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konstantyaTitle: Wherever You Are
Fandom: This Gun For Hire (1942)
Genre: AU, angst, romance.
Characters/pairings: Michael Crane/Ellen Graham, implied Philip Raven/Ellen Graham
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,430
Summary: In the days following Raven’s final escape, Ellen and Michael try to go back to normal. (Spoiler alert: They aren’t very good at it.)
Notes: Follows the same continuity as my other TGFH fics, which is to say: Raven somehow escaped at the end of the film.
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
It was at seventeen minutes after seven that the telephone in her hotel room finally rang. “A Michael Crane to see you, Miss Graham,” the clerk said when she answered, and she eagerly told him to send him on up. A minute later, there was a knock on her door, and Ellen threw it open with a smile.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Michael bent down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” she assured him. “I was just practicing my card tricks.” She hadn’t yet replaced the monogrammed ones she’d had, but she’d picked up a cheap drugstore deck in the meantime, just to give her hands something to keep busy with. “Here, come on in. Let me just put them away, and then we can be off to dinner.”
She moved back and Michael stepped in, closing the door behind him. “Sounds good. I’m positively starving. You wouldn’t think talking would work up such an appetite, but the boss had me on the phone all day. First to the boys in Phoenix, then Albuquerque, then Salt Lake City, then Portland, then Seattle. And it took me until damn near six o’clock to finally get through to Seattle,” he added sourly.
A veil of apprehension fell over Ellen as she slid the playing cards back into their box. Raven again. It had been a week since the incident at Nitro Chemical, where he’d disappeared without a trace, and it seemed that every conversation she’d had with Michael since somehow came back to him. In a way it was hardly surprising, considering Michael’s involvement in the case and how recent the events still were, but all the same, Ellen found herself wishing he would leave his work at the precinct, just this once. It was bad enough that Philip Raven was invading her dreams every night (sometimes as a villain, sometimes as a hero, but always there in one form or another); she didn’t need him also invading her romantic dates.
Oblivious to her discomfort, Michael threw up a hand and continued venting. “And hell knows what good it’ll even do—he could be all the way over on the east coast by now, if he had a mind to. Or in Mexico. Or Canada, for that matter.” He paused, peering at her speculatively, and Ellen could practically hear the words before he said them. “You sure you don’t know where he might have gone?”
She had to force herself to not roll her eyes at the now-tired question, but impatience still crept into her voice. “Michael, I’ve told you and the rest of the department at least a dozen times now that I have no idea. Why would I lie about something like that?”
The line of his mouth hardened. “You tell me. I’m not the one who looked so cozy in his coat after spending a whole night cooped up with him.”
Ellen almost gaped, the insinuation was so offensive. As if Raven had given her much of a choice in the matter of where she went, after she’d come to in Gates’ house. And as for the coat, well, that was simply part of the deal they’d made. The fact that he’d given it to her hours before, in the very early morning—and that she’d been grateful for the gesture, despite herself—didn’t mean anything. “What are you, jealous?” she demanded.
“Should I be?” he shot back, and at that, she couldn’t help it; her temper flared with an uncharacteristic swiftness, and before she even knew what she was doing, she had slapped him sharply across the cheek.
Michael blinked, clearly shocked by the blow, and Ellen belatedly gasped at her own actions, bringing the same hand she’d struck him with up to her mouth in horror. “Oh, Michael,” she lamented, “I’m sorry.”
He rubbed his slowly-reddening cheek and smirked a bit ruefully. “Don’t be. Pretty sure I deserved that.”
Ellen wasn’t so certain. It was a relief, to hear him basically acknowledge he was being a jerk, but the outburst still unsettled her. She’d never been a physically violent person, more prone to working out her frustrations through rehearsals and distraction, but somehow the whole ordeal with Raven and Gates had changed something. It was almost like she didn’t know herself anymore, or else couldn’t get comfortable in her own skin just yet.
Michael sighed and dropped his hand from his face. “Hell, I don’t know, maybe I am a little jealous. I should have known something was off at Gates’ house that night. I should have—” He broke off. Took a breath. “And much as I hate to admit it, he did save your life.” He looked at her, concern written all over his features, and she knew he was thinking about what might have happened to her in that moment—about what nearly did happen to her. “Maybe I just don’t like the idea that I’m indebted to a killer, you know?”
Ellen bristled at the word. “He’s—” She’d been about to insist, He’s not, but she abruptly halted, because even she had to admit that was hardly accurate. The truth was, he was a killer. He’d shot Willard Gates, and Paul Glennon before that, despite how he’d told her he wouldn’t. But then there was also the signed confession waiting for them in Brewster’s office, so he hadn’t completely lied. He hadn’t been completely self-serving. She furrowed her brow and shook her head. “He was such a strange, confusing man.” Cold and calculating with people, but kind and compassionate with cats, who broke one promise then kept another, who tried to murder you in the morning then rescued you in the evening. Indeed, she wondered, where was he now? And was it terrible for her to hope the police never found him?
Michael must have noticed her pensive expression, for he put his hands on her waist and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Hey,” he gently said, “how about that justice of the peace, huh? It isn’t like you have to worry about that job anymore. You can move right in and we can put all this behind us.”
Rather than immediately respond, Ellen lifted her arms and smoothed his already-straight lapel, brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders. She’d always had a preference for broad men, and Michael definitely fit the bill, but somehow, standing there in his arms, her hands against his chest, all she could think about was Raven’s distinctly slimmer frame—the way he’d been vengefully ready to rush out to his death, and the way she’d physically blocked him from doing so. There’d been such a coiled, angry energy to him in that instant—it was almost impossible to believe that such intensity could be contained in so slender a man. She remembered the air had practically crackled between them as she’d carefully pulled her hands away from his person.
Ellen raised her eyes to his entreatingly. “Oh, Michael,” she finally said. “It…it isn’t that I don’t want to. It’s just…I need some time. So much has happened. I just…need a bit more time. Please.”
He was disappointed, she could tell, though he bore it well. His lips pressed together unhappily, but then he nodded. “Okay,” he said. He nodded once more, as if the action was helping him warm up to the idea. “Okay,” he said again. He kissed her forehead and managed a small, gamely smile. “I’ve waited this long, after all. I guess I can afford to wait a little bit longer.”
Ellen smiled back at him, her heart swelling with emotion. She really was crazy about him. He was such a sweet man when it came down to it, and so patient, too. He might have been built like a bear, but the truth was he resembled a stuffed teddy more than the real-life animal. He was going to make a wonderful father, she just knew it.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and went up on tip-toe to give him a kiss. “Thank you, darling,” she softly said. Her spirits bolstered, she lowered herself back down to her heels. “Now, maybe we should finally be on our way to dinner, don’t you think?”
Michael grinned, and—on cue—began to steer her toward the door. “Sounds great,” he agreed. Ellen picked up her purse and settled her hat on her head before she stepped out and locked up.
She wouldn’t think about Raven tonight, she silently vowed. She wouldn’t.
-----
A/N: Tfw you’ve already lost. Oh, Ellen. :(
In other news, let it be known that I really do have a soft spot for Michael. His is a thankless role, but Robert Preston does manage to at least bring a general sort of amiability to the character (the concern in his voice toward the end, when he says, “This isn’t a cop asking—it’s me,” gets me every time, it must be said). Furthermore, I think you could make the argument that he’s less into keeping Ellen barefoot and in the kitchen (so to speak), and more just into keeping her out of weird, potentially-shady nightclubs, pfft. (He’s a little put out by her suddenly taking a job in the film, but he later apologizes and reassures her that it’s okay, so that’s a good sign, yeah?) Basically, I really do think he’s trying his best to be understanding and has a good heart—it’s just that he’s still a pretty average dude in 1940s America, so even his best only extends so far. If Ellen hadn’t gotten caught up in a kidnapping and treason plot, I bet they could have made it work.
All other fics can be found here.
Fandom: This Gun For Hire (1942)
Genre: AU, angst, romance.
Characters/pairings: Michael Crane/Ellen Graham, implied Philip Raven/Ellen Graham
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,430
Summary: In the days following Raven’s final escape, Ellen and Michael try to go back to normal. (Spoiler alert: They aren’t very good at it.)
Notes: Follows the same continuity as my other TGFH fics, which is to say: Raven somehow escaped at the end of the film.
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
- Wherever You Are -
It was at seventeen minutes after seven that the telephone in her hotel room finally rang. “A Michael Crane to see you, Miss Graham,” the clerk said when she answered, and she eagerly told him to send him on up. A minute later, there was a knock on her door, and Ellen threw it open with a smile.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Michael bent down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” she assured him. “I was just practicing my card tricks.” She hadn’t yet replaced the monogrammed ones she’d had, but she’d picked up a cheap drugstore deck in the meantime, just to give her hands something to keep busy with. “Here, come on in. Let me just put them away, and then we can be off to dinner.”
She moved back and Michael stepped in, closing the door behind him. “Sounds good. I’m positively starving. You wouldn’t think talking would work up such an appetite, but the boss had me on the phone all day. First to the boys in Phoenix, then Albuquerque, then Salt Lake City, then Portland, then Seattle. And it took me until damn near six o’clock to finally get through to Seattle,” he added sourly.
A veil of apprehension fell over Ellen as she slid the playing cards back into their box. Raven again. It had been a week since the incident at Nitro Chemical, where he’d disappeared without a trace, and it seemed that every conversation she’d had with Michael since somehow came back to him. In a way it was hardly surprising, considering Michael’s involvement in the case and how recent the events still were, but all the same, Ellen found herself wishing he would leave his work at the precinct, just this once. It was bad enough that Philip Raven was invading her dreams every night (sometimes as a villain, sometimes as a hero, but always there in one form or another); she didn’t need him also invading her romantic dates.
Oblivious to her discomfort, Michael threw up a hand and continued venting. “And hell knows what good it’ll even do—he could be all the way over on the east coast by now, if he had a mind to. Or in Mexico. Or Canada, for that matter.” He paused, peering at her speculatively, and Ellen could practically hear the words before he said them. “You sure you don’t know where he might have gone?”
She had to force herself to not roll her eyes at the now-tired question, but impatience still crept into her voice. “Michael, I’ve told you and the rest of the department at least a dozen times now that I have no idea. Why would I lie about something like that?”
The line of his mouth hardened. “You tell me. I’m not the one who looked so cozy in his coat after spending a whole night cooped up with him.”
Ellen almost gaped, the insinuation was so offensive. As if Raven had given her much of a choice in the matter of where she went, after she’d come to in Gates’ house. And as for the coat, well, that was simply part of the deal they’d made. The fact that he’d given it to her hours before, in the very early morning—and that she’d been grateful for the gesture, despite herself—didn’t mean anything. “What are you, jealous?” she demanded.
“Should I be?” he shot back, and at that, she couldn’t help it; her temper flared with an uncharacteristic swiftness, and before she even knew what she was doing, she had slapped him sharply across the cheek.
Michael blinked, clearly shocked by the blow, and Ellen belatedly gasped at her own actions, bringing the same hand she’d struck him with up to her mouth in horror. “Oh, Michael,” she lamented, “I’m sorry.”
He rubbed his slowly-reddening cheek and smirked a bit ruefully. “Don’t be. Pretty sure I deserved that.”
Ellen wasn’t so certain. It was a relief, to hear him basically acknowledge he was being a jerk, but the outburst still unsettled her. She’d never been a physically violent person, more prone to working out her frustrations through rehearsals and distraction, but somehow the whole ordeal with Raven and Gates had changed something. It was almost like she didn’t know herself anymore, or else couldn’t get comfortable in her own skin just yet.
Michael sighed and dropped his hand from his face. “Hell, I don’t know, maybe I am a little jealous. I should have known something was off at Gates’ house that night. I should have—” He broke off. Took a breath. “And much as I hate to admit it, he did save your life.” He looked at her, concern written all over his features, and she knew he was thinking about what might have happened to her in that moment—about what nearly did happen to her. “Maybe I just don’t like the idea that I’m indebted to a killer, you know?”
Ellen bristled at the word. “He’s—” She’d been about to insist, He’s not, but she abruptly halted, because even she had to admit that was hardly accurate. The truth was, he was a killer. He’d shot Willard Gates, and Paul Glennon before that, despite how he’d told her he wouldn’t. But then there was also the signed confession waiting for them in Brewster’s office, so he hadn’t completely lied. He hadn’t been completely self-serving. She furrowed her brow and shook her head. “He was such a strange, confusing man.” Cold and calculating with people, but kind and compassionate with cats, who broke one promise then kept another, who tried to murder you in the morning then rescued you in the evening. Indeed, she wondered, where was he now? And was it terrible for her to hope the police never found him?
Michael must have noticed her pensive expression, for he put his hands on her waist and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Hey,” he gently said, “how about that justice of the peace, huh? It isn’t like you have to worry about that job anymore. You can move right in and we can put all this behind us.”
Rather than immediately respond, Ellen lifted her arms and smoothed his already-straight lapel, brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders. She’d always had a preference for broad men, and Michael definitely fit the bill, but somehow, standing there in his arms, her hands against his chest, all she could think about was Raven’s distinctly slimmer frame—the way he’d been vengefully ready to rush out to his death, and the way she’d physically blocked him from doing so. There’d been such a coiled, angry energy to him in that instant—it was almost impossible to believe that such intensity could be contained in so slender a man. She remembered the air had practically crackled between them as she’d carefully pulled her hands away from his person.
Ellen raised her eyes to his entreatingly. “Oh, Michael,” she finally said. “It…it isn’t that I don’t want to. It’s just…I need some time. So much has happened. I just…need a bit more time. Please.”
He was disappointed, she could tell, though he bore it well. His lips pressed together unhappily, but then he nodded. “Okay,” he said. He nodded once more, as if the action was helping him warm up to the idea. “Okay,” he said again. He kissed her forehead and managed a small, gamely smile. “I’ve waited this long, after all. I guess I can afford to wait a little bit longer.”
Ellen smiled back at him, her heart swelling with emotion. She really was crazy about him. He was such a sweet man when it came down to it, and so patient, too. He might have been built like a bear, but the truth was he resembled a stuffed teddy more than the real-life animal. He was going to make a wonderful father, she just knew it.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and went up on tip-toe to give him a kiss. “Thank you, darling,” she softly said. Her spirits bolstered, she lowered herself back down to her heels. “Now, maybe we should finally be on our way to dinner, don’t you think?”
Michael grinned, and—on cue—began to steer her toward the door. “Sounds great,” he agreed. Ellen picked up her purse and settled her hat on her head before she stepped out and locked up.
She wouldn’t think about Raven tonight, she silently vowed. She wouldn’t.
-----
A/N: Tfw you’ve already lost. Oh, Ellen. :(
In other news, let it be known that I really do have a soft spot for Michael. His is a thankless role, but Robert Preston does manage to at least bring a general sort of amiability to the character (the concern in his voice toward the end, when he says, “This isn’t a cop asking—it’s me,” gets me every time, it must be said). Furthermore, I think you could make the argument that he’s less into keeping Ellen barefoot and in the kitchen (so to speak), and more just into keeping her out of weird, potentially-shady nightclubs, pfft. (He’s a little put out by her suddenly taking a job in the film, but he later apologizes and reassures her that it’s okay, so that’s a good sign, yeah?) Basically, I really do think he’s trying his best to be understanding and has a good heart—it’s just that he’s still a pretty average dude in 1940s America, so even his best only extends so far. If Ellen hadn’t gotten caught up in a kidnapping and treason plot, I bet they could have made it work.
All other fics can be found here.
