For just_muse_me | 18.1.5. Unknown quote
18.1.5. “Giving up doesn't always mean you are weak; sometimes it means that you are strong enough to let go.” - Unknown
Co-written with agentfraser | Follows THIS, THIS but before THIS
Marc had slept sporadically the night before, but at least he managed to get a bit of rest. He wasn't what could be called 'refreshed', but it was leaps and bounds on what he had been feeling in the past few days. The stress was inevitably taking it's toll and he felt a general malaise and weakness when the morning came. He tried to have a good breakfast to counteract it, but a piece and a half of toast in and he was practically gagging on it. The fruit, cereal and juice went untouched and he was trying to get the cup of tea down when Izzy's text message came asking him to meet her in Central Park at a place they used to go to brood over difficult and intricate cases. He had planned to spend the day in bed and turned her down to start with, but Izzy, as always, was persistent, which basically involved threatening his vital organs and calling him names. Just like old times.
He couldn't be bothered with an intricate disguise. It was getting difficult for him to pull it off in his waning state of mind. Instead, he covered his blond hair with a navy and grey bandana, tying it at the back of his head. He completed the look with black jeans, a tight white t-shirt, leather jacket and mirrored aviator sunglasses. He was indulging in a cigarette when he approached her, eyebrow raised in question. "This better be good," he told her and sat down on the bench beside her.
Iz shifted in her seat, and wrapped her arms around him as she hugged him. "I forgive you," she whispered. She'd been talking to Pat, and had laid her soul bare for her love interest's twin brother. Cameron shouldn't have needed to lie to him, so she came clean first. They'd talked a little about Marc before she'd gone to see Pierce, and he'd given her one very good piece of advice she needed to act on before she admitted to James what she'd been doing.
Marc was stunned enough to nearly fall of the seat. It hadn't been what he was expecting at all and at first, he reflexively wondered if he should make some sarcastic crack because that was just what they did together. It took a few moments to claw through the shock to hug her back hesitantly and although he was suspicious about her seemingly sudden change of mindset from when he last spoke to her, he just said, "I... thank you?" His voice was quiet and uncertain. "Are you alright?" he finally added, not really sure where he stood anymore.
Izzy pushed him away with a snort. "Of course I'm alright, loser. I'm not the one wearing that stupid fucking bandanna." She looked at him, an eyebrow rising in challenge. Now she was going to make him remember what they used to be like as partners. "And you're welcome. Did you talk to Harri?"
"Fuck off," Marc returned with his own snort. "I could've just shaved my head. Could still do that. I'm totally having a Britney Spears moment. I thought I might be creative and just shave half of it." He went back to his cigarette, watching some pigeons land in the distance as he inhaled on it slowly. He wanted to ask if she actually meant what she said, but that would have to come later. "Yeah, we spoke. As much as we could for now, anyway."
Iz nodded. "Good. I talked to Pat. Told him everything. Told Cameron everything too before I came back here. Actually they had both already guessed that I was your ex-wife. Cam had said it more as a joke, but he'd got it completely right. I think I gave him a heart attack... or nearly did. I was going to bolt like usual, but he made me promise not to go without saying goodbye." She glanced at his cigarette, but made no move to steal it. "You'd look shit with a shaved head. Also, I don't think you'll be needing it... I spoke to Pierce."
"Pat's a pretty great guy. One of the only people who didn't give me a double take when I told him what I was playing at." At the mention of their ex-boss, Marc turned to her and just looked at her silently for a few moments. He dropped the cigarette onto the ground and stubbed it out with his toe. "What has Pierce got to do with shaving my head?" he asked, unable to keep the bite out of the edge of his tone.
She pressed her lips together as she brought her sunglasses back down across her eyes so she wasn't squinting in the sunlight. "I was asking him about getting you back from SS to be FBI again. For us to be partners again. If you go back, I'll go back."
"You told him?!" Marc growled, his voice raising. He stared at her, giving a laugh of disbelief, though there was no humour behind it. He turned away, staring ahead as a deep frown appeared on his forehead, his jaw set firmly. If he yelled, he would draw attention to himself and he couldn't draw attention to him with Izzy in such a public place. "Who are you to make a decision like that for me? Do you realise what you've done? I don't want to get out of the SS," he said, cutting off each syllable sharply. He curled his fingers together in front of him so tightly, his knuckles turned white.
"Half back from the SS," Izzy clarified, not backing down in the face of his anger. "Do you realise that your fucking Britney moment is destroying you? Do you realise that you look like fucking shit? Have you actually looked in the mirror? And you can't tell me it's all Marcus Fraser. I know you, Marc. The real you, and this isn't it. Don't get pissed of with me for going to Pierce, because you didn't give me a fucking choice. I'm helping you. I'm helping Ali. I'm helping Harri, and I am helping your child. Sooner or later you have to be man enough to realise that if you don't change something, you will die. You're not so fucking good that you won't make a mistake from lack of sleep, going crazy, and not eating properly."
Marc just kept staring ahead at first. "You better hope this hasn't fucked my investigation, Izzy," he had to tell her, his voice hoarse as he tried to fight the anger. It was always the emotion that won when all the others were battling beneath it. He dropped his head a little to look down at his feet. "I've looked, alright? I see it," he finally added quietly.
"Give me some credit. I used to be your partner. I know better than to mess up your investigation. I'm allowed to talk with my former boss." She watched the sudden change in him and reached out to take his hand. "Then you need to stop it getting worse. I've lost you once, I'm not going to watch it happen before my eyes and lose you again."
Marc held up his hand. "No, Izzy. No. You're not. You've stepped over the line here. I'm not FBI anymore. You had no right to discuss me, my position, or the fact you had even spoken about me to Pierce. I'm not even sure you realise what I've already put on the line, but to turn around and tell an FBI Head that I'm in the SS? This is not a game, Izzy. You might've just totally fucked over my career. But it's done. Just like the rest of this this fucking shit, it's done." He stopped again, fuming, before it completely made him lose it. His heart was beating in his chest making him feel like he had too much caffeine and his hands were shaking to match. "What makes you even think I want to be anywhere near FBI anymore?"
Izzy moved closer to him and wrapped her arm around him as she leaned in close and dropped her voice for only him to hear. "Because you need me. You need the normality. Or as normal as the FBI can be. You need to be James, not Marc. At least not all day everyday. You need something that keeps the real you grounded so that this doesn't fucking happen. I know it's not a fucking game, but if you can't realise that all this is doing more harm than good, then fuck you, Marcus Fraser."
"I can't believe you went to Pierce. Do I have a red dot on my forehead because I'm surprised he hasn't put a hit out on me to properly do the job this time," Marc snorted, shaking his head a little. He drew his lower lip between his teeth and then met her eyes again. "I'm not coming back, Izzy. I'm not leaving the SS. I like what I do. Pierce is... just going to get frustrated when he tries to access me and realises he can't. Which he can't."
"What else was I supposed to do? I've only known you again for a week and I already know you're messed up and losing it. Ali who's known about you for however long has had her own shit to deal with, so she hasn't tried to help you. Harri probably wouldn't know enough to know that you need help, or if she does, she won't know how to... No one else knows you like I do. So excuse me for wanting to stop my best friend from imploding." Iz took her hand away and wrapped her arms around her middle as she crossed her legs and found a spot off in the distance to glare at. "If you don't want to leave, I can't make you. Pierce won't do anything unless you say yes. I'll go tell him I'm crazy. He was thinking that anyway."
Marc looked at her blandly. "I asked Ali not to and she listened," he said pointedly. He shook his head and went back to staring at the pigeons. His expensive watch buzzed and he cursed, punctuating with an expletive or ten. He didn't realise it was so late in the day. His brain was screwed. He looked around before started to dig around in the small backpack he had brought in place of the standard briefcase and readied his insulin injection. If he missed it, he would be screwed, well and truly. "You think things are just going to go back to how they always were? Do you seriously think that?"
"Of course not. I just want to try and help you. I'm sorry if I'm so far off base." Iz watched him, remembering when she used to do his shots. So many things were reminding her of how things used to be, but it wasn't them anymore. She used to spend her days drinking up any little touch and exchange because she had been madly in love with him. A part of her had stopped cherishing the friendship while her mind tried to turn it into something else. "I want our friendship back. I don't want things the way they were because I turned them into shit. I just want us to start over. And I want you happy."
Marc unsheathed the needle with his teeth and lifted his shirt up to inject his stomach carefully. The whole process was experienced and repetitive. If he didn't do it, he'd die. He really didn't want to die right now. The spent needle was shoved into the tiny portable sharps container and he put a small circular band-aid over the puncture so the blood wouldn't get on the white shirt. "You need me to go back to the FBI to have our friendship back?" he asked, trying to follow her train of thought. He was failing. "Izzy, everyone there thinks I'm dead. I can't just come back to life, and my point on the SS still stands."
"No, no... I need you to come back because at least with the FBI you were still you. You only had to be undercover when it was vital." She ruffled her hair as her foot started to bounce up and down restlessly. "Forget it. It's fine. I'm just an idiot. And I'm sorry if I fucked anything up. I wasn't trying to. Look, deaths get faked all the time. Who said it needs to be the SS that did it? You could have been kidnapped, but whoever took you wanted the world to think you were dead. Who knows, people are fucked up."
Marc smirked. "Long kidnapping. They must've loved me to keep me alive so long," he pointed out, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "How would you explain that? Stockholm Syndrome? Iz, look..." He paused and sighed, taking her hand into his. "What do you want me to say? I appreciate you trying to think this through but it took me nearly three years to prepare to enter the SS investigation. I can't just walk away from that."
"Amnesia?" Iz asked with a wry expression. "Always seems to work on television... Sometimes that kind of stuff must happen. Maybe you only just got your memory back but there's still a hole from when you landed in Australia, or something. Fuck knows, I'm just trying to stretch it now." She looked at him. "I didn't ask you to forget the investigation. Just forget the part where you really need to be someone else twenty-four-seven."
Marc exhaled but it came out sounding more like a stiff groan. "This isn't television. Forgetting the part that I already am 'someone else' for a minute, I'm still not on the same page as you, Iz. And you know what the block is? Trying to work out how we are even going to get over the awkwardness and hurt to still operate how we used to but now seeing other people," he told her softly, taking out his smokes for another. Something was needed to keep him sane.
Iz shrugged. "Fuck knows, but I'd at least like to be given the chance to try. I was only trying to do the right thing. Just forget it, okay? I'll go back to minding my own business. Speaking of, I'm still trying to work out if I want to sell the place in England. And I need an apartment here again. I hate moving."
Marc felt himself trying to force down his protective barriers again. He was trying to talk to her and she dismissed it. He shrugged, putting the smokes back in his pocket after lighting up. "I dunno. Stay in England for Preston. Housing market is better there." The last few words came out with a heavy sigh he couldn't stifle. His hand was shaking as he put the cigarette to his lips, but he hardly noticed any more. "Ali's paramedic is looking to rent out his place on the Upper West Side."
"I don't know if he wants me to stay," Iz said quietly. "Pat's optimistic, but then he's Pat... He's not the one I need to hear telling me I haven't fucked up completely. I want to be here for Ali... and you. I want my best friends back. I want my life back. I just happen to want a footballer with it. I don't know how it's supposed to work. Maybe none of it is. Maybe it's just all too complicated. I wanted to fix things, but I can't. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. If I can't fix my own mess, how am I supposed to fix you?"
"I never asked you to fix me. I just promised I wouldn't go away again," Marc reminded her, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Pat just sees the good in people and wants people around him happy and content because he's not himself. He doesn't have the luxury of the hectic lifestyles we all have any more. And he probably just wants to see his brother attached because it is nice to be with someone, even if it's not easy. Sometimes things are just shit and we have to live in the shit, but we do what we can."
Iz leaned forward so she could look at his face again, tilting her head to the side. She probably looked like a fool, but she didn't care. "I know you didn't ask, but how am I supposed to watch you break? There's living in the shit, and then there's fucking drowning in it."
Marc was quiet, but he soon shook his head. "I can't take screwing anyone else up. If I come back, that's what's going to happen."
She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and rest her head against his. "At least come back to us... To me and Ali. We miss you, James."
Marc scrunched his nose up wryly. "Ah, yeah but see... you've told Pierce and now I have to deal with that. I just have no idea how to do that without being stripped of my badge."
"I'm sorry, Marc. Please... forgive me?" Iz asked softly as she kicked at the grass with her shoe.
Marc shook his head, staring at nothing in particular across the park. "It's okay..." He chewed on his lower lip, thinking for a few moments and then looked back to her. "There's only one way I can pull this off without losing my standing, loyalty, and credibility. You aren't going to like it."
She raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Just spit it out, loser."
"Health reasons." Marc held her gaze. "I have to put myself in a coma."
Iz managed to keep her face straight as she returned his gaze. "How's Harri going to take that?"
"You tell me. You're the one trying to get me to pull off the near impossible," Marc returned calmly. "How, really, did you think it would look for me to go to my superiors and say 'Hey, I can't cut it as SS. I need to go back to my old, less stressful job and life because I'm weak and can't cope, but I want to keep the pretty badge'?"
"I don't know," Iz all but growled in frustration. "I just know that you're not coping, and there isn't actually in fucking shame in admitting that. Like you said, you had to give up a lot. You're only human. You were going to miss something, and everything."
Marc was frowning again, but he kept staring ahead of them. "I'm not disputing any of that. I'm more than aware every single minute what I'm missing and how it feels. It is my personal life I am not coping with, not the job. The job is pristine. It's what I'm made to do. I love it. I get deep satisfaction and pride to do what I do. I'm fucking damn proud of myself for getting into the Secret Service. The SS, Iz! And I got there because I worked hard for it and I'm effective at what I do. I'm not going to leave the SS. I'm not. There is no question in that. I swore an oath and I'm not breaking that. The only way I end up back on the FBI team with you, with Pierce, is as liaison for the SS. I need to have a reason to be there because I'm not walking away from my case or everything that happened and everything I gave up and lost will be for fucking nothing. And to do that, I need a reason that has nothing to do with my mental coping skills to transition back within an FBI environment. The only explanation without screwing over everything I've bared my mind, body, blood and soul to achieve is a physical ailment. A reason that I need a step down in pace of duties, to go from field to liaison. It's the only way you, Harri, Ali, Jamie, my parents will ever have a chance of getting me back. All of me. The only way I'll get myself back without losing what I know I'm put on this earth to do."
Izzy looked at him. "If it's the only way, then I can't stop you. But if you don't want to do this, then I can't make you. The only question you need to ask yourself is if you want yourself back. What the rest of us want is nothing, if you're not doing it for yourself. I can try and talk you into it all I want, but you still need to be the one to really want this. Otherwise you're risking your life for no reason."
Marc met her eyes again but it was only briefly before he looked away. Nothing really had changed, even if she was back. He was still alone. And now he just really didn't know what to do anymore. He merely gave a slight nod and stood up. "I've got to go. Conference call at two." He shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. "I'll give you a call or something."
"James, wait," Iz said as she stood up and caught his hand in hers. "If you want to do this, just tell me what you need from me. I am still your partner... Despite what you must be think. I'm not here to fuck you over."
Marc looked down at their hands and then his eyes slowly met hers again. "I just want a friend, Iz. One I can talk to unconditionally. One who... just gets its," he murmured. "That's all."
She nodded and squeezed his hand. "I'm trying, doesn't that count? I've been back a week. You've been back a week. I'm allowed to make a few mistakes. But you have that, I promise."
Marc leaned in and gave her a brief kiss, touching her cheek. "I'll give you a call," he promised. "Ask Ali about that apartment. It's en route to HQ."
Words: 3712 | All muses referred to with permission and come from the princeton2nyc verse
Co-written with agentfraser | Follows THIS, THIS but before THIS
Marc had slept sporadically the night before, but at least he managed to get a bit of rest. He wasn't what could be called 'refreshed', but it was leaps and bounds on what he had been feeling in the past few days. The stress was inevitably taking it's toll and he felt a general malaise and weakness when the morning came. He tried to have a good breakfast to counteract it, but a piece and a half of toast in and he was practically gagging on it. The fruit, cereal and juice went untouched and he was trying to get the cup of tea down when Izzy's text message came asking him to meet her in Central Park at a place they used to go to brood over difficult and intricate cases. He had planned to spend the day in bed and turned her down to start with, but Izzy, as always, was persistent, which basically involved threatening his vital organs and calling him names. Just like old times.
He couldn't be bothered with an intricate disguise. It was getting difficult for him to pull it off in his waning state of mind. Instead, he covered his blond hair with a navy and grey bandana, tying it at the back of his head. He completed the look with black jeans, a tight white t-shirt, leather jacket and mirrored aviator sunglasses. He was indulging in a cigarette when he approached her, eyebrow raised in question. "This better be good," he told her and sat down on the bench beside her.
Iz shifted in her seat, and wrapped her arms around him as she hugged him. "I forgive you," she whispered. She'd been talking to Pat, and had laid her soul bare for her love interest's twin brother. Cameron shouldn't have needed to lie to him, so she came clean first. They'd talked a little about Marc before she'd gone to see Pierce, and he'd given her one very good piece of advice she needed to act on before she admitted to James what she'd been doing.
Marc was stunned enough to nearly fall of the seat. It hadn't been what he was expecting at all and at first, he reflexively wondered if he should make some sarcastic crack because that was just what they did together. It took a few moments to claw through the shock to hug her back hesitantly and although he was suspicious about her seemingly sudden change of mindset from when he last spoke to her, he just said, "I... thank you?" His voice was quiet and uncertain. "Are you alright?" he finally added, not really sure where he stood anymore.
Izzy pushed him away with a snort. "Of course I'm alright, loser. I'm not the one wearing that stupid fucking bandanna." She looked at him, an eyebrow rising in challenge. Now she was going to make him remember what they used to be like as partners. "And you're welcome. Did you talk to Harri?"
"Fuck off," Marc returned with his own snort. "I could've just shaved my head. Could still do that. I'm totally having a Britney Spears moment. I thought I might be creative and just shave half of it." He went back to his cigarette, watching some pigeons land in the distance as he inhaled on it slowly. He wanted to ask if she actually meant what she said, but that would have to come later. "Yeah, we spoke. As much as we could for now, anyway."
Iz nodded. "Good. I talked to Pat. Told him everything. Told Cameron everything too before I came back here. Actually they had both already guessed that I was your ex-wife. Cam had said it more as a joke, but he'd got it completely right. I think I gave him a heart attack... or nearly did. I was going to bolt like usual, but he made me promise not to go without saying goodbye." She glanced at his cigarette, but made no move to steal it. "You'd look shit with a shaved head. Also, I don't think you'll be needing it... I spoke to Pierce."
"Pat's a pretty great guy. One of the only people who didn't give me a double take when I told him what I was playing at." At the mention of their ex-boss, Marc turned to her and just looked at her silently for a few moments. He dropped the cigarette onto the ground and stubbed it out with his toe. "What has Pierce got to do with shaving my head?" he asked, unable to keep the bite out of the edge of his tone.
She pressed her lips together as she brought her sunglasses back down across her eyes so she wasn't squinting in the sunlight. "I was asking him about getting you back from SS to be FBI again. For us to be partners again. If you go back, I'll go back."
"You told him?!" Marc growled, his voice raising. He stared at her, giving a laugh of disbelief, though there was no humour behind it. He turned away, staring ahead as a deep frown appeared on his forehead, his jaw set firmly. If he yelled, he would draw attention to himself and he couldn't draw attention to him with Izzy in such a public place. "Who are you to make a decision like that for me? Do you realise what you've done? I don't want to get out of the SS," he said, cutting off each syllable sharply. He curled his fingers together in front of him so tightly, his knuckles turned white.
"Half back from the SS," Izzy clarified, not backing down in the face of his anger. "Do you realise that your fucking Britney moment is destroying you? Do you realise that you look like fucking shit? Have you actually looked in the mirror? And you can't tell me it's all Marcus Fraser. I know you, Marc. The real you, and this isn't it. Don't get pissed of with me for going to Pierce, because you didn't give me a fucking choice. I'm helping you. I'm helping Ali. I'm helping Harri, and I am helping your child. Sooner or later you have to be man enough to realise that if you don't change something, you will die. You're not so fucking good that you won't make a mistake from lack of sleep, going crazy, and not eating properly."
Marc just kept staring ahead at first. "You better hope this hasn't fucked my investigation, Izzy," he had to tell her, his voice hoarse as he tried to fight the anger. It was always the emotion that won when all the others were battling beneath it. He dropped his head a little to look down at his feet. "I've looked, alright? I see it," he finally added quietly.
"Give me some credit. I used to be your partner. I know better than to mess up your investigation. I'm allowed to talk with my former boss." She watched the sudden change in him and reached out to take his hand. "Then you need to stop it getting worse. I've lost you once, I'm not going to watch it happen before my eyes and lose you again."
Marc held up his hand. "No, Izzy. No. You're not. You've stepped over the line here. I'm not FBI anymore. You had no right to discuss me, my position, or the fact you had even spoken about me to Pierce. I'm not even sure you realise what I've already put on the line, but to turn around and tell an FBI Head that I'm in the SS? This is not a game, Izzy. You might've just totally fucked over my career. But it's done. Just like the rest of this this fucking shit, it's done." He stopped again, fuming, before it completely made him lose it. His heart was beating in his chest making him feel like he had too much caffeine and his hands were shaking to match. "What makes you even think I want to be anywhere near FBI anymore?"
Izzy moved closer to him and wrapped her arm around him as she leaned in close and dropped her voice for only him to hear. "Because you need me. You need the normality. Or as normal as the FBI can be. You need to be James, not Marc. At least not all day everyday. You need something that keeps the real you grounded so that this doesn't fucking happen. I know it's not a fucking game, but if you can't realise that all this is doing more harm than good, then fuck you, Marcus Fraser."
"I can't believe you went to Pierce. Do I have a red dot on my forehead because I'm surprised he hasn't put a hit out on me to properly do the job this time," Marc snorted, shaking his head a little. He drew his lower lip between his teeth and then met her eyes again. "I'm not coming back, Izzy. I'm not leaving the SS. I like what I do. Pierce is... just going to get frustrated when he tries to access me and realises he can't. Which he can't."
"What else was I supposed to do? I've only known you again for a week and I already know you're messed up and losing it. Ali who's known about you for however long has had her own shit to deal with, so she hasn't tried to help you. Harri probably wouldn't know enough to know that you need help, or if she does, she won't know how to... No one else knows you like I do. So excuse me for wanting to stop my best friend from imploding." Iz took her hand away and wrapped her arms around her middle as she crossed her legs and found a spot off in the distance to glare at. "If you don't want to leave, I can't make you. Pierce won't do anything unless you say yes. I'll go tell him I'm crazy. He was thinking that anyway."
Marc looked at her blandly. "I asked Ali not to and she listened," he said pointedly. He shook his head and went back to staring at the pigeons. His expensive watch buzzed and he cursed, punctuating with an expletive or ten. He didn't realise it was so late in the day. His brain was screwed. He looked around before started to dig around in the small backpack he had brought in place of the standard briefcase and readied his insulin injection. If he missed it, he would be screwed, well and truly. "You think things are just going to go back to how they always were? Do you seriously think that?"
"Of course not. I just want to try and help you. I'm sorry if I'm so far off base." Iz watched him, remembering when she used to do his shots. So many things were reminding her of how things used to be, but it wasn't them anymore. She used to spend her days drinking up any little touch and exchange because she had been madly in love with him. A part of her had stopped cherishing the friendship while her mind tried to turn it into something else. "I want our friendship back. I don't want things the way they were because I turned them into shit. I just want us to start over. And I want you happy."
Marc unsheathed the needle with his teeth and lifted his shirt up to inject his stomach carefully. The whole process was experienced and repetitive. If he didn't do it, he'd die. He really didn't want to die right now. The spent needle was shoved into the tiny portable sharps container and he put a small circular band-aid over the puncture so the blood wouldn't get on the white shirt. "You need me to go back to the FBI to have our friendship back?" he asked, trying to follow her train of thought. He was failing. "Izzy, everyone there thinks I'm dead. I can't just come back to life, and my point on the SS still stands."
"No, no... I need you to come back because at least with the FBI you were still you. You only had to be undercover when it was vital." She ruffled her hair as her foot started to bounce up and down restlessly. "Forget it. It's fine. I'm just an idiot. And I'm sorry if I fucked anything up. I wasn't trying to. Look, deaths get faked all the time. Who said it needs to be the SS that did it? You could have been kidnapped, but whoever took you wanted the world to think you were dead. Who knows, people are fucked up."
Marc smirked. "Long kidnapping. They must've loved me to keep me alive so long," he pointed out, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "How would you explain that? Stockholm Syndrome? Iz, look..." He paused and sighed, taking her hand into his. "What do you want me to say? I appreciate you trying to think this through but it took me nearly three years to prepare to enter the SS investigation. I can't just walk away from that."
"Amnesia?" Iz asked with a wry expression. "Always seems to work on television... Sometimes that kind of stuff must happen. Maybe you only just got your memory back but there's still a hole from when you landed in Australia, or something. Fuck knows, I'm just trying to stretch it now." She looked at him. "I didn't ask you to forget the investigation. Just forget the part where you really need to be someone else twenty-four-seven."
Marc exhaled but it came out sounding more like a stiff groan. "This isn't television. Forgetting the part that I already am 'someone else' for a minute, I'm still not on the same page as you, Iz. And you know what the block is? Trying to work out how we are even going to get over the awkwardness and hurt to still operate how we used to but now seeing other people," he told her softly, taking out his smokes for another. Something was needed to keep him sane.
Iz shrugged. "Fuck knows, but I'd at least like to be given the chance to try. I was only trying to do the right thing. Just forget it, okay? I'll go back to minding my own business. Speaking of, I'm still trying to work out if I want to sell the place in England. And I need an apartment here again. I hate moving."
Marc felt himself trying to force down his protective barriers again. He was trying to talk to her and she dismissed it. He shrugged, putting the smokes back in his pocket after lighting up. "I dunno. Stay in England for Preston. Housing market is better there." The last few words came out with a heavy sigh he couldn't stifle. His hand was shaking as he put the cigarette to his lips, but he hardly noticed any more. "Ali's paramedic is looking to rent out his place on the Upper West Side."
"I don't know if he wants me to stay," Iz said quietly. "Pat's optimistic, but then he's Pat... He's not the one I need to hear telling me I haven't fucked up completely. I want to be here for Ali... and you. I want my best friends back. I want my life back. I just happen to want a footballer with it. I don't know how it's supposed to work. Maybe none of it is. Maybe it's just all too complicated. I wanted to fix things, but I can't. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. If I can't fix my own mess, how am I supposed to fix you?"
"I never asked you to fix me. I just promised I wouldn't go away again," Marc reminded her, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Pat just sees the good in people and wants people around him happy and content because he's not himself. He doesn't have the luxury of the hectic lifestyles we all have any more. And he probably just wants to see his brother attached because it is nice to be with someone, even if it's not easy. Sometimes things are just shit and we have to live in the shit, but we do what we can."
Iz leaned forward so she could look at his face again, tilting her head to the side. She probably looked like a fool, but she didn't care. "I know you didn't ask, but how am I supposed to watch you break? There's living in the shit, and then there's fucking drowning in it."
Marc was quiet, but he soon shook his head. "I can't take screwing anyone else up. If I come back, that's what's going to happen."
She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and rest her head against his. "At least come back to us... To me and Ali. We miss you, James."
Marc scrunched his nose up wryly. "Ah, yeah but see... you've told Pierce and now I have to deal with that. I just have no idea how to do that without being stripped of my badge."
"I'm sorry, Marc. Please... forgive me?" Iz asked softly as she kicked at the grass with her shoe.
Marc shook his head, staring at nothing in particular across the park. "It's okay..." He chewed on his lower lip, thinking for a few moments and then looked back to her. "There's only one way I can pull this off without losing my standing, loyalty, and credibility. You aren't going to like it."
She raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Just spit it out, loser."
"Health reasons." Marc held her gaze. "I have to put myself in a coma."
Iz managed to keep her face straight as she returned his gaze. "How's Harri going to take that?"
"You tell me. You're the one trying to get me to pull off the near impossible," Marc returned calmly. "How, really, did you think it would look for me to go to my superiors and say 'Hey, I can't cut it as SS. I need to go back to my old, less stressful job and life because I'm weak and can't cope, but I want to keep the pretty badge'?"
"I don't know," Iz all but growled in frustration. "I just know that you're not coping, and there isn't actually in fucking shame in admitting that. Like you said, you had to give up a lot. You're only human. You were going to miss something, and everything."
Marc was frowning again, but he kept staring ahead of them. "I'm not disputing any of that. I'm more than aware every single minute what I'm missing and how it feels. It is my personal life I am not coping with, not the job. The job is pristine. It's what I'm made to do. I love it. I get deep satisfaction and pride to do what I do. I'm fucking damn proud of myself for getting into the Secret Service. The SS, Iz! And I got there because I worked hard for it and I'm effective at what I do. I'm not going to leave the SS. I'm not. There is no question in that. I swore an oath and I'm not breaking that. The only way I end up back on the FBI team with you, with Pierce, is as liaison for the SS. I need to have a reason to be there because I'm not walking away from my case or everything that happened and everything I gave up and lost will be for fucking nothing. And to do that, I need a reason that has nothing to do with my mental coping skills to transition back within an FBI environment. The only explanation without screwing over everything I've bared my mind, body, blood and soul to achieve is a physical ailment. A reason that I need a step down in pace of duties, to go from field to liaison. It's the only way you, Harri, Ali, Jamie, my parents will ever have a chance of getting me back. All of me. The only way I'll get myself back without losing what I know I'm put on this earth to do."
Izzy looked at him. "If it's the only way, then I can't stop you. But if you don't want to do this, then I can't make you. The only question you need to ask yourself is if you want yourself back. What the rest of us want is nothing, if you're not doing it for yourself. I can try and talk you into it all I want, but you still need to be the one to really want this. Otherwise you're risking your life for no reason."
Marc met her eyes again but it was only briefly before he looked away. Nothing really had changed, even if she was back. He was still alone. And now he just really didn't know what to do anymore. He merely gave a slight nod and stood up. "I've got to go. Conference call at two." He shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. "I'll give you a call or something."
"James, wait," Iz said as she stood up and caught his hand in hers. "If you want to do this, just tell me what you need from me. I am still your partner... Despite what you must be think. I'm not here to fuck you over."
Marc looked down at their hands and then his eyes slowly met hers again. "I just want a friend, Iz. One I can talk to unconditionally. One who... just gets its," he murmured. "That's all."
She nodded and squeezed his hand. "I'm trying, doesn't that count? I've been back a week. You've been back a week. I'm allowed to make a few mistakes. But you have that, I promise."
Marc leaned in and gave her a brief kiss, touching her cheek. "I'll give you a call," he promised. "Ask Ali about that apartment. It's en route to HQ."
Words: 3712 | All muses referred to with permission and come from the princeton2nyc verse