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31_days2005-09-20 11:51 pm
tortillafactory.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-09-20 11:51 pm
[Sept. 20] [James Bond] Prisoner
Title: Prisoner
Day/Theme: Sept. 20 - Chinatown fiction
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond/Alice (OFC)
Rating: PG-13
Note: This is the fourth part of a 31_days series, beginning with Mockingbird, Parade, and Damsel. Deals with sensitive subjects, so approach with care. Fifth and (hopefully) final part tomorrow.
Disclaimer: The views of main characters do not necessarily reflect the views of staff, managment, advertisers, or ownership of this story. So don't get your panties in a bunch.
Chinatown.
What a hell of a place to try and blend in.
Bond had requested, and been granted, two week's leave. He played it like he needed some time off to recover from the stress, and he was pretty sure M didn't believe him, but she limited her skepticism to a single glance and a grudging nod.
Now he was in the heart of Liverpool's Chinatown, searching for a man who looked vaguely like him among the masses. But why in God's name would he try to hide in Chinatown? Bond himself stuck out like a sore thumb. The influx of summer tourists was nowhere to be found, and he felt somewhat alone, surrounded by thousands of people whose language he hardly spoke.
He had followed Leah here, after a great deal of conniving and deducting and consulting with his own "Baker Street Irregulars". At one time the ritual might have been exciting to him, but now even the cat-and-mouse game he loved had begun to lose its sheen. He wanted only vengeance - for himself, and for the women. For Alice. But mostly for himself.
Right?
Right.
He was not worried about being seen. Doubtless the bastard already expected him - he knew Bond was coming. He held all the cards, but Bond could bluff his way through.
First, though, the game had to begin.
Leah had long ago been lost in a crowd, and was doubtless now behind some locked door, not to emerge again until nightfall. Bond decided he could afford to wait. Fury simmered in him, ready to boil over at the slighest provocation - it was enough to keep him going for days, weeks. But still he felt so naked here, alone in a restaurant, his Western face shining like a beacon amongst so many people who looked all the same to him.
I wonder if they think the same thing. If I look just like every other WASP who's passed their threshold.
He downed the last of the sake and motioned the waiter over.
"May I see the dessert menu?"
The young Chinese was well-built and handsome, with a winning smile and an surprisingly sturdy build. "Sure," he said, producing the same menu Bond had ordered from earlier, and indicating the last few entires on the back. "Right here."
Looking over the options with some distaste, Bond finally settled on coconut ice cream - anything to give him an excuse to stay a little longer. He felt safe here - as if he could see out, but no one could see in. Like the victims must have felt, looking at him through the glass.
He needed to get that bloody parade out of his head.
Suddenly angry with himself, he called the waiter back. "Cancel that," he said. "I'm sorry. I've just remembered I have an appointment. May I have the check, please?"
"Certainly!" Not seeming perturbed in the least, the young man disappeared into the kitchen. He returned less than a minute later with the small leather folder, and stood waiting for Bond to slip a few bills into it. Ever the consummate spy, Bond knew better than to pay with credit at a time like this.
He ventured out into the street, leaving the safety of the windows behind him, and walked with the brisk pace of a man with somewhere to be. He ended up at another restaurant, seated out on a sidewalk table, watching the people walk by.
Chinatown still seemed like a hell of a place for a rapist to hide.
And then, he remembered.
I knew it wasn't you, because of your eyes.
He could hear Alice's soft voice saying it even now.
Because of your eyes.
At the time he'd thought nothing of it. His eyes were a different color, perhaps, or a different size. Set differently in his face. But it had been dark - very dark. All the testimonies agreed on that. In a sudden flash of inspiration, Bond knew the crucial fact that all the victims had been concealing from the police.
That's how she knew it wasn't me, or any of the other men there. That's why they were so sure.
And now, looking around him, Bond felt a chill. His pool of potential suspects had just widened to include most of the male population of Chinatown.
His heart was still thumping with this revelation when Leah appeared.
Less than a foot in front of him, there was her face, like it had been in the photograph - but older, somehow, though it had been less than a year since the arrest. He expected, at least, a triumphant smile or a biting remark. Something he could respond to, fighting fire with fire.
She looked at him with empty eyes and with her hand in her coat, the shape of the bulge in her pocket leaving no question as to what she held there.
"Up," she said. "Get up."
On another occasion he might have made a snide double entendre. Now was not the time for such things. He raised himself to his feet, suddenly struck by the heaviness of his own body. What had looked like a bag of bones in the one-way mirror suddenly felt like a crate full of lead.
She put her arm through his, taking hold of the handgun again and jabbing it into his side. "Walk," she said. "Smile. Look natural."
He did all three, sauntering down the road as if he had not a care in the world, his mind racing as he felt the rhythmic stab of the gunbarrel every time he took a step.
"My people know I'm here," he said, through his bared teeth. "They'll be looking for me by morning."
She did not seem to hear.
I'll be dead by morning, he thought. Surely that's what this is all about.
He felt the reassuring weight of the Walther under his arm, and realized that he was strangely calm.
It's all right.
It's all right -
I'm only a prisoner.
Day/Theme: Sept. 20 - Chinatown fiction
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond/Alice (OFC)
Rating: PG-13
Note: This is the fourth part of a 31_days series, beginning with Mockingbird, Parade, and Damsel. Deals with sensitive subjects, so approach with care. Fifth and (hopefully) final part tomorrow.
Disclaimer: The views of main characters do not necessarily reflect the views of staff, managment, advertisers, or ownership of this story. So don't get your panties in a bunch.
Chinatown.
What a hell of a place to try and blend in.
Bond had requested, and been granted, two week's leave. He played it like he needed some time off to recover from the stress, and he was pretty sure M didn't believe him, but she limited her skepticism to a single glance and a grudging nod.
Now he was in the heart of Liverpool's Chinatown, searching for a man who looked vaguely like him among the masses. But why in God's name would he try to hide in Chinatown? Bond himself stuck out like a sore thumb. The influx of summer tourists was nowhere to be found, and he felt somewhat alone, surrounded by thousands of people whose language he hardly spoke.
He had followed Leah here, after a great deal of conniving and deducting and consulting with his own "Baker Street Irregulars". At one time the ritual might have been exciting to him, but now even the cat-and-mouse game he loved had begun to lose its sheen. He wanted only vengeance - for himself, and for the women. For Alice. But mostly for himself.
Right?
Right.
He was not worried about being seen. Doubtless the bastard already expected him - he knew Bond was coming. He held all the cards, but Bond could bluff his way through.
First, though, the game had to begin.
Leah had long ago been lost in a crowd, and was doubtless now behind some locked door, not to emerge again until nightfall. Bond decided he could afford to wait. Fury simmered in him, ready to boil over at the slighest provocation - it was enough to keep him going for days, weeks. But still he felt so naked here, alone in a restaurant, his Western face shining like a beacon amongst so many people who looked all the same to him.
I wonder if they think the same thing. If I look just like every other WASP who's passed their threshold.
He downed the last of the sake and motioned the waiter over.
"May I see the dessert menu?"
The young Chinese was well-built and handsome, with a winning smile and an surprisingly sturdy build. "Sure," he said, producing the same menu Bond had ordered from earlier, and indicating the last few entires on the back. "Right here."
Looking over the options with some distaste, Bond finally settled on coconut ice cream - anything to give him an excuse to stay a little longer. He felt safe here - as if he could see out, but no one could see in. Like the victims must have felt, looking at him through the glass.
He needed to get that bloody parade out of his head.
Suddenly angry with himself, he called the waiter back. "Cancel that," he said. "I'm sorry. I've just remembered I have an appointment. May I have the check, please?"
"Certainly!" Not seeming perturbed in the least, the young man disappeared into the kitchen. He returned less than a minute later with the small leather folder, and stood waiting for Bond to slip a few bills into it. Ever the consummate spy, Bond knew better than to pay with credit at a time like this.
He ventured out into the street, leaving the safety of the windows behind him, and walked with the brisk pace of a man with somewhere to be. He ended up at another restaurant, seated out on a sidewalk table, watching the people walk by.
Chinatown still seemed like a hell of a place for a rapist to hide.
And then, he remembered.
I knew it wasn't you, because of your eyes.
He could hear Alice's soft voice saying it even now.
Because of your eyes.
At the time he'd thought nothing of it. His eyes were a different color, perhaps, or a different size. Set differently in his face. But it had been dark - very dark. All the testimonies agreed on that. In a sudden flash of inspiration, Bond knew the crucial fact that all the victims had been concealing from the police.
That's how she knew it wasn't me, or any of the other men there. That's why they were so sure.
And now, looking around him, Bond felt a chill. His pool of potential suspects had just widened to include most of the male population of Chinatown.
His heart was still thumping with this revelation when Leah appeared.
Less than a foot in front of him, there was her face, like it had been in the photograph - but older, somehow, though it had been less than a year since the arrest. He expected, at least, a triumphant smile or a biting remark. Something he could respond to, fighting fire with fire.
She looked at him with empty eyes and with her hand in her coat, the shape of the bulge in her pocket leaving no question as to what she held there.
"Up," she said. "Get up."
On another occasion he might have made a snide double entendre. Now was not the time for such things. He raised himself to his feet, suddenly struck by the heaviness of his own body. What had looked like a bag of bones in the one-way mirror suddenly felt like a crate full of lead.
She put her arm through his, taking hold of the handgun again and jabbing it into his side. "Walk," she said. "Smile. Look natural."
He did all three, sauntering down the road as if he had not a care in the world, his mind racing as he felt the rhythmic stab of the gunbarrel every time he took a step.
"My people know I'm here," he said, through his bared teeth. "They'll be looking for me by morning."
She did not seem to hear.
I'll be dead by morning, he thought. Surely that's what this is all about.
He felt the reassuring weight of the Walther under his arm, and realized that he was strangely calm.
It's all right.
It's all right -
I'm only a prisoner.