I watched the A-Team for the first time recently, and Murdoch somehow inspired me to write this fic. Don't ask me how, I'll NEVER understand. XD
Either way, this first chapp might be a little crappy, since I'm still trying to figure out how to properly master Cody's personality (it's been forever since I saw the movies, so what, sue me why don't you.)
Any advice on how to improve that (if it needs improving, which I'm sure it does in one way or another. Damn Cody Banks, making things so difficult on me), please don't hesitate to tell me.
...Nicely. You'll get cookies. XD
Well, anyway. I saw there was only one Cody Banks OC story, and it was pretty short, and I noticed all these stories on here (since there're only 6 not counting mine) mainly deal with (arguably) sane people.
...Whatever happened to good old reckless, lack-of-self-preservation crazies?
Exactly. You know you wanna know how crazy this fic might get. :D
Well, read. Review. ENJOOOY! :D
Cody sighed heavily as he entered the agency, his nose practically touching his coffee. He had heard a lot of times from fellow agents that smelling it woke you up better.
So far? He still felt like crap.
You'd think after all the missions he'd been on, and the two summers he'd spent at camp, he'd be used to the daily grind of being a secret agent.
Then again, Cody supposed going out with Nicki Stevenson – the hottest chick in the tenth grade – last night had kind of shot his curfew to hell.
How he managed to land a date with her in the first place, he had no idea. He also had no idea what had happened in the movie they saw –
"Banks, get your nose out of that coffee before you burn it off," Monica advised before sipping her own Starbucks, standing with a hand on her hip on the other side of the door he'd opened.
Man, he had spaced out again.
Since when have I started opening doors mid-spaceout? ...Usually I run into them, if anything... Whatever.
"Have a seat," she added, a file now in her hand.
Cody did so, hoping he wouldn't fall asleep while she was talking. "What've we got this time?" he asked somewhat warily.
The last mission had left him with a ton of mosquito bites and a few stitches on his head, and that was AFTER his broken leg had just healed.
Monica opened her mouth to speak, but then the door opened, and in walked The Director. She and Cody stood up, and he shook hands with them both. "Long time no see, Cody. This case is highly sensitive, and I wanted to make sure you got all the information."
He groaned inwardly. Great. More bruises than usual in this one, I can just tell. Not that a mission never included bruises, but he knew already by the way their jaws were set and their foreheads were creased that this one was going to be a major pain in his a-
"This mission cannot afford any mishaps, Banks," The Director started as Monica opened her file and laid some photos out on the stainless-steel desk in front of him.
Can they ever?
"One of our affiliates in New Orleans, a huge provider of our governmental funds, has a bit of a problem."
Money can't buy happiness, I guess, Cody thought with a slight smirk at how cynical he was this morning before looking at the photos Monica had spread out.
In them was a girl about his age doing various things, usually walking around outside or running laps on a track – some were in black-and-white, some in color. The color ones revealed she had bright auburn hair and dark eyes. Her skin looked kind of sallow, almost like she was sick, and the dark circles under her eyes only made her look sicker. Almost like she'd been inside for way too long.
Even though the majority of the pictures were taken outside. That was when Cody noticed the building in the background of the pictures.
"...You're reading that correctly," Monica said before he had even finished reading the name of the building.
"Meet Remy Wilson, middle child of Fred Wilson. Fred's the CEO and founder of Wilson Enterprises. She's been a patient in a psychiatric hospital for almost a year."
"...Um...How to put this...Why're you so worried about it? Is she so crazy she'll break out or something?"
The Director chuckled. "Actually, it's the exact opposite. We need you to help break her out."
"...Huh?" Cody blurted, making them both sigh.
"Her father had her put there for her mental state, but we view her a bit differently. She may be a little...shall we say, unbalanced about certain things, but...she has great potential. We need to get her out of that facility without alerting her family.
"See, we aren't the only ones seeking her out. Her father's company handles the bank accounts of some of the richest people in not only the Continental US, but some of Europe. And it's so far pretty successful – holding a Wilson for ransom would tip the status quo quite a bit for us all, not just Fred Wilson. And which Wilson kid would be the best to snatch? The one locked up in a mental hospital, of course. Do you follow?"
Honestly, Cody didn't really see what the big deal was. He figured they were overreacting, like they loved to do these days. But like he had a real say in the matter.
"Yeah, I follow."
"Good. Go see Kumar, I'm sure your gear's ready by now."
Cody sighed heavily. "...I still don't get that Aston Martin, do I?"
"No, but you don't get a retainer this time, either."
He made a point of drinking his coffee while Monica and The Director smirked at Kumar's comment. "See, Banks? I'm so excited about your gadgets, I came to you for once!"
Remy held up her masterpiece with pride after being hunched over it for three hours – a pocket knife made out of paper clips, Spearmint gum, a neon shoelace, and a couple strands of her roommate's hair (per her request).
Abby – her roomie – clapped gleefully, laughing uncontrollably. "My DNA's in that! Mine!" Remy pouted to herself. "...I wish I'd put my own DNA on it."
"No way, MY hair only!"
"...What about spitting, can I spit on it?"
Abby shrugged, so Remy did just that. She spit all over it, knowing Abby would tell anyone else who tried to touch it that she had done it. Now they'd never touch it.
The fellow patients thought Remy's insanity was contagious. See, Remy had figured out within a few weeks of being in the hospital that she was on a different level of insanity than the others.
While some of them were bipolar, or had some other type of mental illness, or something like that, Remy was more of a just plain reckless and stupid kind of insane.
She considered her daily ritual of disguising herself as a fellow nurse, or a fellow doctor, or another patient, as child's play.
The last time she'd cooked something at home, she'd used lighter fluid for a non-stick cooking spray to add some "good, old-fashioned Creole zest".
Her whole time spent here had been used to make random gadgets, or weapons, or props for her disguises.
Sometimes she wrote.
Sometimes she sang and danced, purposely getting the other patients to join in just to piss the orderlies off.
And sometimes she demanded a straightjacket just so she could try for hours on end to get herself out of it. Once, she almost succeeded, but then they made her take it off since it was the only one left and they had a patient suffering from seizures out on the east wing.
Often, the people in charge gave her quite a bit of leeway. They knew to do otherwise was a real dumbass move on their part.
Acting crazy was the only thing that kept her sane; how ironic, right?
Remy looked out the window longingly. In exchange for all the leeway inside, they wouldn't let her go outside unsupervised.
So she hadn't been outside in over five months, preferring to be either outside alone or not outside at all. Her appearance was suffering from it, she could tell. Her skin had been nice and radiant, sun-kissed, before she was admitted.
Not anymore. Now it just looked about as sick as everyone thought her head was.
She had a feeling they'd perform a lobotomy on her if they could, just out of curiosity to see what could make people as complex as she was.
She could be so complex, she didn't even get herself sometimes.
She was too complex – that was the only explanation Remy could think of as to why she turned down her first and maybe only ticket out of the psych ward.
It happened not long after she had finished her pocketknife masterpiece. Dinner was going to be ready in about an hour, and she had just walked out of her latest group therapy session when a nurse ran over to her.
"Remy Wilson? Doctor Klein wants to see you in his office."
Immediately, she started racking her brain, wondering if they'd found her latest gadget. She wasn't even allowed to have a spork, for Pete's sake, so if they found out she had a made-from-scratch pocketknife...
Then she realized that if they had found that, they would've seen what else she was stashing under her bed, and then she'd be in REAL huge crap.
Needless to say, her knees were shaky by the time she managed to shuffle her way to his office. Dr. Klein was sitting behind his desk with his fingers pressed together, as per usual, and there was a guy in one of the two chairs placed on the other side of her desk.
Her mom and dad had sat in those chairs not too long ago, discussing her admission into the hospital.
"Remy, take a seat," he said warmly. She eyed the guy in the other chair about as suspiciously and carefully as he was eyeing her.
She plopped rather ungracefully into the chair, folding her arms across her middle and frowning almost immediately. "...'Sup."
He ignored that, used to her by now. "How are ya, Remy?"
"'Cause I asked nicely."
"And how're your group sessions going?"
"Better than my sessions with you."
Without any further warning, Remy stroked an imaginary beard underneath her chin while donning a British accent. "Mmm, indeed. I concur completely, old chap."
"Ahh, jolly good."
It was quite obvious the new kid on the block was completely confused by how easily Dr. Klein and herself were interacting, but that's the price one paid for being new.
"Okay, drop the tomfoolery," she said suddenly, jerking her thumb at the guy to her right. Guy In Question jumped at the sudden movement. "Who's this stiff?"
"He's come to take you home."
She stared at him dubiously. "...Erm...What?"
"You're free to leave."
"Remy, honestly, clean out your ears. This is a hospital, for crying out loud, we're supposed to promote good health."
She narrowed her eyes. "Now's not the time for jokes, Doc. What the hell do you mean I'm 'free to leave'? How come I wasn't 'free to leave' when I wanted to?"
"Because you weren't ready. Now you are."
She scoffed. "Says who, a few Ben Franklins?"
The guy to her right paled slightly at that, but Dr. Klein was unfazed. As usual. He simply returned to pressing his fingers together. "Go ahead, Remy. Take a few minutes to compose yourself, go pack your stuff, and with a snip of our scissors on your hospital bracelet, you're officially released."
The whole room was dead silent for a good ten minutes, and she could practically feel the guy to her right trying not to squirm. She eyed him occasionally out of the corner of her eye.
He had dark blonde hair, almost brown, with admittedly nice blue eyes. Not that nice eyes got you very far in life.
He couldn't be much older than her, if he was older at all. So what the hell was he doing here coming to get her?
An intern for dad's bank, maybe...But...I highly doubt it...What in the name of Sam Hill...
Suddenly, so abruptly it startled even Dr. Klein, Remy whirled in her seat to look at the guy. "Lookie here, bucko. I dunno why you're here, but I'm not leaving. Especially not with some stranger. Got me?"
"Doc, this is the one place I have a say-so in. I'm staying. And nothing you can say or do'll convince me otherwise."
"...How about a cookie?"
"THAT TRICK MAY HAVE WORKED WITH A ROOM TO MYSELF, BUT IT WON'T WORK THIS TIME!" she shouted before turning her glare back onto the other guy.
"Sorry for your trouble, but I'm not comin'. Bye, now," she said simply before standing up and stomping off.
Dr. Klein smiled at Cody apologetically as he gaped at her back. "...Remy's a bit...stubborn."
"Is there any way we can just force her outta here?" Cody asked somewhat desperately, feeling a little uneasy.
The way she'd glared at him, it had made him feel like he'd been chewed out by her without even realizing it. And the way she'd mentioned bribery made her wonder if she'd seen them exchange some money to get her out of the psych ward a bit early.
Cody watched her stomp down the hall as the doctor spoke, Remy's white pajama pants swishing in time with her white-slippered movements as she continued to walk at a furious pace before turning a corner abruptly, her messy red hair flying every which way as she shook her head angrily.
"Technically? No. I've already signed the forms saying I find her to be clinically sane, meaning as of twenty minutes ago, she's here of her own will. And we don't force anyone out until they're ready; it's our policy."
"...Can't we just make an exception for this one? If she doesn't leave, she's just endangering herself," he protested.
Dr. Klein chuckled, straightening his already-straight stack of papers before putting them in a file stamped "Wilson, Remy Michelle".
"Tell you what, kid. Why don't you try talkin' some sense into her? If you can get her to willingly leave the hospital grounds – without ripping your hair out in frustration would be a miracle – then she's free to go. Otherwise, it's a no-go. We'll get sued for everything we've got if she goes whining to her daddy about being forced out of the mental ward."
The way he phrased it left Cody with no choice but to chuckle at the sheer irony of that statement – whining about being forced out of the mental ward.
"...Why doesn't she want to leave, anyways? What's so great about this place – no offense," he said quickly.
The doctor grinned. "Didn't you hear her? She runs the show around here. See, Mr. Banks, there's something you should realize right off the bat about Remy Wilson. She's reckless and insane, sure, but she's crazy like a fox, too. And it's best to let her run the show. Otherwise, she'll eat you alive. ...Believe me, I should know. She poured paprika on my arm when I dozed off at my desk and poked me with a fork until I woke up, then she threatened to light my arm on fire and eat it toasted if I didn't make sure she got her Pop-Tarts every morning without fail."
Cody shook his head in disbelief. What kind of place was this where the patients were allowed to roam wherever they wanted – much less in the doctors' offices at night – anyway?
Then he sighed as the doctor laughed at him as he went down the hallway to find her room. "Room 138 B, on the right," he called out. "Good luck! ...You'll need it."
Cody sighed again, shaking his head and wishing he had some more coffee – or better yet, an energy drink. "I knew I shoulda put my phone on silent this morning..."