muses_w_remotes | 10.8. Boston Legal quote
10.8. "No need to be snippy, dear. Especially since I come bearing treats. You never get a second chance to make a first impression."
| Boston Legal
Co-written with agentfraser
[Follows THIS and THIS]
Marc felt very akin to a stalker right now. He had been standing out the front of his old apartment building for close to an hour watching every person that passed by to keep a close eye for any paramedic uniforms. He knew he was risking getting reefed a new arsehole by Ali for this, but it was vital. He had apologised to Harri, promising he would be back for the rest of the night to take care of her once he spoke to Ali’s boyfriend. With the state Ali was in, she needed help sooner rather than later. For both her own well-being and her daughter’s, Marc needed to take the reigns in some capacity. He owed that, and much more, to his best friend.
When he spotted the guy coming up the sidewalk with an EMS uniform and backpack slung over his shoulder, Marc pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head and approached him. “Andrew?” he greeted him hesitantly. “I’m Marc. I’m a friend of Ali’s. I was just wondering if I could chat to you for a minute?”
Andrew’s shift had been long and hard. His last call out for the day had been a stairwell collapse in a Manhattan high rise leaving two dead and thirty seriously injured that they had to evacuate quickly and succinctly in case that part of the building was unstable. He was exhausted but he recognised this guy immediately and the suspicious frown that swept over his face said it all. “Why should I fucking trust you?” he snapped, taking a step away. It wasn’t like him at all. He was usually a really helpful and approachable person but this bloke had unnerved him from day one for some reason that he couldn’t put his finger on.
“Because Ali needs help, mate,” Marc insisted, his veiled British accent well in place. He looked around at the passing crowd, trying to figure out what his next step would be. There was going to be little to no cooperation from the paramedic, which was both understandable and frustrating at the same time. “Please? I need you to just trust me, even for a few minutes while I explain.”
Andrew stepped forward and grabbed the front of Marc’s jacket. “I don’t give a shit what you need, mate,” he hissed. “Talk. You have your few minutes, right here, right now. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t think I won’t smash your fucking face in if I think for even just a second that you’re going to hurt her.”
Didn’t Ali say this guy was supposed to be placid and kind? Still, Marc knew as well as anyone what a protective nature could bring out in a person. Ali was a prime example of that. Marc didn’t think he would ever get over the memory of his best friend holding him at gun point. Andrew was so close to him now that he could actually smell the sharp aroma of antiseptic, likely from washing up after his shift. Marc knew that smell well… he had been in enough hospital and medical environments in his life. When he spoke, his voice was lowered and he kept a constant awareness of who was passing by them at all times. “I’m an old friend of Ali’s but I can’t say any more than that here. My name’s Marc and all I ask is that you talk directly to Ali about it and leave the ball in her court to tell you more. It’s the best way because I don’t know enough about your relationship with her to put you or her into anything you don’t need. The last thing either of you need is more shit and I’m sorry I caused so much, but she needs to be the one to tell you about, mate. Please just understand that. It’s her call to make.”
Andrew was listening, but he was watching Marc through narrowed eyes. What shit had the bloke already caused them to possibly be apologising for it? His hand was still gripped around the zipper of Marc’s jacket and he held his eyes without faltering. “An old friend,” he said, his teeth slightly gritted. “From the FBI. What is with all this fucking mystery? If you’re screwing her over, I’ll fucking kill you. You’re right. She doesn’t need anymore shit and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she’s taken care of. Right now, I’m not even sure what to think of the fact she hasn’t told me about her so-called ‘old friend’.”
“That’s my fault, Andrew, not hers and that’s the reason I’ve even risked this conversation with you. I figured you were going to be pissed, but this is Ali and she’s my priority here. She needs help, mate. She’s having a bad time and I think she has post-natal depression. I’m not even sure she’s coping with that notion in her mind either and I know she doesn’t want to worry you because you’ve been working long hours. But I had to tell you because I’m not sure she would and if this is post-natal depression, it could get much worse without help,” Marc told him imploringly, hoping to god Andrew would listen and not brush him off. The guy didn’t have to like him, he just had to listen and go to Ali.
Andrew let go of Marc’s jacket and stepped away from him again, frowning deeply. He didn’t know what to think and didn’t know whether he should believe a word out of his mouth. But if what he was saying he was true, this was serious and how he took this could affect Ali either way. He held his hand out. “Give me your business card,” he demanded, his sole purpose being to put Marc on the spot and see if he could come through.
Marc didn’t hesitate and took his business card case from his breast pocket, slipping one of the cards out and placing it into his Andrew outstretched hand.
Andrew held the card up to read it and then evenly met Marc’s eyes again. “Funny looking FBI logo,” was all he commented on, shoving the card into his pocket and moving further away. “Don’t bother following me,” he added and then disappeared into the apartment building. This just kept getting better and fucking better.
Ali Sullivan [agentsullivan] & Harri Ryan [straight2point] referenced with permission
Word Count | 1,045
| Boston Legal
Co-written with agentfraser
[Follows THIS and THIS]
Marc felt very akin to a stalker right now. He had been standing out the front of his old apartment building for close to an hour watching every person that passed by to keep a close eye for any paramedic uniforms. He knew he was risking getting reefed a new arsehole by Ali for this, but it was vital. He had apologised to Harri, promising he would be back for the rest of the night to take care of her once he spoke to Ali’s boyfriend. With the state Ali was in, she needed help sooner rather than later. For both her own well-being and her daughter’s, Marc needed to take the reigns in some capacity. He owed that, and much more, to his best friend.
When he spotted the guy coming up the sidewalk with an EMS uniform and backpack slung over his shoulder, Marc pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head and approached him. “Andrew?” he greeted him hesitantly. “I’m Marc. I’m a friend of Ali’s. I was just wondering if I could chat to you for a minute?”
Andrew’s shift had been long and hard. His last call out for the day had been a stairwell collapse in a Manhattan high rise leaving two dead and thirty seriously injured that they had to evacuate quickly and succinctly in case that part of the building was unstable. He was exhausted but he recognised this guy immediately and the suspicious frown that swept over his face said it all. “Why should I fucking trust you?” he snapped, taking a step away. It wasn’t like him at all. He was usually a really helpful and approachable person but this bloke had unnerved him from day one for some reason that he couldn’t put his finger on.
“Because Ali needs help, mate,” Marc insisted, his veiled British accent well in place. He looked around at the passing crowd, trying to figure out what his next step would be. There was going to be little to no cooperation from the paramedic, which was both understandable and frustrating at the same time. “Please? I need you to just trust me, even for a few minutes while I explain.”
Andrew stepped forward and grabbed the front of Marc’s jacket. “I don’t give a shit what you need, mate,” he hissed. “Talk. You have your few minutes, right here, right now. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t think I won’t smash your fucking face in if I think for even just a second that you’re going to hurt her.”
Didn’t Ali say this guy was supposed to be placid and kind? Still, Marc knew as well as anyone what a protective nature could bring out in a person. Ali was a prime example of that. Marc didn’t think he would ever get over the memory of his best friend holding him at gun point. Andrew was so close to him now that he could actually smell the sharp aroma of antiseptic, likely from washing up after his shift. Marc knew that smell well… he had been in enough hospital and medical environments in his life. When he spoke, his voice was lowered and he kept a constant awareness of who was passing by them at all times. “I’m an old friend of Ali’s but I can’t say any more than that here. My name’s Marc and all I ask is that you talk directly to Ali about it and leave the ball in her court to tell you more. It’s the best way because I don’t know enough about your relationship with her to put you or her into anything you don’t need. The last thing either of you need is more shit and I’m sorry I caused so much, but she needs to be the one to tell you about, mate. Please just understand that. It’s her call to make.”
Andrew was listening, but he was watching Marc through narrowed eyes. What shit had the bloke already caused them to possibly be apologising for it? His hand was still gripped around the zipper of Marc’s jacket and he held his eyes without faltering. “An old friend,” he said, his teeth slightly gritted. “From the FBI. What is with all this fucking mystery? If you’re screwing her over, I’ll fucking kill you. You’re right. She doesn’t need anymore shit and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she’s taken care of. Right now, I’m not even sure what to think of the fact she hasn’t told me about her so-called ‘old friend’.”
“That’s my fault, Andrew, not hers and that’s the reason I’ve even risked this conversation with you. I figured you were going to be pissed, but this is Ali and she’s my priority here. She needs help, mate. She’s having a bad time and I think she has post-natal depression. I’m not even sure she’s coping with that notion in her mind either and I know she doesn’t want to worry you because you’ve been working long hours. But I had to tell you because I’m not sure she would and if this is post-natal depression, it could get much worse without help,” Marc told him imploringly, hoping to god Andrew would listen and not brush him off. The guy didn’t have to like him, he just had to listen and go to Ali.
Andrew let go of Marc’s jacket and stepped away from him again, frowning deeply. He didn’t know what to think and didn’t know whether he should believe a word out of his mouth. But if what he was saying he was true, this was serious and how he took this could affect Ali either way. He held his hand out. “Give me your business card,” he demanded, his sole purpose being to put Marc on the spot and see if he could come through.
Marc didn’t hesitate and took his business card case from his breast pocket, slipping one of the cards out and placing it into his Andrew outstretched hand.
Andrew held the card up to read it and then evenly met Marc’s eyes again. “Funny looking FBI logo,” was all he commented on, shoving the card into his pocket and moving further away. “Don’t bother following me,” he added and then disappeared into the apartment building. This just kept getting better and fucking better.
Ali Sullivan [agentsullivan] & Harri Ryan [straight2point] referenced with permission
Word Count | 1,045