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konstantyaTitle: I’ve Much To Regret
Fandom: Black Angel (1946)
Genre: Friendship, romance, angst.
Characters/pairings: Martin Blair/Catherine Bennett
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,679
Summary: She was going to be the absolute death of him, he realized. (Or, the aftermath of Catherine’s first solo visit to Marko’s office.)
Warnings: Implied/referenced dub-con, hurt/comfort, emotional infidelity.
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
The house was so dark from the outside, he wondered if she maybe had already gone to bed, and if he maybe should have told the cab driver to wait a token minute. Upon reaching her front step, however, he could just make out the dim light from one of her living room lamps through the door. So probably still awake, thankfully. Marty had never come calling at such a late hour, and could only pray that she wouldn’t mind the interruption. He’d been in the middle of the dinner set when she’d finally descended from Marko’s office, sporting slightly disheveled hair and a brand new brooch attached to the neckline of her evening gown, and she hadn’t looked over at him at all, had simply slipped backstage without a word. It was only later, when he’d gone knocking at her dressing room, that one of the dancers told him Cathy was already long gone—that she’d come back, quickly changed, and then quietly left.
It was unusual behavior for her, to say the least. But then, she’d been up to a lot of that over the past couple days, what with her planting that siren story in George Mitchell’s news column, and then proceeding to sashay up to Marko’s office after Lucky had come over, playing messenger boy. She was a grown woman, and someone else’s wife besides, so Marty could hardly presume to tell her what to do, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t worried about her all the same. Didn’t mean he wasn’t still worried about her.
The house was silent when he stepped in, and he discreetly closed the door and removed his hat. She was sitting on the couch with her back to him, and neither turned nor even seemed to acknowledge his presence.
“Cathy?” he hesitantly called.
“I’m here, Marty.”
Her voice was low and unreadable, and he slowly rounded the sofa so he was standing in front of her. It didn’t look like she’d been crying—not recently, at least—but her hair was down, her make-up was off, and she was wearing a robe. An empty glass, he noticed, sat on the side table, holding the telltale remains of a brown liquor in the bottom. That, too, was unusual behavior for her, but he was glad to see that she’d at least left the bottle in the kitchen, and furthermore didn’t appear to be drunk.
Marty fidgeted with his hat. “Sorry for coming by so late, but you, uh…you left so suddenly, without even saying goodbye, and I…just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She finally looked up at him and gave a brief, brittle smile. “I’m all right, Marty. I just wanted to get home.” And shower, she didn’t add, but it was plenty apparent from her state of attire and the scent of soap wafting from her skin.
“Right,” he said, just a bit awkwardly. He rocked back on his heels. “Well, in that case, if I could use your phone, I’ll just call for a c—”
“You can stay,” she told him. “For a while. I don’t mind.”
He paused for a beat, then nodded uncertainly. “Sure.” He nodded again. “Sure.” And with that, he set his hat on the coffee table and carefully sat down next to her. He was tempted to undo his bow tie—he was still wearing the dinner jacket he had played in that night—but instead he simply ran his palms apprehensively over his knees. “Cathy…” he started.
“He didn’t hurt me, Marty. If that’s what you’re wondering.”
It had been. And it was a relief to hear that much, at least. He took a long breath, letting it out cautiously, and flexed his hands to keep them from curling into fists. “Good,” he said. It sounded like a lie, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say in response.
Cathy shifted, then—tucking her feet up underneath her and leaning her head against his shoulder. The contact managed to surprise him, and he looked down at her, at the way her arms were defensively folded about her waist, and he couldn’t help it—he lifted his own arm up and gently wrapped it around her. She settled into his side, and they just sat there like that for a good couple minutes.
Finally, she broke the silence with a beseeching whisper: “Tell me it was worth it.”
His chest positively ached at the sorrow evident in her voice, at the reassurance she so obviously needed, and he pulled her a little closer, grazing his lips across the top of her hair. “Did you get the combination?”
“Yes.”
He took another breath, staring at the carpet and bracing himself for the next question. “And do you still love him?”
“Yes,” she said again, and this time it sounded like a lament. Marty tried his best to not read into it, and wasn’t entirely sure if he succeeded.
“Then it was worth it,” he murmured. At that, Cathy turned her head further into his shoulder, and after a few seconds, he realized she was crying. He knew it would be pointless—and offensively dismissive, besides—to try to shush her, so he merely tightened his hold, bringing his other hand up to soothingly rub her upper arm. After a long moment, she let out a loud sniffle, and lifted a hand so she could wipe at her cheek. Marty pulled back a little, digging the pocket square out of the front of his jacket, and wordlessly offered it to her. Her fingers brushed his, trembling, as she took it.
He swallowed, wracking his brain for something to say, something that might soften the blow of what she felt she’d had to do that night. “Your husband’s a lucky guy, you know that? Despite everything,” he added, because there could be no forgetting that Kirk Bennett was currently on track for execution. Still, he was a lucky son of a bitch, to have a wife like Cathy—and an ungrateful one, too, judging by the way he’d stepped out on her. Marty pushed aside his personal dislike for the man and continued. “I can’t think of too many women who would have volunteered to do what you did tonight, and fewer still who would have been able to actually go through with it.”
Cathy sniffled again and helplessly asked, “What else am I supposed to do?”
Leave him, he wanted to say. Recognize how unhappy he’s made you, and leave him. But he figured he knew what it was like to be in love with someone who was bad for you, so he probably had no right to go throwing stones. After all, if Mavis was still alive, he might very well have been willing to do something similarly extreme to help her out of a bind. Lord, what a perfect pair of saps the two of them made.
Marty looked down at her. Her hair had started to fall in front of her face, and he absently reached out to sweep it back behind her ear. She leaned into the light touch, momentarily closing her eyes, and all of a sudden the air between them seemed to change. He’d been so caught up with concern, he hadn’t really given much thought to anything else, but it was impossible now to ignore the overall situation: He was alone, late at night, in a dimly lit room, with a devastatingly beautiful woman in his arms. A devastatingly beautiful woman who was clad only in a robe and nightgown, and who was looking up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes.
Jesus, this wasn’t what he’d intended when he’d initially arrived. It was true he was attracted to her—it was difficult not to be, not when this nightclub ruse forced them to spend so much time together, not when he found himself genuinely enjoying her company. And after Mavis, well…how could he not see the appeal of a woman so fiercely devoted to her spouse, even if said spouse arguably didn’t deserve it?
But he hadn’t intended this. Hadn’t intended to get her in a clinch mere steps away from her marriage bed. But now that they were there…now that they were there…
God, did he ever want to kiss her. Moreover, it seemed like she wanted it, too. But maybe that was simply the events of the evening speaking. No doubt she was still reeling from what she’d put herself through with Marko, and maybe she was simply looking for some kind of comfort. Assuming that was the case, he’d be an utter heel to take advantage of her like that. But at the same time, she was gazing at him so longingly, her mouth tilted up so damn invitingly, and…
“Cathy…” he whispered. He was about to say something gallant, he swore he was, like how it was late and how he should leave, but—almost as if she could somehow read his thoughts—she effectively cut him off.
“Don’t go,” she said, and Marty just blinked, unsure if he’d heard her correctly.
“What?”
She turned her head away, breaking a bit of the spell. “I…I know it isn’t very appropriate,” she admitted, ashamed, “and I know it’s selfish of me to ask…but I don’t want to be alone in this house tonight. Most of the time I can handle it, but…not tonight. Please.”
She was going to be the absolute death of him, he realized. But she sounded so desolate, so downright desperate, and so all he could do was reluctantly nod and say, “Okay.” Trying to cling to a measure of decency, he let his eyes flick along the length of the furniture, and he added, “Pretty sure I’ll fit on the couch here.”
But Cathy didn’t make any effort to retire to the bedroom, and worse yet, Marty didn’t encourage her to move.
-----
A/N: The implication that Catherine sleeps with Marko always gets to me. It’s never explored in the film (for obvious reasons), but I have to imagine it would have affected her pretty significantly. I mean, on the one hand it’s not exactly rape, as she was by no means forced or coerced, but on the other hand it still isn’t something she truly wanted to do, so even assuming Marko’s a sweet, gentle lover(TOTALLY A POSSIBILITY; PETER LORRE HAS DEPTHS, YO), I can still see it being at least somewhat traumatic for her. Good lay or not, Catherine isn’t attracted to him, only did it because she felt she had to, and is furthermore probably wracked with some major feelings of guilt afterward, as she no doubt views it as a betrayal of her marriage vows. (Never mind that Kirk has already betrayed those, and that she’s doing it for far more noble reasons besides; girlfriend has clearly (unfortunately) bought into contemporary ideas of what a good wife should be, AKA: one who never has sex with anyone other than her husband, ever, and who also stands by him no matter what.)
And then there’s the fact that Marty apparently takes to letting himself into her house, completely unannounced (which is honestly one of my favorite weird little details of the film, not only because it implies Catherine literally never locks her front door (or else she gives him a key?), but either way it speaks to them having developed a genuinely close and intimate bond, such that she’s comfortable with him just wandering in whenever). Anyway, put the two together, and thus, this fic was born. Does Catherine eventually get up and go to bed, leaving Marty to chivalrously remain on the couch? Do they fall asleep on the couch together? Do they fall victim to themselves and officially do the do? You decide!
Title and lyrics at the beginning once again from the song “Heartbreak,” that was featured in the film.
All other fics can be found here.
Fandom: Black Angel (1946)
Genre: Friendship, romance, angst.
Characters/pairings: Martin Blair/Catherine Bennett
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,679
Summary: She was going to be the absolute death of him, he realized. (Or, the aftermath of Catherine’s first solo visit to Marko’s office.)
Warnings: Implied/referenced dub-con, hurt/comfort, emotional infidelity.
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
- I’ve Much To Regret -
I’ve much to regret
Finding your arms so thrilling
And finding myself too willing
So what do I get?
I’ve much to regret
Finding your arms so thrilling
And finding myself too willing
So what do I get?
The house was so dark from the outside, he wondered if she maybe had already gone to bed, and if he maybe should have told the cab driver to wait a token minute. Upon reaching her front step, however, he could just make out the dim light from one of her living room lamps through the door. So probably still awake, thankfully. Marty had never come calling at such a late hour, and could only pray that she wouldn’t mind the interruption. He’d been in the middle of the dinner set when she’d finally descended from Marko’s office, sporting slightly disheveled hair and a brand new brooch attached to the neckline of her evening gown, and she hadn’t looked over at him at all, had simply slipped backstage without a word. It was only later, when he’d gone knocking at her dressing room, that one of the dancers told him Cathy was already long gone—that she’d come back, quickly changed, and then quietly left.
It was unusual behavior for her, to say the least. But then, she’d been up to a lot of that over the past couple days, what with her planting that siren story in George Mitchell’s news column, and then proceeding to sashay up to Marko’s office after Lucky had come over, playing messenger boy. She was a grown woman, and someone else’s wife besides, so Marty could hardly presume to tell her what to do, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t worried about her all the same. Didn’t mean he wasn’t still worried about her.
The house was silent when he stepped in, and he discreetly closed the door and removed his hat. She was sitting on the couch with her back to him, and neither turned nor even seemed to acknowledge his presence.
“Cathy?” he hesitantly called.
“I’m here, Marty.”
Her voice was low and unreadable, and he slowly rounded the sofa so he was standing in front of her. It didn’t look like she’d been crying—not recently, at least—but her hair was down, her make-up was off, and she was wearing a robe. An empty glass, he noticed, sat on the side table, holding the telltale remains of a brown liquor in the bottom. That, too, was unusual behavior for her, but he was glad to see that she’d at least left the bottle in the kitchen, and furthermore didn’t appear to be drunk.
Marty fidgeted with his hat. “Sorry for coming by so late, but you, uh…you left so suddenly, without even saying goodbye, and I…just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She finally looked up at him and gave a brief, brittle smile. “I’m all right, Marty. I just wanted to get home.” And shower, she didn’t add, but it was plenty apparent from her state of attire and the scent of soap wafting from her skin.
“Right,” he said, just a bit awkwardly. He rocked back on his heels. “Well, in that case, if I could use your phone, I’ll just call for a c—”
“You can stay,” she told him. “For a while. I don’t mind.”
He paused for a beat, then nodded uncertainly. “Sure.” He nodded again. “Sure.” And with that, he set his hat on the coffee table and carefully sat down next to her. He was tempted to undo his bow tie—he was still wearing the dinner jacket he had played in that night—but instead he simply ran his palms apprehensively over his knees. “Cathy…” he started.
“He didn’t hurt me, Marty. If that’s what you’re wondering.”
It had been. And it was a relief to hear that much, at least. He took a long breath, letting it out cautiously, and flexed his hands to keep them from curling into fists. “Good,” he said. It sounded like a lie, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say in response.
Cathy shifted, then—tucking her feet up underneath her and leaning her head against his shoulder. The contact managed to surprise him, and he looked down at her, at the way her arms were defensively folded about her waist, and he couldn’t help it—he lifted his own arm up and gently wrapped it around her. She settled into his side, and they just sat there like that for a good couple minutes.
Finally, she broke the silence with a beseeching whisper: “Tell me it was worth it.”
His chest positively ached at the sorrow evident in her voice, at the reassurance she so obviously needed, and he pulled her a little closer, grazing his lips across the top of her hair. “Did you get the combination?”
“Yes.”
He took another breath, staring at the carpet and bracing himself for the next question. “And do you still love him?”
“Yes,” she said again, and this time it sounded like a lament. Marty tried his best to not read into it, and wasn’t entirely sure if he succeeded.
“Then it was worth it,” he murmured. At that, Cathy turned her head further into his shoulder, and after a few seconds, he realized she was crying. He knew it would be pointless—and offensively dismissive, besides—to try to shush her, so he merely tightened his hold, bringing his other hand up to soothingly rub her upper arm. After a long moment, she let out a loud sniffle, and lifted a hand so she could wipe at her cheek. Marty pulled back a little, digging the pocket square out of the front of his jacket, and wordlessly offered it to her. Her fingers brushed his, trembling, as she took it.
He swallowed, wracking his brain for something to say, something that might soften the blow of what she felt she’d had to do that night. “Your husband’s a lucky guy, you know that? Despite everything,” he added, because there could be no forgetting that Kirk Bennett was currently on track for execution. Still, he was a lucky son of a bitch, to have a wife like Cathy—and an ungrateful one, too, judging by the way he’d stepped out on her. Marty pushed aside his personal dislike for the man and continued. “I can’t think of too many women who would have volunteered to do what you did tonight, and fewer still who would have been able to actually go through with it.”
Cathy sniffled again and helplessly asked, “What else am I supposed to do?”
Leave him, he wanted to say. Recognize how unhappy he’s made you, and leave him. But he figured he knew what it was like to be in love with someone who was bad for you, so he probably had no right to go throwing stones. After all, if Mavis was still alive, he might very well have been willing to do something similarly extreme to help her out of a bind. Lord, what a perfect pair of saps the two of them made.
Marty looked down at her. Her hair had started to fall in front of her face, and he absently reached out to sweep it back behind her ear. She leaned into the light touch, momentarily closing her eyes, and all of a sudden the air between them seemed to change. He’d been so caught up with concern, he hadn’t really given much thought to anything else, but it was impossible now to ignore the overall situation: He was alone, late at night, in a dimly lit room, with a devastatingly beautiful woman in his arms. A devastatingly beautiful woman who was clad only in a robe and nightgown, and who was looking up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes.
Jesus, this wasn’t what he’d intended when he’d initially arrived. It was true he was attracted to her—it was difficult not to be, not when this nightclub ruse forced them to spend so much time together, not when he found himself genuinely enjoying her company. And after Mavis, well…how could he not see the appeal of a woman so fiercely devoted to her spouse, even if said spouse arguably didn’t deserve it?
But he hadn’t intended this. Hadn’t intended to get her in a clinch mere steps away from her marriage bed. But now that they were there…now that they were there…
God, did he ever want to kiss her. Moreover, it seemed like she wanted it, too. But maybe that was simply the events of the evening speaking. No doubt she was still reeling from what she’d put herself through with Marko, and maybe she was simply looking for some kind of comfort. Assuming that was the case, he’d be an utter heel to take advantage of her like that. But at the same time, she was gazing at him so longingly, her mouth tilted up so damn invitingly, and…
“Cathy…” he whispered. He was about to say something gallant, he swore he was, like how it was late and how he should leave, but—almost as if she could somehow read his thoughts—she effectively cut him off.
“Don’t go,” she said, and Marty just blinked, unsure if he’d heard her correctly.
“What?”
She turned her head away, breaking a bit of the spell. “I…I know it isn’t very appropriate,” she admitted, ashamed, “and I know it’s selfish of me to ask…but I don’t want to be alone in this house tonight. Most of the time I can handle it, but…not tonight. Please.”
She was going to be the absolute death of him, he realized. But she sounded so desolate, so downright desperate, and so all he could do was reluctantly nod and say, “Okay.” Trying to cling to a measure of decency, he let his eyes flick along the length of the furniture, and he added, “Pretty sure I’ll fit on the couch here.”
But Cathy didn’t make any effort to retire to the bedroom, and worse yet, Marty didn’t encourage her to move.
-----
A/N: The implication that Catherine sleeps with Marko always gets to me. It’s never explored in the film (for obvious reasons), but I have to imagine it would have affected her pretty significantly. I mean, on the one hand it’s not exactly rape, as she was by no means forced or coerced, but on the other hand it still isn’t something she truly wanted to do, so even assuming Marko’s a sweet, gentle lover
And then there’s the fact that Marty apparently takes to letting himself into her house, completely unannounced (which is honestly one of my favorite weird little details of the film, not only because it implies Catherine literally never locks her front door (or else she gives him a key?), but either way it speaks to them having developed a genuinely close and intimate bond, such that she’s comfortable with him just wandering in whenever). Anyway, put the two together, and thus, this fic was born. Does Catherine eventually get up and go to bed, leaving Marty to chivalrously remain on the couch? Do they fall asleep on the couch together? Do they fall victim to themselves and officially do the do? You decide!
Title and lyrics at the beginning once again from the song “Heartbreak,” that was featured in the film.
All other fics can be found here.
