Rick Martinez was many things.

Stupid was not one of them.

He saw the signs that screamed out around him, little clues that showed the presence of supernatural beings in the area.

He ignored them. That was no longer his problem. They never would be his problem, not again.

He wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. Let someone else deal with it.

Not his problem.

He'd say that over and over in his head, willing it to become fact.

To be honest, he had never intended to stay in the CIA long enough to become close to anyone. He intended to kill that damn shape-shifter. That was it, kill it, go on a few missions then resign saying he "wasn't cut out for the job" or something equally as stupid. He was very sure he could do that job, being a CIA agent. He'd faced tougher situations in the past and he still had scars that marred his entire body to prove it.

He would sit in old, disgusting bars that he frequented often and subconsciously run his fingers over the scars on his side, given to him by a number of different hunts.

The old, ugly brown scars that would be a constant reminder of the life he would always live.

At first, he had hoped that he would be a "one man show" type of thing, so he was less than thrilled when they put him on a team. With three other people. Three other strangers that he had no real interests in getting to know.

Rick Martinez did many things.

Working on or with teams was not one of them.

There were many reasons for this. He'd only ever worked with Isaac in his life, and that could hardly be considered a team. Isaac was like a father to him, nothing more.

His cries from nightmares were enough to deter him from ever working with others unless he fully trusted them. With his life and secrets that he kept.

He didn't particularly like lying to others, even though all the jobs he's ever done in his life revolve around lying. He would lie to avoid confrontation.

Especially around the other three people that he was now forced to call his "team."

He could lie to everyone, even himself but he knew that he could never fully trust them. Not like they thought he did. His trust was not given lightly and as he went through the missions, the lies got harder. The inconsistencies were starting to show. Even little things, one time he said he liked baseball, then a different time, he said he couldn't stand it.

The first day he was with the team, he was ruthlessly hazed and he could tell they were lying and trying to trick him. He's dealt with too many monsters that dwelled in the dark to not tell that they were lying to him, but he played rookie, pretending to be completely oblivious to them.

His parents had died when he was about 7, leaving him and his 3 year old sister alone.

He had been put in many families with her, always throwing a fit when they were separated, to the point where they had to put him back with her.

It was his 4th or 5th family, when Serah was attacked by a werewolf.

It was a night that would change the rest of Rick's life.

XXXXXX

It was a Monday morning.

Rick hated Mondays. He always seemed to have bad luck on Mondays. Once he had to deal with a Wendigo with nothing but a knife until he got ahold of a propane tank. Needless to say, that was not a fun hunt.

He still had three claw marks lightly engraved on his back from it.

And that was only one example of a crappy Monday. He'd had worse than that.

It was easy to not care about the days of the week when it was just him travelling around the country, looking for things to kill.

But then he got a job. A permanent one.

To be honest, Rick never actually intended for it to become as permanent as it was. He blamed the team that he was quickly becoming attached to, which was dangerous. Many things could easily use that against him, especially if they didn't know about the danger they would be in.

That is if Rick ever let anything like that near them. Rick told himself it was because it was his job to protect people, friends or not, but that was just another lie on the long list of lies he's told.

One he should have left a good 5 or 6 months ago.

The shape shifter he had been after had been killed months ago.

It had known next to nothing, leaving Rick back at square one on his quest to find Serah or the thing that killed her.

He really should leave. He'd stayed too long. He knew when enough was enough. Only he couldn't truly convince himself of that.

He wasn't stupid. Doing this job, he'd attracted quite a bit of attention from the supernatural beings. Some hunted him out specifically and he knew staying in one spot, they would find him and kill anyone, just to get to him.

He was just putting people in danger now.

He really, really was.

Time to hit the road. He thought to himself again. He thought it everyday before going to work with the intention of telling Higgins he was done.

He needed to get out of there before "I'm not cut out for the job" stopped being a viable excuse.

So he pulled into the parking lot of the CIA headquarters and instead of going straight up to the office, he stopped and pulled out a shiny silver knife and looked at it, the silver shining on the dim lighting of the parking garage.

He needed to start carrying it around more.

He supposed he stopped carrying it when he realized that carrying it around would be a bit suspicious.

So, instead of stuffing it into his pocket, he set it back down into the glove compartment and got out of the car, leaving it behind.

He had already scoped the building; there was nothing that needed any attention. No spirits, which really shocked him considering where he was, and the shape shifter was gone. Nothing for him.

So, why the hell was he still around?

Was it because he wanted the closest thing he could get to a normal life? Or because he was running out of options. He had nowhere to go. No home. He had trust issues like nobody's business and had skills that were only useful when killing something that shouldn't exist.

To be quite honest, he half hoped something would out him so he could kill it and proceed to either leave or get kicked out, or whatever consequences there were. He wasn't stupid, a job like this, the trouble he could get into, it was all bad. On the other half, he wanted to leave in his own private fantasy and pretend the other stuff didn't exist. That it really was just stories.

Rick Martinez knew he was lying to himself.

XXXXXX

He almost walked right into Higgins's office.

He was pretty much there. And it was only Higgins in there.

For some reason, he couldn't make himself walk in there and resign.

And so, another day passed on, and Rick continued to lie to himself and let the anger he felt boil up even longer.

XXXXX

Rick was getting stir crazy.

He knew he was.

And he felt uncomfortable. He'd never really stayed in one spot as long as he had been here.

And to make everything worse, the others were starting to notice it.

"You ok there lad?" Billy had asked, noticing him bounce his foot one day.

"Fine," he had answered, forcing his foot to go still and then forced a smile on his face. To be honest, he hoped it didn't look as faked as it was. He was trying to sell this story but really, his heart was not into making it work right now.

On this particular day, the only thing he could think of was what he could be researching or what he could be getting ready to kill. The life that might be saved if he was there instead of here.

He silently scolded himself for letting his head go there.

Not my problem.

It was too bad that his heart disagreed.

XXXXXXXX

Two days later, he got a call from an old buddy.

It was another slow day of scanning through mission reports and flimsy intel, which Rick had found he'd adapted to surprisingly well since beginning his work at the CIA. He idly turned through the pages of a report written in Chinese, when the phone on his desk began to vibrate loudly.

He picked it up, glanced at the caller ID, and frowned. It was Isaac calling. Rick found himself torn as the phone continued to vibrate in his hand, debating whether or not to answer.

To be honest, he didn't want to. He wanted to let it pass then ignore it and pretend it didn't happen.

So that's what he did.

He got some strange looks from the team. He ignored them and continued on.

His mind dwelled on the call though.

What if Isaac seriously needed his help?

What if he was injured?

What if he got killed, or a number of other things that could happen, things that may be avoided if Rick had bothered to at least pick up the damn phone.

Not your problem.

Only it was his problem.

He didn't notice that his breathing had picked up tremendously.

Or that his hands had started to shake.

"You ok there lad?" Billy asked, looking over at Rick with his usual bright, concerned eyes.

Michael was looking at him sympathetically and Casey was looking at him with a stoic look but concern was there, lightly in his eyes.

He didn't know they cared so much.

They should really save that care for one of their own, not a broken man pretending that he's whole.

He flashed a fake as hell smile at them before looking at his computer, willing himself to calm down.

You didn't even try to trick them. You probably made it worse.

Rick ignored in conscience and went about his business. What the hell was that, I never lose control like that.

A good ten minutes later, his phone rang again. At the sound of the ring, Michael, Billy and Casey all looked up at him, then simultaneously looked at the phone that sat, vibrating on Rick's desk.

Isaac again.

Rick tried to ignore it.

Not my problem. Not my problem.

His new mantra.

The phone gave out a final ring before finally Rick grabbed it from the desk, and answered with a, "hello" as he left the room.

XXXXX

Isaac wasn't in too deep of trouble.

But he did need internet access, which he didn't have in his location, a small remote town in Kentucky.

Rick looked around and spotted an old, unused office right down the hall and more importantly, the computer that sat there, also unused.

Ducking into the office, he started up the computer, watching it flash to life after not being used in who knows how long.

"Alright, in that area, there have been four deaths within the last five years that are remotely similar to what you're describing," he finally said after scrolling through the pages on Google.

"Any pattern?" Isaac asked through the phone.

"Not that I can see, although I'm not sure about anything before '06, these records don't go back that far," Rick said.

"Alright," Isaac said, and then sighed.

As Rick started to scroll again, he noticed one particular thing about all the deaths.

"All these cases lead back to the same warehouse," Rick said, "down in Kentucky."

"Town?"

"Red Falls."

Isaac looked thoughtful, "I'm about half an hour away from there. Passed it on the way through."

"Right. Heading down?"

"Yea, in the morning."

"You got this on your own or do you want to wait? I'm sure I could…" Rick trailed off.

"I got this, appreciate the offer though," he said. "I'll call if anything comes up. And Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"Keep safe yourself."

"I always do-"

"No," Isaac said. "I taught you everything you know, and I know you want to get the bastard that killed or possibly turned your sister and that you're still angry. I get it. But if you're not careful, you're going to be as dead as she is. Or worse. And I won't hesitate to kill you if it comes to that. That anger, it will lead to you getting killed. So tread carefully."

Rick slowly nodded and with that, Isaac hung up.

Rick sighed loudly before getting up and treading back to his own office where three pairs of prying eyes greeted him.

"Who was that?" Billy asked from his chair.

Rick smiled, looked at Billy, his mind scrambling to come up with something, a lie that would be true to Rick Martinez, rookie spy, not Rick Martinez, the hunter. Something his fake persona would say, "Yeah, just my mother. She needed to know if I was planning to be around on the holidays. I think she meant to call later, but forgot about the time difference." Billy seemed satisfied with the answer as all three of them had lost interest when he started talking about his "family".

With his head moved tilted back, resting it on the back of the chair and sighed and mulled over Isaac's words. He knew Isaac was right, he got more reckless and restless with each passing day, all this was going to bubble over soon and blow up right in his face. That is if he ever decided to leave. Which he would eventually. The constant nagging from his mind would get to him. And the need to hunt the howling werewolves would get him. Revenge would always be on his mind.

Not that he would ever admit that.

SPNSPNSPN

On the way back to his apartment that night, Rick's mind wandered while his eyes were trained on the road ahead.

The rays of vibrant light from the sunset hit Rick's eyes, making them squint in annoyance.

He really hated this car. Well, that was a lie. He didn't hate it, but that didn't mean he liked the silver Nissan that had become his car for the past few months. It wasn't his car, and it never would be.

He just really missed his old '96 Buick that he had gotten when he was 18, and had driven it ever since. Rick was pretty sure that this was the longest he'd ever been separated from that car and if he was honest with himself, he wanted it back desperately.

But he wasn't honest with himself, making it easy to tell himself that the silver Nissan was his car.

And it certainly didn't mean he had to like it.

So he drove home and changed, then proceeded to the bar on the other side of town, an old place that reminded him of the bars he had inhabited in his travels across the country.

SPNSPNSPN

Rick couldn't tell you how many times he'd been sitting in a bar, much like the one he was in now, slowly spinning a beer glass around while trying to fish information from locals about a person or a place or some local legend that usually turned out to be true.

His fingers tapped the hardwood surface of the dirty bar, his eyes trained on the beer in his other hand.

To be completely honest, he wanted to go out and feel the thrill of shooting at something that harmed others, knowing that he'd never get into trouble for it. He protected others, keeping them from this life. Families weren't torn apart this way, people lived this way.

They moved on while he travelled to get a new and different thrill. He never got over Serah's death; the thrill took the pain away. When he was fighting, there was no time to think about it. He could tell himself that he didn't miss hunting or the stuff that came with it.

But, he supposed, that was a lie too.

Also, thank lena7142 for all the help she's given me.

And if your into BA!Rick, then I think you'll like this. Maybe.

Well, I tried anyways.