Post by spyglass on Feb 26, 2007 15:35:03 GMT -5
Title: Undertow
Rating: T for now. We'll deal with later when we get there...
Disclaimer: Thou shalt not borrow permanently and without asking.
Pairings: MS, ensemble love, and a few others for good measure
Category: Martin/Samantha, AU, mini-casefile, familyangst!, good times to be had by all (no, really)
Spoilers: various vague and other not-so-vague spoilers through season 2, story starts the morning after 1x18 The Source
Summary: undertow (noun) -- any strong current below the surface of a body of water, moving in a direction different from that of the surface current.
Notes: I have absolutely no idea where the hell this came from. If you hate it, blame my art history professor. He is ridiculously boring, and I came up with the concept while daydreaming in his (four hour long!) lecture class from hell.
I have a vague outline for where this story is going. Hang in with me and I promise everything will make more sense in a few chapters.
=====
prologue
=====
Time passes in moments - moments which, rushing past, define the path of a life, just as surely as they lead towards its end. How rarely do we stop to examine that path, to see the reasons why all things happen, to consider whether the path we take in life is our own making, or simply one into which we drift with eyes closed? But what if we could stop, pause to take stock of each precious moment before it passes? Might we then see the endless forks in the road that have shaped a life and, seeing those choices, choose another path?
-Dana Scully, "The X-Files"
==
Washington, DC
March 20, 2003
8:30 pm
Martin Fitzgerald loosened his tie with one hand, gripping his phone tighter with the other. Despite years of practice honing his ability to tune out politicians and businessmen alike, phone calls with his father never got any easier.
"... All I'm saying is that the whole city is in an uproar, and I think it would be good if you went to the service, son."
"I know, dad. I know!" He tried to avoid sounding too exasperated, but it wasn't easy. It had been a long day in Senate committee, and all he really wanted to do was head back home and collapse on the sofa. "I was already planning on going. She was a great woman, and an important part of the community." He almost laughs, realizing he sounds more like he's speaking to a reporter - and not to his father.
"Alright. Well, listen, here's Agent Farrell to talk to be about an investigation we're running right now. I need to get to this."
"Okay, dad. Goodnight."
"Take care, son."
The second his office phone was resting in its proper place once again, Martin heaved a sigh of relief; to say that Victor Fitzgerald was a difficult father would be the understatement of the century. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he bent down to take another look at the newspaper article that lay on his desk.
DELIA RIVERS PRESUMED DEAD AT THE HANDS OF KNOWN DRUG LORD. The New York Times headline screamed out at him in big, bold letters, and he tried to focus on anything other than the headache he knew would be coming. He stared down at the picture of the young woman whose life had been cut tragically short and felt a wave of grief wash over him. There were few good people left in the world and she, he was sure, had been one of them. She had managed to prove a young man's innocence and get him off of death row, even after she herself had been murdered.
Martin only wished that the poor young man, Winston Bell, happened to belong to another state's judicial system. He was New York's new Junior Senator of only two months, and he wasn't entirely sure he was ready for something like this.
He finished reading the article for the fourth or fifth time that evening before folding it up and placing it in front pocket of his briefcase. He had a sinking feeling that this weekend was going to be a lot longer than he had been anticipating.
He glanced at the clock as he gathered his things from around his desk and flipped his cell phone open.
"Hey, Caro. You up for a visit from your obnoxious baby brother this weekend?"
==
New York City
9:15 pm
"I cannot look at another report!" Special Agent Samantha Spade glanced up from her own paperwork, only to see her coworker Naomi Russell slam down her files in disgust.
The two women had been stuck in the office since 7:00 that morning, dealing with the phones that rang off the hook in the aftermath of Delia Rivers' death. SAC Jack Malone had taken a day's personal leave while their other team members, Vivian Johnson and Danny Taylor, had been detained in court for most of the morning before they could come in to help out.
Normally, Samantha would have appreciated a day in the office with the other young agent who had quickly become one of her closest friends since joining the team about six months ago. But days like today were far from quiet -- emotions were running high and no one was feeling particularly up to their tasks at hand.
"Ugh, me neither..." Sighing, she turned back to her friend. "You want to blow this place and grab a drink?"
"Only as long as you can keep up, Spade."
"I could drink you under the table, Russell," she retorted, but at the most unfortunate moment, as Danny and Viv were just returning from the file room.
"Now this I have got to see."
"Who said you were invited?"
Sam and Vivian shared a mutual eye roll at this. It was no secret between the rest of the team that Danny was extremely interested in Naomi, but while she would return his banter, she seemed very wary about becoming involved. Not that Samantha could really blame her, she knew all too well how messy office romances could be. Not a romance, she chided herself silently. Definitely, definitely, not a romance.
"Okay, now I'm wounded."
"Do you always let the ladies know that you bruise so easily, Taylor?"
Sam coughed and motioned towards the elevators at the end of the hall. "If you're coming Danny, we're leaving now."
Though her tone of voice was slightly irritated, she was extremely grateful for the close camaraderie of her team. It had certainly not been easy when Jack had broken things off with her, harder still when she had learned of his separation from his wife. She heaved a sigh at her own musings as she saw Danny and Naomi heading down the hallway, their conversation obviously progressing to heated argument.
"You want to help me play referee? Or would you rather go home and play ref there?" At this, Vivian gave the first real laugh that had echoed the halls of the Missing Persons floor of the New York office in several days.
"Well, I could use a drink. Besides, I play ref at home all the time, and those two have nothing on my boys."
"You mean Reggie, or Marcus?"
"Oh, both."
It felt good to smile around the office again, she thought. It seemed more like months - not days - since they had shared their casual banter. But that thought fled from her mind almost as quickly as it entered; her eyes cast a long glance at the paperwork strewn in haphazard piles, catching the Times headline that stuck out from between two manila folders.
DELIA RIVERS PRESUMED DEAD AT THE HANDS OF KNOWN DRUG LORD.
She ran her index finger over the newsprint once before clutching her purse to her chest. Without another word, she turned to follow her colleagues towards the elevator and into the bitter New York cold.
=====
Rating: T for now. We'll deal with later when we get there...
Disclaimer: Thou shalt not borrow permanently and without asking.
Pairings: MS, ensemble love, and a few others for good measure
Category: Martin/Samantha, AU, mini-casefile, familyangst!, good times to be had by all (no, really)
Spoilers: various vague and other not-so-vague spoilers through season 2, story starts the morning after 1x18 The Source
Summary: undertow (noun) -- any strong current below the surface of a body of water, moving in a direction different from that of the surface current.
Notes: I have absolutely no idea where the hell this came from. If you hate it, blame my art history professor. He is ridiculously boring, and I came up with the concept while daydreaming in his (four hour long!) lecture class from hell.
I have a vague outline for where this story is going. Hang in with me and I promise everything will make more sense in a few chapters.
=====
prologue
=====
Time passes in moments - moments which, rushing past, define the path of a life, just as surely as they lead towards its end. How rarely do we stop to examine that path, to see the reasons why all things happen, to consider whether the path we take in life is our own making, or simply one into which we drift with eyes closed? But what if we could stop, pause to take stock of each precious moment before it passes? Might we then see the endless forks in the road that have shaped a life and, seeing those choices, choose another path?
-Dana Scully, "The X-Files"
==
Washington, DC
March 20, 2003
8:30 pm
Martin Fitzgerald loosened his tie with one hand, gripping his phone tighter with the other. Despite years of practice honing his ability to tune out politicians and businessmen alike, phone calls with his father never got any easier.
"... All I'm saying is that the whole city is in an uproar, and I think it would be good if you went to the service, son."
"I know, dad. I know!" He tried to avoid sounding too exasperated, but it wasn't easy. It had been a long day in Senate committee, and all he really wanted to do was head back home and collapse on the sofa. "I was already planning on going. She was a great woman, and an important part of the community." He almost laughs, realizing he sounds more like he's speaking to a reporter - and not to his father.
"Alright. Well, listen, here's Agent Farrell to talk to be about an investigation we're running right now. I need to get to this."
"Okay, dad. Goodnight."
"Take care, son."
The second his office phone was resting in its proper place once again, Martin heaved a sigh of relief; to say that Victor Fitzgerald was a difficult father would be the understatement of the century. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he bent down to take another look at the newspaper article that lay on his desk.
DELIA RIVERS PRESUMED DEAD AT THE HANDS OF KNOWN DRUG LORD. The New York Times headline screamed out at him in big, bold letters, and he tried to focus on anything other than the headache he knew would be coming. He stared down at the picture of the young woman whose life had been cut tragically short and felt a wave of grief wash over him. There were few good people left in the world and she, he was sure, had been one of them. She had managed to prove a young man's innocence and get him off of death row, even after she herself had been murdered.
Martin only wished that the poor young man, Winston Bell, happened to belong to another state's judicial system. He was New York's new Junior Senator of only two months, and he wasn't entirely sure he was ready for something like this.
He finished reading the article for the fourth or fifth time that evening before folding it up and placing it in front pocket of his briefcase. He had a sinking feeling that this weekend was going to be a lot longer than he had been anticipating.
He glanced at the clock as he gathered his things from around his desk and flipped his cell phone open.
"Hey, Caro. You up for a visit from your obnoxious baby brother this weekend?"
==
New York City
9:15 pm
"I cannot look at another report!" Special Agent Samantha Spade glanced up from her own paperwork, only to see her coworker Naomi Russell slam down her files in disgust.
The two women had been stuck in the office since 7:00 that morning, dealing with the phones that rang off the hook in the aftermath of Delia Rivers' death. SAC Jack Malone had taken a day's personal leave while their other team members, Vivian Johnson and Danny Taylor, had been detained in court for most of the morning before they could come in to help out.
Normally, Samantha would have appreciated a day in the office with the other young agent who had quickly become one of her closest friends since joining the team about six months ago. But days like today were far from quiet -- emotions were running high and no one was feeling particularly up to their tasks at hand.
"Ugh, me neither..." Sighing, she turned back to her friend. "You want to blow this place and grab a drink?"
"Only as long as you can keep up, Spade."
"I could drink you under the table, Russell," she retorted, but at the most unfortunate moment, as Danny and Viv were just returning from the file room.
"Now this I have got to see."
"Who said you were invited?"
Sam and Vivian shared a mutual eye roll at this. It was no secret between the rest of the team that Danny was extremely interested in Naomi, but while she would return his banter, she seemed very wary about becoming involved. Not that Samantha could really blame her, she knew all too well how messy office romances could be. Not a romance, she chided herself silently. Definitely, definitely, not a romance.
"Okay, now I'm wounded."
"Do you always let the ladies know that you bruise so easily, Taylor?"
Sam coughed and motioned towards the elevators at the end of the hall. "If you're coming Danny, we're leaving now."
Though her tone of voice was slightly irritated, she was extremely grateful for the close camaraderie of her team. It had certainly not been easy when Jack had broken things off with her, harder still when she had learned of his separation from his wife. She heaved a sigh at her own musings as she saw Danny and Naomi heading down the hallway, their conversation obviously progressing to heated argument.
"You want to help me play referee? Or would you rather go home and play ref there?" At this, Vivian gave the first real laugh that had echoed the halls of the Missing Persons floor of the New York office in several days.
"Well, I could use a drink. Besides, I play ref at home all the time, and those two have nothing on my boys."
"You mean Reggie, or Marcus?"
"Oh, both."
It felt good to smile around the office again, she thought. It seemed more like months - not days - since they had shared their casual banter. But that thought fled from her mind almost as quickly as it entered; her eyes cast a long glance at the paperwork strewn in haphazard piles, catching the Times headline that stuck out from between two manila folders.
DELIA RIVERS PRESUMED DEAD AT THE HANDS OF KNOWN DRUG LORD.
She ran her index finger over the newsprint once before clutching her purse to her chest. Without another word, she turned to follow her colleagues towards the elevator and into the bitter New York cold.
=====
