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31_days2005-09-22 09:58 pm
tortillafactory.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-09-22 09:58 pm
[Sept. 22] [James Bond] 'Ponine
Title: 'Ponine
Day/Theme: Sept. 22 - The observed observer
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: figure it out
Rating: PG
Who watches the watchers?
- Star Trek
I watch him when he thinks I'm not looking.
He watches people for a living, and sometimes I think it doesn't occur to him that he's being watched too. Not, at least, here. Here, he thinks he's safe from prying eyes. And he would be - but. But.
I am only human.
When I first came here, I felt all the awkwardness of a girl in a new job, times infinity. This was an exclusive club. Still a man's world, even in those latter days. But the first time he walked past my desk, he smiled at me, a genuine smile, and I loved him for it.
He treated me in a way that made me feel very much like a woman. And, oddly enough, it made me more at home in this world of men. I used to wonder who he really was - what he did when he was alone, who his friends were, how many girls he took home every week. Soon enough, the answers became patently obvious.
He was a public servant - nothing more, nothing less. When he was alone, he drank. He had no friends. He took home as many girls as he wanted.
It took me years to realize how little I really meant to him. He found me amusing, maybe - I soon recognized that smile for what it was. The smile of a boy, playing a cruel game. Taunting. Teasing. I was never his "darling," and I never would be.
He was intoxicated by a woman's desire. Whether or not he ever intended to act upon it didn't matter to him; the important thing was, every girl he met must be conquered. He had conquered me the first moment we met, and saw absolutely no reason to make it official.
I can think of no other explanation. There was a time when I took his gentle rejection for a blight on my own appeal, but that time has long passed. I have dated men, dozens of men, since I met James. None of them are like him, and if they are, I cannot stand them.
James, perhaps, sees me as an associate. A valued associate. I would say "friend," but friends don't generally make a habit of lying to each other. Besides - he has no friends. Not real ones. I know this, because I watch him.
I watch him when he thinks I'm not looking. Like I could draw the love out of him by the power of my gaze. Sometimes I still believe there is love between us, that some thing, some memory, some unspoken barrier is staying his hand. I've given him chances, and the more I withdraw, the more he pursues. Perhaps if I moved to a different country, I would come home to find him in my bedroom with champagne.
It's been too long. No more chances. No more expectations. He's just another emotionally repressed, public-schooled Englishman who thinks he's God's gift to women. Let him surround himself with those who tickle his ear and tell him he's a hero - let him leave people like me, people who know the truth, to burn.
It's all right.
It's all right, James. I'm only bleeding.
A/N: Yes, 'Ponine is a reference to Victor Hugo's Eponine from Les Miserables. So. Sue me. I like this idea of Moneypenny, though I'm not sure if it's an accurate one - I was seeking for an explanation of her ever-cooling behavior towards Bond.
Day/Theme: Sept. 22 - The observed observer
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: figure it out
Rating: PG
- Star Trek
I watch him when he thinks I'm not looking.
He watches people for a living, and sometimes I think it doesn't occur to him that he's being watched too. Not, at least, here. Here, he thinks he's safe from prying eyes. And he would be - but. But.
I am only human.
When I first came here, I felt all the awkwardness of a girl in a new job, times infinity. This was an exclusive club. Still a man's world, even in those latter days. But the first time he walked past my desk, he smiled at me, a genuine smile, and I loved him for it.
He treated me in a way that made me feel very much like a woman. And, oddly enough, it made me more at home in this world of men. I used to wonder who he really was - what he did when he was alone, who his friends were, how many girls he took home every week. Soon enough, the answers became patently obvious.
He was a public servant - nothing more, nothing less. When he was alone, he drank. He had no friends. He took home as many girls as he wanted.
It took me years to realize how little I really meant to him. He found me amusing, maybe - I soon recognized that smile for what it was. The smile of a boy, playing a cruel game. Taunting. Teasing. I was never his "darling," and I never would be.
He was intoxicated by a woman's desire. Whether or not he ever intended to act upon it didn't matter to him; the important thing was, every girl he met must be conquered. He had conquered me the first moment we met, and saw absolutely no reason to make it official.
I can think of no other explanation. There was a time when I took his gentle rejection for a blight on my own appeal, but that time has long passed. I have dated men, dozens of men, since I met James. None of them are like him, and if they are, I cannot stand them.
James, perhaps, sees me as an associate. A valued associate. I would say "friend," but friends don't generally make a habit of lying to each other. Besides - he has no friends. Not real ones. I know this, because I watch him.
I watch him when he thinks I'm not looking. Like I could draw the love out of him by the power of my gaze. Sometimes I still believe there is love between us, that some thing, some memory, some unspoken barrier is staying his hand. I've given him chances, and the more I withdraw, the more he pursues. Perhaps if I moved to a different country, I would come home to find him in my bedroom with champagne.
It's been too long. No more chances. No more expectations. He's just another emotionally repressed, public-schooled Englishman who thinks he's God's gift to women. Let him surround himself with those who tickle his ear and tell him he's a hero - let him leave people like me, people who know the truth, to burn.
It's all right.
It's all right, James. I'm only bleeding.
A/N: Yes, 'Ponine is a reference to Victor Hugo's Eponine from Les Miserables. So. Sue me. I like this idea of Moneypenny, though I'm not sure if it's an accurate one - I was seeking for an explanation of her ever-cooling behavior towards Bond.