There was something sinister about the cave and, as Jack Malone stared at the dark shadowy entrance, he was mesmerised by the vision of seeing the paramedics bring out the boy on a gurney. Andy Deaver. Alive after more than fifty-four hours missing – unconscious, hypothermic and severely dehydrated, but alive nonetheless. He’d been the lucky one. The other boys and their families hadn’t got the same break; no one had seen beyond the respectable, caring façade that Graham Spaulding had constructed around himself.

The man was an evil predator, a poisonous scorpion, using his position of trust as he asserted his power and a sickening control over the innocent. Never again would an insecure boy become the Devil’s plaything, and no more lives would be choked out in Spaulding’s macabre game of life and death. And it was solely down to the efforts of Jack and his team, that the beast was finally caged.

The past two days had been tough on all five agents but, despite the slip-ups and being forced to dance around the political and judicial arena, they had at last achieved their prime objective - finding Andy Deaver alive. With a tired sigh, Jack swiped the rain from his eyes, glancing up momentarily as the last patrol car pulled away from Coleman Caves. He’d been supervising the forensics team and seeing to the clear up after the difficult, but successful extraction of the boy, making sure that no mistakes were made that might compromise Spaulding’s conviction.

The ambulance had been the first vehicle to leave the area, carrying its precious cargo as it tore along the freeway towards the local hospital and the car carrying the perpetrator had headed for the Manhattan Detention Centre shortly after that. The remaining officers and FBI agents had eventually finished with their notes and photographs before they too, drove off to start writing their reports. And there would certainly be plenty of analysis on the outcome of this particular case. The senior agent knew that the aftermath of Spaulding’s atrocious crimes would reverberate through many of the State authorities, particularly Juvenile Hall and the Education Department. Questions needed to be asked, measures put into place and the guidelines reviewed to ensure this could never happen again.

"Will they learn? Do they ever?" Jack muttered to himself, as the flashing lights of the patrol car disappeared from sight. It was colder now that the rain had started again and, thrusting his hands into his coat pockets, the agent went back to his Bureau sedan.

"Where the hell…?" Jack frowned as he jerked open the passenger door. The car was empty, the keys still in the ignition and the windshield wipers swished across on intermittent wipe. Droplets of rain sprayed off his wet hair as the senior agent hastily scanned the inky blackness, seeking the absent Martin Fitzgerald.

"Martin!"

Silence greeted his call. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Jack hurried back to the cave entrance, although he was reasonably confident that the younger man hadn’t gone back inside.

"Martin! We’re done here, and I want to get back and into some dry clothes. Fitzgerald!"

Nothing. All that could be heard was the sound of rain plopping into widening puddles and the distant hum of vehicles on the main route back into town.

Jack retraced his steps, his eyes straining as he looked for any sign of his missing colleague. There was no reason for Martin to leave the crime scene with any of the other officers or agents, and neither member of the Missing Persons team had required medical treatment, so the younger man wouldn’t have gone in the ambulance. Puffing out his breath in frustration, Jack climbed into the car, turning the engine over and angrily punching the headlamps onto full beam.

"I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at Fitzgerald, but when I catch up with you…" The quiet rebuke trailed off as the older man pushed the vehicle into drive, gently depressing the gas pedal as he rolled the car along at a crawling pace.

-1-1-1-1-1-

Martin Fitzgerald shivered as he trudged along the wet, dark road. It was a chill that didn’t really have much to do with the temperature and he wondered whether he would ever feel truly warm again. It seemed like a great chunk of ice had wrapped itself around his heart, whilst his gut churned over and over, the hot, bitter taste of bile constantly threatening to rise in his throat. All he knew was that he needed to get away – to be alone for the moment – as he tried to make sense of the past few hours.

Getting back into that car and driving just wasn’t an option. It was too soon, still too fresh in his mind, and he would be stifled – swallowed up - by the memory of fear and doubt. He would still hear the music, see the two men on the back seat, would listen again with pounding heart the low, acquiescing tone of Jack Malone’s voice as he wheedled the vital information out of their suspect. Looking in the rear-view mirror, he would catch the light of hope on Spaulding’s face as Jack laid out his offer. And – Martin shuddered again – he would be a horrified witness to the salacious movement of the man’s lips; that lewd mouth watering with the anticipation of what he’d waited so long for. It was like Spaulding could almost taste his helpless victim.

There had been utter disbelief when Martin had heard those last four words from Jack Malone, strung out and uttered with honest conviction. He’d believed every word that the senior agent had said, and it was then that the younger man had started shaking inside. To save the life of the boy, Jack was prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice, to barter another person’s soul against Spaulding’s sickening depravity. Fifteen minutes. That was nine hundred seconds of terror, abject fear as the school Principal overwhelmed his student in a sordid act of bestiality. Not a life snuffed out this time, but as close to death that it hardly mattered.

Martin came to a halt yet again, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to block out the scene that had unravelled behind him on the journey out to the National Park.

That empathic speech from Jack suddenly came back to him, slapping Martin in the face with its horrific sincerity and confirming to the recent recruit to the team, that the unthinkable was going to happen. No matter how hard he tried to push the words and images away, the surreal, virtually one-sided conversation kept coming back to haunt him.

The agent’s breath was now coming in great heaving gasps, and he realised that he was about to vomit. He stumbled to the edge of the road, slipping and sliding down the steep bank as his hands groped out blindly in the dark. At the bottom of the muddy ditch he saw the velvet blackness of a wide tree trunk looming in front of him, and he gratefully held onto the rough surface as his stomach emptied. For several long minutes that tree became Martin’s only anchor on reality, his solid mainstay, as he coughed up bile and mucus. Finally it was over, and he turned his face upward, his tongue flicking out to capture a little of the incessant rain.

"Martin! Thank God!"

Jack had driven nearly a mile along the deserted lane and was getting more and more worried with each minute that passed without finding his missing colleague. He had almost reached the point where he was considering calling for assistance from the local police department when he’d spotted Martin below the level of the concrete road and hunched against a tree.

"Are you hurt?" The older man’s voice was gruff with concern but, as he put a hand on the other’s shoulder, he felt the man’s body judder, recoiling in revulsion.

"Don’t touch me!"

The panic-stricken cry held a trace of hysteria and, as Martin hastily ducked away, his feet began moving, almost with a will of their own. As he wove an erratic path along the narrow drainage ditch, a twisted tree root snagged his foot and, with a strangled yelp that was more surprise than pain, he sprawled headlong into the shallow, muddy stream.

The loud, heartfelt curse fell from the older man’s lips and he picked up speed, impatient to get to the fallen agent. Jack crouched down, gently rolling the other man onto his side and lifting his head away from the water as his questing fingers straightaway began checking Martin for injury. "No! Just keep still," he ordered curtly, as the man tried to scramble up.

Physical contact was the last thing Martin wanted tonight - particularly from Jack Malone. But it was futile arguing when his boss used that tone, so the younger agent stopped struggling, his gaze fixed on some distant place as the other continued with his inspection.

Placing a supportive hand behind his colleague’s neck, Jack systematically tested each of Martin’s limbs, heartily relieved to find no broken bones but easily feeling the rigid tension in the other man. The new team member had said nothing beyond the essentials since following Spaulding’s eager directions to the cave, but the experienced FBI man knew only too well what was eating away at his subordinate.

"We need to talk," the older man murmured, as he finished checking his companion. "I don’t think you did any real damage. Can you stand?"

Martin nodded and allowed the other to help him up, his entire body stiffening a little at the man’s touch, although he said nothing as Jack put a steadying arm around his waist. He was starting to feel slightly foolish, but his inner turmoil – the reason he’d walked off alone – was still coursing through him. And he couldn’t deny that he felt anxiety, uneasiness, from the mere proximity of the older man.

The pair had managed to climb back up the hazardous slope without further mishap and, as they approached the car, Jack heard the other suck in a great gulp of air. Martin was shivering uncontrollably and the older agent quickened his pace, intent on getting the soaked man out of the cold rain. "You’re freezing! There should be a blanket in the trunk. Don’t run off again," he warned firmly, as he propped the man against the sedan’s rear door.

It didn’t take long to get the younger man’s wet and muddy topcoat off of him and, once he was wrapped in the thick blanket, the senior agent eased his silent colleague into the passenger seat.

The car’s heater was pumping out warm air and, as Jack slid into the driver’s seat, he yanked the control round to its highest setting. "That should warm you up soon. It’s been a bitch of a night!"

Martin glanced across, his eyes briefly locking with the other’s before he turned away again to gaze at the black, empty nothingness outside. It seemed to help and he resolutely switched off, ignoring his surroundings, and paying no attention to the echo of the two ghostly forms who, in his minds-eye, still sat in the back of the car.

Due to the extremely late hour there wasn’t much traffic on the freeway, and Jack made good time in getting back into the city. As he pulled the car into the kerbside and killed the engine and lights, Fitzgerald’s head jerked up, the blue eyes suddenly wide in confusion as they swept around the familiar area.

"You’re home," Jack supplied in a soft voice. He’d seen the questions being born, and Malone knew that he had to give as much reassurance as he could to his bewildered colleague. "You were asleep. I guess none of us have had much in the way of rest in the last two days. Martin… I…. Let’s get in from this damned awful weather! Give me your key."

Martin fumbled for several minutes in the pocket of his soaked suit jacket, before reluctantly handing over his apartment keys. He knew that the older man sensed his reticence, but it was evident that Jack wasn’t about to give Martin the opportunity to bury the problem, nor leave him to try and cope alone. It was an unwritten rule between field operatives and their seniors, and Jack Malone was no exception to this broadly accepted principle. The department head was scrupulous in his man-management obligations and he had a duty to his people, a commitment to ensure that all of his operatives came through a trauma – whether it was physical or psychological.

"Give me a couple of minutes to get opened up and the lights and heat on," Jack instructed. Without waiting for a response, the older man got out of the car.

Martin jumped as the door slammed. He wasn’t sure that he was doing the wisest thing. No, whom did he think he was fooling? Despite his tattered emotions, he still retained enough clarity to say positively that he wasn’t looking forward to traversing this potentially painful route. However, his nerves were completely fried and he didn’t seem to be able to function properly at the moment; it was simply easier to let the older man take the lead. With a heavy sigh, Martin unclipped his seatbelt and opened the car door, hugging the blanket closer around him as he prepared to make the dash through the rain to his apartment block.

-1-1-1-1-1-

The rich aroma of chocolate assaulted Martin’s nostrils as he wandered into the lounge. The heating had been cranked up several degrees higher than its norm and this, coupled with the hot shower that he’d stood under for ten minutes, had finally brought some warmth into the young agent’s body. Fuelled by an irrational need to wrap his delicate psyche in layers of protection, he’d pulled on a heavyweight sweatshirt and jogging bottoms, which had gone a long way towards bolstering his badly shattered nerves. Maybe it was a false sense of security, but it gave him something tangible to cling to when everything else around him seemed to be falling apart.

Jack had been busy in the twenty minutes since entering his colleague’s apartment. Whilst his wet pants had tumbled around on the coolest setting in Martin’s dryer, he’d got an update from Vivian Johnson regarding Spaulding’s arrest and subsequent custody. He’d also spoken to the hospital, and was relieved to be told that Andy Deaver’s condition was listed as serious but stable.

There had been an indecisive few minutes when Jack had thought about phoning Marie, but he had changed his mind when he’d realised just how late it was. In the early years of their marriage, before things had fragmented, it wouldn’t have mattered; his wife would have been worried, fretting about his safety and only able to rest once she was sure he was unharmed. But that was a different time. The job and marriage were not an easy mix and he no longer had the luxury of unburdening his own fears and problems on a loving and sympathetic partner. It was the price he’d had to pay for putting his career above his relationship and he knew that it was his biggest regret in life.

After finishing his calls and shrugging back into his crumpled but nearly dry pants, Jack had found the other man’s jar of lactose-free cocoa and quickly made hot drinks. Following a hasty rummage through the kitchen cabinets, he’d finally managed to locate a bottle of Tylenol PM and it was two of these that he held out in his palm, as Martin Fitzgerald shuffled into the living area.

"Tylenol. You’re going to be sore and pretty stiff after that spectacular dive you took. They’ll help you sleep as well," the senior agent explained, on seeing the mildly confused look on his colleague’s face.

The other man studied the pills for a few seconds and was about to say that he didn’t want the painkiller, when he saw the determined set to Jack’s features. Martin may have only been in the department for a short while, but he immediately recognised his supervisor’s ‘I’m not in the mood for an argument’ expression - although he wasn’t prepared to give in without some kind of subtle protestation. "Thanks… mom!" he murmured sarcastically.

A large mug of hot chocolate sat on the side table and, nodding as Jack indicated the drink, Martin took a cautious swallow, washing down the pills. The tension between the two men seemed to be increasing and, for a fleeting second, the younger agent felt like a prisoner trapped in his own home. Questions hung in the air, bombarding Martin with a ferocity that sent his chaotic emotions reeling. In spite of his growing agitation, he was acutely aware that these feelings had to be exorcised so, with an inward sigh, he settled uneasily on the small leather couch opposite his boss.

Jack sipped his coffee, casting the occasional glance at the other man, whilst he thought over what he wanted to say. There was an aura of uncertainty and watchfulness about Martin, and the senior agent’s keen senses told him that the other man was still dangerously immersed in the events that had taken place earlier. Jack couldn’t forget the accusatory glare that the younger man had directed at him straight after he’d delightedly crushed Spaulding’s reminder for his fifteen minutes. That wounded, hurt look had conveyed a raw vulnerability, a hint of disillusionment and loathing for what Martin had been compelled to endure that evening. Those emotive, blue eyes had held such a high degree of misery that it had made the older agent physically wince.

It wouldn’t be easy, but Jack would have to find a way of restoring Martin’s faith and trust in him. Anything less would mean a departmental transfer for the newly arrived agent, with the usual black mark against his service record for failing to come to terms with an exacting situation.

"How are you feeling now?" Jack asked at length, although he could see that there wasn’t a great deal of improvement in the other agent’s disposition. Fitzgerald’s mentality was badly bruised and his self-confidence extremely shaky - it showed, and the younger man knew it.

The mug wobbled slightly in Martin’s hand, and he forced his treacherous body to keep still, desperately schooling his features so that he didn’t give too much away. "Better and … warmer. The shower helped and at least I feel clean…" That was a lie. He still felt dirty. Corrupted - violated somehow.

"Martin," the older man began, "this has been a difficult case – one of the hardest I’ve ever had to work on. You… no… the whole team did a good job. In fact, it was exemplary work from all of you. No one gave up. And it was you persuading the McCullough kid to testify that was the breaking moment with Spaulding. He knew we couldn’t touch him, and that sick sonofabitch was laughing at us. I hope he holds onto that thought once he gets inside. I may not agree with it, but men like him tend to get singled out. Every freak locked up seems to sniff out his type pretty damn quick! It’s like the Spaulding’s of this world have an invisible bull’s-eye stuck on their backs!"

"That won’t make me lose any sleep," Martin muttered in reply. The intense headache that had been beating with the tempo of a pneumatic drill had lessened somewhat and, relaxing into the chair a little, he closed his eyes savouring the quietness.

"You do understand why I did it, don’t you?"

The softly spoken question brought Martin back to reality with an agonising jolt and he slopped some of the chocolate onto the sofa.

"Damn!"

A tissue was suddenly thrust into his hand and, as Martin looked up in surprise, his team leader pointed to the brown patch spreading across the seat.

"Get it before it stains the leather," the senior agent instructed, with a small half smile on his face.

The younger man dabbed distractedly at the sticky mess, his mind racing with the many things that he wanted to say, needed to ask Jack. The number of queries were definitely mounting, although it wasn’t just answers he required - he had to get his head around the older man’s perspective in order to achieve some sort of reconciliation with his own wounded consciousness. Tossing the soiled paper onto the table, Martin finally spoke.

"Did you always intend to string him along like that? Or was it impromptu – completely off the cuff?"

"No, everything went according to plan. I was convinced that kid was still alive – I could see the all-consuming hunger, the frustration in Spaulding once he realised he’d be denied his prize. So I did what I had to do."

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

The frigid atmosphere in the apartment had suddenly become charged with a stilted silence, an awkwardness that divided the two men with one clean strike. Jack rose from the sofa as he considered the other’s angry question, although the senior agent still kept his own counsel, crossing to the window and pretending to peer down onto the street. The truth, the real reason he’d chosen to conceal his actual intentions from Martin would most likely come as a bitter blow to the younger agent, and he wondered what he could possibly say to cushion its destructive power.

Jack had had a heated disagreement with Vivian prior to leaving for Manhattan, and had ignored her advice about telling Fitzgerald of his proposed stratagem. The astute woman had argued that there could be repercussions – hostility even - from their newest team member, and had obliquely reminded her boss that forewarned was forearmed. But, in spite of his long-time colleague’s protestations, Jack had made a command decision. It hadn’t been an easy one to make, but he would stand by it – whatever the consequences.

"Martin, I didn’t want you implicated, if... if something had gone wrong." Jack’s excuse sounded unconvincing - even to himself.

"That’s bull and you damned well know it!"

The senior agent flinched at the other’s furious retort but, undeterred, he went back to his seat, perching on the edge of the sofa as he studied the other man for a minute or two. "Not entirely. We were already swimming against the tide on this case, but it was my call, and I won’t apologise for the methods I used to get the boy’s location out of Spaulding," he eventually replied.

"Did the others know what you had in mind?"

Jack gave a rueful smile as he recalled the discussion he’d had with Vivian. She had seen him leave Van Doren’s office and, after informing Vivian that he was handling Spalding’s transfer to Manhattan Detention, she had immediately guessed why he’d requested the assignment.

The long-serving agent was an enormous asset to the Bureau, and Jack gave constant thanks that she was part of his team. Vivian had an inbuilt shrewdness, an ability to be objective whilst looking at every angle and facet of a case and he would normally be guided by her opinions. However, this time Jack hadn’t really had a choice in the way he’d handled the problem.

"Vivian knew what was going down and she risked an official reprimand for trying to cover my ass. Martin, I was just doing my job, but I needed your help to catch this guy out. It was a unique situation and it was essential that you reacted like you did."

The older man was aware that he was merely skirting around the issue, but he wanted the rookie to reach his own conclusions in his own way and time. As he continued to carefully assess Martin’s responses, Jack could see that realisation had not yet dawned on the other agent.

"I really believed that you would let that… that evil sonofabitch… have… do… touch…" Martin swallowed audibly, unable to finish the sentence. The words caught in his throat, taunting him all over again with their diseased savagery.

"That’s why it had to be you in that car. I had to make Spaulding believe that I would let him have the kid, and the only way it would come across as genuine, is if you believed it yourself. It was crucial that you bought my act. My seeming betrayal was the catalyst, but it went way beyond that. I needed him to feel your… your anguish, your horror at witnessing my own sexual deviation. There was simply no other way of nailing that pervert. I had to become like him, or he would never have led us to that cave."

"I still don’t know why you needed me specifically. Why couldn’t it have been Samantha… or Danny?"

"The female agents would have been ineffectual for this one. And Danny," - Jack let out a snorting, humourless laugh – "well, he would’ve been hard pushed to stop himself from beating the crap out of Spaulding! You were the only man for the job, Martin."

"You used me!" Martin blurted out, in stunned disbelief.

"Hell! Am I that naïve and gullible?" the younger man demanded hotly, his blue eyes flashing in outraged indignation.

"No. But you don’t know me as well as the others. And you weren’t party to the psychological game of cat and mouse that I’d played with Spaulding before his arrest. So he’d no reason to suspect your reactions in the car. From the moment I sent you on that course to the Park, he was like a rabid animal, feeding off of your fear, feeling the way it tore you up inside and relishing every bit of your discomfort. He was getting off on your increasing anxiety. That bastard was amused by your unquestioning obedience to my orders, even though it was costing you your career and probably your sanity as well."

Martin shifted on the sofa, suddenly feeling uncomfortable as he realised that in a way, he too had become one of Graham Spaulding’s victims. He could only liken it to emotional rape. In that instant of acknowledgement, he felt a greater level of understanding for all those people who had been brutalised by sick monsters like Spaulding.

"I know. I felt unclean, abused by his disgusting needs, and I pray to God that I never feel like that again. It was like a waking nightmare, and I’d even lost sight of what we were really doing… you know, finding Andy alive. I…. I wanted to yell… to scream at you to stop. And I nearly pulled my gun out when…" Martin hung his head shamefully, squeezing his eyes shut as the distressing memories welled up once more.

The older man reached out, his hand coming to a rest on the other agent’s trembling knee. "It’s okay, Martin. This is just you and me here – and this is all off the record. I know why you bolted back there and you had every right to be angry and upset. Talk to me, tell me what you were thinking, how you felt. It’ll probably help," Jack murmured sympathetically.

"I suppose it started when you told me to bring the CD from the evidence box," Martin began in a halting voice. "It wasn’t really connected to him… we knew Andy made it for Phoebe, so I couldn’t imagine why you wanted it for the transfer. Even when you made me take the turn for the Park, it still didn’t register. At first I thought it was a… a mistake, or a joke, and then for one scary minute I thought you’d tell me to stop, so that you could throw Spaulding out and…. Lord! I… I thought…"

Martin ran a shaking hand through his damp, spiked hair, the nervous gesture speaking volumes to the listening man.

"You thought I was going to kill the guy?" It wasn’t really a question. Jack could tell that’s what the other man had originally believed.

"Yeah. I don’t know what frightened me more – thinking that, or what you said afterwards! I was convinced… knew… there was no doubt… you were just like him! I kept asking myself - why hadn’t I seen it in you? All I could do was sit there, frozen, watching in the mirror and unable to do anything except listen to your voice. The music nearly finished me off. But then hearing you whisper to him… God! It was so… so intimate… ’those beautiful bodies… waiting, waiting, waiting’… Dammit!"

The senior agent’s cajoling phrases slipped unbidden into Fitzgerald’s head once again, but he wouldn’t allow the words to take control. Not this time. For his own peace of mind, he had to face up to and get beyond this terror.

"I still wasn’t sure of you even up to the point that you called it all in," Martin continued. "When you ordered me out of the car… to the cave where the kid was, I fully expected to see… see him follow me inside. God knows what I’d have done! Thinking back now, I can’t say with any certainty that I would have been able to stop him. All that training, years of studying, and I blew it! What does that say about my abilities as an FBI agent? America’s finest? Hah, I’d be better off seeing first graders across the street!"

This wasn’t an avenue Jack wanted to explore and he could see that he would need to boost his colleague’s battered self-esteem. And he must do it quickly, before the younger man drowned in a swirling pool of self-pity and regret.

"You’re a fine agent, Martin. A bit inexperienced still and maybe not as creative as I’d like, but you have the makings of a top drawer operative. You were wasted in the financial section – that was far too staid and conservative for a high flyer like you! I saw your potential when I interviewed you and I’ve seen it every day since. I could reel off a list of agents who would have cracked under the pressure that you had to withstand tonight."

"Then why do I feel so damned useless?"

"Never put yourself down, Martin!" Jack admonished. "You have to move on – let it go. And I won’t have quitters on my team!" The command was vehement, but it did much to raise the other man’s deflated spirit.

"This has been a shocking episode for all of us," the senior agent went on, "but it was a means to an end. Andy was running out of time, but I was determined to get what I wanted from Spaulding. Although even I was surprised when he admitted that there had been others. When I heard him gloating, I knew then that the risk… the game I was playing was justified. Of course, by then it was too late to reassure you, so all I could do was follow it through, right to the bitter end."

Martin nodded thoughtfully. The successful conclusion of the case spoke for itself, even if the resulting fallout was painful. Talking it through had helped and for the first time in many hours he felt happier, more relaxed. It would take longer for him to get to grips with all that had gone on, but Martin had taken and cleared the first hurdle – and that previously insurmountable obstacle had probably been the hardest one to climb.

"I don’t know how you did it, Jack. I was a total wreck! I’m amazed that I managed to keep on driving! My hands were clenched so tight onto that wheel and… and I wasn’t really concentrating on the road," the younger man said with a wry smile.

"I’m sorry for putting you through that, Martin. I didn’t realise I was that good an actor."

"Jack, that was Oscar material – or at least a Golden Globe!"

"I never thought of myself as another Kevin Spacey. Perhaps I missed my calling!"

The two men chuckled, their eyes meeting in silent understanding and camaraderie. The light banter was therapeutic, bringing welcome warmth into the previously chilly atmosphere. It also breached what Jack had thought to be an unassailable barrier between them.

"Martin, I’d like you to talk to someone else about this. I know a really good analyst, a friend of mine from way back. No," – Jack held up a hand as the other man frowned in puzzlement – "not one of the Bureau’s therapists. It’ll be better – from a career point of view – if you do this unofficially. I don’t want to know any details, but it’ll give me a greater sense of security if I know that you’re receiving professional advice to help you work through all of this."

"Okay. I’ve got no problem with that. Thanks, Jack." Martin leaned forward, holding out his right hand as he gazed steadily at the other.

There was no shrinking back this time and, as the two men shook hands, Jack breathed a silent sigh of relief. It would be no mean feat, but the younger man would withstand this first true test of his psychological mettle and, if the agent were of the calibre that the team leader believed, then Martin Fitzgerald would emerge victorious and stronger for the experience. He had survived his trial by fire and had already begun his journey back into a reassuring domain where order and balance provided his intellectual sustenance.

"Martin, you’ll get through this and you’ll be okay. Now, it’s late and I really must be going," the older agent got to his feet, gesturing dismissively as the other began to rise. "No, stay where you are, I can see myself out. Try and get some sleep – you certainly deserve it! I’ll see you at your desk tomorrow. Eight o’clock sharp – and don’t be late!"

-1-1-1-1-1-

The rain had finally stopped, and the wind had died down. As Jack Malone strode across the street to his car, he looked up at the brilliant whiteness of the full moon that had just peeked out from behind the clouds. He was exhausted, mentally drained, but he was pleased with the outcome of the last hour. The frank, open discussion with Martin had been a necessity for the troubled agent but, inexplicably, Jack’s own feelings of guilt brought about by having to manipulate one of his colleagues had also been assuaged.

The ugly demons had enveloped them all for a while, but the healing period had now arrived and they would all need to bask in its recuperative glory. Tomorrow they would be a strongly united team once again; a potent, functional force to be reckoned with.

"Yes, you’ll be just fine, son," Jack murmured in approval as he glanced through the side window of the car and saw Martin’s apartment lights wink out.

If you enjoyed my interpretation of events that occurred in ‘Suspect’, please let me know – feedback is greatly appreciated. Susie Burton March 2004.