musebyquotes | 2.17. Takayuki Ikkaku quote
2.17. "Memories can be sad, but sometimes they can also save you."
- Takayuki Ikkaku
[Follows THIS]
He couldn’t get drunk, he couldn’t get drunk, he couldn’t get drunk-
Fuck it.
“Double vodka,” Marc ordered, biting the words out as he roughly pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw a hundred dollar bill onto the bar. The drink was in front of him before he had a chance to change his mind, the bartender clearly adept in patrons just like him. Marc pushed the fingers from both hands into his hairline, his elbows resting on the bar as he stared at the drink.
“Am I putting the hundred onto a tab, dude?” the bar tender asked, waving the note in the air with a smirk.
Marc merely offered him a slight and nodded. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, giving his fingers a dismissive flick so the guy would piss off and leave him alone. He exhaled slowly and heavily, trying to some how will his head to stop throbbing like someone had hit him. And they kind of did, only it was an emotional hit, reaching for more widely than just his head. He had no idea how he got through that day of babysitting after Izzy’s appearance. It didn’t end particularly well and Izzy eventually just left without many more words passing between them. He deserved everything he got, and he knew it, but at the same time, he had already been feeling like he was bordering on an emotional break down after the weight of everything seemed to want to compound on him all at once. Maybe he should have tried to find her so they could talk, but maybe he also had no idea what he could say to her. Nothing seemed to be enough. There was no way they were ever going to be friends again. But now it just felt like he was losing her all over again and this time, he was doubting his strength to get through it.
He was a fucking bastard. He got that. He hurt them all. He ruined them all. Did it all for nothing more than just a job. Why did it even matter what he was feeling? Why should they care what he was going through? Had been going through since David’s death…
He downed the vodka in one searing mouthful, it burning the back of his throat and causing him to cough. The glass was refilled without a word and took that shot, too. When Ali had returned from the wedding with her paramedic, Marc pleaded sick. Bad Chinese takeout for dinner, made a joke about hoping they had a good meal at the wedding while he had been eating parasites, and then there was a struggle for Ali to actually let him out of her sight. She knew something was wrong, probably knew he didn’t have food poisoning, and the way she gripped Marc’s arm when he left, it was almost like she had been trying to beg him not to leave her again. Marc cursed the maternal instinct in her now. She wasn’t supposed to have realised anything was wrong.
Yet, he still couldn’t tell her Izzy had been there. The words choked up in his throat and when he tried to say something, he couldn’t speak. So, he just gave her a kiss and left, promising her he would call her and that he was okay. It was a lie. The last thing Marc was right was okay.
And he couldn’t even go home to his own private space to hide like he normally would when things hurt and got too much. He didn’t have his own private space anymore. He lived with Harri, and Harri… he couldn’t face her right now. He wasn’t sure he could even greet her without crying or losing it angrily, and she didn’t deserve to be the target of his misdirected confusion, hurt, loneliness and anger. Confusion didn’t even begin to cut it, either. He had been able to cope with all this - just - knowing Izzy wasn’t nearby. He had been able to push her to the back of his mind and pretend he was okay. She wasn’t supposed to just be there.
Marc waved the barman over, pulling his wallet out again. He took out another hundred and handed it to him. “Leave the bottle,” he instructed and then pushed one of his business cards across the table. “If I pass out prematurely, call this number. They’ll pick me up.” The barman just nodded, pocketing the card and leaving Marc not the bottle, but dangerously a whole fresh one, all to himself. Marc messily poured another full shot and swallowed it, his throat barely feeling the burn now.
The notion of becoming a cab driver was getting more and more appealing by the minute. So was getting on the next plane and running away, not coming back this time. But he had a kid on the way. He had promised Harri on some level. Definitely promised Ali he would be there for Jamie. Luckily he hadn’t gotten to the point of promising Izzy anything just now, because he fucking sucked at it. He could feel the effects of the alcohol already thrumming through him as he took out his cell phone and called a number that was now familiar to him. “Alex, s’Marc. I’m out.”
“What? Out of what?”
Marc shook his head. “Forget it. I can’t do this. Fuck it all. I’m goin’ home. Or away. I don’t wanna do this anymore.” He put his other hand over his eyes as the bar lights got too bright.
“Marc, you’re pissed. I can hear it. Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”
“I’m not fucking Marc!” Marc growled, throwing his hand up into the air as he snapped the phone closed and dropped it onto the bar. He gave up on the glass and picked the bottle up, drinking directly from it. At least if he passed out, he didn’t have to be Marc or James or a father or an uncle or a brother or best friend, or anyone fucking else anyone damn well wanted him to be.
Isabel Owens [isabelowens], Harri Ryan [straight2point], Ali Sullivan [agentsullivan] and Alex Carter [undercoverdoc] referenced with permission
Word Count | 1,016
- Takayuki Ikkaku
[Follows THIS]
He couldn’t get drunk, he couldn’t get drunk, he couldn’t get drunk-
Fuck it.
“Double vodka,” Marc ordered, biting the words out as he roughly pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw a hundred dollar bill onto the bar. The drink was in front of him before he had a chance to change his mind, the bartender clearly adept in patrons just like him. Marc pushed the fingers from both hands into his hairline, his elbows resting on the bar as he stared at the drink.
“Am I putting the hundred onto a tab, dude?” the bar tender asked, waving the note in the air with a smirk.
Marc merely offered him a slight and nodded. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, giving his fingers a dismissive flick so the guy would piss off and leave him alone. He exhaled slowly and heavily, trying to some how will his head to stop throbbing like someone had hit him. And they kind of did, only it was an emotional hit, reaching for more widely than just his head. He had no idea how he got through that day of babysitting after Izzy’s appearance. It didn’t end particularly well and Izzy eventually just left without many more words passing between them. He deserved everything he got, and he knew it, but at the same time, he had already been feeling like he was bordering on an emotional break down after the weight of everything seemed to want to compound on him all at once. Maybe he should have tried to find her so they could talk, but maybe he also had no idea what he could say to her. Nothing seemed to be enough. There was no way they were ever going to be friends again. But now it just felt like he was losing her all over again and this time, he was doubting his strength to get through it.
He was a fucking bastard. He got that. He hurt them all. He ruined them all. Did it all for nothing more than just a job. Why did it even matter what he was feeling? Why should they care what he was going through? Had been going through since David’s death…
He downed the vodka in one searing mouthful, it burning the back of his throat and causing him to cough. The glass was refilled without a word and took that shot, too. When Ali had returned from the wedding with her paramedic, Marc pleaded sick. Bad Chinese takeout for dinner, made a joke about hoping they had a good meal at the wedding while he had been eating parasites, and then there was a struggle for Ali to actually let him out of her sight. She knew something was wrong, probably knew he didn’t have food poisoning, and the way she gripped Marc’s arm when he left, it was almost like she had been trying to beg him not to leave her again. Marc cursed the maternal instinct in her now. She wasn’t supposed to have realised anything was wrong.
Yet, he still couldn’t tell her Izzy had been there. The words choked up in his throat and when he tried to say something, he couldn’t speak. So, he just gave her a kiss and left, promising her he would call her and that he was okay. It was a lie. The last thing Marc was right was okay.
And he couldn’t even go home to his own private space to hide like he normally would when things hurt and got too much. He didn’t have his own private space anymore. He lived with Harri, and Harri… he couldn’t face her right now. He wasn’t sure he could even greet her without crying or losing it angrily, and she didn’t deserve to be the target of his misdirected confusion, hurt, loneliness and anger. Confusion didn’t even begin to cut it, either. He had been able to cope with all this - just - knowing Izzy wasn’t nearby. He had been able to push her to the back of his mind and pretend he was okay. She wasn’t supposed to just be there.
Marc waved the barman over, pulling his wallet out again. He took out another hundred and handed it to him. “Leave the bottle,” he instructed and then pushed one of his business cards across the table. “If I pass out prematurely, call this number. They’ll pick me up.” The barman just nodded, pocketing the card and leaving Marc not the bottle, but dangerously a whole fresh one, all to himself. Marc messily poured another full shot and swallowed it, his throat barely feeling the burn now.
The notion of becoming a cab driver was getting more and more appealing by the minute. So was getting on the next plane and running away, not coming back this time. But he had a kid on the way. He had promised Harri on some level. Definitely promised Ali he would be there for Jamie. Luckily he hadn’t gotten to the point of promising Izzy anything just now, because he fucking sucked at it. He could feel the effects of the alcohol already thrumming through him as he took out his cell phone and called a number that was now familiar to him. “Alex, s’Marc. I’m out.”
“What? Out of what?”
Marc shook his head. “Forget it. I can’t do this. Fuck it all. I’m goin’ home. Or away. I don’t wanna do this anymore.” He put his other hand over his eyes as the bar lights got too bright.
“Marc, you’re pissed. I can hear it. Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”
“I’m not fucking Marc!” Marc growled, throwing his hand up into the air as he snapped the phone closed and dropped it onto the bar. He gave up on the glass and picked the bottle up, drinking directly from it. At least if he passed out, he didn’t have to be Marc or James or a father or an uncle or a brother or best friend, or anyone fucking else anyone damn well wanted him to be.
Isabel Owens [isabelowens], Harri Ryan [straight2point], Ali Sullivan [agentsullivan] and Alex Carter [undercoverdoc] referenced with permission
Word Count | 1,016