Author's Notes: I am again playing in the Without a Trace fandom, although this time I'm going with an AU. And I'm warning you - it's pretty darn AU. And it revolves around Danny and Martin and slavery - go figure.

Falling in the Clutches of Circumstance (Part 1)

The huge graying building sat atop a sloping hill, slightly separated from the other buildings and businesses that surrounded it. To Martin Fitzgerald, it reminded him of a giant behemoth, looming with evil intent over everything within its sights; himself included.

Every couple of years, someone would voice the opinion that the building needed a make-over, something to make it look less dour and imposing, but the people in charge never listened and it remained the same concrete beast that it had always been. The same sinister, concrete beast that it had always been.

Or maybe Martin was making too much of it, letting his imagination run away with him as it sometimes did. After all, most of the people entering the building with him seemed to have absolutely no aversion to it at all. But even as he told himself that he was being silly, he still shivered as he stepped over its threshold and into the "belly" of the behemoth itself.

Once inside, he took a few steps and looked around, trying to acquaint himself with what he was seeing. It had been so long since he had been to the slave market, at least ten years, that he wasn't quite sure where to go. Eventually he spotted a sign that indicated where the female and male sections were and how to get to them. Following the signs, he took the hallway to his right, and soon arrived at his destination - the huge room where the male slaves were sold.

Today it looked to be divided into five separate aisles, with about 20 slaves to each. All the men stood on a slightly raised platform that ran along the length of the aisle, so that you had to look up just a little to see the "merchandise" properly. There appeared to be only one slaver for every three slaves, which meant that they were kept busy running between one potential sale and the next.

Martin walked slowly among the other potential buyers, keeping his eyes open and trying to take in as much as he could. Again, he became painfully aware that he hadn't done this in a long time, and he no longer even knew what to look for. The last time he had been here, he had come home with Jeffrey, who had become more a father figure to him than anything. But Jeffrey was older now, and his health was in decline, and it was time for someone to take over Jeffrey's responsibilities. He looked down at the booklet he held in hands and wished it could be of more help. It listed all the positive and negative attributes of the slaves being sold as well as giving physical descriptions, but it gave no indication as to what kind of person the slave was. Was the slave a good person? Did he have a sense of humor? Was he bright and cheerful? Would they get along?

Unfortunately, the booklet had none of the answers that he needed.

He let the hand that was holding the booklet drop down to his side as he turned a corner and came upon another aisle of male slaves - all of them looking strangely uniform in their regulation white underwear. Martin knew that the purpose of the dress code was to better show prospective buyers what they'd be walking away with without resorting to downright nudity. He shook his head at the absurdity of the system, then immediately felt like a hypocrite. After all . . . he was here, wasn't he?

He put that thought aside and tried to concentrate on the men on display in front of him, when he noticed something out of the ordinary just up ahead. From his vantage point, it almost looked as if a fight was beginning to take place - at least that's what the raised voices and the tense postures seemed to indicate. His curiosity stirred, he quickened his pace, stopping just a few feet away from the burgeoning altercation.

Looking on at the scene being played out in front of him, the first thing that caught his attention was the male slave. He looked to be about Martin's own age, and judging from his coloring, came from the East. His hands were shackled behind his back, as all of the slave's hands were, but even helpless as he was, there was still an energy about him; one of strength and of pride. He was also quite beautiful for a man. His slightly brown skin, soft brown eyes and tousled black hair all combined to make a striking impression. But perhaps the most interesting thing about him was the look of cold, hard disdain that he was directing at the man in front of him. Martin had never seen anything but the most docile of looks on a slave's face in the market and he found himself intrigued by it.

Martin reluctantly next turned his attention to the man on the receiving end of that look. A potential buyer - the man was young, with greasy, unkempt hair, small eyes and a hook nose.

Definitely not a pleasant man to look at, even in the best of situations,' Martin thought.

The man began to growl at the slave, causing Martin to flinch inwardly. "I said, tell me your name!" His already small eyes narrowed down so much that they seemed to have disappeared from his face altogether.

The slave looked at him, and lifting one eyebrow, smirked ever so slightly before turning his head to the side and completely ignoring the man.

Martin's laughter died in his throat when the slave's seller, who had stepped away from his lectern, poked the slave in the side with a stunner. The slave grimaced and made a sound of pain, but kept his head turned.

The slaver lowered the stunner and calmly said, "The man asked you a question, you little bastard. Show some manners." Then he turned toward the buyer. "Ask him again, Sir."

The buyer repeated his question, although more slowly and with so much rage, that Martin fancied he could feel the heat of it from where he stood. He waited, unconsciously holding his breath to see what the slave would do.

The slave turned his head slowly so he could face the man, and with the same smirk on his face as before, said, "No."

Martin had heard the term "all hell broke loose," but he had never actually seen it happen. Until that moment, that is. He watched as the slaver took the stunner and jabbed it into the slave's side brutally, while the buyer took a step forward and began throwing out every curse word known to man. The slave howled with pain and fell to the ground, somehow managing to land on his knees despite having no hands to balance with. The buyer lunged at him, arms outstretched, hands grasping, but the slaver held up the stunner and wordlessly told him to calm down. Then he looked down at the slave and said sweetly, "Tell him your name, or the next one will be on the highest setting and up your ass."

The slave's head was down, his chest heaving as he fought to get his breathing under control. Martin could only imagine what must be going through his mind. Continue to fight and invite more pain or give in and give up a piece of his pride in the process?

The slave finally lifted his head and looked up at the man in front of him, his face solemn. "My name is Daniel, Sir," he said softly.

Martin couldn't help but be impressed - it was as if the slave had become a completely different person. The slaver nodded smugly, obviously proud of himself for managing such a great feat. The buyer however, was not so easily appeased. He bent forward at the waist, his face coming very close to the slave's and with surprising speed, grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled back roughly. The slave gasped as his head came up, neck straining in an unnatural position. The buyer sneered and said, "I'm going to enjoy teaching you your place, you little bitch. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be crying at my feet." He let go of the slave's hair and straightened. "Two hundred, you said?" he asked, suddenly businesslike as he reached for his wallet.

The slave quickly lowered his head, but not before Martin caught a glimpse of the fear and disgust on his face. Martin watched as the man took out the two hundred dollars and then without stopping to think about what he was doing, he hastily pulled out his own wallet from his back pocket and stepped forward.

"Excuse me, but I'm also interested in purchasing this man." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the slave . . . no, Daniel, had raised his head and was now looking at him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

"No way, buddy. I'm already buying him."

Martin ignored the repulsive man and turned toward the slaver, "I'd be willing to pay more than the advertised price."

The slaver's eyebrows shot up with immediate interest. "How much more?"

Martin knew that any money over the advertised price would go straight into the slaver's pocket. He could only hope that the amount he came up with would be enough to activate the man's greed and make him forget fair business practices. Taking a chance, he said, "Two fifty."

Just then the other man spoke up, surprising them both. "Two seventy-five."

Martin almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. He was in a bidding war for a slave! And to make everything even more surreal, he knew he was going to continue to bid until he won. For it suddenly seemed very important that Daniel not get sold to this man. That had actually been decided the moment he had caught the look of fear on Daniel's face.

"Three hundred and fifty," he said as officiously as he could.

The slaver's eyes opened very wide and he looked at the other man as if to say, "Well?"

"Three hundred and fifty for that?" the man spat out as he quickly put his wallet back in his pocket. "Buddy, you must be crazy. You can have him."

Martin turned toward the slaver, effectively dismissing the other man. "Do we have a deal?"

The slaver, smiling so widely and happily that he reminded Martin of an overgrown kid at Christmas, began to shout, "Do we ever! And I thought I was going to have to lower his price. Damn! Of course we got a deal. Let me just get him ready for you while you fill out the paperwork."

Martin watched as the slaver pulled Daniel up to his feet roughly, then reached into his lectern and pulled out a clipboard with several sheets of paper attached. "Fill everything out on the first two pages. Do you have a house code?"

"Yes," Martin answered.

"So you've owned slaves before?"

"I have in the past, yes."

"Good, good," the man said, already beginning to pull Daniel toward the back end of the platform. "I'll have him ready for you shortly."

"Wait a minute," Martin called out to him before they got too far. The slaver stopped and turned. "Just one question. Exactly why is he priced so low?" Martin asked, automatically dropping his voice at the delicate question.

But the slaver appeared not to understand discretion. In a voice loud enough for people twenty feet away to hear he said, "What, you haven't looked in the listings? This one attacked his last master. And we've been having a hell of a time selling him."

Then he tugged Daniel away, but not before the dark-haired man fixed him with an intense glare.

Martin stared at their retreating backs, mouth hanging open, until he could no longer see them. Then he quickly looked up at the lectern, noted the numbers on it, and turned his attention to the booklet in his hand. He flipped through its pages until he found what he was looking for.

There it was, plain as day - Slave # 62008C. He scanned the information.

Positive Attributes:

Physically Strong . . .

Physically Attractive . . .

Intelligent . . .

Nice to know, but not what he was looking for. He skipped down to the next section.

Negative Attributes:

Willful . . .

Defiant . . .

Stubborn . . .

Still not what he was looking for. He skipped ahead again.

This time he found it.

Assault on previous master. Intensive re-training needed. Suitable for re-sale.

He shut the booklet and let out a dismayed sigh as he shook his head.

'Martin,' he thought, 'what the hell have you gotten yourself into?'