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konstantyaTitle: Your Fortune's Fallin' All Over the Town
Fandom: This Gun For Hire (1942)
Genre: Drama, angst, general.
Characters: Ellen Graham, Philip Raven.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,381
Summary: This was, Ellen realized, the most uncomfortable car ride of her life. (Or, Raven drives them from Gates' mansion to the Neptune Club. Missing scene/character study.)
If you'd like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
This was, Ellen realized, the most uncomfortable car ride of her life.
Even more uncomfortable than that time back in high school, when an argument had broken out between Lois Doyle and Bill Stambridge on their way back from George Weber's big summer blowout, and Lois had gotten out of the vehicle, slammed the door, and Ellen had been left in the back seat as an apprehensive witness to what turned out to be their last date as an official couple.
Horrifically awkward as that had been, she would have given just about anything for some good old-fashioned teenage drama right then. Watching a friend's romantic relationship implode in real time sounded infinitely more preferable than what she was currently doing—which was sitting in the passenger seat of a car, stolen from a man who had been ready to murder her, and driven by another man who had also been ready to murder her. It was shaping up to be one heck of a day. And—worst of all—it wasn't even over yet.
It would take about half an hour to get to the Neptune Club. And only ten minutes or so had passed. Ten minutes of terrible, nerve-wracking silence. How she was going to survive another twenty like this, she had no idea.
His name was Raven; she knew at least that much now. And if Willard Gates was to be believed, he'd killed someone. Maybe even more than one, if his cold, cavalier demeanor was anything to go by.
Ellen gripped her purse in her lap. The purse he'd handed to her almost politely as he'd helped her out of Gates' house. Like he was some coat-check clerk, not a wanted criminal. Here you go, miss. Sorry I tried to steal five bucks from you earlier and then forced you at gunpoint to help me evade the police. Except he hadn't actually apologized for either of those things. Instead he'd simply saved her life.
He was literally the last person she had expected to see upon coming to. Not quite the last person she had wanted to see (that illustrious status was reserved for Gates' valet, last seen clapping a hand over her mouth and nose while she futilely struggled in his grip, until—presumably—she'd passed out from lack of air). But considering what had transpired that morning, Raven was a pretty close second. And all of a sudden there he'd been, arms supporting her because her limbs hadn't wanted to properly work, his face disconcertingly close and regarding her with equal parts calculation and curiosity.
Carefully, she rubbed her wrists. The feeling in her hands had long-since come back, but the joints were still sore. As were her arms and shoulders, as if they'd been wrenched into some godawful position. They probably had been. She hadn't asked for the details, but judging by the pile of rope that had been beside her on the bed, she'd been trussed up like a rabbit.
What exactly had they been going to do with her? And what would have happened if Raven hadn't shown up when he did, if he wasn't so hell-bent on getting to Gates for some reason? She shivered, not wanting to think about it.
Desperately, she longed for some sort of distraction. She couldn't even focus on the landscape, due to how dark it was. And they were still far away from the lights of downtown. So all she really had were the headlamps in front of her, the man next to her, and her own anxious thoughts.
Despite herself, her mind seemed to settle on that middle option, and she found herself looking sidelong at him in the driver's seat. In one of the pockets of that shapeless trench coat he wore was the pistol he'd pointed at her earlier, the pistol he'd shot—Baker, was it?—with, and who knew how many others, for that matter. She was hardly an expert on criminal behavior, but Michael had once said something about that to her—that if a robber was jumpy while brandishing a gun, it tended to mean he didn't actually want to pull the trigger—and the simple truth was, Raven had wielded his firearm with far too much confidence and familiarity for Ellen to believe he had merely been trying to intimidate.
The silence was too much. Against her better judgment, she swallowed and tremulously broke it. "You were going to kill me this morning, weren't you?"
Raven didn't deny it. He simply kept his eyes on the road and said, "You could have identified me." Just like that, a straight statement of fact, like it was really so easy to decide whether or not to end a person's life. Maybe for him, it was. Her fingers dug back around her handbag.
"And now?" Ellen asked.
He took a breath, as if he found the whole conversation annoying, and his eyes flicked up to cursorily check the rear-view mirror. "Look, I said I wasn't gonna hurt you, didn't I?"
"Oh," she scoffed, "and I'm supposed to believe that?" In all honesty, it was a stupid move—getting sarcastic and combative with a man who'd just confirmed he had no qualms with shooting an unarmed woman—but her nerves were doing funny things to her. And if it was a choice between getting angry or breaking down in panicked tears, well, she had to admit that 'getting angry' seemed like the better option. The option less likely to ruin her make-up, at least. And it just wouldn't do to walk into the Neptune Club with a face full of mascara streaks. Not if he wanted them to be relatively discreet, which she had to assume he did.
"Believe whatever you want," Raven said, back to his icy indifference. "It's no skin off my nose."
Well. That seemed to be the end of that. Initial question answered, she supposed. It wasn't exactly reassuring. If anything, it raised even more questions. And didn't make the silence any more bearable.
She worried her fingers together in her lap. It wasn't an especially cold night, but her hands were freezing for some reason. Maybe she was somehow still feeling the effects of the rope. Her wrists ached and she rubbed them again.
"Why did you save me?" she quietly asked. There was some part of her that needed to know, because it made no sense. She was grateful, of course, even in spite of everything else he'd done, but it made no sense, and maybe she just needed something to hold onto in that moment.
They were starting to reach the city proper, and Raven stopped at an intersection, peering through the windshield at the street signs. His tone was oddly casual, near conversational. "Figured you might be useful. Guy dumps your purse outside and sends your boyfriend away? Pretty suspicious behavior, wouldn't you say?"
She would, but that wasn't the part she focused on. She looked at him, caught between fear and bitterness. "And is that how you see people? In ways they might be of use to you?"
A red light brought them to a halt, and Raven turned his head to coolly meet her gaze. "Generally," was all he said. For a moment they just sat there, staring at each other in the dark confines of the car.
The light changed. Raven turned back to concentrate on the road, and Ellen did the same, shakily letting out a breath she'd involuntarily been holding. She shivered again. How she'd ever thought him harmless on the train last night—if a little strange and down on his luck—she could hardly fathom. It was a comfort, really, to know this would all be over soon. She'd hide him in her dressing room, and then go find and lure Gates in, and at that point the two men could go elope together for all she cared, so long as they left her out of it. She'd known there were risks involved, when she'd agreed to act as a spy for Senator Burnett, but this was already far beyond anything she might have imagined.
Raven turned off Sunset onto Figueroa, and then came to another stop at First. "Now," he said, "where's this club of yours?"
-----
A/N: Oh, Ellen. I hate to break it to you, but the night's only going to get worse, pfft.
In other news, sometimes I think the only reason I'm writing fic for this film is because I feel the deep, burning need to address all the traumatic shit Ellen goes through during it. Because holy hell, is it ever a lot when you stop to think about it!
All other fics can be found here.
Fandom: This Gun For Hire (1942)
Genre: Drama, angst, general.
Characters: Ellen Graham, Philip Raven.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,381
Summary: This was, Ellen realized, the most uncomfortable car ride of her life. (Or, Raven drives them from Gates' mansion to the Neptune Club. Missing scene/character study.)
If you'd like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
- Your Fortune's Fallin' All Over the Town -
This was, Ellen realized, the most uncomfortable car ride of her life.
Even more uncomfortable than that time back in high school, when an argument had broken out between Lois Doyle and Bill Stambridge on their way back from George Weber's big summer blowout, and Lois had gotten out of the vehicle, slammed the door, and Ellen had been left in the back seat as an apprehensive witness to what turned out to be their last date as an official couple.
Horrifically awkward as that had been, she would have given just about anything for some good old-fashioned teenage drama right then. Watching a friend's romantic relationship implode in real time sounded infinitely more preferable than what she was currently doing—which was sitting in the passenger seat of a car, stolen from a man who had been ready to murder her, and driven by another man who had also been ready to murder her. It was shaping up to be one heck of a day. And—worst of all—it wasn't even over yet.
It would take about half an hour to get to the Neptune Club. And only ten minutes or so had passed. Ten minutes of terrible, nerve-wracking silence. How she was going to survive another twenty like this, she had no idea.
His name was Raven; she knew at least that much now. And if Willard Gates was to be believed, he'd killed someone. Maybe even more than one, if his cold, cavalier demeanor was anything to go by.
Ellen gripped her purse in her lap. The purse he'd handed to her almost politely as he'd helped her out of Gates' house. Like he was some coat-check clerk, not a wanted criminal. Here you go, miss. Sorry I tried to steal five bucks from you earlier and then forced you at gunpoint to help me evade the police. Except he hadn't actually apologized for either of those things. Instead he'd simply saved her life.
He was literally the last person she had expected to see upon coming to. Not quite the last person she had wanted to see (that illustrious status was reserved for Gates' valet, last seen clapping a hand over her mouth and nose while she futilely struggled in his grip, until—presumably—she'd passed out from lack of air). But considering what had transpired that morning, Raven was a pretty close second. And all of a sudden there he'd been, arms supporting her because her limbs hadn't wanted to properly work, his face disconcertingly close and regarding her with equal parts calculation and curiosity.
Carefully, she rubbed her wrists. The feeling in her hands had long-since come back, but the joints were still sore. As were her arms and shoulders, as if they'd been wrenched into some godawful position. They probably had been. She hadn't asked for the details, but judging by the pile of rope that had been beside her on the bed, she'd been trussed up like a rabbit.
What exactly had they been going to do with her? And what would have happened if Raven hadn't shown up when he did, if he wasn't so hell-bent on getting to Gates for some reason? She shivered, not wanting to think about it.
Desperately, she longed for some sort of distraction. She couldn't even focus on the landscape, due to how dark it was. And they were still far away from the lights of downtown. So all she really had were the headlamps in front of her, the man next to her, and her own anxious thoughts.
Despite herself, her mind seemed to settle on that middle option, and she found herself looking sidelong at him in the driver's seat. In one of the pockets of that shapeless trench coat he wore was the pistol he'd pointed at her earlier, the pistol he'd shot—Baker, was it?—with, and who knew how many others, for that matter. She was hardly an expert on criminal behavior, but Michael had once said something about that to her—that if a robber was jumpy while brandishing a gun, it tended to mean he didn't actually want to pull the trigger—and the simple truth was, Raven had wielded his firearm with far too much confidence and familiarity for Ellen to believe he had merely been trying to intimidate.
The silence was too much. Against her better judgment, she swallowed and tremulously broke it. "You were going to kill me this morning, weren't you?"
Raven didn't deny it. He simply kept his eyes on the road and said, "You could have identified me." Just like that, a straight statement of fact, like it was really so easy to decide whether or not to end a person's life. Maybe for him, it was. Her fingers dug back around her handbag.
"And now?" Ellen asked.
He took a breath, as if he found the whole conversation annoying, and his eyes flicked up to cursorily check the rear-view mirror. "Look, I said I wasn't gonna hurt you, didn't I?"
"Oh," she scoffed, "and I'm supposed to believe that?" In all honesty, it was a stupid move—getting sarcastic and combative with a man who'd just confirmed he had no qualms with shooting an unarmed woman—but her nerves were doing funny things to her. And if it was a choice between getting angry or breaking down in panicked tears, well, she had to admit that 'getting angry' seemed like the better option. The option less likely to ruin her make-up, at least. And it just wouldn't do to walk into the Neptune Club with a face full of mascara streaks. Not if he wanted them to be relatively discreet, which she had to assume he did.
"Believe whatever you want," Raven said, back to his icy indifference. "It's no skin off my nose."
Well. That seemed to be the end of that. Initial question answered, she supposed. It wasn't exactly reassuring. If anything, it raised even more questions. And didn't make the silence any more bearable.
She worried her fingers together in her lap. It wasn't an especially cold night, but her hands were freezing for some reason. Maybe she was somehow still feeling the effects of the rope. Her wrists ached and she rubbed them again.
"Why did you save me?" she quietly asked. There was some part of her that needed to know, because it made no sense. She was grateful, of course, even in spite of everything else he'd done, but it made no sense, and maybe she just needed something to hold onto in that moment.
They were starting to reach the city proper, and Raven stopped at an intersection, peering through the windshield at the street signs. His tone was oddly casual, near conversational. "Figured you might be useful. Guy dumps your purse outside and sends your boyfriend away? Pretty suspicious behavior, wouldn't you say?"
She would, but that wasn't the part she focused on. She looked at him, caught between fear and bitterness. "And is that how you see people? In ways they might be of use to you?"
A red light brought them to a halt, and Raven turned his head to coolly meet her gaze. "Generally," was all he said. For a moment they just sat there, staring at each other in the dark confines of the car.
The light changed. Raven turned back to concentrate on the road, and Ellen did the same, shakily letting out a breath she'd involuntarily been holding. She shivered again. How she'd ever thought him harmless on the train last night—if a little strange and down on his luck—she could hardly fathom. It was a comfort, really, to know this would all be over soon. She'd hide him in her dressing room, and then go find and lure Gates in, and at that point the two men could go elope together for all she cared, so long as they left her out of it. She'd known there were risks involved, when she'd agreed to act as a spy for Senator Burnett, but this was already far beyond anything she might have imagined.
Raven turned off Sunset onto Figueroa, and then came to another stop at First. "Now," he said, "where's this club of yours?"
-----
A/N: Oh, Ellen. I hate to break it to you, but the night's only going to get worse, pfft.
In other news, sometimes I think the only reason I'm writing fic for this film is because I feel the deep, burning need to address all the traumatic shit Ellen goes through during it. Because holy hell, is it ever a lot when you stop to think about it!
All other fics can be found here.
