Marco sighed; letting the book he'd been 'reading' fall forward and hit his chest, and fixing his eyes on the white ceiling above. There was no point in even trying anymore, especially since he'd been reading the same sentence for several minutes now. He couldn't remember what it said, even though he must have reread it at least a dozen times over. He just couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he had made a terrible mistake.
Should he have saved that man's life...?
...Yes; he couldn't start doubting his actions now. It had been the right thing to do, and if he had to do it over again, he knew he would make the same choice; he'd never be able to take someone's life. Besides, it was way too late for second thoughts. What's done is done, and he'd just have to live with the decisions he had made.
Though... perhaps it would have been smart to call the police after leaving the clinic...
He knew now that it would have been the most obvious course of action to take. Honestly, who wouldn't after nearly being murdered? But, as weird as it sounded, he had a feeling that even if he had, it wouldn't have done any good; that there would have been no trace of the man when they arrived. And what's more, what if he found out that Marco had called the police, and came after him for that? Putting aside the fact that he just might decide to anyway.
Needless to say, he was terrified; everything was beginning to feel like a hopeless, never ending loop. Like he was just running in circles and dragging this on, with no real way out.
After arriving home last night, try as he might, he just couldn't fall asleep. Every sound he heard had had him squeaking in fear and pointing the gun he'd 'borrowed' from his new-found admirer in every direction. Not that he had any idea how to use it, mind you. It just made him feel a little safer to have around.
But maybe... maybe if he just kept his mouth shut; put it behind him and acted as though it had never happened, the guy would be... grateful? Marco did know his face, after all. It would be so easy to turn him in; have a sketch artist draw him up and make his identity known to the public. Being the son of his father, it wouldn't take long for word to spread throughout the city like wildfire; he could see the headlines now. The media would have a field day with it.
But the thought did little to comfort him; he couldn't help but feel that he was being a little naive. This guy, whoever he was, was obviously trained in what he did, and as much as Marco hated the thought of it, he wasn't so sure that something as small as being thankful would stop him from accomplishing the job he had been given.
Which, apparently, was to end Marco's existence.
Marco whined, sinking down lower onto the bed and dragging a pillow over his face.
Why me? What did I do?
He wanted to stop thinking about it. His brain was fried through and through, with nothing more to run on than two hours of sleep and a few cans of Monster, though the shitty buzz had long since passed. Now the only thing he could feel was a dull throbbing throughout his skull, brain no doubt begging him to get some rest. The exhaustion was returning with vengeance, packing a potent punch after having been delayed for so long. It was falling over him like a thick, suffocating blanket, making it harder and harder to keep his chin from dropping against his chest, and eyelids from drooping.
But, regardless, his mind set to work again, forcing him to relive each moment of the nightmare that he had somehow managed to survive. The same feeling of terror sank into the pit of his stomach as he realized just how close he had been to dying. If the man hadn't paused, kept his trigger finger still as he swung to face Marco, who had unintentionally snuck up on him, he would be dead right now; his body being zipped up in some blue body bag and shoved into a freezer until it could be further examined.
But why had he paused? From Marco's limited knowledge on the subject, wouldn't it have been natural instinct to shoot at something after being surprised? After all, he had to have already been pretty high-strung; tense, stance hunched criminally as he had been reaching out for...
Marco sat bolt upright, pillow falling away from his face. His eyes were wide, breath caught in his throat as the realization hit him like a speeding truck.
He had never been the target at all; it was his dad.
How did I not see it until now?
He'd merely just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he hadn't; if he had actually gone to the lobby instead of settling for something closer, he wouldn't be in this mess. But, his dad would be.. d-
His mind halted, stopping the train of thought before it could finish itself, and instead, skipping to another.
Marco had seen his face; he knew his identity now, and was more than capable of using that against him. Someone like him wouldn't just simply stop. No, it was a threat that needed to be eradicated, and quickly. And that was why-
Marco had already, rightfully, been on edge; nerves frayed and thin, paranoid that each time he looked over his shoulder when on a mission to retrieve another energy drink from the fridge, he'd find someone behind him, murderous intent in their sharp, amber eyes. So when his bedroom door slammed open, suddenly and without warning, banging unceremoniously against the wall, it had been a completely reasonable response to scream bloody murder and make a break for the other end of his room, scrambling across the surface of his bed.
"Christ, Marco, what's gotten into you? It's just me."
At the familiar sight of their housekeeper, Lucile, striding into his room, he relaxed, clutching one hand over his heart and releasing a shaky breath.
"Holy shit."
She only smiled, saving the scolding that she usually gave him for his colorful vocabulary, and dropped the hamper of clothes she'd been packing in her arms to the floor. Wiping at her brow, she cast a despairing glance around his messy room, before turning her gaze to him "Sorry, I just needed to get these clothes up here. Laundry rooms' full again. How two men can go through so many clothes in the span of a week, I'll never know."
He smiled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I could've done that, you know." He spoke, gesturing at the folded pile.
She waved a dismissive hand at him, bending to drag the hamper over towards his closet to hang them. "Please, Marco. It's my job, don't act like it's an unnecessary burden. This is what your father pays me to do."
"Still," He shrugged, perching on the edge of his bed. "It wouldn't kill me to help out. I don't have anything better to do. Besides, it'd probably get my mind off of-"
He cut himself off, clenching his jaw together. There was no reason to bring Lucile into this. The less she knew, the better. The last thing he wanted was to have to be worrying about her safety as-well.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Raising his eyes, he found that Lucile's were on him, regarding him with something between a mix of concern and curiosity. He shook his head, perhaps a little too quickly, and cast her what he hoped to be a reassuring smile.
"It's nothing, just school stuff. Nothing important." She narrowed her eyes, looking none too convinced, but turned anyway, resuming her task. After a moment he stood, working to keep his tone casual "Hey, is Dad in his study? I need to talk to him."
"No, he called a few hours ago to say he'd be late getting home again. Something about a meeting, I don't know, was hard to hear him over the dryer. I swear, that's all that man does. He's going to end up working himself into an early grave."
Marco swallowed thickly, hands clenching into tight fists at his side. He managed a weak laugh, nodding his agreement, before he quickly excused himself to the hall, closing the door tightly behind him.
By now, the meeting was more than likely long over, leaving his father alone in the building. Save for the security, which did nothing to soothe Marco's frantic mind. What good had they done the other night?
Jack shit, that's what.
It was the perfect opportunity to take him out. And this time, Marco wouldn't be in the way.
His fingers flew across the screen of his phone, desperately searching out his father's name amongst the contacts. When he found what he was looking for, he slammed his finger down on the name before raising it to his ear.
The dial tone seemed stretch out forever, and Marco paced restlessly, heart thumping in his chest.
"Comeon. Come on, come on, come o-"
"Robert Bodt-"
"Dad, I-"
"Sorry you couldn't reach me, but if you leave your name and numb-"
Without missing a beat, he ended the call, searching out the next best thing.
"Hello?"
"Krista! Thank god. Listen, I know it's late, I'm really sorry, but it's an emergency. I need-"
"Whoa, whoa, Marco. Slow down. What's wrong? Did something happen?"
"Yes. Well, no. At least not yet. Are you at home?"
"No, I'm at the office with Rob. There was a meeting and.. Marco, what-"
"I think he might be in danger."
There was a pause. "What do you mean exactly?"
"I.. I can't really explain, Krista, I'm sorry. I know I must sound crazy, or paranoid, or all of the above right now, but.. can you go check on him? Please?"
"Of course, Marco. Hold on."
The muted sound of Krista's heels on the tiled floor, a door opening, faint voices, and then a crackle as she returned the phone to her ear.
"He's here. Same place I left him."
Marco sighed, leaning against the wall behind him for support as relief washed over him in a cold wave, leaving him limp. "He's ok." he breathed, letting his tired eyes slide closed.
"He's ok," She assured, her voice soft in his ear. "Now, will you tell me what's going on? Why do you think he's in trouble? What exactly happened?"
"I.. It would take too long to explain, and I would sound like I've gone insane. Trust me." He paused, worrying his lip between his teeth. "Would it be too much to hope for that you could convince him to come home?"
She sighed into the phone, the static filling Marco's ear. "Marco.. you know he wouldn't, no matter what I told him. He's right in the middle of all of this. He would just lecture me and say that security was downstairs and then dive right back in."
Marco ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the wall. She was right; he'd tried more than once, but it was near impossible to tear that man away from his work once he'd began.
"Ok.. well.. Will you stay with him then? Keep an eye on him? And make sure Howard is there too. I know he carries a gun and.. it would just make me feel a lot better knowing that he has people there with him. To, you know, look out for him."
"Actually, Howard isn't here tonight, he clocked out at some point when his wife went into labor. But there's a new guy here that's filling in for him, Bertholdt I think he said his name was. So I'll page him up here." She paused for a moment, phone picking up the sound of papers being shuffled. "It's all going to be alright, just breathe."
Marco nodded slowly, relaxing, before he remembered that Krista couldn't see him. "Alright, thank you, Krista. It really means a lot to me. I-I just don't want anything to happen to him."
"I know, Marco. You should get some rest, you sound exhausted."
He nodded again, the heaviness of his lids returning. "Yeah, I will. And am."
"Goodnight, Marco."
"Night', Krista. Thanks again."
The Bodt Residence was silent; each window lining the exterior dark, curtains drawn for the night. Everyone within the household had long since fallen asleep, oblivious to the eminent danger that lay in wait, just outside.
Jean stood across the street, leaned against a flickering light post, eyes occasionally scanning the deserted road before returning to the dimmed screen in his hand.
Probably not the best time to be surfing the web, but what the hell else was he supposed to do? The call should have been made an hour ago, but still he'd received no word for the go ahead. It was slightly worrying.
Maybe something had gone wrong? Maybe Bodt had done what he did best and stuck his nose, or rather, presence, where it didn't belong yet again.
He didn't see how he could have slipped out without him noticing, but after the events preceding last night, he wouldn't doubt it in the least.
After scrolling through a few scores of meaningless babble and updates for various cases on the message board reserved for the agency, he shoved his phone into his back pocket, opting to instead make another round around the house. What was this, the tenth time?
By the time he'd reached the front of the house, a familiar click sounded from his ear piece, signaling that someone had come online. He slowed his strides, coming to a stop near the wooden railing of the porch.
"It's time." The voice was hushed and laced with the crackle of static. Jean ground his teeth together, adjusting the volume. They really need to upgrade these damn things.
"Things on your end?"
"In motion."
"Good. The sooner this is over, the better."
"You know these things take time, Jean."
"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."
There was a sound on the other side of the line that might have been a sigh. "Just wait for Armin to call you, okay?"
He rolled his eyes at her tone, but agreed. "Yeah, okay."
There was a moment of silence, and he'd thought she'd hung up on him, but the voice crackled in again. "Jean?"
He paused, hand on the railing. "Yeah?"
"Good luck."
He snorted. "You know I don't need it."
"Yeah, yeah. Of course you don't."
He listened as she went offline before turning to lean against the column behind him with a sigh, tilting his head back to gaze at the stars above.
There weren't very many visible tonight; only a few with a stronger shine than the others, straining to be seen through the dark rain clouds hanging heavy in the sky.
An ill omen.
Jean frowned at the thought, lacing his hands behind his head. Maybe this was his sign that things were about to get unnecessarily shitty.
Again.
Fan-fucking-tastic. Can't wait.
"Jean?"
Said man stood from his post, dropping his hands back to his sides. "It's about damn time, Armin. Where have you been?"
"Bertholdt's on assist, as you know, and he's the only other person besides me that knows how to do this. I'm the only one here, and things got kind of hectic. Sorry to keep you waiting."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I have a hot date with my coffee pot tonight, so let's just get on with this."
Armin snorted, a smile in his voice. "Ooh, scandalous. Alright, address?"
"383 Rosewood Dr."
"Oookay, gotcha. I'm beginning the system scan now, hang on."
Jean huffed, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket to ward off the cold that was beginning to sink into his skin. "That's what I've been doing all night, Armin, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm not the best at sitting pretty."
"Yeah," Eren's voice cut in, "that's because you're ugly as fuck."
"Eren!" Armin hissed, a poorly concealed laugh in his voice. "How did you even get on this line, you're supposed to be-"
"Non, mais tu te fous de moi, enfoiré?! Si je suis considéré comme étant moche, alors toi tu fais pleurer des mômes rien qu'en te pointant dans des lieux publics! Ta mère aurait dû t'avaler, connard!"
There was a moment of silence from all ends of the line, not even the crackle of breathing.
"Oh," Eren said finally, breaking the hush that had settled over them. "my god. I think I finally broke him this time." The words were followed by his shrill, obnoxious laughter, and Jean cursed loudly, slamming his hand down over the ear piece.
"Jesus fuck, Eren. Are you shi-"
"Guys!" Armin snapped, abruptly shutting them both up. "Jean, you can strangle Eren later,"
"Armin?! I can't belie-"
"but right now, we have work to do. This needs to get done. Now."
"I don't know why you're preaching at me," Jean retorted, massaging his temples. "Why don't you cram that shit down someone else's throat, preferably your boyfri-"
"Jean." Armin warned, tone deadly. Jean snapped his mouth shut, scowling at the door. "Alright, the camera's are officially down, and the alarm system should be disabled in four... three... two...alright, you're clear. Good luck, Jean."
"Yeah, he's gonna nee-"
The ear pieced fizzled with static for a moment, before clicking to signal that all parties had gone offline. Jean smiled to himself, retrieving the lock pick from one of the many pockets adorning his cargo pants. He'd have to thank Armin for that little stunt later.
But right now, there we're more important things on his plate.
Namely, Marco Bodt.
Notes:
I have absolutely no excuse for how long this took me. I got out of school for the summer and was just completely uninspired to write for awhile and spent an unhealthy amount of time doing fuck all and not being productive at all.
Anyways, thank you so much for reading and keeping up with such a sporadic writer, and I hope you liked it! I apologize for any grammatical errors made and such. I literally did all of this in one night and I'm dead on my feet.
Translations ; Are you fucking kidding me, you bastard?! If I'm considered ugly, then you could probably make children cry just by showing your face in public! Your mom should've swallowed you, you fucker!
((SSTT I HAVE A TUMBLR))
