Work Text:
Title: This Time Too Far
Author: Lopaka Tanu
Disclaimer: I do not own The Magnificent Seven or Without A Trace.
Characters: Martin, Ezra.
Words: 989
Fandom: The Magnificent Seven/Without A Trace
Pairing: None.
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Angst, Language.
Summary: Martin makes a decision.
Author's Note: Summer - 2000.
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Watching as the tail lights of the blue ford faded in the distance, Martin felt his chest squeeze. It had been a close call. Had he not overheard the others gossiping about a request for three cars, he would never have known Chris was in town. As it was, he could not afford to make this same mistake any more.
Pulling off the road, he put the car in park. All he had wanted to do was hear the man's voice. Apparently even that was too much contact for someone like him.
Martin had known that calling Chris was a mistake. The man was suspicious by nature. But, it had been over a year since he had left. Still, it was stupid and he should have known better. This only proved that he could never do it again.
As he put the car in gear, he wiped at his eyes. It was past time to get on with his life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Martin called in sick the next morning. It wasn't really a lie. He felt sick at his stomach and facing another day of blindly staring at a computer was too much to contemplate.
Sitting on his couch, he was wrapped up in a large comforter. The design was similar to the one he had left on his bed back at his parents' house. It was the second one he had bought since had moved to Seattle. The first was buried in a black trash bag at the back of his closet.
On the television screen fruit danced. It was a commercial for some product that had nothing to do with the psychedelic vision the fruit made. Martin was pretty sure whomever was making the commercials now a days should be on the DEA's watch list.
He pushed a hand free of the blankets to point a remote at the screen. The Tangoing bananas were replaced by a giant purple mass with a horribly deformed face. It was joined by three others who all danced in a world of crazy colors under a sun with the face of a baby.
Martin changed the channel again. A chorus line of lobsters Cancaned their way across a stage. Turning off the television, he stared at it with wide eyes. It was definitely time to get cable.
The ringing of his phone made him jerk around to face it. He considered the phone for two more rings before leaning over to pick it up. "Hello?"
"Hello, Mr. Tanner, or is it Mr. Fitzgerald these days?" The voice on the line was eerily familiar.
It took Martin a moment to place it. "Ezra." A million questions went through his mind as he swallowed. "Does Chris know you are calling?" That should have been at the bottom of the list, but it was the most important one to him.
"Mr. Larabee is unaware of our communications at this moment." Ezra's voice took on a more genial tone. "It shall remain as such, provided you are forthcoming with a few answers."
"If you've figured out who I am, then you already know enough." Sudden irritation made Martin sit up. "If you're calling to tell me I am violating protocol, you can shove it."
"Such language, Mr. Tanner. Please do attempt to control yourself." Snickering, Ezra did something to the phone that made it click. "I must admit to curiosity regarding your true personality. Was the temperate Vin Tanner merely a facade?"
This made Martin swallow. He was treading on dangerous ground here. "I did my job."
"Very well. No more games, Martin." The ice in Ezra's words was almost painful. "Did your investigation ever involve a member of the team?"
So, that was what Ezra was after. He was out to save his own neck. Martin should have known. "You were not the target of my assignment. So you can rest easy in your cave!" With that, he slammed the phone down. To keep him from calling back, Martin took the phone off the hook.
Pulling his blankets back up, he turned the television on. There had to be something worth watching.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As he stepped off the elevator, Martin ignored the waves of his co-workers. They weren't important today. He had a plan and he wasn't going to turn away until he got it accomplished. His footsteps brought him through their cubicle farm and directly to the AD's office.
Raising his hand, Martin knocked on the door. He didn't wait for a response before he was pushing it open. Just as he had expected, the boss was in and he was playing with his computer. He knew the man wasn't doing any work by the intense expression of concentration on his face.
Martin closed the door behind him. He made it hit the frame loud enough to get the man's attention.
Jumping in his chair, AD Donaldson stared at Martin in shock. That quickly turned to anger. "What in hell do you think you're doing, Agent Fitzgerald?"
"I want a transfer. I'm tired of sitting on my ass all day long getting nothing done except growing paler." Putting his hands on his hips, Martin stared the man down. "I'm a field agent. I have been for the past seven years. It's past time you put me back in service."
The man looked Martin up and down, then snorted. "You want to be of service in the field? Fine, you can start today." He reached down in to the pocket of his jacket hanging off the back of his chair. Pulling out a wadded up piece of paper, he threw it at Martin. "Wong's on Lewis Street. Make sure to tip him or he'll starch my shirts next time. I hate starch."
"Fine." Having caught the paper, Martin clenched it in his fist. It wasn't what he had hoped for, but at least he wasn't shackled with this group of techno-zombies any longer.
THE END.................................