konstantya (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
konstantya) wrote2021-11-15 10:44 am
konstantya) wrote2021-11-15 10:44 am
Entry tags:
[fic] Her Friend, the Burglar - "A Thief In the Night"
Title: A Thief In the Night
Fandom: Her Friend, the Burglar (Short Story)
Genre: Gen, romance.
Characters/pairings: Doris Lawton/The Burglar
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,632
Summary: After a few days at the seaside resort, Doris began to realize just how silly it was to expect the burglar to show up. (Or, a post-canon fic based on yet another pulp story that no one has read since it was originally published. The basic gist: An office worker accidentally gets locked in a vault after-hours, and ends up being saved by a burglar who just happens to break in that night. He lets her go free, but complications arise when all the incidental evidence points to her being the thief, or at least an accomplice. Said burglar later bails her out, and then—because she was such a good sport and didn’t immediately report him to the police—sends her a wad of cash he stole from her now-former boss. Heroine happily goes on vacation, the end.)
While this is technically a fanfic, in all honesty, it probably reads as original fic. Anyway, if you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
After a few days at the seaside resort, Doris began to realize just how silly it was to expect the burglar to show up.
Sure, he’d gifted her all that money, but that was just…well…a momentary bout of kindness, she suspected. It didn’t necessarily mean anything beyond that. And in all honesty, it was probably just as well. Bad enough that she’d gotten arrested and turned into the town pariah because of some misunderstanding involving him; she didn’t need to genuinely start consorting with criminals—which was what he was, she reminded herself.
Still, the money had been nice, and a good chunk of it had been put towards the vacation she was currently indulging in—outfitting her in some glorious new clothes and extending her stay by a couple days. The rest she’d held onto. If she was frugal with it, it would see her to a new city, a new boarding house, and maybe even a job that paid more than eighteen dollars a week. (Her misfortune at her last job notwithstanding, she truly was a good worker, and she maintained that somebody would appreciate that, even if miserly Mr. Kenyon hadn’t.)
For now, though, she was content to spend her days soaking up the July sun in her brand new bathing suit, and her nights dancing in the attached club. It was relatively modest, as far as resorts went, which meant no millionaires in sight, but there were plenty enough young, professional men about, and a decent amount of them were even handsome, to boot. Doris didn’t have any real dreams of finding a husband during her stay—and she doubted many of the men there were sincerely looking for wives—but it made for a pleasant time all the same. No expectations meant that she could more thoroughly enjoy herself, and after all, wasn’t that what vacations were supposed to be about?
It was coming up on midnight, the band was in full swing, and Doris was decked out in one of her new evening gowns—a sleeveless gold number that went beautifully with her blonde bob (if she did say so, herself) and brought out the color of her blue eyes. She’d just finished refreshing herself with a lemonade when a dark-haired gentleman in a neat grey suit approached her and gestured at the floor. “May I?” he asked, and with a nod, Doris happily consented and let him lead her out.
His face was unfamiliar, which meant he’d probably just arrived that day, and she waited for the inevitable introduction—waited, and was somewhat surprised when it never came. Instead, he simply regarded her, a small, amused smile about his mouth. Doris was about to make some joke, asking if she’d accidentally powdered her nose with rouge, when he finally spoke:
“I gotta admit, you look a lot better like this than you did in office duds,” he said. “Or maybe it’s just the better lighting.”
Mid-step, Doris almost faltered, and her chest gave a sudden, hard thump. “You mean you’re—?” She blinked up at him, trying to compare the man in front of her with her memories of that night. She’d never gotten a good look at him beyond his silhouette, but perhaps the voice…
He grinned with a lopsided charm. “Guess you put those four hundred bucks to good use, huh?”
Well, that clinched it. The world swam for a moment, just slightly, and his hand around her—the same hand that had cursorily checked her wrist for a pulse and her breast for a full heartbeat—abruptly felt electric. Underneath the excitement, however, was a thin thread of apprehension; somehow, the reality of coming back into contact with him was vastly different from the various fantasies she had entertained over the past few days.
“Did you follow me?” she demanded. There was a hint of breathlessness to the words, and she cursed herself for it.
Her thief, however, just shrugged a bit sheepishly. “What can I say, kid? You caught my interest. It isn’t every day I find a girl locked up in a vault, who then refuses to squeal to the cops. Like I said, you were game.” And he looked down at her with obvious admiration.
Doris swallowed and knitted her eyebrows together. “That’s because I was worried you were going to hurt me. You did threaten to, after all.” To say nothing of how he was clearly capable of tracking people down when he wanted to.
“Aw, I didn’t mean it,” he confessed. “And didn’t really think you’d listen, at that. And yeah, I followed you because I wanted to get to know you better, but I wasn’t lying when I told you I was square. So if you tell me to get lost, I’ll get lost, no hard feelings, promise.”
It was strange, to realize this crook was more courteous than a lot of so-called ‘straight’ men were. Just last night she’d had to forcefully push away one Mr. Roger Lowery, a junior architect from New Jersey, because he kept trying to get her alone, despite her refusals. He’d checked out that morning, and Doris was hardly sorry to see him go, no matter how nice a dancer he’d been. As far as her thief went, it was probably too much to hope he was some sort of modern-day Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor, but he’d given to her, had helped her out of a bind—two binds, in fact—which had to count for something, right? Furthermore, he was easy on the eyes. Not quite matinee idol handsome, but good-looking all the same, with his straight nose, sharp jaw, and lithe, athletic build.
“No…” Doris finally said, slowly, like the way one experimentally dipped a toe into a cold stream. “No, I think you can stay.”
He smiled lopsidedly again, his hazel eyes lighting up with satisfaction. “Swell,” he said, and at that, the two of them fell quiet, focusing on the music. He wasn’t that bad on his feet, Doris noticed—he was actually quite graceful—and she remembered the way he’d noiselessly climbed out of the office window and disappeared from sight.
He broke the silence a moment later, curiosity apparently getting the better of him: “So why were you in that vault, anyway?”
An embarrassed flush came to her face and she looked away. “I was trying to be nice by putting away some checks that had been left out, and the wind blew the door shut.” It was ridiculous, she knew, and the altruistic impulse that had initially driven her actions that evening seemed particularly stupid now, considering how Mr. Kenyon had treated her afterwards. Nevertheless, it was the truth.
Her thief laughed at the revelation—actually laughed. It was an oddly pleasant sound, so very different from the harsh chuckle he’d thrown at her in the darkness that night, and it traveled down her spine with a thrill. “God, you really are green, aren’t you?”
“I’m less green, now,” she said, a little stiffly. Almost suffocating to death and then getting arrested did that to a girl.
“Yes,” he acknowledged, rather apologetically, “I suppose that’s true.”
The current song ended and the band began another, but he didn’t let her go, instead pulling her into a second dance. In spite of her earlier reservations, Doris wasn’t exactly complaining, but she also didn’t know where this was going. Surely he didn’t expect to dance with her all night. Surely they’d have to part ways at some point. And when that happened…
“So what’s your name?” she asked. He pulled back to look down at her.
“Now why would you need to know a thing like that?”
“Because you know mine,” she pointed out fairly. “And because I can’t just keep calling you”—and here she moved closer, lowering her voice in discretion—“‘Mr. Burglar’ in my head.”
His arm tightened reflexively around her waist at the moniker. “Why not?” he retorted softly. “I kind of like the sound of it, myself. When it comes from you, at least.”
Goodness, was she really doing this? Flirting with a criminal? It seemed so. Her blood was racing wildly in her veins, his shoulder was hard under the wool of his suit, and if she dared to turn her head, his mouth would be practically right next to hers.
Doris leaned back, fumbling for some semblance of rationality. “Are you going to be around for a while?” she asked.
“For a while,” he confirmed, but didn’t volunteer any more information. “You still working for Kenyon?”
Doris snorted. It was unladylike, but she couldn’t help it. “No. And even if he’d still have me, I wouldn’t want the job. I’m sick of that town, anyway. Somebody was kind enough to give me a going-away bonus,” she said, with a meaningful glance up at him, “so I’m thinking of moving to the city. The big one. New York.”
“New York is nice,” he agreed. “Lots of people there. Easy to disappear if you need to.”
“And…do you…disappear there?” she cautiously asked, wondering if it was too personal a question. She hadn’t forgotten that he still hadn’t told her his name.
Her burglar smiled enigmatically, his eyes flicking over her face as if gauging her intentions. “Sometimes,” he conceded.
Doris pressed her red lips together primly and tried again. “Well, I won’t be able to look you up very easily if I don’t know your name.”
He laughed once more and drew her even closer, brushing his mouth tantalizingly against the shell of her ear. “I’ll look you up, Miss Lawton,” he murmured, and she trembled with anticipation. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find me slipping in your window one night.”
-----
A/N: There’s no hint of romance in the original short story, but that doesn’t mean I don’t ship it anyway. 👀 (Also, for reference, $400 in 1922 equals about $6,500 today, so girlfriend really did get a nice going-away bonus.)
In other news, I guess this is where I’m at these days: writing fanfiction for super-obscure vintage pulp stories, ahahahaha!
All other fics can be found here.
Fandom: Her Friend, the Burglar (Short Story)
Genre: Gen, romance.
Characters/pairings: Doris Lawton/The Burglar
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,632
Summary: After a few days at the seaside resort, Doris began to realize just how silly it was to expect the burglar to show up. (Or, a post-canon fic based on yet another pulp story that no one has read since it was originally published. The basic gist: An office worker accidentally gets locked in a vault after-hours, and ends up being saved by a burglar who just happens to break in that night. He lets her go free, but complications arise when all the incidental evidence points to her being the thief, or at least an accomplice. Said burglar later bails her out, and then—because she was such a good sport and didn’t immediately report him to the police—sends her a wad of cash he stole from her now-former boss. Heroine happily goes on vacation, the end.)
While this is technically a fanfic, in all honesty, it probably reads as original fic. Anyway, if you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
- A Thief In the Night -
After a few days at the seaside resort, Doris began to realize just how silly it was to expect the burglar to show up.
Sure, he’d gifted her all that money, but that was just…well…a momentary bout of kindness, she suspected. It didn’t necessarily mean anything beyond that. And in all honesty, it was probably just as well. Bad enough that she’d gotten arrested and turned into the town pariah because of some misunderstanding involving him; she didn’t need to genuinely start consorting with criminals—which was what he was, she reminded herself.
Still, the money had been nice, and a good chunk of it had been put towards the vacation she was currently indulging in—outfitting her in some glorious new clothes and extending her stay by a couple days. The rest she’d held onto. If she was frugal with it, it would see her to a new city, a new boarding house, and maybe even a job that paid more than eighteen dollars a week. (Her misfortune at her last job notwithstanding, she truly was a good worker, and she maintained that somebody would appreciate that, even if miserly Mr. Kenyon hadn’t.)
For now, though, she was content to spend her days soaking up the July sun in her brand new bathing suit, and her nights dancing in the attached club. It was relatively modest, as far as resorts went, which meant no millionaires in sight, but there were plenty enough young, professional men about, and a decent amount of them were even handsome, to boot. Doris didn’t have any real dreams of finding a husband during her stay—and she doubted many of the men there were sincerely looking for wives—but it made for a pleasant time all the same. No expectations meant that she could more thoroughly enjoy herself, and after all, wasn’t that what vacations were supposed to be about?
It was coming up on midnight, the band was in full swing, and Doris was decked out in one of her new evening gowns—a sleeveless gold number that went beautifully with her blonde bob (if she did say so, herself) and brought out the color of her blue eyes. She’d just finished refreshing herself with a lemonade when a dark-haired gentleman in a neat grey suit approached her and gestured at the floor. “May I?” he asked, and with a nod, Doris happily consented and let him lead her out.
His face was unfamiliar, which meant he’d probably just arrived that day, and she waited for the inevitable introduction—waited, and was somewhat surprised when it never came. Instead, he simply regarded her, a small, amused smile about his mouth. Doris was about to make some joke, asking if she’d accidentally powdered her nose with rouge, when he finally spoke:
“I gotta admit, you look a lot better like this than you did in office duds,” he said. “Or maybe it’s just the better lighting.”
Mid-step, Doris almost faltered, and her chest gave a sudden, hard thump. “You mean you’re—?” She blinked up at him, trying to compare the man in front of her with her memories of that night. She’d never gotten a good look at him beyond his silhouette, but perhaps the voice…
He grinned with a lopsided charm. “Guess you put those four hundred bucks to good use, huh?”
Well, that clinched it. The world swam for a moment, just slightly, and his hand around her—the same hand that had cursorily checked her wrist for a pulse and her breast for a full heartbeat—abruptly felt electric. Underneath the excitement, however, was a thin thread of apprehension; somehow, the reality of coming back into contact with him was vastly different from the various fantasies she had entertained over the past few days.
“Did you follow me?” she demanded. There was a hint of breathlessness to the words, and she cursed herself for it.
Her thief, however, just shrugged a bit sheepishly. “What can I say, kid? You caught my interest. It isn’t every day I find a girl locked up in a vault, who then refuses to squeal to the cops. Like I said, you were game.” And he looked down at her with obvious admiration.
Doris swallowed and knitted her eyebrows together. “That’s because I was worried you were going to hurt me. You did threaten to, after all.” To say nothing of how he was clearly capable of tracking people down when he wanted to.
“Aw, I didn’t mean it,” he confessed. “And didn’t really think you’d listen, at that. And yeah, I followed you because I wanted to get to know you better, but I wasn’t lying when I told you I was square. So if you tell me to get lost, I’ll get lost, no hard feelings, promise.”
It was strange, to realize this crook was more courteous than a lot of so-called ‘straight’ men were. Just last night she’d had to forcefully push away one Mr. Roger Lowery, a junior architect from New Jersey, because he kept trying to get her alone, despite her refusals. He’d checked out that morning, and Doris was hardly sorry to see him go, no matter how nice a dancer he’d been. As far as her thief went, it was probably too much to hope he was some sort of modern-day Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor, but he’d given to her, had helped her out of a bind—two binds, in fact—which had to count for something, right? Furthermore, he was easy on the eyes. Not quite matinee idol handsome, but good-looking all the same, with his straight nose, sharp jaw, and lithe, athletic build.
“No…” Doris finally said, slowly, like the way one experimentally dipped a toe into a cold stream. “No, I think you can stay.”
He smiled lopsidedly again, his hazel eyes lighting up with satisfaction. “Swell,” he said, and at that, the two of them fell quiet, focusing on the music. He wasn’t that bad on his feet, Doris noticed—he was actually quite graceful—and she remembered the way he’d noiselessly climbed out of the office window and disappeared from sight.
He broke the silence a moment later, curiosity apparently getting the better of him: “So why were you in that vault, anyway?”
An embarrassed flush came to her face and she looked away. “I was trying to be nice by putting away some checks that had been left out, and the wind blew the door shut.” It was ridiculous, she knew, and the altruistic impulse that had initially driven her actions that evening seemed particularly stupid now, considering how Mr. Kenyon had treated her afterwards. Nevertheless, it was the truth.
Her thief laughed at the revelation—actually laughed. It was an oddly pleasant sound, so very different from the harsh chuckle he’d thrown at her in the darkness that night, and it traveled down her spine with a thrill. “God, you really are green, aren’t you?”
“I’m less green, now,” she said, a little stiffly. Almost suffocating to death and then getting arrested did that to a girl.
“Yes,” he acknowledged, rather apologetically, “I suppose that’s true.”
The current song ended and the band began another, but he didn’t let her go, instead pulling her into a second dance. In spite of her earlier reservations, Doris wasn’t exactly complaining, but she also didn’t know where this was going. Surely he didn’t expect to dance with her all night. Surely they’d have to part ways at some point. And when that happened…
“So what’s your name?” she asked. He pulled back to look down at her.
“Now why would you need to know a thing like that?”
“Because you know mine,” she pointed out fairly. “And because I can’t just keep calling you”—and here she moved closer, lowering her voice in discretion—“‘Mr. Burglar’ in my head.”
His arm tightened reflexively around her waist at the moniker. “Why not?” he retorted softly. “I kind of like the sound of it, myself. When it comes from you, at least.”
Goodness, was she really doing this? Flirting with a criminal? It seemed so. Her blood was racing wildly in her veins, his shoulder was hard under the wool of his suit, and if she dared to turn her head, his mouth would be practically right next to hers.
Doris leaned back, fumbling for some semblance of rationality. “Are you going to be around for a while?” she asked.
“For a while,” he confirmed, but didn’t volunteer any more information. “You still working for Kenyon?”
Doris snorted. It was unladylike, but she couldn’t help it. “No. And even if he’d still have me, I wouldn’t want the job. I’m sick of that town, anyway. Somebody was kind enough to give me a going-away bonus,” she said, with a meaningful glance up at him, “so I’m thinking of moving to the city. The big one. New York.”
“New York is nice,” he agreed. “Lots of people there. Easy to disappear if you need to.”
“And…do you…disappear there?” she cautiously asked, wondering if it was too personal a question. She hadn’t forgotten that he still hadn’t told her his name.
Her burglar smiled enigmatically, his eyes flicking over her face as if gauging her intentions. “Sometimes,” he conceded.
Doris pressed her red lips together primly and tried again. “Well, I won’t be able to look you up very easily if I don’t know your name.”
He laughed once more and drew her even closer, brushing his mouth tantalizingly against the shell of her ear. “I’ll look you up, Miss Lawton,” he murmured, and she trembled with anticipation. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find me slipping in your window one night.”
-----
A/N: There’s no hint of romance in the original short story, but that doesn’t mean I don’t ship it anyway. 👀 (Also, for reference, $400 in 1922 equals about $6,500 today, so girlfriend really did get a nice going-away bonus.)
In other news, I guess this is where I’m at these days: writing fanfiction for super-obscure vintage pulp stories, ahahahaha!
All other fics can be found here.