When I'm Up (I Can't Get Down)
A/N: Haaaaaaaappy Biiiiiiiiirthday, Inkyyyyy! *huggles* I'm SO sorry this is late, but it's like kriffin' fourteen pages on Word, and the song is so addicting I had to keep stopping to listen to it andandand . . . yeah. WOO FOR BEING LEGAL LIKE MEEEE! WE SHALL GO BUY LOTTERY TICKETS TOGETHER. Scratch 'n' win, foo'!
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
When I’m Up, I Can’t Get Down
February 8th, 2009. 2253
It’s only eight days into February, and already people are either moping around, or ready to bite your head off. Traxius keeps the safety on his pistol off, Marina’s totally silent, Erisia’s knife has been sharpened within an inch of it’s life, Mei’s dripping poison wherever she goes, Delta about stabbed me with her horns, Tiernan’s all sulky, David started drawing plans for my assassination on his napkin last night at dinner, Malice keeps staring at my neck, Alicia isn’t sneaking peeks at Malice, and Mort . . . is still Mort.
I don’t know what to do . . . I can’t put up with twenty more days of this! Got to think . . . use your amazing brain, James . . . .
•x•
February 9th. 0400.
Alicia padded into the dining hall, her bare feet making little noise on the polished tile. She still wore her pajamas, unable as she had been to sleep. At this early hour, only one person was about: James, facedown and snoring on one of the tables. Getting a cup of hot tea from the dispensers along the left wall, she made her way across to him, sitting down as quietly as possible.
The quiet thunk of her mug touching the table brought the Irish boy awake with a jolt. “I’m up, I’m up!” he said quickly, blinking owlishly.
The small blonde smiled wanly. “Sorry, Jamie. I wasn’t trying to wake you up.”
He waved a hand airily. “Ah, s’all right. It’s probably time to get up anyway, right?” Green eyes found the wall-mounted clock with it’s ornate numbers, and widened. “Holy . . . since when are you up at four a.m.?”
She shrugged. “Just couldn’t sleep. Vivi’s cat was scratching at something next door, and it was keeping me awake.” There was silence, and James watched her fidget with the handle of her mug. Poor kid . . . there had to be something he could do to help her get rid of the February blahs . . . .
And in a flash of brilliant insight, it came. Keeping his inner grin carefully concealed, James spoke. “Well, since we’re both awake, how about some breakfast? My treat.”
Alicia looked up, and smiled, more strongly this time. “Okay.” Abandoning her tea on the table, she followed him to the kitchens. The night cooks on duty were nowhere to be seen; breakfast wasn’t served until seven-thirty, and they used the time to catch a little sleep.
Tying on a bright red apron, James quickly washed his hands. “So what’s it to be this morning, Miz Vasquez?” he said cheerily, tossing a grin in the young girl’s direction.
She thought for a moment. “Hmm . . . . Pancakes!”
“An excellent choice, mademoiselle!” James swept over to the dry goods cupboards, poking Alicia lightly in the side as he went, causing her to giggle.
I am the fountain of affection
I'm the instrument of joy
And to keep the good times rolling
I'm the boy, I'm the boy
Twenty minutes later, as they each dug into their respective breakfasts, Alicia was back to her usual perky self. She was laughing at the jokes James put forth, and responding in kind. At last, when both plates were empty, she hopped down off her stool, came around to James, and hugged him.
“Thanks, Jamie,” she mumbled into his shirt.
He tousled her hair, grinning back “No problem, Blondie. Although next time you owe me breakfast.”
Still smiling, Alicia skipped off to go get dressed for the day, leaving a self-satisfied James to drop the dirty dishes in the sink for the kitchen staff and go on about his business.
•x•
1030
Erisia sat at her desk, tapping the same button on her computer keyboard over and over again, with increasing frustration. At last, with a high-pitched noise of frustration, she reached out and dealt the machine a sturdy whack on the side.
“I keep telling you, Ris, that’s not going to make it work,” James said absently as he entered, engrossed in the contents of a file folder.
The young leader’s eyes narrowed. “But my approach makes me feel better.”
“You’re the boss,” was the shrugging answer. Snapping the file closed, he held it up. “I’m being assigned a new mission?”
With a nod, Erisia swivelled her chair away from her desk, getting to her feet. “Yes – overseas, in Europe.” She crossed to a huge map of the world spanning one wall of her office, and removed a tack from the region of Southeastern Ontario, planting it firmly in a black dot.
James squinted at the name. “Budapest, Hungary? What the heck is there?”
“A threat, you idiot,” Erisia snapped, turning back to face him. “He’s running an anti-Orycalcos group out of a secret location we haven’t managed to find. The Norway agents have attempted to infiltrate several times, but the directions to the locations lead nowhere – just the city’s largest bath-house.”
James smirked. “Bath-houses can be sexy.”
“Keep your mind on your work while you’re there, understand?” she said tersely. “The place is called the Gellert bath-house; find a way inside that meeting chamber, I don’t care how.” She stalked back to her desk, dropped into her chair, and returned her attention to fighting with her computer.
After a moment’s hesitation, James stepped around behind her chair, watching the top of her head as he spoke. “What if I told you I already know how to get in?”
“Then I’d say your skills at lying have seriously deteriorated.”
Cautiously, he put both hands on her shoulders, beginning to massage the stress-tensed muscles. One wrong move now would result in his handsome head being parted from the shoulders it had become so attached to. “Hmm. You obviously need to watch ‘Cities of the Underworld’ sometime.”
“What are you babbling about now?” Erisia’s voice was still sharp, but he could feel her starting to relax.
“They did a special on Budapest a while back – there was nothing else on, so I gave it a chance,” he explained. “Under the city, there are hundreds of tunnels that were used as a military base of operations and hospital during the World Wars. Under the Gellert bath-house, however, there’s something even more special – a supposed healing spring, used by an ancient mystic hundreds of years ago. The chamber with the spring itself is sealed off to most people, but anyone determined enough could get in.”
Erisia’s tone had lost it’s fire now. “And it would be secluded enough for people not to have to worry about being overheard. We could bottle them up and take them out at our liesure.”
“Exactly.”
You know the world could be our oyster,
You just put your trust in me,
Cause we'll keep the good times rolling
Wait and see, wait and see . . . .
Oh wait and see!
She turned her chair, freeing herself from his touch. James let his hands fall back to his sides as faced him and rose.
“Well thought out, James,” she said, favouring him with a smile. “However, I would still like you to go to Budapest and oversee the operation as it’s carried out. You’ll collect your task force from the Norway base, and continue on to Budapest from there.”
He nodded. “Sure thing, Boss.”
Stretching up a little, Erisia planted a kiss on his cheek. “For an extra little bit of luck,” she said. “Go and inform David he’ll be accompanying you.”
Flipping her a salute, James stepped around her and the desk, snagged the case file from the corner and headed out the door, not bothering to hide the smear of dark lipstick on his cheek.
•x•
2300
David and James sat side by side on the commercial flight to Norway. The mute agent was deep into an hours-long sulk, scribbling designs in a sketchbook. Whenever James snuck a peek, they all either seemed to involve technical drawings of a girl in different everyday poses, or images of a boy with James-like features dying by various means . . . .
At last, curiosity got the better of him. “Okay, I’ve gotta ask – who are you planning to murder, and what did they do?”
The other’s dark eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “You, for what you’re doing to Marina.”
James blinked. “And now I’m even more confused.”
“You’re playing around with her feelings, you nimrod! A girl like her deserves way more respect than what you give her.” Following this outburst, David scowled and went back to shading the wide pool of blood that was under the newly-dead Sketch!James.
Turning in his seat to face the older boy, James put on his serious face. “David, listen to me for just one minute, okay? I haven’t seriously flirted with Marina in about five months. You know why? Every time I tried, she went cold fish.” He paused. “Okay, not the best term, but you get my point. She can kill me anytime she chooses, if I screw up. Erisia won’t, I’m too valuable to her for that, but to Marina, I’m not.”
David shrugged. “I assume you have a point?”
“My point is, I’m not shoving in on your territory. So if you could stop plotting to hasten my demise?”
That at last brought a smile. “Fine.”
His exultation, a sweet disintegration.
A few discolorations, then it comes along
up is why he chooses, the kisses and the bruises
They lapsed into silence again for a few minutes, David beginning a new sketch, James taking out his iPod. It was in the middle of a song that the Irish boy remembered a certain picture, and quickly started leafing through the device’s photo album. Aha!
Taking out one earphone, he asked, “There’s a picture on here of Marina. You want to see?”
David looked up, wary. “Depends. How racey is it?”
“Not at all, here . . . .” Holding out the little mechanism, he opened the file. Marina came into view, getting off a mid-size airplane. She was looking to the left, a black duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Her hair was a paler blonde than the present, and slightly shorter.
“I took this the day she arrived at the Toronto base,” James explained. “Her hair was more bleached back then, and stuff . . . .”
“Wow . . . .” David was still staring at the picture. “Could, um . . . you send that to me? When you get a chance?”
James smiled. “Sure.”
The rest of the trip to Norway went peaceably, with much more relaxed conversation than before. However, several passengers wondered why the dark-haired Irish boy kept holding a one-sided conversation with his seat partner.
•x•
February 16th. 0025
Days later, James was unpacking his travel bag at the Toronto base, having successfully completed the mission in Budapest. He paused as a knock at the door sounded, frowning. It was late; who was still up?
The door opened to reveal a dishevelled looking Malice. The usual casually-messy hair stuck up all over, and the golden eyes were deeply bloodshot. The shock of his appearance forced James to take a step back. “Can I help you?”
“We need to talk,” the Brit growled before stalking inside.
Following him warily, James checked that his handgun was still holstered at his side. Thankfully, it was. Malice, now sitting on the edge of the bed, noticed the movement and waved a hand. “You won’t need that.”
“Okay . . . .” Taking a seat in his desk chair, James studied the other boy. “What’s up?”
“It’s . . . a matter of liquor consumption,” Malice began, folding his hands together. “I’m coming to you simply because you understand the effects of alcohol better than most, besides myself.”
James’ right eyebrow twitched upward. “I might be half-Italian, but that doesn’t make a wine connoiseur, you know.”
“Would shut up and let me finish?” Malice snapped. He looked quite insane, so much so that James immediately closed his mouth. “Two days ago, I experienced a . . . bizarre reaction to a Bordeaux. Colours just . . . appeared . . . out of nowhere, and began swirling around the room. While that was going on, strange, purple beetles began crawling all over me, yet when I blinked, they disappeared. I closed my eyes, thinking I was seeing things, but even then I saw strange shapes . . . .”
He looked directly at James. “I’ve been unable to sleep for two nights now, and I’m beginning to wonder whether I’ve gone mad. Your suggestions?”
It took a moment for James to respond, as he was focused on holding in his laughter. “Well, by all accounts,” he said at last, “I’d say that someone slipped acid into your drink. You certainly had all the symptoms.”
There ain't nothing he refuses,
Then it comes along
It comes along, and I am lifted,
I am lifted, I am lifted!
Malice blinked. “Acid? What kind of acid? Hydrochloric? Sulphuric?” He seemed to re-think that thought. “How did my stomach resist being eaten apart, then?”
“Whoa, wrong kind of acid, Mally,” James interjected. “I meant ‘acid’ as in LSD, PCP, ecstasy, cocaine, crystal meth, anything like that.” He shook his head. “You’re really not up on the street names for drugs, are you.”
The British boy stared at him. “I was given drugs.”
James grinned. “From the sounds of it . . . yeah. You were. Must’ve been a nice little trip you had, huh?”
Malice broke out in uncharacterisitic laughter; James attributed it to lack of sleep, neglecting to mention that two weeks ago, as a practical joke, he himself had slipped the LSD into the wine.
•x•
February 17th. 1145
He was working the next day on piecing together a route that would take him through the city’s sewer system from an informant’s safehouse to 25 Green Street, where there was to be a stakeout the next night. There was a planning meeting in fifteen minutes, and if he didn’t have three more routes before then . . . .
“Don’t see why we have to use the bloody sewers,” he muttered, tracing a possible route with a red felt marker. “There’d better be a shower at the stakeout . . . .”
“There is,” an Australian-accented voice said from behind him. “I jus’ finished ‘ookin’ it up.”
He turned to see Marina, wearing a set of mechanic’s coveralls, setting a large satchel down on the floor of the planning room. Grease was smeared in three places on her cheeks, along with several streaks on her outfit where she’d wiped her hands off. From the expression on her face, however, she was less than happy with her work.
“I also installed th’ antenna f’r the tranceiveh, had to rein’egrate the operatin’ system on the computehs theyah, and rewireh the electrical ou’lets so we don’ blow a fuse,” she recited, growing more unimpressed with every word.
James’ eyes widened. “Wow . . . this is more hardcore than I thought.”
“No, really? I ‘adn’t noticed.”
Turning back to the map of the city blocks, he focused on finding alternate routes from target to stakeout. He hadn’t been at it more than five minutes before the grainy image started to waver. He snorted in disgust.
“Ah, screw it. I can’t focus.”
Marina, slouched in a chair, waiting for the others to arrive, rolled her eyes. “Oh, give i’ a rest. You’re jus’ drawin’ lines; I ‘ad the ‘ard job.”
Stopping himself from making a heated retort, James was struck by the memory of the flight to Norway. Hmm . . . . In his experience, going out on the town after a bad day usually improved the mood . . . .
When I'm up I can't get down
Can't get down, can't get level
When I'm up I can't get down
Get my feet back on the ground
When I'm up I can't get down
Can't get down, can't get level
When I'm up I can't get down
Get my feet back on the ground
“Marina?”
“What.”
“Um . . . I kind of forgot, but David asked me to ask you if you’d want to go for dinner with him. Tonight.”
She looked up, blue eyes curious. “Really?”
“Yeah.” James tried a smile. “He was kind of shy about asking you, though, so he asked me to do it instead.” The Aussie girl smiled back, then looked away, staring off into space. James grinned to himself, then turned back to the city charts. She was at least considering it . . . . Good.
•x•
1920
That evening, he stood at Mei’s door, holding a Styrofoam container from the kitchens. He’d knocked once, to no answer. However, she had to be in there – he could hear movement.
His knuckles hit the whitewashed wood again, three times in quick succession. “Mei, come on. I know you’re home.”
The door opened just as he was about to knock for the third time. Baleful, vivid blue eyes glared up at him. “You want something, O’Connor?”
He held up the container. “Kitchen staff noticed you didn’t make it down for supper, asked me to bring this up for you.” He grinned. “They don’t want their favourite customer wasting away.”
The Asian girl blinked, then took the package of food. “Oh. Thanks, ai.”
She started to close the door, but James already had his foot in the way. “Hold it, hold it. Why so anti-social this evening? I mean, you’ve never exactly been the life of the party, but to miss a meal entirely . . . .” He lifted his eyebrows. “Something’s going on.”
She attempted to push to door closed against his foot; it didn’t budge. “Let me put it this way, ai. You can either move your foot, or lose it.” James stayed where he was, watching. After half a minute, Mei huffed a sigh. “Fine. Have it your way.”
She turned away, heading back into her quarters. James stepped inside, closing the door behind him and removing his shoes before he followed. She was in the kitchen, heating the food he’d brought in the microwave, glaring sullenly at the plate as it revolved.
“Mort’s ticked off at me,” she said flatly as he seated himself at the little table.
“How come?”
“Her cat got out in the hallway today, just when I was walking past,” Mei explained, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “It rubbed up against me by accident.”
James blinked. “Okay . . . . I don’t really see how Mort’s cat touching you would make her mad. Unless she was going through a bout of severe possessiveness.”
The blue eyes turned to glare at him. “Today happened to be the one day I was wearing capri pants, ai.”
“. . . . Oh.”
He just needs, something to blind him
Something to wind him up
It won't take long to find him
When it comes on strong.
Mei turned back to the microwave as the timer dinged, taking the plate down, and snagging a fork from a drawer. “So now Mort isn’t speaking to me, and Ciel is down in the medical wing, ai.”
James nodded, trying to snag a memory that was eluding him. Something about Mort and Ciel he’d heard earlier . . . . After a moment, it came.
“Well, this might cheer you up, then,” he said, offering a smile. “A couple hours ago, I overheard two med techs talking about it – they said Ciel got to them in time, that he’s on the mend. His fur probably protected him a little, too.”
The girl looked up at him, deadpan. “Why hasn’t Mort come to see me, then?”
“The guys were saying at dinner that she’d been called out on a mission – some minor bureaucrat who’s getting too big for his boots.” He stood up. “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it – the two of you always patch things up sooner or later. She’s bound to realize it wasn’t your fault.”
Mei smiled. “I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am. I’m always right.”
“Get out of my apartment, ai.”
•x•
2110
James entered the common room, weaving through the various tables and armchairs toward the long couch and bigscreen TV. Tiernan sat slumped on the cushions, watching ‘Mythbusters’ with a vacant expression.
“What’re they up to tonight?” he asked, glancing at the image. Adam Savage was in the midst of lighting Jamie Heineman’s sleeve on fire with a gleeful expression on his face.
Tiernan jumped in surprise. “Wha-?” he focused on the screen. “Oh. Um . . . I don’t know. Was zoned out, I guess.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” Eyes narrowed slightly, James watched the other’s face closely. “What’s the bee in your bonnet?”
The blue-haired boy shot him a guilty glance. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
“Pretty risky, Sprecher. You’ve got smoke coming out your ears.” He leaned closer. “One of your flirting sessions wants a serious relationship, doesn’t she.”
Wide-eyed, the other turned to face him. “Get out of my head!”
James smirked. “I don’t have to read you mind to know it, man. It’s written all over your face – you’re an open book.”
“My face is not a library,” Tiernan shot back, although he had to grin.
“I don’t see why not. People tell you to be quiet all the time.”
Wise guys are grinning, street lights are spinning
The night is just beginning, and then it comes on strong
It comes on strong, and I am lifted,
I am lifted, I am lifted!
After a couple minutes of silence, Tiernan stirred on the couch. “So, one ladies’ man to another, what the heck am I supposed to do? I mean, the girl’s nice and everything, but what if she turns out to be Chickzilla? I’ve seen waaay too many of those, and it isn’t pretty.”
James frowned contemplatively, sorting through any number of solutions. There were several variables to factor in. It all depended on an accurate reading of the person in question. “How long have you known her?”
“About two weeks, give or take.”
“How good is she about her self-esteem?”
The other snorted in derision. “Man, she make you and me look like the timid geeks of the pack.”
“Say thanks, but no thanks, then go get drunk and make some bad choices.”
Tiernan grinned again, lacing his fingers together behind his head as he turned his attention back to the television. “Fine, but you’re coming with me for the getting drunk.”
“. . . . All right, you forced me into it.”
•x•
February 18th. 0957
James buckled the bulletproof vest on over his black T-shirt, strapped on the arm protectors, and lowered the shatterproof helmet over his head. Even with all the armor, he was still nervous.
“I don’t see why I have to be the target,” he muttered, ducking through the doorway out into the snowy practice field. From here, he could see Traxius loading up his sniper rifle seventy-five feet away, on the roof of a low shed.
“Oh, don’t be such a partypooper,” Erisia’s voice said over the helmet’s comm set. “It’ll give you a chance to see just how lucky you really are.”
“Lucky enough to avoid multiple bullets?” the dark-haired agent replied doubtfully.
“We’ll see. Just get into position.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Ducking down behind a stack of straw bales, one of dozens in the field, he double-checked his armor, and his own handgun. At seventy-five feet, he wouldn’t have as good a range or sense of accuracy as Traxius, but – ironically – he was hoping to get lucky.
When I'm up I can't get down
Can't get down, can't get level
When I'm up I can't get down
Get my feet back on the ground
When I'm up I can't get down
Can't get down, can't get level
When I'm up I can't get down
Get my feet back on the ground
A quiet ping! in his ear told him the exercise had started. Instead of diving out from behind the bales, as was likely expected, he vaulted over the top, landed in a crouch, and rolled to the left, in the opposite direction from where he wanted to go.
Using this element of surprise, he made it to the next bale stack in line, and, in a continuous leapfrog action, moved from spot to spot, getting ever closer to Traxius. When he arrived at the edge of the groups of bales, he drew his gun, and aimed a triple tap at his opponent. All three shots went wide, and he was out of time, being forced to dive for cover again.
He had almost made it to his exit zone, when a bullet hit the vest near his shoulder, bowling him backwards, head over heels. He hit the ground flat on his back, the air being driven from his lungs, accompanied by Traxius’ triumphant whoop.
“Well, James, look like your luck finally ran out,” the gangster’s voice drawled from the headset.
“Yeah, well until now, I’ve dodged the bullet,” the Irish boy croaked out. Behind his faceplate, he scowled at the other. At least one of them had gotten a kick out of the whole exercise.
•x•
2235
His left arm in a sling due to a dislocated shoulder from Traxius’ shot, James knocked on Delta’s door for the fifth time with an exasperated sigh. Two weeks ago, ever since they’d had to cut their Chilean mission short and come home early, she’d been giving him the cold shoulder. Couple that with the infectious bad moods infecting most of Orycalcos, and she’d become downright murderous.
The worst part was, he knew why. He felt bad, cutting her off like he had in their hotel, but the mission had been first at that time, and –
The door opened, Delta’s face first showing surprise before wiping into an inexpressive mask. “Hi.”
He nodded a greeting. “Hey. Mind if I come in?”
She shrugged, opening the door a little wider, allowing him to pass. “Suit yourself.” Once he was inside, she shut it, brushing past him as she walked deeper into the small apartment, turning on the lights. She was in a bathrobe and nightshirt – apparently she’d been on the verge of going to bed.
“Listen, Del, I, uh . . . just wanted to . . . to make sure you were okay,” he began. “There’s a lot of the February blahs going around, and it’s making people a little bit . . . not themselves . . . .”
“I’m fine,” she said curtly, standing a short distance away, arms folded. She tilted her chin at his arm. “What happened to you?”
“Training session. Traxius finally succeeded in hitting me with a bullet.”
Her eyebrows lifted, face beginning to show the first signs of warming up. “Really? Are you okay?”
He waved it off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. But really, I don’t think you are.” He watched her face close up again. “After what happened in Chile, I – “
Delta shot him a shut-up-now glare. “I’m fine, James. I’m over it.”
Oh it comes on strong,
And I am lifted.
It comes on strong, and I am lifted.
I am lifted, I am lifted!
He crossed the space between them, moving to stand so that his height towered over hers. “Judging by the fact that you’re blushing like mad, I’m gonna have to say I don’t believe you.”
A muscle in her cheek jumped as she looked up at him. “Okay. Not really over it . . . .”
Perfect timing. James’ lip twitched upward in his trademark smirk. “No? Hmm . . . . It seems I might owe you something then.” His head tilted to one side in innocent curiosity. “What do you say?”
“. . . James O’Connor, what took you so long?”
WHEN I’M UP I CAN’T GET DOWN
CAN’T GET DOWN, CAN’T GET LEVEL
WHEN I’M UP I CAN’T GET DOWN
GET MY FEET BACK ON THE GROUND
WHEN I’M UP I CAN’T GET DOWN
CAN’T GET DOWN, CAN’T GET LEVEL
WHEN I’M UP I CAN’T GET DOWN
GET MY FEET BACK ON THE GROUND
