"I don't really...spar."

It had been three months and he was still wearing it.

He sat in his new apartment…a small, stark, fairly depressing affair, and stared at the platinum band around his left ring finger, marveling. In so many ways, it symbolized his whole damn marriage…it was the one thing of any real value or beauty he owned.

It was the one really good thing he had.

Taking off the ring meant he wasn’t married anymore…and if he wasn’t married anymore, it meant that she was dead.

Tom shut his eyes, bending his head forward to rest against his own fist, feeling the cool solidity of the metal, the ring digging into his forehead almost painfully. It was a pain he welcomed, a pain he needed. It was physical and real and tangible, not this hot writhing burn in his gut and chest that had nothing to do with pressure on skin or damage to tissue or flow of blood.

Getting attached meant losing, he’d always known that…known it since he was twenty one and left home to start a new life for himself. He’d killed himself only to be reborn, and he’d learned…he’d learned that friendships in the field led to pain when those friends died. He learned that girls who got too close asked questions and demanded answers, answers he wasn’t ready to give anyone.

Then she came along…the girl that didn’t push. Didn’t ask, didn’t care about anything but what she saw…fuck, he couldn’t even *think* her name right now…

His other hand came up to rub his fist, his head lifting just enough so his fingers could curl together…smoothing over cool metal turning warm under flesh, platinum that never got a chance to wear with the passage of time…

He wasn’t quite aware of taking it off, only that his finger felt suddenly cool at the base, slightly damp from perspiration beneath the ring.

It was almost hot in his palm, laying there…like a living thing that was no longer alive. It felt that way, too, as it slowly turned cool, the heat of his palm not enough to keep the wedding ring warm.

Soon it was cold in his hand…cold as death.

And only then was he really a widower…only then was his wife really dead and gone.

Muse: Thomas Grace
Fandom: ALIAS
Words: 381

[locked from all members of APO except Rachel]

You want a secret? Seriously? Pick one. Man, I’m a goddamn *spy.* There’s not much in my life that’s *not* a secret to someone or other. My wife knew I worked for the government, but she never knew the full extent of what I did. The early days, when I *used* to have friends outside work? They had no clue how I really spent my time between punching in and punching out.

My life is all about secrets…they’re what keeps my world turning.

Still, even from some of my own co-workers, people I call friends, I have a secret or two…like killing Allan Korman. Rachel’s the only one that knows and those mad hacker skills would REALLY piss me off if she wasn’t so damn cute about it and that’s the way I intend to keep it. Not out of fear for the repercussions, not by a long shot. Since he died, I’ve really been able to sleep at night for the first time in years.

I like to think that I got a small measure of retribution for my wife…that wherever she is, she can rest a little easier.

That she knows what she meant to me…that I never meant for any of this to happen.

It’s a hell of a thing…when the dead are gone, there’s really nothing you can do to show them you still care. Unless, of course, they’ve been murdered…and if you’re in a position to do something about it? You have a rare chance to make things right.

And now…somewhere out there, I like to think she knows now…what I would have done to keep her safe if I could have. What I *will* do…because now that I’ve found someone again, as God as my witness, I’ll do a hell of a lot more than just kill to protect her.

[/locked]


Muse: Thomas Grace
Fandom: ALIAS
Words: 306

For a lot of years, I worked as many deep cover assignments as I could get my hands on. Now deep cover for the most part? Puts you in a place where you’re about as alone as you can possibly get. The CIA might know most of what you’re doing...but if you get into deep shit, nobody’s coming to save you. You do what you have to in order to stay alive.

I’ve done that kinda shit...anything to survive an op. And the hell of it is, a lot of that translates into everyday life. It weeds out most, if not all of your moral scruples until you don’t have many left. You’ll do anything to achieve your goals, ethical and otherwise. You stop caring *what* you have to do, because it ceases to matter.

The means just go away...and the end is all that’s left. The end is all that matters.

I can have anything I want in the world...’cause there’s nothing I won’t do to get it.

Nothing.

Muse: Thomas Grace
Fandom: Alias
Words: 174

[locked to all personnel at APO]

I’ve already done it.

I killed Allen Korman…my reasons are various and somewhat complicated, but it all boils down to one thing.

I had to do something to make it all right.

It wasn’t just Korman that killed my wife…it was me. Who I am, what I do…she took the bullet that should have been mine. She died and I was spared, and I don’t know why…I probably never will. But I know I was responsible…and in the life I lead, the work I do, there’s only one real way I know to get justice.

There was only one thing I could do for her, and that’s give a little dose of karma to the man that pulled the trigger.

One of them, anyway…I had my death wish, but Gibson got in the way of that. I know it sounds a little harsh, but that’s not how I mean it. See, I felt responsible for my wife’s death for too long…I honestly believed I deserved what I got, that I could even the scales going out with a good deed to sort of wash away my sins.

There’s an old adage that says living well is the best revenge…I think maybe living, *period*, is the best revenge. God knows it’s a lot harder than dying.

I’ll pay for my sins that way, I figure…that includes Korman. Still? I don’t think I’m really going to suffer many consequences, because there *is* a reward in all this…something to win, to deserve if I can manage it.

At the end of the day…there’s the blue-eyed guardian angel I’ve got at my shoulder.

[/locked]


Muse: Thomas Grace
Fandom: Alias
Words: 269

I’ll admit, I don’t read much Shakespeare? But I gotta agree with whoever said that right there. There’s a lotta people who surf through life, thinking this is all just a game...fat chance.

Putting up appearances, making a big deal out of the small stuff...it’s all so much bullshit. You gotta get your hands dirty if you want to get anywhere in this world. People who think they can skate by without paying a price for anything are either high or idiots.

You pay for what you want, and if you can get to the top without busting a few heads? You don’t deserve to be there. Now I’m not saying that you *have* to hurt people to get anywhere...physically, anyway, but in this day and age? Ambition and power are seriously frowned upon, if you get my meaning. You don’t take bullshit and you get called an asshole...you slug someone for talking shit? You’re a loose canon.

You have to be willing to make a mess if you want to survive, and if you are? Sometimes the mess is avoidable. But if it’s not...you do what you have to and you move forward.

locked to all personnel at APO

And if you have to hide things from the people you care about in order to do it? Well...like anything, sometimes it’s just a necessary evil.

/locked

Muse: Thomas Grace
Fandom: ALIAS
Words: 226

Do I believe in ghosts? Absolutely. Do I believe in spirits? Now that’s a little trickier.

I loved my wife...probably more than I should have. So much so that I forgave her when I found out she was cheating on me. A string of guys, all while I was out on different assignments. I still remember the night she came clean...crying, sobbing, holding onto me like her life depended on it.

Even back then, I’d been going for the deep cover missions that kept me away. I was in no real position to condemn her, so I didn’t.

To this day, I still remember just how fabulous the sex was that night. Funny thing is? It only got better every time. I took a break from the heavy stuff, accepted a few short-term assignments. We’d never been closer...there were days when I actually felt halfway human. Guess all that shit about forgiveness is the real deal...it *is* divine. Once the air was clear, we were happier than we’d ever been...maybe even really happy for the first time.

Lasted all of six months before she died.

Now? The only ghosts I see are in my sleep...black and white, no shades of grey. Death-white skin and jet black blood, burned into my memory from crime scene photos. White face, black eyes, all from a mugshot in a file folder.

And in the time since her death, her ghost stalks me in the form of the men she fucked...all of them have managed to track me down in the years since she was murdered. Verbal beating or physical, her face is in their eyes...each and every one of them.

[locked to all personnel at APO and within the CIA]

Then I finally stood before the last man who had her...and ghosts in black and white swirled around me, chanting vicious encouragements without saying a word. Black blood, white flesh, a face in a photo from a file folder and a computer screen, complete with an address.

I don’t know about the kind of ghosts that live with the monsters under the bed...but I do believe in Death, in all his glossy black-and-white glory. If ghosts are real, they answer to him, and he sat there eating away at my brain as I stood before the man who murdered my wife.

But instead of reaching for my gun as he stammered and stuttered out a half-assed explanation, I retreated yet again...safe behind my walls, inside my head, because even revenge wasn’t worth risking the suffering.

It wasn’t worth risking my freedom and my job...the only real security blankets I had left.

And at the moment...I had a message for The Cardinal.

[/locked]

Muse: Thomas Grace
Fandom: Alias
Words: 450

( I didnt start out like this. )

Muse: Thomas Grace
Fandom: Alias
Words: 567

1) What is one thing you have learned from your past?

Tom flew back as the fist that flew caught him, sending him flat on his back. Pain erupted through his spine and his head...a pain he welcomed, to a degree. He ought to have seen this coming a long time ago, but what reason did he have to think that this would be easy?

Rough hands caught the front of his shirt, then grunted as he was slammed against the wall. Narrowing his eyes, he glowered at his attacker...Bill? Phil? Hell, he didn’t even remember the guy’s name anymore...only that he didn’t like the guy. And Bill/Phill didn’t like him right back.

Figures that he’d walk right into the bar where his ex’s new soulmate was knocking back a few.

Tom finally made a move as if to speak, panting heavily as he raised a hand. “Seriously, something has to be done about your breath.”

“Oh yeah? How about this?”

As Bill/Phil smacked him again, Tom had to wonder just how many more of these guys he was going to run into. It had been three years, but apparently *she* couldn’t leave well enough alone. Bad enough she’d snapped him in two, emotionally, now every guy she fucked seemed to think that Tom was the bad guy. Then again...he wasn’t really surprised.

The dull smack of his body hitting the table, then the floor, didn’t really surprise Tom any more than the outbreak of the fight had. Couldn’t be the bad breath remark he’d made...maybe it was the comparison of Bill/Phil’s dick to the toothpick on the olive in his martini...nah, that couldn’t be the reason he got pissed...

“Jackass.”

Tom lifted his head just enough to watch Bill/Phil straighten his coat, turn and walk out the door. //Yeah...see if you’re laughing when she fucks *your* life up.// he thought to himself.

By now, Tom knew he was just another notch in his ex-wife’s belt, and after three years he was okay with that. If nothing else, it had taught him that trusting anybody but himself was a recipe for disaster. The past always came back to bite you in the ass, especially when it came to women.

Rolling over on his back, he stared up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to get his vision to dim from pain-filled red to normal when a figure appeared, looming over him.

“Thomas Grace?”

Tom blinked, frowning curiously...or as curiously as he could, as bad as his head was pounding. “Who wants to know?”

The man over him just stared, features inscrutable and hard. “Let’s take a walk.”

Tom thought only a minute before accepting the hand that was extended down to help him up a second later. Whoever he was...he liked this guy already.


2) Describe a dream that you've had. How did the dream make you feel?

I don’t dream much...guess I’m just not a real imaginative guy or something. I don’t usually remember them enough to talk about them afterwards...they have some common threads, though. When I dream, nobody has a face. Every person I talk to...features blur and lines fall away until I can’t see who I’m talking to, but I *know* who I’m talking to. It’s just...something in my gut. Still, it spooks me a little when I can’t look someone in the eye...even if it’s in my own head.

My dreams make me feel detached, too...out of place, alien. They happen in locations I’ve never been, and they’re wildly disproportionate. I might be in a room no bigger than an office cubicle, and so far up I’m lost in cloud cover, or in a field filled with grasses twelve to fifteen feet tall. Might be funny if it were a cartoon, but it’s always so goddamn real it scares me.

You want to know how my dreams make me feel? They drive me into work...the only thing that distracts me. It’s funny, but I never do dream about work. It’s like a safe zone, if that makes any sense. Ain’t that a fucking riot...I feel safer dodging bullets than I do in my own head.

Lotta times these days it drives me into the gym down at APO when I’m pulling a late one...usually I end up going to the mat with Gibson. She’s a nice girl...she’s different. She’s a techno geek in her bones, and a rookie if I ever saw one...but she’s got an edge. Just needs to be honed.

Know how I know? I dreamed the other night...and her face was the only one I could see.