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31_days2005-09-19 11:56 pm
tortillafactory.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-09-19 11:56 pm
[Sept. 19] [James Bond] Damsel
[Sept. 19] [James Bond]
Title: Damsel
Day/Theme: Sept. 19 - Dante in hell
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond/Alice (OFC)
Rating: PG-13
Note: This is the third part of a series beginning with Mockingbird and Parade. Deals with a sensitive subject, so approach with care.
She stared at him in such a strange way, there was almost no question in his mind where she'd seen him before.
Odd, running into her like this. But, Bond realized, most of his life had been a string of improbable coincidences. Either there was a God, or there was such a thing as a sixth sense. Or possibly both.
When he looked her direction, she hastily looked away. He had never seen her before in his life. But she had obviously had quite a good look at him - on the other side of a one-way mirror.
Or, alternately, she was just a bit mad. Bond hadn't ruled out that option just yet.
After about an hour she got up and left. Bond sat in the cafe for a while longer, nursing a cup of espresso and staring at a blank notebook. It had been almost another full month, and the DNA results had finally come back - there was no match, of course, not even remotely. He was almost disgusted with himself for being pleased. He already knew. He was not the hellspawn for which they searched.
So, who was?
None of your business, he tried to convince himself. Except that it was. A specific target like that - a veritable attack, and with so little evidence to go on! They just wanted to get his attention. It was probably some kind of trap. All right, so he would walk into it, but knowingly, and with eyes wide open. With M's permission or not, he would investigate.
The next week-end found him in the same cafe again - he was inexorably drawn to it, perhaps hoping to see the woman again. He didn't know and didn't care. Following his whims always seemed to serve him, so why not?
He spent Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning at one of its small wicker tables, and was beginning to lose hope when she walked in.
It was her. There was no question in his mind. She had that same pale blonde hair and the sweet, pretty face. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, and when she saw him, she stopped, turned her eyes down, and shuffled in his direction. This surprised him, and he quickly swept up the loose papers into his notebook and looked up at her.
"Um - hello," she said. "I..."
"Saw me a few days ago, but I didn't see you? I'm afraid I didn't appear to best advantage. My apologies."
Her eyes widened. "How -"
He shrugged. "Lucky guess. Don't worry, I didn't see you there. But you - looked at me last week in exactly the way I'd imagine you might, if you saw me in an identification parade. Forgive me, but..."
"No, no, I'm sorry!" She said quickly, looking rather awkward. She glanced at the empty chair.
"You can sit down," said Bond, "if you like." Truth be told, as he'd realized later, it wasn't just the way she looked at him - it was her, her whole demeanor, the way she looked and walked that screamed victim to him. He wondered briefly if sexual predators had that same sense.
A little shudder went through him.
"Thank you." She slid into the chair and, hands flat on the table, fixed her eyes on the napkin-holder. "I knew straightaway it wasn't you. Because of your eyes."
Smiling, Bond said, "Thanks, I think."
There was a hint of a smile on her face, as well. "I'm sorry to bother you, but my therapist said I could talk to you if I wanted."
"I'm awfully glad of that. And you're not being a bother - you oughtn't to apologise so much."
Her mouth opened to say I'm sorry, but she caught herself just in time. Her bashful smile made Bond's heart fill - he wanted to say something, something clever to alleviate the awkwardness. But there were no words. And she, so unassuming and skittish, ought to be treated with tenderness. Any man who couldn't see that -
Any man who would take a thing of shared pleasure and make it an act of violence and brutality -
In that moment Bond decided he would find this man, even if he had to go to the inner circles of Hell to do it. There was no turning back now. A simple twist of fate had left him with this task, and he would not rest until it was done.
"I'm Alice, by the way," she said.
"Lovely to meet you. I'm James."
And I will find him. You can't know it's me, but God help me, I promise I'll find him.
No matter what.
Title: Damsel
Day/Theme: Sept. 19 - Dante in hell
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond/Alice (OFC)
Rating: PG-13
Note: This is the third part of a series beginning with Mockingbird and Parade. Deals with a sensitive subject, so approach with care.
She stared at him in such a strange way, there was almost no question in his mind where she'd seen him before.
Odd, running into her like this. But, Bond realized, most of his life had been a string of improbable coincidences. Either there was a God, or there was such a thing as a sixth sense. Or possibly both.
When he looked her direction, she hastily looked away. He had never seen her before in his life. But she had obviously had quite a good look at him - on the other side of a one-way mirror.
Or, alternately, she was just a bit mad. Bond hadn't ruled out that option just yet.
After about an hour she got up and left. Bond sat in the cafe for a while longer, nursing a cup of espresso and staring at a blank notebook. It had been almost another full month, and the DNA results had finally come back - there was no match, of course, not even remotely. He was almost disgusted with himself for being pleased. He already knew. He was not the hellspawn for which they searched.
So, who was?
None of your business, he tried to convince himself. Except that it was. A specific target like that - a veritable attack, and with so little evidence to go on! They just wanted to get his attention. It was probably some kind of trap. All right, so he would walk into it, but knowingly, and with eyes wide open. With M's permission or not, he would investigate.
The next week-end found him in the same cafe again - he was inexorably drawn to it, perhaps hoping to see the woman again. He didn't know and didn't care. Following his whims always seemed to serve him, so why not?
He spent Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning at one of its small wicker tables, and was beginning to lose hope when she walked in.
It was her. There was no question in his mind. She had that same pale blonde hair and the sweet, pretty face. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, and when she saw him, she stopped, turned her eyes down, and shuffled in his direction. This surprised him, and he quickly swept up the loose papers into his notebook and looked up at her.
"Um - hello," she said. "I..."
"Saw me a few days ago, but I didn't see you? I'm afraid I didn't appear to best advantage. My apologies."
Her eyes widened. "How -"
He shrugged. "Lucky guess. Don't worry, I didn't see you there. But you - looked at me last week in exactly the way I'd imagine you might, if you saw me in an identification parade. Forgive me, but..."
"No, no, I'm sorry!" She said quickly, looking rather awkward. She glanced at the empty chair.
"You can sit down," said Bond, "if you like." Truth be told, as he'd realized later, it wasn't just the way she looked at him - it was her, her whole demeanor, the way she looked and walked that screamed victim to him. He wondered briefly if sexual predators had that same sense.
A little shudder went through him.
"Thank you." She slid into the chair and, hands flat on the table, fixed her eyes on the napkin-holder. "I knew straightaway it wasn't you. Because of your eyes."
Smiling, Bond said, "Thanks, I think."
There was a hint of a smile on her face, as well. "I'm sorry to bother you, but my therapist said I could talk to you if I wanted."
"I'm awfully glad of that. And you're not being a bother - you oughtn't to apologise so much."
Her mouth opened to say I'm sorry, but she caught herself just in time. Her bashful smile made Bond's heart fill - he wanted to say something, something clever to alleviate the awkwardness. But there were no words. And she, so unassuming and skittish, ought to be treated with tenderness. Any man who couldn't see that -
Any man who would take a thing of shared pleasure and make it an act of violence and brutality -
In that moment Bond decided he would find this man, even if he had to go to the inner circles of Hell to do it. There was no turning back now. A simple twist of fate had left him with this task, and he would not rest until it was done.
"I'm Alice, by the way," she said.
"Lovely to meet you. I'm James."
And I will find him. You can't know it's me, but God help me, I promise I'll find him.
No matter what.