit it." Watching as Danny's jaw clenched, Martin allowed his lips to twitch and nothing more. There was a certain sense of satisfaction to draw whenever his partner was wrong. Danny rarely ever made a mistake in New York, but they weren't in the city now. Sitting back in the passenger sat, he crossed his arms. "I'm waiting."

"If I were lost, I would admit it." Danny resolutely kept his gaze on the road ahead of him. He had never used the 'bright' setting on his car before, and it was playing havoc with his night vision. "Now, Fitzie, you are another matter. If there was a man to fit the stereotype, you're it."

"Oh, don't start with me on that, it was one time." Martin raised his voice as he spoke over Danny's accusation. "There was no sign, it wasn't my fault. Those damn kids..."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say." Reaching up with his index and middle fingers, Danny flicked on the blinker. From what he could tell, there was a T-road ahead.

"Besides," Martin continued. "If I'm correct, you were the one who gave me the directions."

"Don't try to pin your inadequacies on me, Boytoy." He caught Martin's glare from the corner of his eye. Snickering, he brought them to a stop at the intersection. Turning to look at the man, Danny put out a hand to rest upon his shoulder. "Don't pout, Fitzie, you know it's true. You're my boytoy."

"I'm one year younger than you, ass wipe." He shrugged off Danny's arm, looking out the passenger window so he wouldn't have to see his lover's smug grin. The man knew how much it galled him, and he took great pleasure in rubbing it in. "I earned that promotion!"

Sighing, Danny rolled his eyes. Focusing on the road once more, he let off the brake. He pulled them to the left, crossing his fingers under the wheel. "If I believed what they said about you, I never would have put my dick down your lovely throat. Besides, the thought of you and Jack doesn't even register it's just so disgusting."

"Hey, I could get Jack if I wanted to. He happens to be kinda attractive..." Martin looked down where Danny's hand came to rest on his thigh. Snorting, he shook his leg in a pathetic attempt to dislodge the offending appendage. "You're not getting a blow job in the car. Your driving's already bad enough."

"Anyone ever told you your filthy mouth is very attractive?" Sliding his hand up Martin's thigh, he stopped just at the junction of hip and thigh. "It would look so good wrapped around my..."

"Quit trying to distract me. You're lost!" Still, Martin couldn't tear his eyes away from Danny's hand. It took all his strength to keep from shifting his hip that last little bit over. Despite his will, his cock was already filling out the front of his briefs. "The first station we see, you are stopping for directions."

"If you have to use the restroom, I will, but other wise, nope." This time, Danny found his hand thrown back in to his own space. Chuckling, he put it back on the wheel. All he could see in the light of car's lamps were barbed wire, trees, and weeds. "Where the hell are we?"

"See, I told you so!" Martin didn't bother to keep the triumph from his voice. It was a red letter day, Danny had admitted he was wrong! Clapping, he started to chant the words at Danny. "I told you so, I told you so."

"Not so fast, I asked where we were. I'm only testing to see if you knew, because I do." The sudden silence made his night. Raising a fist, he started to pump it vigorously. "Yes! I win!"

"Shut up, Dan..." The flash of lights were instant and blinding. Crying out, the force of the impact slammed Martin against the door. His head impacted the glass as the world spun. Held there by the momentum, he became aware of feeling very light, then he was no longer in the car.

Tumbling over through the air, saw the blackness of the sky. The moon shining through the clouds was all his mind registered before his back hit the earth. All the breath was knocked from his body as it felt like a ton of bricks crushed his chest.

He bounced twice before coming to a sliding stop upon some rocks. Over the roaring in his own ears, he could hear water rushing. He had to blink several times before his eyes could focus. Luckily, his head was turned towards the source.

It was the car. Engine down first, it was sinking. Through the tall grasses and broken trees, he saw the driver's side. Against the window, Danny was beating at it uselessly.

Martin's lips formed the word, but he couldn't draw the breath to say his name. His fingers twitched, knowing he had to move, they were the only things he could control. As he watched, helpless, the bubbling of the waters increased and the car sank.

The last sight he had of Danny was his face pressed against the window before the car went under.

Too stunned to move, Martin felt wet heat upon his face and thought he was crying. Blinking didn't clear his vision, it was soon blotted out. 'Oh, I'm bleeding,' was his last thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh, sweet Jesus!"

Martin attempted to blink, but his eyes were glued shut. It took him several seconds to remember by what. Then, the memory of the wreck came back. Moaning, he tried to speak. Danny, he had to get to Danny.

"You're alive!" A warm hand came to rest upon his skin.

Shivering, Martin realized that his body felt cold inside. There was heat beating down upon him, most likely from the sun. Too late. It was too late. He swallowed down a whimper. His body hurt and he could barely move, but that didn't matter.

"Oh, Jesus, hold on. Fuck!" The speaker was panicking. "Listen, I gotta leave you here. I can't...I'm just a kid, Mister!" He squeezed Martin's hand. "I'll be back, there's Mr. Jackson down the road, he's got a cell phone that might work. Oh, fuck!"

The hand was taken from his and Martin was alone again. He could hear the pounding of boots on asphalt, but they grew so distant. It didn't matter, it was too late.

Easing down another swallow of dried saliva and something else that tasted vile, he took a shuddering breath. For the first time, Martin prayed for death. He was mentally asking his body to let go when his world grew distant again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was pain.

He was breathing, so he must be alive. His leg hurt. The entire left side of his face felt sunburned. A dull ache in his left hand signaled the presence of a catheter. Another throb in his right arm meant a second.

Groaning, he swallowed in an attempt to wet his throat. Martin licked his lips before opening his eyes. For some reason, he was surprised when they opened. He knew, later, he would ponder over that. Right now, the world was too blurry and bright.

A stabbing pain in his forehead made him close them. As he moaned, he tried to shift in the bed. Whoever had laid in it didn't know how he liked to sleep. His back was sore, so he had to be careful curling on his side. With gasping pants, he eased himself on to his side.

By the time he was finished, he felt completely exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, someone picked that time to check on him. Too hot fingers slid across his neck. Martin vainly swatted at them to no avail.

"So you're awake." It was a woman.

Growling at her, Martin tried catch her hand under his jaw to smush against his chest. He had to wait for her to complete the physical examination, running her fingers from his collar bone to his spine. "Gunhu wuh!" His tongue felt too fat to speak properly, which meant he was severely dehydrated. That told him he hadn't been there long.

Ignoring his attempt at speaking, she pushed open the back of his gown. "You best settle down, Mister. Dr. Jackson will want this information and I won't take the heat for your being a mule." Her warning in place, she continued to trail gloved fingers down his back, checking each joint, rib, and vertebrae.

At his hips, her fingers spread out. They trailed slowly over his ass, checking his pelvis and coccyx. "Does this hurt? There are several bruises along your...Oh. I see." Her fingers aligned with the purple markings, though smaller in size.

Slapping out his good hand, he knocked the hem of his gown down over his backside. "Nuh ya buzznuzz."

Releasing him, she snorted. "I understood that one." Patting his shoulder softly, her exhalation was loud enough to echo in the room. "Don't worry, Dr. Jackson doesn't discriminate."

Martin growled at her again. It made his throat feel better and said all he wanted. As her touch left his body, there was nothing keeping him there. Soon, he drifted off again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he next awoke, there was no sound above the air flowing through the vent. Martin thought himself alone until a throat cleared along side the ruffling of a newspaper. Having grown up hearing it every morning, the noise was one he would never forget. Almost, for half a heartbeat, he could pretend it had all been a horrible dream.

Then he opened his eyes.

The pounding behind his eyes suggested that may be moving his head would not be such a good idea. Taking that to heart, he blinked to clear his vision. When he could make out the person in the room, he knew instantly that something was wrong. "Who aw woo?"

Lowering his paper, the man looked at Martin with a raised eyebrow. There was a moment he seemed to think, then snorted. Raising his paper, he turned the page.

Swallowing, Martin had to clear his throat several times before it was clear and his mouth moist enough to speak. "Wha...t branch?"

"Hmm?" The man didn't even so much as lower his paper when he asked.

"Don't fuck with me." It hurt, but Martin forced himself in to sitting position. The pain and sudden bout of dizziness were enough to force all but his current thoughts from his head. Using the pillows to support himself, he kept his eyes closed. "Who are you with?"

Turning the page in his paper, the man shifted in his seat. A loud fart echoed in the room.

"All right, that's enough." Nose scrunched, a man standing in the doorway waved at the air. "Daniels, get the hell out." He didn't wait for the sitting man to move to enter the room. There was a hitch in his walk, making him seem new to the effort. "Mr. Tanner, my name is Derrick Lee. How are you feeling?"

For a minute, Martin sat there with his hospital gown pulled up over his nose. Then Derrick snapped his fingers in his general direction. While glaring at the man, he began to breathe through his nose. "Who are you people?"

"I've already told you my name, Mr. Tanner." Derrick walked to the other side of his bed, pointedly ignoring Daniels.

For his part, Daniels snapped a one finger salute at Derrick. Dropping his paper in his chair, he began to whistle and strolled out of the room.

When the door had closed behind the other man, Derrick completed his walk up to Martin. Reaching in to his suit jacket, he pulled out a leather tri-fold wallet. Pulling it open, he held it out for Martin to take so that it fell open. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Tanner."

Martin stared at the strip of hard plastic behind the plexi covering. It held his picture, the same year of his birth and all his descriptors, but that wasn't his name. He wanted to ask the meaning of it, but knew the answer already. "Why?"

"You got too close, that bump must have jarred your memory." It was a simple explanation. The only one the man seemed inclined to give him. Dropping the wallet in Martin's lap when he didn't take it, the Derrick pulled something from his other jacket pocket. "We have taken great care to ensure you arrived safely. Do not make us regret this, Mr. Tanner."

"I didn't ask for this. Last I heard, that part was a prerequisite." He picked up the wallet, it wasn't like he had any other choice. Examining the contents revealed two credit cards from national banks, three hundred dollars in twenties, a couple sales receipts, and a few photos of himself with a woman he didn't know. "Who is she?"

"You're ex-wife. Charlotte Tanner is your contact. Really, I hope that amnesia is only temporary." The next thing he pulled from his pocket was a small recorder. Checking it over, he didn't see Martin smirk.

It hurt to make his face move, but Martin couldn't help himself. "Anything else you got hidden in there, Houdini?"

"Lots of things." Derrick pressed a button on the end of the metallic recorder. "What do you recall about the accident?"

That sucked the air right out Martin's lungs. Spots danced before his eyes, he started to gasp. Clinging to his bed, he felt the world tilt around him. It took him several seconds that felt like an eternity to realize what had come back to him. He heard of flashbacks, but this had felt so wrong.

His stomach in his feet, Martin's head became too heavy to support. He let it fall back on the pillows. Tears blurred his vision, the sound of bubbling water the only thing he could hear.

Distantly, he became aware of a stinging pain in his arm. Soon after, relief and sleep tugged at his eyelids. Without caring about the world or the people around him, he gave in to the blessed darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A woman was humming.

Opening his eyes, Martin found it easier to bring himself around this time. Swallowing, he wet his lips and moaned. A straw was placed to them and he drank from it gratefully. When he had to breathe, the straw was taken away. This gave him the chance to look up.

Hair cropt just under her chin, the tips of which curled under was the first thing he noticed about her. The second was that it was a very bad dye job. She wore entirely too much makeup for a woman of her looks, but he wasn't about to tell her that. "Are you..."

"Yes, I'm Charlotte." Her tone was bored, but held a hint of anger. Setting aside the cup of water, she pushed back the hair over her ear. "I am with the U.S. Marshalls office here in Colorado."

"I see." Apparently being a white woman with bottle blonde hair automatically qualified them for field duty. Snickering, Martin fought to keep the memories of another woman at bay. "Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, or do I have to guess? That last guy wasn't exactly Mr. Helpful."

"Derreck Lee?" At his nod, she puttered her lips. "Figures. There's a reason he's on administrative duty. He can't seem to break character, even when he's supposed to." Checking Martin's pulse, she reached up to his face. Before he could react, she had pushed open his eyelids.

"Hey!" Jerking back made her nail scrape against the flesh under his eye. The sudden sharp stinging made him gasp and clutch at his eye.

"Have to make sure you aren't too doped up to remember this." Her tone was bored. The sound of her heels clicked on the tiles, followed by her falling back in a chair. "The ground rules are simple, no contact with your formal life. You are never to break your charade. From the moment you are released from the Hospital, you have two months to secure a financially sustaining job."

Rubbing at his eye, Martin blinked at her with his other.

Picking up her hand bag, she pulled out a lipstick tube and a hand mirror. "Do not break the law, we won't bail you out. Never tell people your original identity, you wouldn't believe how many times we've had that happen." She pulled off the cap, then began to touch up her lips. "If you violate any of these, your protection is null and void. If you have any problems, I am your contact."

When she was through, she pressed her lips together and tilted her head. Satisfied with her appearance, Charlotte placed both back in her handbag. "Now, on to your identity."

"Wait." Martin had to physically hold up his hand to halt her progress. His head had started to spin and what she was telling him only added to that. "What is going on?" Much to his shame, his voice cracked over that. He took a shuddering breath before meeting her gaze.

"What?" Having started riffling through her bag, she was forced to set it down in her lap. "You're kidding, right?"

"No." Unable to stop himself, Martin shook his head. Looking down, he found his hands shaking. To control them, he bunched them up in the hem of his hospital blanket. "The last thing... We're we hit?"

For several heartbeats, Charlotte sat there staring at him. When she did react, it was to look away. "That son of a..." She bit off the rest. "Yes," it came out a bit breathy. Clearing her throat, she nodded. "He was a local dealer, believed to be working under orders from Deiscatta."

"Deiscatta?" The name seemed familiar, but Martin couldn't place it, but the dealer part was easy. Frowning, he rubbed at his forehead. "Why would a drug dealer want to kill us?"

"You were investigating..." trailing off, she stared at Martin in confusion. When he shook his head, the purse slipped from her hands completely. The dull thud it made shocked her in to action. Grabbing it as she bent over, she placed her hair behind her ear again when it fell away. "Uh, I've got some phone calls to make. You stay right here."

Martin didn't have the time to remark on how he didn't think he could leave before she was out the door. As it shut behind her, Martin sat watching it. When it didn't seem like she was coming back after a while, he searched for anything to distract him. All he came up with was a television remote.

For lack of anything better to do, he pressed the power button. Some gaudy children's program was on. Numbly, he flipped through the channels, not really paying attention. When it landed upon a familiar news station, he set the remote down. If nothing else, it would provide him with some grounding in everyday life.

Seeing they were doing weather for the nation, he tuned it out. There were windows in his room, but they led to the roof of an attached building. Windows surrounded the roof on all four sides, forming a depressing scene of only more hospital. Still, there were birds playing among the roofing stones and water pools.

He used to watch the wild birds from his bedroom. On mornings when he woke up early, he would lay there looking out on to the balcony. Danny had placed a feeder there for them, to amuse him. It was a pain in the ass because he had to refill it, then scrape the bird shit from the balcony. There was no chance in hell his lover would ever clean up after some wild animals. "No, but you sure could bitch about it."

Turning his head from the window, he almost expected to see Danny laying beside him. When he found the right side of his bed empty, it felt like someone had kicked him in the chest. Unable to gather the needed air to breathe, he laid back against the pillows.

"Coming up after the break, a story we've been following here all week. A new twist in the case of two murdered FBI agents. Authorities are finally opening up about why those two men may have been killed. That and more in the next half hour. Stick around."

With a shaky hand, Martin grasped the remote and turned it off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Martin laid there for what felt like days, but in reality was probably only a full turn of the clock.  In that time he had learned to count the dots upon the ceiling tiles without tallying the same one twice.  If there was a reason for it, he still couldn't quite bring himself to care.  There were some things in life that one didn't question, him knowing how to do this was one.

He was on dot two-hundred-sixty-eight-thousand-nine-hundred-twelve when the door to his room opened.  Unlike before, she was now accompanied by several men, a nurse, and an orderly pushing a wheelchair.  The agents set about gathering the belongings from the drawers and the closet at the far side of the room.

Walking to the side of Martin's bed, the nurse capped the IV line on his arm. On the other side, the orderly stopped the wheel chair and sat the bed up.  Together, they worked fast to unhook him from the equipment strip him.

Above it all, Martin saw Charlotte, or whatever her real name was, checking her handheld.  It looked like the new blackberry, but was hard to see.  A firm hand on his cock was all the warning he had before the catheter was removed.  Biting his lip, he forced the pain away.  "What the hell is going on here?"

"The dealer, Zikorski, he's dead, along with his entire escort.  Deiscatta's extermination squad found him this morning."  Clicking off her handheld, Charlotte slipped it in her pocket.  Meeting Martin's gaze, she ran a hand through her hair.  "There's not much time, we think they know someone else is on to him.  Until we know how they found out, you're not safe here!"

"Wait a minute!"  Martin tried to get free of the orderly and nurse, but they were too deft for him.  They quickly slipped his gown from his body and a shirt over his head.  When he could see again, he glared at Charlotte.  "You people kidnap me and now tell me my life is in danger?"

"We don't have time for this!"  With a quick jerk of her head, Charlotte sent the men with his bags out of the room.  "The safest place for you to be is in the wind.  The new life we were setting up for you has most likely been compromised.  They don't know about your identity, or me, so I'm going with you."

By the time she had finished speaking, Martin was transferred to a pair of pants and then in to the wheel chair.  Scowling at being manhandled by two strangers, he allowed them to take control.  Still, he had a bone to pick with Charlotte.  "You people did this to me!  Because you assumed, I've got a hit out on me!"

"That was the DEA, but it won't matter if we don't get this show on the road."  Clutching her purse, she led the way through an empty corridor to an elevator.  The door was already open by the time they made it there.  Reaching in to the bag, she didn't show them what she held, but the clicking sound made it obvious.

As he was backed in to the elevator, Martin refused to let the fear he was currently feeling show on his face.  The nurse was at his side, checking his vitals with a blood pressure cuff.  Taking a deep breath, he remembered that you were supposed to remain calm during the test.  When the doors closed, he did the same with his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time they pulled over for gas, Martin was too dazed to notice much.  There were people about, but the dark glasses prevented him from really seeing them.  It didn't matter.  All he had been able to think about for the past ten hours was Danny.  Some how, he figured the man would have thought this entire thing funny.

Well except the him being dead part.

The Marshall was busy at the pump, her credit card solving any reservations he might have felt about being alone.  Not that he wanted her any where near him.  They could all go straight to hell for bungling this one.  How in the hell had he gone from being happy with his partner to being legally dead and on the run?

One big fucking mistake after another, that was the whole thing in a nutshell.  Who in their right mind declared a federal agent dead without even checking with his boss to ensure he was in fact doing what they thought?  Had they even contacted Jack or did they just move?  It was one of those things he occasionally kicked around but couldn't bring himself to give voice.

It didn't really matter, he supposed.  They had done it, and because of that, he was now in mortal danger.  He had heard of some really stupid, bonehead government mistakes in his life time, but this one took the cake.  But it was too late to care or do anything about.

Movement at the window got his attention.

Charlotte tapped her fingers against the glass twice, suggesting she was going to the station and wouldn't be five minutes.

Martin barely nodded.  When she seemed satisfied, he faced forward.  Not that it really mattered any more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room wasn't clean enough to qualify for EPA standards, but the roaches didn't seem to mind.  Still, it was a welcome respite from the constant driving.  Martin hadn't realized how much pain he was still in until he had tried to climb out of the car.  All he could think was thank god Danny hadn't been there to see him fall on his ass.

That had been the end of any thinking for a while.

Now, he sat at the foot of a bed, staring off in to space.  He could hear the television in the far corner from Charlotte watching the news.  Whatever she was waiting for wasn't coming on and she was about to start pacing again.  It would be the third time in the past half hour.

Once upon a time, that would have bothered Martin.  He was the pacer type, D... someone else usually was yelling at him for it.  There wouldn't be that happening again, at least.  He could pace all he wanted and no one tell him to stop or distract him from what had been bothering him.  It would be a great stress reliever.

Sniffing, Martin reached up and wiped the moisture from his face.  It must have been hot in the room.

Charlotte was back to staring at the television intently.  With the stance of her hand on the holster she had taken to wearing, she displayed her mounting frustration.  After another news story about some stupid kids getting run while jaywalking, she blew up.

Martin watched as she slapped the remote down on the television's top.  It might have caused his heart to start beating faster for a second, but that was quickly gone.

"Fuck this, I'm going to take a shower!  If they play something about a man named Andreus, turn the volume up and pay attention."  Reaching up as she crossed the room to the small bathroom door, she tugged at her blonde hair.  With a sigh of relief, it came away in her hand, revealing a stocking covering her true hair.  Charlotte shut the door behind her, leaving Martin to stare at the television alone.

For several seconds, Martin watched the news anchor bounce from one topic to another without ever really saying anything.  After a time, he tuned out the perky woman.  Closing his eyes, he slid up the bed until he was in the center.  Once there, he curled up and pulled the blankets over him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Martin wasn't sure how long he had been out of it.  When he came around they were already back on the road.  The feel of his clothes said that he had changed at some point.  Where he should have felt alarmed, there was still only the void of nothingness.

More out of something to do than curiosity, he glanced out the windows.  They were in an area of flat wasteland.  There were the occasional scrub bushes and cacti, but for the most part it was desert.  He found himself drawn to the reds and oranges of the land.  For some reason, he wanted to touch them.

It was all quite beautiful in a distant way.  Every time he tried to focus on something, it would zip by faster than he could presently track.  This left him moving his eyes quickly over the landscape.  Martin's mind began to wander, creating scenarios of what happened there.

In his mind's eye, he could see a great flying saucer landing.  Tiny aliens would come rushing up from the ground because he was no longer on Earth, but observing the surface of Mars.  They weren't really aliens either, because this was their home world and he was the outsider.

Martin had time to ponder whether he was on some medication before he was taken in by another illusion.  This time, he was a tiny white rabbit and the world was made up of sherbet ice cream.  The bottle blonde beside him controlling their vehicle was in a blue dress and white trimmings.  In the distance, he could hear some fat bitch shelling out hearts.

He wished she would shut up.  No one needed a heart any more.  Why have one when it could so easily be crushed?  No, it was better to replace your heart with a fuel pump from a ninety-four mustang convertible.  You could get one from Dan's gas and garage on highway Clover Field at the corner of Keystone and Meridian.

Watching Martin's dilated eyes as he stared in rapt fascination at the radio, Charlotte took the bottle of pills from the console's cup holder and stuffed them in to her pocket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the world started to make sense again, Martin realized it wasn't a massive pickle trying to eat his hair.  Someone was actually cutting it off.  With a resigned sigh, he tried to raise his hands.  The restraints he thought he felt were very real.  Apparently they weren't taking any chances.

A shiver ran down his spine.  Clearing his throat, he coughed a couple times.  He had to stop waking up from a stupor.  Blinking, he found that he was in a motel room again.  "Where are we?"  His voice was hazed from lack of use.

"So, you are awake, about time."  Charlotte's voice was muffled by something in her mouth.  Tugging on his hair, she continued to run the scissors through it, cutting it to the quick.  "We're about an hour out of Pueblo, Colorado.  Marshall Tucker is out getting dinner, I hope you like Chinese."

"Marshall Tucker?"  Snickering, Martin tried to look about the room, but Charlotte's hands kept his head steady.  With a sigh, he decided to use his eyes instead.  There was a bag on the second bed that he didn't recognize.  "When did we meet up with Marshall Tucker?"

"Two days ago."  Pushing the last of his hair off his head, she ran a dry cloth down the back of his neck.  "I hope you enjoyed your little vacation from reality.  I've flushed the rest of your pills."

"So, that's what that was.  I thought I had finally lost my mind."  And it was true.  It had been a pleasant experience.  He could understand why some people chose to go that way now.  Much to his horror, he heard a familiar rushing sound.  "Is that what I think it is?"

Slapping her hand palm down over the top of his head, she rubbed it on thick.  "If by that you mean shaving lather, then yes."  Quickly, she spread it over the top of his head, behind his ears, at his temples, and on the back of his neck.  "It helps make shaving you bald easier."

"Is this part of my new secret identity or are you just being mean?"  Martin snorted.  If this kept up, he might actually start feeling human again.

"Can't it be both."  She move a hand to the front of his face.  Clutched in her palm was a safety razor.  "I'm not sure if this is your brand, but it's the type I use on my legs.  Trust me, you'll feel so smooth and sexy no horny man will be able to keep his hands off your head."

"Oh joy.  It's always been my life's ambition to be irresistible to perverts."  As he spoke, the first stroke of the blade slid over his scalp.  It made a scratching sound as it removed the very last bits of his hair.  "Tell me something, since my arms don't feel sore from tattoos, what exactly are you doing this for?"

"Wonderful question."  Pulling the razor away from his scalp with another head full of hair and shaving foam, she rinsed it in the basin of hot water.  "Ever known someone who has cancer?  We'll, you do now."

Freezing, Martin felt his heart nearly jump from his chest.  "That's not funny."

"No, I suppose not."  Shifting to the side, she picked up something from the table.  She had to stretch out to hand it to him.  "Have a look."

"What have you done to me?"  Martin accepted the hand mirror with shaking fingers.  Closing his eyes, he raised it so his face would be reflected in it.  Taking a steadying breath, he opened them again.  His features were waxen and pale.  Dark circles surrounded his tired eyes.  He long to reach up and touch them, but the restraints held him back.  "I look like...  Why?"

"It was Tucker's idea.  Though, by the time he saw you, it was an obvious plan."  Pushing aside his ear, she scraped the blade against his scalp.  "With the combination of drugs, lack of sleep, and trauma, you've polished off the look quite nicely on your own.  It keeps people from asking questions and only rude people and children will stare."

Without his hair, his ears stuck out against the backdrop of his smooth head.  Martin tried not to shudder, but the similarities were just too great.  "How long until I'm healthy looking again?"

"With the combination of recuperation, your new prescription, and some actual sleep..."  She trailed off, dropping the razor in to the basin.  Taking a hot rag from another basin, she ran it over the top of his scalp.  When that was done, she put it aside and picked up a bottle.  "Grit your teeth, this is gonna sting."  Then she applied it to his scalp.

Spots shown before his eyes as his vision blurred.  Tears ran down his face as Martin groaned from the stinging pain.  Days of being numb had taken away his tolerance and it felt like his scalp was on fire.

Patting his head dry with another hand towel, Charlotte tried to be gentle.  "The doctor the agency sent over said it will be a couple weeks before you're up and about again.  Until then, you'll need assistance, that's why Marshall Tucker is here.  You'd know all this if you bothered to stay awake."

Martin sucked air through his teeth.  Keeping his eyes closed, he shook his head free of her grip.

Seeing that Martin wasn't going to be responsive for a while, she scowled at him.  There was nothing better to do, so she moved about cleaning up after their impromptu shaving.  Just to be peevish, she left him strapped to the motel's desk chair.

Martin was still brooding over the change in circumstances when the door to their room opened.  He didn't look to it right away, therefore was surprised when a bag was dropped in his lap.  He tried to jump out of his chair, but found his arms still strapped down.

"Oh, I do apologize."  The owner of the hand that had so rudely dropped the shopping bag in his lap came in to view.  Green eyes twinkling, the man pushed his dull red hair out of his face.  "I see that you have deigned to grace us mere mortals with your divine presence."

"Get bent."  Martin took an instant dislike to the stranger.  The man's hair color was so washed out that one would think it brown.  It reminded him uncomfortably of someone he used to know.  That man was also an asshole.

"Yes, this is much better."  Reaching up, he brushed a finger over Martin's cheeks.  Checking the pads, he whistled.  "Flawless.  Had I not known better, Madam, I would think we actually have a dying man here."

"Funny."  Coming around Martin's chair, Charlotte had her wig off and her normal black hair up in a bun.  She wiped her hands off on another towel before tossing it over Martin's head.

Martin felt the disruption in the air as it flew over his bald scalp.  Shivering, he tried to hunch over.

"Oh, absolutely wonderful."  Tucker was chuckling, mesmerized with watching Martin.  "There is a sickly sense of beauty about him, almost fragile in his condition."

"He looks like a shaved rat."  With a final look to Martin, she pulled the tank top out of her pants and over her head.  Not caring about the other two men in the room, she crossed the room to a bag on her bed.  Taking out a dress shirt, she slid it on.

While Charlotte buttoned her shirt, Tucker walked up to Martin.  Picking up the bag, he dangled it in front of Martin.  "Come along, Mr. Tanner, your new attire awaits."

"Cut the shit, Ezra, he's tied to the damned chair.  Unstrap him before you decide to torture him."  Pulling the holster on over her dress shirt, Charlotte buckled it in to place.  After slipping the gun in to the leather harness, she grabbed her business jacket off the back of a second chair.

"Do not pay her any heed, Mr. Tanner."  Tucker cast a glance over his shoulder at Charlotte.  "Envy makes the most delightful of debutantes bitter hags."

Confused Martin glanced from one marshall to the other.  "What's going on?"

"Orders from on high."  Slipping her jacket on, Charlotte grabbed her bag from the bed.  She draped the strap over her shoulder.  Finally ready, she stopped to look around the room until her gaze landed upon Martin.  "This is the end of the line for me, Mr. Tanner.  Tucker here will take care of you.  He'll make sure you settle in to your new life."

Reaching out with his free hand, Tucker tapped Martin on the chin.  When he had the other man's attention, he smiled.  "Do not fret.  This here is common practice among the service.  No potentially compromised field marshall will know the exact location of a witness."

Standing at the door, she wavered long enough to hear the last.  "He's right.  We should have made the switch a week ago."  With a final exhalation, Charlotte turned and walked out.

As the door closed behind her, another part of Martin died.

Tucker snapped his fingers to draw Martin's attention.  "Let us get you ready, Mr. Tanner, your new life awaits."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Worn out by the three hour drive, Martin barely watched the town pass by through the windows.  One moment they had been driving through open pastures, the next a town had sprung up.  It was something he had heard of, but being a child of the urban jungle pretty much made it a myth.

A day after Charlotte had left and he was already back to sitting in a daze.  Which was okay, Tucker talked enough for all three of them.  The man was saying something about them being there, but since the car was still moving, it didn't really matter.  It wasn't until the car drew to a crawl that he realized it was true.

Eventually, they came to a stop in front of a large property on the outskirts.

The house was a three story brownstone.  To Martin, it wouldn't have looked out of place in an old west movie.  With a Victorian style porch flanked by Greek revival columns, it was garish and highly illogical given the location.  Looking past the house, he found that a large corn field grew out from the backyard.

He could hear Danny now, "they would pick the house that squealed queer."

Snorting, Martin tried to shake himself from the funk.  For once, he was glad for the senior citizen sunglasses that covered half his face.  They hid the tired expression he knew was on his face.  Withdrawals was a bitch.

Tucker didn't bother wasting time looking around.  Climbing from the car, he closed the door and crossed around to Martin's side.  He opened Martin's door and offered him a hand out.  "Your hand, my dear."

Ignoring the man's hand, Martin checked his turban in the mirror.  Tucker had called it something else, but to him, it was something straight out of Aladdin.  There was even a red jewel in the center that he knew hid a GPS chip.  Seeing that there was nothing else to distract him, Martin tugged his shawl closer over his shoulder and put out a hand.

Taking Martin's hand, Tucker heaved a great sigh.  "You try the patience, Mr. Tanner."  With a tug stronger than necessary, he pulled Martin from the car.

It didn't matter, Martin came out to his feet.  Glancing about him, he found there were indeed houses around him.  Entire blocks of them lined the street in both directions.  This one was only special because it had a much larger yard with a cast iron fence.  "Who built this place, Rockefeller?"

"Someone equally as mad, I'm afraid."  Ensuring that Martin would remain standing, Tucker closed the passenger door.  He moved to the back seat and opened the door.  Pulling out Martin's bag, he closed the door.  With that done, he offered up his elbow.  "Shall we adjourn, my lady?"

"If I wasn't supposed to be recovering from cancer, I would deck you."  Still, Martin took Tucker's arm, allowing him to lead him up the walk.  The flagstones lead directly to the porch, which had ten steps.  "Jesus Christ, there aren't this many stairs in the federal building."

"If all you are going to do is complain about you get there, I can toss you across the threshold."  Tucker spoke with a grand smile.  The only sign he was annoyed was the tightening around his eyes.  "This is the best we could do on short notice, your case is far from normal."

Martin waited until they were to the door to snap.  "Well excuse me for being kidnapped by my own government!"  Reaching out, he grabbed the knob and turned it.  When it didn't give, he reared back to kick it open.  A throat clearing stopped him.

"If you would allow me."  Producing a key from some where, Tucker slid it in the lock and turned it.  The door came open with a quick twist of the knob.

Not waiting any more, Martin shoved off the other man's arm.  His first several steps were in a stagger, but he eventually got enough of his balance under him to stay afloat.  Certain he would fall over, Martin craned his neck to check out the place.

It smelled of recent disinfectant and bug spray.  The walls were done in a rose colored paper with gold filigree probably older than his father.  Ahead of the main entrance, a grand staircase led up to the second floor.  Off to the right, the main parlor, to the left was a sitting room and a hallway.  With fixtures done in brass, it screamed nouveau rich to Martin.

"I should never have taken that decorating course," he muttered to himself.  "Mid twenties opulence, probably a mineral merchant.  Made his fortune off the backs of the miners."

"Exactly."  Setting Martin's bag down in one of the high backed chairs in the sitting room, Tucker appeared completely at ease in the room.

It took Martin only seconds to realize why this house.  "This is your place, isn't it?"

Looking extremely pleased, Tucker fluffed out his jacket and sat down in another chair.  Checking the material, he flicked off a piece of lent.  "However did you know?"

"Wild guess."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ticking of the clock at the end of the hall kept Martin informed of the time.  In truth, that wasn't keeping him up, though.  Staring out from his third floor bedroom window, the moon's light shown down upon him.  His skin seemed even paler, making him feel ethereal.

If only.

It was took weeks.  Two weeks since the crash exactly.  The first full night he had been awake since it happened, and he couldn't sleep.  The slackness to his muscles attested to how exhausted his body was.  Martin just couldn't bring himself to close his eyes.

So, he sat there in the old rocking chair, watching the wind blow across the corn stalks below.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day brought with it the infernally cheerful sound of birds.  If Martin could he would gladly kill them all.  There was no reason for such little beasts to be so happy while he tried to get some sleep.  Eventually, though, he had to admit defeat.

Coming down the stairs still smelling of some fancy soap that probably was French, Martin took in the rest of the joint.  There were many old fixtures and furnishings.  Probably all original and very expensive.  It was only the thought that he couldn't run fast enough that kept him from screwing with them.

But once he could, he was definitely scuffing it up.

The second flight of stairs brought him out to the main floor and the sound of voices.  He couldn't see who it was, but could follow them.  Mindful of the fact he wasn't wearing anything to protect his image, he almost stayed back.  Then he thought better of it.  He was through trying to accommodate these people.

His footsteps were light, but their slap echoed in the short hall as he passed through the sitting room.  Laughter came back as whoever had been speaking chuckled.  At the end of the dark hall, Martin found a dinning room complete with table and chairs.  In three of these chairs was Tucker and two people Martin had never met before.

Upon catching sight of Martin, the younger of the two paled and sobered quickly.  The smile now gone from his face, he rose from the table.  "Um."

"Um?"  Raising his head, Tucker stared at the young man.  "Mr. Dunne, where are your manners?"

Dunne pointed towards Martin, still unable to speak.  Swallowing, he gave a short wave.

"What...Oh."  Rising from the table, Tucker seemed to lose his genial attitude.  "Mr. Tanner, what are you doing out of bed?"

"Looking for something to bludgeon you with."  Martin felt a little winded from the trek to the dinning room, so he leaned against the doorway.  "You've got a real nice sense of manners.  Sticking the sick man in the farthest corner of the highest level of the house.  You'd fit right in at Manhattan General."

Not bothering to cover his laugh, the third man slapped the table.  As he wound down, he stroked his fingers over his mustache.  "That's sounds like you, Ezra."

"It does not."  Tucker regarded the man as if he smelled.  "If you do not care for your lodgings, Mr. Tanner, I can arrange for something more to your liking.  Perhaps a park bench with a urinal view?"

Dunne had the decency to cover his mouth even has he gave whoopy snort.  Pinking around his ears, he could no longer look at Martin.

"At least there I might actually get some thing to eat!"  Martin hadn't been meaning to get angry, but found himself screaming at the marshall.  Hands shaking, he crossed them over his chest.  While he tugged at his collar, he looked away from their stunned expressions.  "I'm sorry.  These..."  He suddenly felt so tired.

Turning, he walked quickly back the way he came.  Instead of heading for the stairs, he went for the door.  By the time he had it open, he could hear the sounds of shoes on the hardwood floors.  For some reason, this made him panic.  He didn't care where he went, Martin just wanted out of there.

He was running the second his feet left the 'too many' steps.  The car they had come in was still at the end of the front walk.  As he drew closer, he could see the keys were in the ignition.  Thanking forgetful people, he dashed through the gate and around the car.  His side was aching, but he didn't care!

By the time he had the door open, Tucker and his companions were off the porch and running towards him.  They weren't going to stop him.  If they tried blocking the car with their bodies, he'd run them over.  Jumping in the car, he barely had the door shut before he was turning the key.

With a cry of triumph, he started the engine.  Flooring the accelerator, he kicked up gravel and dirt as he pulled in to the road from the driveway.  In the mirrors, he saw Tucker and Dunne coming in to the street, taking long strides to stop their momentum.

Spinning the wheel, Martin took him back out the way he vaguely remembered they had come.  If he followed it back to the highway, he could take a different course and go wherever his tank of gas could get him.  From there, who knew, all he cared was that he was the one making the decision.

Martin had been driving for an hour when he spotted a cellphone outside an old abandoned gas station.  It looked well kept for something in the middle of no where, so he assumed it still worked.  As he pulled the car off the road to it, he found there was a road beside the station, but the over growth of ivy and weeds obscured it.  The road led down a ways, but a town was visible at the end of it.

That meant people.

Martin almost kept going.  But, he was resolved to this.  He knew it was risky, but there was only one thing he could think of doing.  Putting the car in to Park, he turned off the engine.  He climbed out of the car, but left the driver's door open just in case.

His fingers were shaking as he approached the phone.  He had to pause, closing his eyes.  Taking several calming breaths, he nodded.  It was time.

Picking up the receiver, he inserted a couple quarters he had found in the ashtray.  The dial tone blanked out every time he put in a coin for a second, then returned.  Martin entered the area code, then dialed the seven digits he had memorized months ago.

When it began to ring, Martin held his breath.

"Hello."

The tears were so painful, Martin gasped.  "Viv."

"Yes."  She sounded tired.  They must have been on a new case.  "Who is this?"

"It's me, Viv."  His throat tightened, and he had to cough to clear it.

"Who...oh my god."  

The line went dead.

"Viv?"  Martin checked the phone, making sure it was still attached.  He clicked the receiver against the base a couple times.  "Viv?"

"Mr. Fitzgerald."  The voice that came out of the line was authoritative and calm.  Yet, it held a hint of anger.  "Stay where you are, we have traced the location.  What you did was stupid, you put yourself and everyone you care about at risk."

"Listen to me, whoever the fuck you are.  I don't give a damn what you think, what you did to me was wrong!  I want my life back and you're not going to stop me from taking it."  His fingers were clenched around the phone and he was near spitting as he finished.

"Think about what you are doing, what you are saying.  This has already happened, Mr. Fitzgerald, it can't be undone.  If you go back now, you will only get yourself, and possibly others, killed."

"I don't care!  It's my life!  You had no right!  None!"  With as much force as he could muster, Martin slammed the receiver down in the hanger.  Running a hand through his hair, he stopped his bare foot against the ground.

He had to get out of there, they were coming for him.  The car was probably lowjacked too, which meant they could trace him through that as well.  He had to get to a city and dump it.  Thinking quickly, he replayed all the options his years of training had prepared him for in tracking down the perps.  Chuckling, he climbed back in the car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As another car passed, Martin hunkered down further in his jacket.  It wasn't cold, but the wind left a chill against his skin.  Holding out his thumb, it was more of an automatic reaction than a conscious thought.  Having left the car when it ran out of gas hours ago, he had since lost hope of being picked up.  So, it was a surprise when the car actually stopped.

Peering out from under his hat, Martin glanced up to make sure it wasn't the marshall or any other law enforcement.  He really should learn to look before sticking his thumb out.  Much to his luck, it was neither.  He hesitated only a second before walking up to the window that had been lowered for him.  Pushing the hat up so he could see comfortably, he smiled at the driver.  

He was a man in his late thirties, may be early forties.  The assessing look he gave Martin made him seem older.  "Where you headed?"

"New York.  You know, bright lights, big city, Broadway."  Grinning, Martin wiggled his eyebrows, then realized too late they had been shaved off.  Sighing, he pushed the hat down.  It may have belonged to Tucker, but it was all he had to protect him from the sun since they cut off his hair.  "How far can you take me?"

"I can take you as far as Denver."  Grabbing the jackets and wrappers he had on his seat, he threw them over.  The crewcab was big enough for two adults and two children, but not much else.  "Hop in."

"Thank you."  Martin didn't have to fake the sincerity.  Climbing in the truck, he held out his hand for the man.  "Martin."  It was probably best not to give his real last name, considering everyone in the media had been spouting it for the last two weeks.

"Chris."  Chris shook Martin's hand.  "Nice to meet you, Martin."  Checking his mirrors, Chris put his foot on the accelerator and eased the truck back on the road.

"Like wise."  Turning to stare out the window, Martin found himself relaxing to the hum of the truck's engine.  Along with that came the physical exhaustion he had been fighting.  Before he knew it, Martin was leaning against the door fast asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, who's Danny?"

"What?"  Half asleep, Martin opened his eyes.  He scrubbed a hand over his face as he sat up.  When he checked the time on the truck's radio, he found it had been four hours.

"Danny.  You were moaning his name."  Chuckling, Chris subtly checked his passenger out while keeping his attention focused on the road.  They were in heavy traffic and he had to keep focused.  "Is he someone special."

"He was."  Watching the cars and the people inside, Martin refused to look towards Chris.  He didn't want to talk about it, but felt there was no other choice.  He had to tell someone and this Chris wanted to know.  "He was my partner."

"Your partner." Chris seemed to consider this before nodding.  "How long were you together?"

"Just over a year.  It started when we were assigned a case that took us to California."  The memory of meeting Danny as he stepped off the plane caused Martin to snort.  That smirk, the little insinuations, that nosey bartender.  "He didn't so much ask as just inserted himself in to my life.  It was just me one day, and then it was we the next.  I still haven't quite figured out how he did it."

"Sounds like you cared a lot for him."  Signaling, Chris took the next lane that brought them on to an Interstate.

"I do."  Hunkering deeper in his stolen coat, Martin shivered.  "It's amazing what you learn to accept.  He had this irritating way of just smirking that said so many things.  Danny can make me so frustrated at times that I want to scream, but I lo..."  Martin shook his head.

"It was supposed to be our anniversary.  We were going to a B&B and he got lost.  Stupid, stubborn prick."  Biting back a sob, Martin dropped his chin to his chest.  He knew he was making a spectacle of himself, but he couldn't hold it in.  His chest hurt so much that he found it hard to breathe.  It wasn't fair.  "They said it was an accident, but how can something like that be an accident?"

A gentle hand upon his shoulder drew his attention.  Latching on to the offered support, Martin curled in to the strong embrace.  He laid his head upon Chris' shoulder, wrapping his arm around the older man's chest.  The smell of worn clothing and warm skin gave him comfort.

Breathing heavily through his mouth, Martin tried to calm his racing heart.  He didn't want to say it, but he felt possessed.  The truth wanted out.  "I watched him die."

"What?"  The arm Chris had draped around Martin's shoulders tightened.

"The car was sinking, Danny was pounding at the window.  I tried, god I tried, but I couldn't move."  Reaching up, Martin scrubbed his face dry.  "I couldn't move, and I wanted to get to him so much.  Why couldn't I have gone down with him?  He was trying to get out, why couldn't he get out?"

"I don't know."  Instinctively, Chris pressed his lips to Martin's forehead.  "I just don't know."

It was all too much for him.  Martin opened his mouth and let out a big yawn.  His eyes growing heavy, Martin gratefully sank back in to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting across from Chris, Martin hunkered down in to the booth.  His plate of cheese fries, hamburger, and cottage cheese sat untouched in front of him.  His eyes were blood shot and his skin even paler than before.  Chris' hooded sweater was much too large on him.  It would have been even if he hadn't been thin from the past weeks of depravation.

Chris, for his part, was sipping at his cup of coffee.  He was working on his third refill, keeping an eye on the Martin and the time.  His plate had long since been taken away.  "My wife's name was Sarah."

"That's a pretty name."  Reaching out, Martin picked up a frenchfry.  He twirled it a few times before setting it down.

"She was a beautiful woman.  She and Adam were my whole world."  Staring in to the steaming blackness of his coffee, Chris didn't see Martin refocus his attention on him.  "They said it was an accident, but is a drunk driver really an accident?"

"No."  To emphasize his point, Martin shook his head.  "Danny knew that, that's why he quit."

"Sounds like he wised up."  Taking a sip of his coffee, Chris finished the glass.  "I just wished that son of a bitch Fowler had done the same."

Reaching across the table, Martin caught Chris' wrist where he still held the coffee mug.  When Chris raised his gaze to meet Martin's, he nodded.  "Your family, my Danny, it really fucking sucks."

"That it does."  Chris looked about to say more, but the door to the roadside diner opened.  He looked to it as the bell over it jingled.

Curious, Martin turned to see who had come through.  The moment he saw Tucker, he whipped around to face Chris.  Seeing the resigned expression, his face crumpled.  "You bastard."

"Martin," Chris tried, but then the table was shoved in to his chest.

Rushing from the booth, Martin made a dash for the back exit.  He had to duck around two patrons and a waitress as he ran.  The plates she had been carrying crashed to the floor behind him, but he could bring himself to care.  He had to get out of there!

Martin was almost to the side entrance when a man appeared there.  He instantly recognized the man from Tucker's dining room.  They had come for him and weren't intending to let him get away this time.  Well, they were going to have to take him down, because he wasn't going back.

Clutching the butter knife in his hand, Martin charged the door.  The big man on the other side moved to block Martin's way, but found himself jumping back with a cry.  Martin slashed at him twice more in quick session.

The serrated blade may have been dull under normal circumstances, but sped up with enough force, it would cut.  Taking advantage of the sudden space, Martin ran in to the parking lot.  He had to find transport quickly or else they would get him again.

There was no way in hell he was going back!

"Martin!"

Whirling around, Martin set up to attack the person.  It took him several seconds to realize that someone was very familiar.  "Viv?"  Despite knowing her, he kept the blade ready.

"Martin."  Hands raised, Vivian crossed the distance slowly.  "Easy there, agent, it's me."

"What are you doing here?"  Martin spun quickly, holding the knife out to stave off Tucker, Chris, and the other two.  They were soon joined by both Jack and Sam.  Seeing the alarmed expressions of his team, Martin gave a harsh chuckle.  "Looks like the entire team is here."

"Martin, put down the blade."  Tucker tried to get closer.  When the knife slashed his way, he jumped back.

"Stay out of this, you've done quite enough!"  Jack's words were for Tucker, but his wide eyes were on Martin.  "Agent Fitzgerald, I need you to calm down."

"I'm not going back, Jack.  They'll have to kill me first."  Martin jabbed the knife at the men, enjoying the way the big one flinched.  "Want to feel this blade again?"

"You're not going any where with them."  Vivian put a hand to keep the others silent.  "It's over, Martin, they can't take you any where you don't want to go."

"I'm not going, Viv."  Wide eyed, Martin switched hands with the blade.  He used his left hand to thrust at Chris.  That had been a mistake.

Taking a chance, Chris moved quickly.  He grabbed Martin by the cuff of his jacket.  Using all his strength, he spun Martin, putting a fist in the center of his back.

With a scream of pain, Martin dropped the knife and went down in the same motion.  His hands too weak to soften his fall, he hit the gravel of the parking lot face first.

"Martin!"

Martin couldn't be sure who had called his name, everything was so distant.  The world was a haze of pain.  Closing his eyes, he let the threatening darkness take him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And a crowd of hundreds gathered today as the body of FBI Agent Martin Fitzgerald was finally laid to rest.  As you may have recalled, the medical examiner delayed the..."

"Over two hundred FBI agents from across the country paid their final respects..."

"Mary Kate said she is not going to comment..."

Rolling his eyes, Chris turned off the television.  The constant sound of rain pelting the windows made the room eerily peaceful.  For several minutes he continued to stare at the now blank screen, deep in thought.  He was eventually broken from it by the sound of the bedroom door closing.  Looking up, he found the hall doorway blocked by a large shadow.  "How's he doing?"

The large man looked about to say something.  Instead, he shook his head.  Walking over to the coffee table, he slipped a string of beads inside.

Standing up, Chris slipped by the taller man.  As he passed, he patted him on the shoulder.  "Thanks for trying."

"He will come around in his own time.  His soul is deeply scarred.  Have patience."  The man closed up his bag.  Carrying it with him, he walked across the living room to the front door.  He paused at the door long enough to watch Chris walk up the hallway.  With a sigh, he left.

Chris' foot steps echoed too loud in the silent house.  At the bedroom door, he hesitated.  Eventually, he forced himself to reach out and grasp the handle.  Turning it, he pushed the door open.

As like every time before, the bedroom was cast in shadows.  The only light came through the blinds, opened only because it was storming out.  However little there was, it was enough to see Martin.

In the old rocker Sarah had once used to get Adam to sleep, he sat staring out in to nothing.  His foot rising slowly, pushed the chair back and fourth.

For several minutes, all Chris did was stand there staring at him.  The scabs on his face were mostly healed, only the largest of them over his eye still remaining.

"I want to go home."

Chris raised his eyes to see Martin looking at him.  "You agreed to stay."

"Doesn't matter."  Dismissing Chris from thought, Martin shifted his gaze to stare out the window.  "I want to go home."

"You are home."  When that didn't garner him a response, Chris backed out of the room.  Closing the door, he gently eased the handle closed.  

He would try again later.


THE END..............................