Dark, Darker, Darkness

by Angela Gabriel

Summary: This story is Martin’s POV during the opening minutes of episode 4x01, “Showdown.” It also provides a missing scene that takes place between when Danny realizes Martin is shot and when Martin passes out. I wrote this as a companion piece to “Some Up Note,” which offers Danny’s POV on things.

Disclaimer: Don’t own them. Not making money off of them.

Author’s Note: Thanks much to Renegade for providing a quick and extremely helpful beta on this one. Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone.

“Get down, get down!” Danny screams.

Dornvald and another man start firing on us as we duck down. Bullets hit the car. Metallic, pinging sounds surround us.

We can’t return fire at this distance against two men armed with automatic weapons. We need better odds.

“Hang on!” I yell and put the car into drive, then hit the gas hard. The car surges forward and rams into something soft. Dornvald’s accomplice. Hopefully out of the picture now.

“Back, back, back, back!” Danny yells, and there’s fear in his voice. I’m afraid, too. No time to think about it, though.

I put the car in reverse and sit up so I can see behind me. I’d rather stay low, out of the line of fire, but I have to get us out of here. To do that, I need to see where the hell I’m going. I look over my shoulder, and as I drive backward, bullets again pelt the car, and suddenly, the steering wheel has a mind of its own, and we’re swerving hard right. Dornvald must have shot out a tire.

I wrench the steering wheel left in an attempt to straighten us out, but the car keeps heading right, toward a nearby car. We slam into it. An explosion of pain rips through me, and my world goes dark.


Loud, familiar noises drag me back to awareness. I open my eyes, and slowly lift my head. For a few seconds, I don’t know where I am. Why I’m here. It’s as if someone woke me up too soon from some much-needed sleep.

It’s dark outside. It’s nighttime. It sounds like someone’s having trouble breathing --

The familiar noises come again, and I recognize them as an exchange of gunfire.




Danny? It’s his gun firing, isn’t it? I manage to turn my head toward the passenger seat. He’s not there. I should do something, but I really, really don’t feel like moving. I feel like … I think … I think there’s something … wrong.

My shirt is wet. I examine the wetness, and see blood. My blood. Thick and red and spreading rapidly across the left side of my shirt.

I’ve been shot. When did that happen? My brain isn’t working at quite the speed it usually does, but even so, shouldn’t I know when it happened?

It hurts, but in a strangely distant way, almost like it’s part of a dream, or a nightmare. How bad am I hit? I touch the lapel of my coat and move it aside, and as I do I realize that it’s hard to breathe. It feels like someone’s sitting on my chest.

I can’t see exactly where I’ve been hit. I just see the blood. A lot of it. All coming out of my body instead of staying where it belongs. Must be why I’m so very, very tired.

I need help. I look out the bullet-riddled windshield. It’s so dark out there. Was it this dark when the shooting started? Where’s Danny? I examine my shirt again.

Suddenly the car moves, just a bit, as someone appears on the passenger side. It’s Danny. I see him out of the corner of my eye. I lift my head to look at him, the movement taking more energy than it should. His head is bleeding. He’s pale. But he’s on his feet, which is a plus. I’m glad he’s relatively unhurt.

He looks worried. I suppose I should tell him I’ll be fine, but it hurts to breathe, and I have to focus on that usually simple task.

Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing.

The wetness is spreading, and I stare again at the blood, which seems darker than it did just moments ago. Actually, everything seems darker.

“Martin? Martin?”

Worry and fear are in Danny’s softly spoken words, and I wearily raise my head. I think he wants me to say something. I think he thinks that if I do, things will be OK. But I don’t know if they will. And I can’t work up the energy to tell him a lie or the truth.

“Where did you get hit?” he asks, but I don’t answer him. I can’t. I have to breathe.

There’s a noise behind us, and Danny ducks out of the car. I consider closing my eyes and just drifting away. Just for a little bit. Just until an ambulance gets here. I’m so tired, and maybe if I go to sleep, it won’t hurt so much to breathe.

Noise to my left. I turn toward it. More noise. The car rocks. My door opens. It’s Danny. The sky is darker again.

“I gotta get you out of the car, OK?” Danny says. “I need to see where you’re hurt, and I need to stop the bleeding.”

I nod my head, or at least I think I do. He’s trying to help. He’s a good man.

I close my eyes, just to rest them for a second, and then open them again, because I should stay awake. Fitzgeralds don’t fall asleep on the job. Fitzgeralds aren’t weak.

Danny is grabbing me under my arms, telling me I’m going to be all right. I want to believe it. I’m sure he wants to believe it.

He eases me out of the car, and I go from resting against a soft seat to being laid out on hard asphalt. It doesn’t hurt much, though, not like I thought it would. But it’s harder to breathe than it was a minute ago, and the night is so dark that I can barely see him.

Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing.

Danny says something, but I can’t make out the words. Actually, I can’t hear much of anything. It’s like someone threw a really thick, soft blanket over the entire world, muffling all of the sounds.

Something touches my chest and stomach, and the world grows darker still. I don’t remember breathing ever being this hard. Every time my lungs fill, it’s like I’m fighting a 100-pound weight on my chest. I’m too tired to do this. I can’t do it much longer. I want to, but I can’t.

I’m not weak, Dad. I’m just tired. I just need to rest for a few minutes.

Complete, total, utter darkness rushes over me in a wave, and I can’t see anything. Not Danny or the sky above me. And I can’t feel anything. Not the street underneath me, or the pain of dragging air into my lungs and forcing it back out.

Just keep breathing.

Just keep … breathing,

just …

... keep …