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konstantyaTitle: Each Cloud Contains
Fandom: This Gun For Hire (1942)
Genre: Drama, angst, general.
Characters: Philip Raven, Ellen Graham.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,564
Summary: It was her. The girl from the train. The one who’d so frustratingly gotten away earlier that day. Just what in the hell was she doing there? (Or, Raven rescues Ellen from Gates’ mansion. Expanded scene/character study.)
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
There was something immensely satisfying about watching the man tumble head over heels down the stairs and land at the bottom in a crumpled, motionless heap. Raven almost let out a small, grim smile at the sight.
He didn’t like being lied to. He liked being stiffed on his payment even less, and Willard Gates and his associates had now effectively done both. It was infuriating, and he was tempted to follow the man down the stairs and make sure he had more than just a few bumps and bruises, but common sense prevailed. Instead he merely shut the basement door and locked it, taking the key with him for good measure. As cathartic as it might have been to indulge in a bout of physical violence just then, there were other things that were more important. Namely, finding the owner of the handbag he currently had tucked under his arm, discovering just what Gates had against her, and seeing if she could be at all useful.
‘E.G.’ were the initials on it. ‘Ellen Graham,’ he was pretty certain he’d heard that detective say. It seemed nice, as far as ladies’ handbags went, indicating the owner probably had a touch of classiness to her. Gates and his women. Raven nearly rolled his eyes as he cautiously made his way through the kitchen and into the estate proper. He wondered where he’d picked this particular one up. And why things had apparently gone south with her.
The storm was still raging outside, disguising his footsteps to anyone who might yet be in the house, but as far as he could tell, the only staff was the butler he’d already taken care of. It made combing the place that much easier, but despite that, the girl didn’t seem to be anywhere on the ground floor. Up to the second, then. A great balcony branched off in both directions at the top of the main staircase, and on a whim he went to the right. The first two doors held an upstairs parlor and an empty guest room, and that was it. The last door, though, at the end of the hall, was heavier and more ornate, and he slipped inside just as a crash of thunder shook the windows.
It was Gates’ private quarters, by the looks of it. A fire crackled in the hearth, which saved him the trouble of having to search there, he supposed, and he dropped the monogrammed purse on the enormous, plush bed before pausing to peer around. There was a connected bath off to one side, and then another door in the opposite corner, curiously closed. Quietly, he tried the knob, and found that it opened into a formal dressing room: There was a full length mirror, a chest of drawers, a table and chair next to the window, and a large closet. He quickly rifled through the clothes hanging in it, but it was just suit after suit. Nothing but shoes and boots along the bottom. A shelf up above, but no limbs dangling off of it. Damn it. This was taking longer than he’d hoped it would, and—
Just as he was walking out, a noise came from behind him. Like something slumping over. Raven stopped and silently turned.
It had to have come from the closet. He must have missed something. He stuck his gun in his coat so he could push the hangers apart with both hands this time, and sure enough, there she was. On the floor, along the back wall, stashed beyond the leather wingtips and loafers.
Jesus, it was no wonder he’d initially missed her. She was a tiny thing, blonde, and so thoroughly tied up it made him wonder if whoever’d done it didn’t have a weird fondness for rope—it wouldn’t be the first time he’d run into somebody like that in his line of work, after all. He hefted her into his arms, and her head—the lower half of which was covered in a gag—tipped limply back on her neck. She didn’t appear to be dead, as he carried her out into the main room, but she was definitely out cold. She didn’t stir in the slightest as he deposited her on the mattress and set about to untying the gag from her mouth.
When the knot eventually came undone, he pulled the fabric out from under her head and flung it aside unceremoniously. With that out of the way, Raven tilted her chin towards him so he could at last take a decent look at her—and couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped him upon seeing her face.
Because it was her. The girl from the train. The one who’d so frustratingly gotten away earlier that day. He hadn’t recognized her with the gag and the different set of clothing, but there was no mistaking it now. Just what in the hell was she doing there?
Truth be told, there was a small part of him that was actually glad she had gotten away earlier. He hadn’t really wanted to kill her. He’d needed to, because she was a liability, a loose end, but he hadn’t really wanted to—not after she’d been so good to him the night before and had so obediently played along with him that morning. Nor had she turned hysterical or started to beg for her life once she’d grasped what he intended to do—something both women and men had done with him in the past, and which never ceased to be tiresome. She’d been frightened, certainly, but she’d also had a bit of dignity about her—or else just the sense to know that begging wouldn’t change anything. He’d been oddly appreciative of that, and so was going to make it quick and as painless as possible, for her sake. He figured it was the least he could do. But then those demolition workers had come back from break, catching him off guard, and she’d swiftly seized the opportunity and bolted. It was almost as admirable as it was irritating. Something he himself might have done, had their situations been reversed.
And now there she was—bound, unconscious, and so utterly vulnerable.
Well. He didn’t need her dead anymore. Not before first getting some information out of her, at any rate. He pulled his knife from his pocket, flicked the blade free, and started cutting at the ropes around her ankles. Knees next, then the bunch around her waist, arms, and finally hands. The fibers had dug into the skin of her wrists, and he rubbed them, trying to encourage circulation. Her fingers were cold and probably numb. Briefly, he thought about his own injured wrist.
Was he feeling a trifle sympathetic towards her? Possibly. She had treated him surprisingly well, after all, not calling the conductor on him last night, and then going so far as to outright offer him a dollar when he confessed he was short on cash. He’d refused, but even so, it was an unexpected kindness, and one he still wasn’t entirely sure what to do with, to be honest. He supposed it only made sense to return it in a fashion. Unlawful profession notwithstanding, at the end of the day, he wasn’t a hoodlum. He kept his debts, he really did—something Mr. Gates and his coy boss were going to learn the hard way.
He set the pieces of rope off to the side with the gag, then rolled her onto her back. She was breathing just fine, pulse normal enough, but didn’t seem to be any closer to waking up. He took off her hat and felt around on her head. There was no obvious lump, so they must have knocked her out with a chemical of some sort. Raven sighed, took off his own hat, hooked it on the carved footboard, and knelt down next to the bed to examine her. It was impossible to tell how much longer she’d be out, and every second spent waiting was a second wasted, as far as he was concerned. He pressed his lips together impatiently and tilted her chin back and forth again. He considered giving her a couple sharp raps to the cheek, to see if that would rouse her, but realized he didn’t very much like the idea. So maybe some water? He hadn’t forgotten about that connected bathroom. It wouldn’t take much to run in there, wet a washcloth, and see if that would do the trick.
Just as he was contemplating this, he thought he saw her eyelids twitch, and he leaned closer, intently watching for more. Sure enough, there was another little flutter of her lashes, a hitch in her breathing—and then she was suddenly pushing herself up into a sitting position, blinking as if she’d just emerged from a bad dream.
He caught her before her arms could falter and inadvertently send her back down to the pillow. “Take it easy,” he said. She was still weak, drowsy, and slowly turned her head to look at him, eyes widening slightly upon seeing just who was holding her. It was a strange sensation, having her so close, and his gaze swept over her face for a distracted moment before the questions at hand reasserted themselves in his mind.
“What’s Gates got against you?” he asked.
-----
A/N: “A strange sensation”—I think you mean a sexy sensation there, Raven, ohohoho. ;) (Is he getting a boner? Probably not. But, seeing as how I basically headcanon him as asexual-but-latently-heteroromantic—or else graysexual—it’s entirely possible that this is his first time experiencing genuine attraction towards another person. The boy just has no frame of reference for what he’s feeling, bless him.)
In other news, I’ve actually had this idea for a good long while. It’s easy to miss in the film, but if you watch carefully when Raven turns Ellen’s face toward him (as shown in this gifset), you can see him give a little gasp—implying that he hadn’t recognized her until then. Suffice it to say, I got curious about what might be running through his head during that scene. Plus, I’d already written from his POV for one of my post-canon AU fics (where he’s distinctly mellower, if still as antisocial as ever), and I guess I wanted to see what it would be like writing him when he’s still in full-on “bitch better have my money” mode, pfft. Part of me wishes it didn’t end so abruptly, but at the same time, I didn’t see the point in simply rehashing the scene from the film, so… (I actually gave it a try, continuing with the film dialogue just to see how it would go, and it…didn’t jibe, guys.)
Lastly, I guess this counts as something of a companion piece to Your Fortune’s Fallin’ All Over the Town—both take place in-film (and one almost right after the other), are of similar length, are similarly introspective, but are told from different perspectives.
All other fics can be found here.
Fandom: This Gun For Hire (1942)
Genre: Drama, angst, general.
Characters: Philip Raven, Ellen Graham.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,564
Summary: It was her. The girl from the train. The one who’d so frustratingly gotten away earlier that day. Just what in the hell was she doing there? (Or, Raven rescues Ellen from Gates’ mansion. Expanded scene/character study.)
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
- Each Cloud Contains -
There was something immensely satisfying about watching the man tumble head over heels down the stairs and land at the bottom in a crumpled, motionless heap. Raven almost let out a small, grim smile at the sight.
He didn’t like being lied to. He liked being stiffed on his payment even less, and Willard Gates and his associates had now effectively done both. It was infuriating, and he was tempted to follow the man down the stairs and make sure he had more than just a few bumps and bruises, but common sense prevailed. Instead he merely shut the basement door and locked it, taking the key with him for good measure. As cathartic as it might have been to indulge in a bout of physical violence just then, there were other things that were more important. Namely, finding the owner of the handbag he currently had tucked under his arm, discovering just what Gates had against her, and seeing if she could be at all useful.
‘E.G.’ were the initials on it. ‘Ellen Graham,’ he was pretty certain he’d heard that detective say. It seemed nice, as far as ladies’ handbags went, indicating the owner probably had a touch of classiness to her. Gates and his women. Raven nearly rolled his eyes as he cautiously made his way through the kitchen and into the estate proper. He wondered where he’d picked this particular one up. And why things had apparently gone south with her.
The storm was still raging outside, disguising his footsteps to anyone who might yet be in the house, but as far as he could tell, the only staff was the butler he’d already taken care of. It made combing the place that much easier, but despite that, the girl didn’t seem to be anywhere on the ground floor. Up to the second, then. A great balcony branched off in both directions at the top of the main staircase, and on a whim he went to the right. The first two doors held an upstairs parlor and an empty guest room, and that was it. The last door, though, at the end of the hall, was heavier and more ornate, and he slipped inside just as a crash of thunder shook the windows.
It was Gates’ private quarters, by the looks of it. A fire crackled in the hearth, which saved him the trouble of having to search there, he supposed, and he dropped the monogrammed purse on the enormous, plush bed before pausing to peer around. There was a connected bath off to one side, and then another door in the opposite corner, curiously closed. Quietly, he tried the knob, and found that it opened into a formal dressing room: There was a full length mirror, a chest of drawers, a table and chair next to the window, and a large closet. He quickly rifled through the clothes hanging in it, but it was just suit after suit. Nothing but shoes and boots along the bottom. A shelf up above, but no limbs dangling off of it. Damn it. This was taking longer than he’d hoped it would, and—
Just as he was walking out, a noise came from behind him. Like something slumping over. Raven stopped and silently turned.
It had to have come from the closet. He must have missed something. He stuck his gun in his coat so he could push the hangers apart with both hands this time, and sure enough, there she was. On the floor, along the back wall, stashed beyond the leather wingtips and loafers.
Jesus, it was no wonder he’d initially missed her. She was a tiny thing, blonde, and so thoroughly tied up it made him wonder if whoever’d done it didn’t have a weird fondness for rope—it wouldn’t be the first time he’d run into somebody like that in his line of work, after all. He hefted her into his arms, and her head—the lower half of which was covered in a gag—tipped limply back on her neck. She didn’t appear to be dead, as he carried her out into the main room, but she was definitely out cold. She didn’t stir in the slightest as he deposited her on the mattress and set about to untying the gag from her mouth.
When the knot eventually came undone, he pulled the fabric out from under her head and flung it aside unceremoniously. With that out of the way, Raven tilted her chin towards him so he could at last take a decent look at her—and couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped him upon seeing her face.
Because it was her. The girl from the train. The one who’d so frustratingly gotten away earlier that day. He hadn’t recognized her with the gag and the different set of clothing, but there was no mistaking it now. Just what in the hell was she doing there?
Truth be told, there was a small part of him that was actually glad she had gotten away earlier. He hadn’t really wanted to kill her. He’d needed to, because she was a liability, a loose end, but he hadn’t really wanted to—not after she’d been so good to him the night before and had so obediently played along with him that morning. Nor had she turned hysterical or started to beg for her life once she’d grasped what he intended to do—something both women and men had done with him in the past, and which never ceased to be tiresome. She’d been frightened, certainly, but she’d also had a bit of dignity about her—or else just the sense to know that begging wouldn’t change anything. He’d been oddly appreciative of that, and so was going to make it quick and as painless as possible, for her sake. He figured it was the least he could do. But then those demolition workers had come back from break, catching him off guard, and she’d swiftly seized the opportunity and bolted. It was almost as admirable as it was irritating. Something he himself might have done, had their situations been reversed.
And now there she was—bound, unconscious, and so utterly vulnerable.
Well. He didn’t need her dead anymore. Not before first getting some information out of her, at any rate. He pulled his knife from his pocket, flicked the blade free, and started cutting at the ropes around her ankles. Knees next, then the bunch around her waist, arms, and finally hands. The fibers had dug into the skin of her wrists, and he rubbed them, trying to encourage circulation. Her fingers were cold and probably numb. Briefly, he thought about his own injured wrist.
Was he feeling a trifle sympathetic towards her? Possibly. She had treated him surprisingly well, after all, not calling the conductor on him last night, and then going so far as to outright offer him a dollar when he confessed he was short on cash. He’d refused, but even so, it was an unexpected kindness, and one he still wasn’t entirely sure what to do with, to be honest. He supposed it only made sense to return it in a fashion. Unlawful profession notwithstanding, at the end of the day, he wasn’t a hoodlum. He kept his debts, he really did—something Mr. Gates and his coy boss were going to learn the hard way.
He set the pieces of rope off to the side with the gag, then rolled her onto her back. She was breathing just fine, pulse normal enough, but didn’t seem to be any closer to waking up. He took off her hat and felt around on her head. There was no obvious lump, so they must have knocked her out with a chemical of some sort. Raven sighed, took off his own hat, hooked it on the carved footboard, and knelt down next to the bed to examine her. It was impossible to tell how much longer she’d be out, and every second spent waiting was a second wasted, as far as he was concerned. He pressed his lips together impatiently and tilted her chin back and forth again. He considered giving her a couple sharp raps to the cheek, to see if that would rouse her, but realized he didn’t very much like the idea. So maybe some water? He hadn’t forgotten about that connected bathroom. It wouldn’t take much to run in there, wet a washcloth, and see if that would do the trick.
Just as he was contemplating this, he thought he saw her eyelids twitch, and he leaned closer, intently watching for more. Sure enough, there was another little flutter of her lashes, a hitch in her breathing—and then she was suddenly pushing herself up into a sitting position, blinking as if she’d just emerged from a bad dream.
He caught her before her arms could falter and inadvertently send her back down to the pillow. “Take it easy,” he said. She was still weak, drowsy, and slowly turned her head to look at him, eyes widening slightly upon seeing just who was holding her. It was a strange sensation, having her so close, and his gaze swept over her face for a distracted moment before the questions at hand reasserted themselves in his mind.
“What’s Gates got against you?” he asked.
-----
A/N: “A strange sensation”—I think you mean a sexy sensation there, Raven, ohohoho. ;) (Is he getting a boner? Probably not. But, seeing as how I basically headcanon him as asexual-but-latently-heteroromantic—or else graysexual—it’s entirely possible that this is his first time experiencing genuine attraction towards another person. The boy just has no frame of reference for what he’s feeling, bless him.)
In other news, I’ve actually had this idea for a good long while. It’s easy to miss in the film, but if you watch carefully when Raven turns Ellen’s face toward him (as shown in this gifset), you can see him give a little gasp—implying that he hadn’t recognized her until then. Suffice it to say, I got curious about what might be running through his head during that scene. Plus, I’d already written from his POV for one of my post-canon AU fics (where he’s distinctly mellower, if still as antisocial as ever), and I guess I wanted to see what it would be like writing him when he’s still in full-on “bitch better have my money” mode, pfft. Part of me wishes it didn’t end so abruptly, but at the same time, I didn’t see the point in simply rehashing the scene from the film, so… (I actually gave it a try, continuing with the film dialogue just to see how it would go, and it…didn’t jibe, guys.)
Lastly, I guess this counts as something of a companion piece to Your Fortune’s Fallin’ All Over the Town—both take place in-film (and one almost right after the other), are of similar length, are similarly introspective, but are told from different perspectives.
All other fics can be found here.
