muses_w_remotes | 9.1. Music & Lyrics quotes
9.1. "This is horrible Alex, this is very bad! Unless you're happy about this in which case I couldn't be more pleased for you... Should we do pros and cons?"
| Music & Lyrics
Co-written with agentsullivan
[Follows THIS]
Marc had never, in his whole life, had a full-blown panic attack. Until now. He woke up from a bad dream feeling like he was choking or having a heart attack. It took close to half an hour before he managed to calm himself down and five minutes later ended up on the phone with the Service’s local shrink trying to talk it out. It wasn’t unusual, apparently. Leaving his whole life behind was never going to be easy… it would take time… everyone dealt with it differently… keep trying to revisit the reasons why he joined the Service.
Bollocks.
Marc knew there was a reason he hated shrinks. There was only one way he was going to shake this and even if it went beyond everything he had sworn to, he had to do it. He had to see Ali and prayed to fucking god he could beg her to keep his secret. He needed just something from his old life to hang on to. If he could have that, he knew it would give him the confidence to keep going. And if it all went fucking arse-up and the shit hit the fan, he could always move to Fiji and become a coconut salesman.
He spent the rest of the night sleepless and sparking with an unwavering anxiety. But the decision still held firm. He was going to speak to Ali. He wanted to meet his niece and he needed a friend. He knew he was doing this job well and had always been more than an effective Special Agent, but in the background he was falling apart and the loneliness was going to kill him. If there was one person in the whole world he knew he could trust, it was Ali. He would worry about the logistics of it all later… like the fact she thought he was dead.
His dyed dark hair was long enough now to have it pulled back at the nape of his neck, made to look even darker with the product through it. The chocolate brown contacts were well in place with his eyes further shielded by trendy black-rimmed glasses. He wore a long black winter coat that hugged his body and a grey scarf and gloves completed the look. He put his hand over his mouth and watched his reflection in the mirror of the elevator of his old apartment block. He still hated looking at himself like this, but he knew that would get easier too eventually.
What the fuck was he doing?! But the first test had been passed; his old doorman hadn’t even recognised him, especially with the thick Londoner accent he had down to perfection now. In fact, the guy had barely glanced twice at Marc when he explained he had an appointment to see Alicia in Apartment 10A. He was just let right on through without a hitch.
It was make or break time now. The elevator dinged and emitted him onto the tenth floor. Déjà vu roared through him and had him grabbing for the brass railing along the hall. What was he doing? Seriously, that the fuck was he doing?! He was about two steps away from totally blowing his intricately woven cover and could he really trust Ali to keep his secret? But it didn’t matter. He had to trust her. He needed her and Marcus Fraser could be in Ali’s life just as much as James Campbell was, right? By now he was shaking and felt close to wanting to be sick. He could get himself reamed a new arsehole from the powers that be for this - or worse - but no one knew. And if he could pull it off, no one but Ali would ever know.
He hovered in the hallway like some sort of petty criminal casing the joint. He should just get back into the elevator and go. It was just sentimentality and it was a dangerous territory to be treading. But the loneliness won over and it wouldn’t let him get back in the elevator. It forced him towards Ali’s door at the end of the hall, though his ears were ringing and his heart was pounding so heavily in his chest it felt like his rib cage was about to shatter. He decided on the spot that this was not only probably the stupidest decision he had made in his life, but the hardest… it even beat the initial choice to join the Secret Service and go deep undercover. He was bearing literally everything on this one moment with his best friend. He didn’t know what he was going to do it he failed.
There was no time left to procrastinate, though. As he approached Ali’s apartment, the door opened and a frankly really hot guy in a uniform of some sort came out with a bag slung over his shoulder. He didn’t see Marc at first, but as soon as he finished juggling with his keys and turned to walk up the hall, they would cross paths. On closer inspection, Marc could see the uniform was paramedics. Who the hell was he? It didn’t even matter then that Marc was no longer part of Ali’s life; he just kind of wanted to rough the guy up a little no matter what. Obviously he wasn’t here on a paramedic run with keys to Ali’s front door.
But he turned then and Marc could see that the guy standing an easy six foot looked like he could have stepped out of a centrefold for a paramedic pin-up magazine. The bastard. But he smiled at Marc and that was kind of unnerving. “Hey,” the guy greeted him and Marc was trapped. Ali’s door was the only one at the end of the hall, so he would have no random excuse why he was there unless it was for her. Would pretending to be a singing telegram work?
“Good morning, sir,” Marc returned, forcing his mind into his persona. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and pretended to read over it. “I’m looking for Alicia Sullivan. Apartment 10A I have here.”
The guy nodded and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Yeah, sure. She’s just inside. Is everything okay?” he asked hesitantly, looking like he was planning on putting off his exit to go back inside and maybe play guard dog for Ali. That would never work.
“I have an appointment with her. FBI business. I promise, it’s all above board,” Marc assured him, flashing him a feigned smile. When a hint of a frown appeared on the guy’s face, Marc felt just a tiny bit smug. He was obviously wondering why Ali hadn’t told him about her appointment. “I’m a little early,” he added.
He received a hesitant nod and the paramedic was now watching Marc closely. The suspicion was evident. “Okay… well… whatever. She’s home. Probably waiting for you…” A clear of the throat and an awkward adjusting of the strap over his shoulder. “Cheers, then.”
“Have a nice day,” Marc said with a polite smile and watched the guy disappear around the corner to the elevators. He waited, listening closely for telltale whoosh and ding that the elevator doors were closing and leaving Marc alone in the hall. Marc narrowed his eyes and pulled his lips to the side. Now wasn’t the time to analyse that little encounter. He drew a long breath and rolled his shoulders a little as he let it out. Now or never, he warned himself.
Now.
He approached Ali’s door and pressed his palm against the doorbell. As soon as he did, his stomach leapt up into his throat and he really planned on having just a few more seconds of grace to collect himself. But he barely had time to look down at his shoes before the door swung open abruptly. “I give you a key and you fucking forg-” She stopped, clearly realising it wasn’t who she had given the key to. “Oh… uh… can I help you?” Ali asked, staring at the top of the stooped head in front of her.
Oh shit of all shits and fucks… Marc lifted his head with a shaky breath. “Ali…” he said in a whisper, already close to tears. God, it was fucking good to see her, despite everything.
Ali was still in her pink crazy cow pyjamas with her hair piled up on top of her head. In one hand she held a pink pacifier and she had a lemon towel slung over her shoulder. She froze, scared to let go of the door in case she passed out from shock, and the colour drained from her face. There was a spark of recognition inside her but the shock wasn’t letting it break through. “Who are you?” she demanded and let go of the door to grab the jamb and throw a barrier up between them. “Who the fuck are you?” she shouted.
“James. Ali, it’s me…” Marc insisted pleadingly, letting the Australian fall back into his accent with ease. He went to reach for her arm which he should have known was going to be a huge mistake. She was a trained Special Agent, too. She seized his hand in a flash and slammed his wrist against the door with a crack, dropping the pacifier so she could take one hell of a swing at him, her fist catching him in the side of the face and then there was just blackness.
Andrew Connor [paramedically] used with permission
Word Count | 1,589
| Music & Lyrics
Co-written with agentsullivan
[Follows THIS]
Marc had never, in his whole life, had a full-blown panic attack. Until now. He woke up from a bad dream feeling like he was choking or having a heart attack. It took close to half an hour before he managed to calm himself down and five minutes later ended up on the phone with the Service’s local shrink trying to talk it out. It wasn’t unusual, apparently. Leaving his whole life behind was never going to be easy… it would take time… everyone dealt with it differently… keep trying to revisit the reasons why he joined the Service.
Bollocks.
Marc knew there was a reason he hated shrinks. There was only one way he was going to shake this and even if it went beyond everything he had sworn to, he had to do it. He had to see Ali and prayed to fucking god he could beg her to keep his secret. He needed just something from his old life to hang on to. If he could have that, he knew it would give him the confidence to keep going. And if it all went fucking arse-up and the shit hit the fan, he could always move to Fiji and become a coconut salesman.
He spent the rest of the night sleepless and sparking with an unwavering anxiety. But the decision still held firm. He was going to speak to Ali. He wanted to meet his niece and he needed a friend. He knew he was doing this job well and had always been more than an effective Special Agent, but in the background he was falling apart and the loneliness was going to kill him. If there was one person in the whole world he knew he could trust, it was Ali. He would worry about the logistics of it all later… like the fact she thought he was dead.
His dyed dark hair was long enough now to have it pulled back at the nape of his neck, made to look even darker with the product through it. The chocolate brown contacts were well in place with his eyes further shielded by trendy black-rimmed glasses. He wore a long black winter coat that hugged his body and a grey scarf and gloves completed the look. He put his hand over his mouth and watched his reflection in the mirror of the elevator of his old apartment block. He still hated looking at himself like this, but he knew that would get easier too eventually.
What the fuck was he doing?! But the first test had been passed; his old doorman hadn’t even recognised him, especially with the thick Londoner accent he had down to perfection now. In fact, the guy had barely glanced twice at Marc when he explained he had an appointment to see Alicia in Apartment 10A. He was just let right on through without a hitch.
It was make or break time now. The elevator dinged and emitted him onto the tenth floor. Déjà vu roared through him and had him grabbing for the brass railing along the hall. What was he doing? Seriously, that the fuck was he doing?! He was about two steps away from totally blowing his intricately woven cover and could he really trust Ali to keep his secret? But it didn’t matter. He had to trust her. He needed her and Marcus Fraser could be in Ali’s life just as much as James Campbell was, right? By now he was shaking and felt close to wanting to be sick. He could get himself reamed a new arsehole from the powers that be for this - or worse - but no one knew. And if he could pull it off, no one but Ali would ever know.
He hovered in the hallway like some sort of petty criminal casing the joint. He should just get back into the elevator and go. It was just sentimentality and it was a dangerous territory to be treading. But the loneliness won over and it wouldn’t let him get back in the elevator. It forced him towards Ali’s door at the end of the hall, though his ears were ringing and his heart was pounding so heavily in his chest it felt like his rib cage was about to shatter. He decided on the spot that this was not only probably the stupidest decision he had made in his life, but the hardest… it even beat the initial choice to join the Secret Service and go deep undercover. He was bearing literally everything on this one moment with his best friend. He didn’t know what he was going to do it he failed.
There was no time left to procrastinate, though. As he approached Ali’s apartment, the door opened and a frankly really hot guy in a uniform of some sort came out with a bag slung over his shoulder. He didn’t see Marc at first, but as soon as he finished juggling with his keys and turned to walk up the hall, they would cross paths. On closer inspection, Marc could see the uniform was paramedics. Who the hell was he? It didn’t even matter then that Marc was no longer part of Ali’s life; he just kind of wanted to rough the guy up a little no matter what. Obviously he wasn’t here on a paramedic run with keys to Ali’s front door.
But he turned then and Marc could see that the guy standing an easy six foot looked like he could have stepped out of a centrefold for a paramedic pin-up magazine. The bastard. But he smiled at Marc and that was kind of unnerving. “Hey,” the guy greeted him and Marc was trapped. Ali’s door was the only one at the end of the hall, so he would have no random excuse why he was there unless it was for her. Would pretending to be a singing telegram work?
“Good morning, sir,” Marc returned, forcing his mind into his persona. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and pretended to read over it. “I’m looking for Alicia Sullivan. Apartment 10A I have here.”
The guy nodded and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Yeah, sure. She’s just inside. Is everything okay?” he asked hesitantly, looking like he was planning on putting off his exit to go back inside and maybe play guard dog for Ali. That would never work.
“I have an appointment with her. FBI business. I promise, it’s all above board,” Marc assured him, flashing him a feigned smile. When a hint of a frown appeared on the guy’s face, Marc felt just a tiny bit smug. He was obviously wondering why Ali hadn’t told him about her appointment. “I’m a little early,” he added.
He received a hesitant nod and the paramedic was now watching Marc closely. The suspicion was evident. “Okay… well… whatever. She’s home. Probably waiting for you…” A clear of the throat and an awkward adjusting of the strap over his shoulder. “Cheers, then.”
“Have a nice day,” Marc said with a polite smile and watched the guy disappear around the corner to the elevators. He waited, listening closely for telltale whoosh and ding that the elevator doors were closing and leaving Marc alone in the hall. Marc narrowed his eyes and pulled his lips to the side. Now wasn’t the time to analyse that little encounter. He drew a long breath and rolled his shoulders a little as he let it out. Now or never, he warned himself.
Now.
He approached Ali’s door and pressed his palm against the doorbell. As soon as he did, his stomach leapt up into his throat and he really planned on having just a few more seconds of grace to collect himself. But he barely had time to look down at his shoes before the door swung open abruptly. “I give you a key and you fucking forg-” She stopped, clearly realising it wasn’t who she had given the key to. “Oh… uh… can I help you?” Ali asked, staring at the top of the stooped head in front of her.
Oh shit of all shits and fucks… Marc lifted his head with a shaky breath. “Ali…” he said in a whisper, already close to tears. God, it was fucking good to see her, despite everything.
Ali was still in her pink crazy cow pyjamas with her hair piled up on top of her head. In one hand she held a pink pacifier and she had a lemon towel slung over her shoulder. She froze, scared to let go of the door in case she passed out from shock, and the colour drained from her face. There was a spark of recognition inside her but the shock wasn’t letting it break through. “Who are you?” she demanded and let go of the door to grab the jamb and throw a barrier up between them. “Who the fuck are you?” she shouted.
“James. Ali, it’s me…” Marc insisted pleadingly, letting the Australian fall back into his accent with ease. He went to reach for her arm which he should have known was going to be a huge mistake. She was a trained Special Agent, too. She seized his hand in a flash and slammed his wrist against the door with a crack, dropping the pacifier so she could take one hell of a swing at him, her fist catching him in the side of the face and then there was just blackness.
Andrew Connor [paramedically] used with permission
Word Count | 1,589