[March 9th] [Monkees-related] Early Morning Blues and Greens

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Early Morning Blues and Greens
Day/Theme: March 9th - There are no Save Points in Real Life
Series: Monkees-related (Characters from the episode Alias Micky Dolenz)
Character/Pairing: Tony Ferano, Baby Face Morales
Rating: K+/PG


Early Morning Blues and Greens
By Lucky_Ladybug

Notes: The characters are not mine (except Alice) and the story is. For years I’ve wanted to do this introspective piece, largely inspired by the song of the same title. It’s always reminded me of my backstory for Tony in my Prisms of No Color verse. The prompt There are no save points in real life at 31 Days on Livejournal is also partial inspiration. There are a couple of brief but important references that show I’m still setting the series in the present day, which I don’t think detract from it in any way.


The house was always quiet at this time of morning.

He appreciated that. When he woke up, the last thing he wanted was to immediately be plunged into a world of chaos.

What he did not appreciate was the moment when he first began to wake up. Mornings were usually cold, both literally and imagined. When he opened his eyes and found himself alone in his bed, as he had for the past several years, there was a chill in his heart far worse than the lack of proper heating in the house.

He dressed and opened his door, stepping into the hall. Idly he glanced at the other doors, which were closed. Their occupants were probably still asleep.

He moved down the stairs, being careful of the ones that creaked. He had long ago figured out the pattern for keeping the descent silent, which was good for both him and the others. The first time he had discovered a noisy step, it had squealed so loudly that Baby Face had been startled from his light slumber and shot his gun out the door, demanding quiet.

And speak of the devil, he was sprawled on the beat-up couch in the living room. He had likely come in late again, probably stone drunk, and had decided to crash on the couch instead of bothering to go upstairs to his room. It was a semi-frequent occurrence.

Tony sighed, keeping a wary watch on the gangster as he walked past into the kitchen. To his relief, Baby Face never stirred.

Before long he had made a pot of coffee and was sinking down at the table with a mug. Its warmth, and the steam rising from the top, helped lessen the morning chill. But the taste would never win any prizes. He glowered at it but kept his hands around the mug for the moment.

It was times like this, when he was alone and could sort through his thoughts, that all of this felt so surreal. He was living in an abandoned house with three criminals. And he was one himself. They had pulled off a robbery not that long ago and were currently undercover, waiting for the heat to die down.

Once, some time back, he had happened to catch the movie Goodfellas on television. The main character’s opening declaration, that he had always wanted to be a gangster, had left him in bitter disbelief. Why would anyone want, and to that end actively choose, such a lifestyle?

Even Baby Face had not wanted it. It was the path that had opened to him after the crime boss Ambrosius Eduardo had taken him in, and he had accepted and embraced it then, as it made a good outlet for his anger and his desire to gain power over the people who had abused and oppressed him, but he had not actively considered that avenue before.

And as for Tony, he had once been Baby Face’s worst enemy—the police detective assigned to bring him and the rest of the gang in. He had been an honest cop, sincerely wanting to uphold the law, until right on the hills of that he had become too involved in an investigation to catch the men who had been stalking his wife. He had gone to any lengths to gather information on them, including extortion and illegal entry. And when he had set up a gambling ring as a trap, he had ended up falling into it himself and becoming addicted.

He gripped the mug tighter. Then Alice had been murdered and his enemies had framed him for it. He had been forced to run for his life.

And he had run right to Baby Face’s gang. Well, after trying to kill Baby Face first. At the end of his rope and needing someone to take the bag, he had blamed the young gangster for his downfall. But Baby Face had talked him out of it—and out of shooting him.

Tony had to admit that Baby Face had been right—it had not been his fault. Actually, Baby Face had tried to give Tony advice and warnings several times during their unusual encounters. Baby Face had seen more clearly than Tony as to what was happening. Tony had not given that enough heed. And in the end, perhaps that, as well as his own weaknesses, had been his downfall.

In the beginning, even when he had gone with Baby Face and the gang, he had never intended for it to become permanent. He had gone with them only because he had had nowhere else to go, with the dirty cops trying to kill him and the honest cops having been fed lies about his dangerous nature and given orders to shoot him on sight. At that time, he had still hoped to prove his innocence in the murder of his wife and that he was not a deadly psychopath. Maybe he had even wanted to reclaim his position as a respected detective.

But he had soon realized that he could not travel with the gang without becoming one of them. It had started gradually at first, with him agreeing to drive the getaway car during robberies. Yet before long he had become a more active participant, making plans with Baby Face and the others as to the best way to go about the crimes. And that had evolved into him joining them in the capers. Although he had eventually been cleared of the trumped-up charges against him, he had crafted other, true charges by his own hands.

He was not proud of what he had become. And the very thought of Alice ever seeing him now was unbearable—not that he believed there was any way she could. To be fair, he did not know what to believe. He did not want to build a false hope that there was something beyond this life. And if there was, it was doubtful that he would ever be able to reunite with Alice. If anything, he would burn in Hell.

If there were a way to go back and change what happened, would he take it? With his luck, he would probably only make it worse. The fictional stories about the past being changed only making the future more chaotic made sense to him. Nothing ever turned out right; why would that?

Baby Face’s intense pessimism had rubbed off on him. Not that he had ever been particularly optimistic, but he had grown bitter and cold over the years.

And yet, apparently he was still capable of showing kindness at times. He had gone out of his way to ensure the other gangsters’ and The Monkees’ safety when they had been trapped in the burning warehouse, instead of only concerning himself with his own escape. Perhaps some semblance of his old self, the police detective, still lingered under the frost. Perhaps there was even a way of bringing that side of his personality more fully to the surface.

Yet even if he could, he could not return to that time in his life or hope to recreate it. After what the dirty cops in the precinct had done to frame him for his wife’s murder, he did not know that he would want to be a police officer again.

Nor did he know that he would want to turn against the gangsters with whom he had associated for so long now. He had already done that too, during the time when he and Baby Face had waged war with each other following Baby Face’s escape from prison. But they had since mended the damage, having determined it was more profitable to work together.

He sipped at the coffee again. He had learned the truth of Baby Face’s warnings the hard way. First and foremost, when one began dabbling in crime, it became a pit that swallowed the hapless soul and made it nearly impossible to climb out.

He had never wanted to be a gangster, but after everything, there was a part of him that liked it. Perhaps it was the exhilaration of the heists and the getaways. Perhaps it was his bitter side, finally set free after having repressed it for years. The world had turned against him and cared nothing for his problems; he owed it nothing. He had long ago grown tired of the hypocrisy of many of the supposedly law-abiding citizens, and of giving only to have everything taken away from him in turn.

I’m sorry, Alice. I’m not the man you married.

Baby Face stirred in the living room, muttering something unintelligible.

Tony sighed. The stillness of the morning had been broken. But maybe that was a good thing; he did not want to think about these subjects too long.

Within a few minutes Baby Face was off the couch and shuffling into the kitchen. Both his hat and his hair were askew, but from his expression, he had too miserable of a hangover to care.

“Coffee any good?” he mumbled.

Tony shrugged. “It won’t poison you. That’s about all I can say for it.”

A mocking sneer crept over the young gangster’s features. “Why do you even bother making it?” he said. “It always comes out wrong.”

And it’s not the only thing, Tony thought to himself. Life doesn’t come out so great, either.

But he pushed those feelings aside. “I’m going to get it right,” he responded.

Baby Face laughed, mostly to himself, as he poured himself a small amount and reached for a nearby bottle of whiskey for flavoring.

Tony watched him in disbelief. “Didn’t you have enough of that last night?” he asked.

Baby Face tipped the bottle and added some of the contents to the mug. “I don’t like sugar and I’d drop dead before I’d put milk in coffee,” he said.

Tony shook his head. “It’s your stomach,” he said.