[fic] The Love Pawn - "Relative Pin"
Nov. 7th, 2022 02:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
konstantyaTitle: Relative Pin
Fandom: The Love Pawn (Short Story)
Genre: Drama, gen.
Characters: Paula Ingram, Red (Jack Delafield)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 973
Summary: “I wouldn’t try it,” Red said, interrupting her thoughts as clearly as if she’d been speaking them aloud. His voice was soft, yet with an unmistakable edge of warning. “Those woods go for miles and I’d catch you in no time.” (Or, Paula and Red stop for gas after he hijacks her car and effectively kidnaps her. As usual, the original short story can be found here.)
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
They stopped at a filling station a few miles outside of Chester, just as the sun was going down. Paula had missed the town’s name, but the station itself was on the outskirts of it, and despite herself, she was glad for the momentary break from driving. On a good day, one could get from Wilmington to Philadelphia in an hour, but he’d forced her onto so many back roads that it now looked as if it was going to take twice that. And once they reached Philadelphia—then what? He’d said he was taking her to California by airplane—but when?
The attendant was filling the tank, and as Red feigned ease by slipping a cigarette in between his lips, Paula let her eyes wander through the driver’s side window. The next closest establishment, a dry goods store, was about half a mile back—too far to be useful, unfortunately, which had probably been his plan all along. There was, however, a line of trees opposite the station, across the road, leading into some woods.
The light was failing. Already she’d had to switch the sedan’s headlamps on for safety’s sake. In another twenty minutes it would be dark. It was a gamble, but if she could only get to those trees, she might be able to lose herself in them. Might be able to lose him, long enough to make it through to the other side, or at least back to that store. Maybe if she timed it for when he was distracted—he’d already finished with his lighter, smoke already beginning to curl between them, but maybe if she waited until he was busy paying—
“I wouldn’t try it,” Red said, interrupting her thoughts as clearly as if she’d been speaking them aloud. His voice was soft enough for the attendant not to hear him, yet with an unmistakable edge of warning. “Those woods go for miles and I’d catch you in no time.”
For an instant, Paula imagined his arms going around her, pulling her back against his body, hard, and involuntarily, her breathing turned a little wobbly. Her gaze dropped to her fingers and she flexed them on the steering wheel. “Then can you at least offer me a cigarette?” she asked testily.
Red looked at her, as if he knew she was typically only a social smoker and thus was surprised by the request, or else was gauging the likelihood that this was some kind of ploy on her part. Paula wished she could have claimed it was the latter, but honestly, in that moment, she just needed something to keep her hands busy and her mind relatively calm.
Why did he seem so familiar for some reason? How did he know so much about her?
Finally, with a grace that belied the tension between them, he pulled out his cigarettes once more, tapping a few from the pack and offering them to her wordlessly. Paula took one, trying to prevent her fingers from shaking, as he gallantly did her the favor of lighting it. Like they were really just friends, or else sweethearts, going on a sunset drive.
No case for his cigarettes, she noted. No fancy, custom lighter, either. They were details that were at odds with the tailored suit he wore, the finely-made overcoat, his well-manicured nails. Could his story about being Jack Delafield really be true? She remembered hearing about the family, vaguely, in the months following the market crash, when her own uncle’s finances had taken a hit and he’d had to table that idea for an outdoor swimming pool. Since then, the finances had recovered, admirably so from what she understood, but the swimming pool never had materialized.
The tank now full, the attendant’s young head popped into view once more, framed by the passenger-side window. “One dollar and seventy cents, sir,” he chirped, and Red casually reached for his wallet. The boy—for he still held the telltale lankiness of youth—couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Hardly a match for the full-grown man next to her, were a physical altercation to break out, and that was even ignoring the gun that still sat, heavy and dangerous, in one of her captor’s pockets. Even assuming he wouldn’t shoot her, due to his apparent need for her, could the same be said for some nameless, country gas station attendant? Paula’s conscience wouldn’t let her risk it. She breathed in smoke as if her life depended upon it, and tapped the ash numbly into the car’s built-in tray.
Red paid, giving a five-cent tip, and the boy doffed his uniform cap with an appreciative grin before stepping back, out of the way. “If you please, Miss Ingram,” Red said mockingly, with a gesture at the ignition key, and there was that uncanny sense of familiarity again.
Where had she heard his voice before?
She crushed her cigarette out in the ashtray, then turned the engine over. Somewhat reluctantly, she pulled back out onto the road, and soon enough the station attendant—and the little comfort his presence had provided—was gone. The light was even lower, dusk fully settling in, and it lent a new, anxious intimacy to the atmosphere inside the cab. Paula flexed her hands on the steering wheel once more, and Red leaned over, uncomfortably close, to stub out the end of his own cigarette. He smelled of tobacco and soap and a hint of aftershave. Nothing like how one would expect a criminal to smell. Nothing like how a criminal should have smelled, and she fought to purge the scent from her nose, lest it inadvertently lull her into a false sense of security.
His hair, under his hat, flared auburn in the twilight, and in the west, beyond the trees, the sun sunk inexorably beneath the horizon.
-----
A/N: It seems I just can’t quit these two. In all honesty, I keep wanting to write expanded versions of canon scenes, kind of like how I did with Checkmate, but I inevitably never get very far because (unlike that fic) it feels ridiculous rehashing a scene only to add, like, literally three extra lines of dialogue to it, pfft. So I guess full-on missing scenes it is! Canonically, it’s said Paula and Red stop “twice” for gas, which frankly seems ridiculous (even taking 1930s’ gas tanks and mileage into account), considering that Wilmington to Philadelphia is only about thirty miles, but I could certainly see them stopping at least once? Anyway, it seemed a good excuse for a bit of sexy tension and internal angsting. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
All other fics can be found here.
Fandom: The Love Pawn (Short Story)
Genre: Drama, gen.
Characters: Paula Ingram, Red (Jack Delafield)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 973
Summary: “I wouldn’t try it,” Red said, interrupting her thoughts as clearly as if she’d been speaking them aloud. His voice was soft, yet with an unmistakable edge of warning. “Those woods go for miles and I’d catch you in no time.” (Or, Paula and Red stop for gas after he hijacks her car and effectively kidnaps her. As usual, the original short story can be found here.)
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
- Relative Pin -
They stopped at a filling station a few miles outside of Chester, just as the sun was going down. Paula had missed the town’s name, but the station itself was on the outskirts of it, and despite herself, she was glad for the momentary break from driving. On a good day, one could get from Wilmington to Philadelphia in an hour, but he’d forced her onto so many back roads that it now looked as if it was going to take twice that. And once they reached Philadelphia—then what? He’d said he was taking her to California by airplane—but when?
The attendant was filling the tank, and as Red feigned ease by slipping a cigarette in between his lips, Paula let her eyes wander through the driver’s side window. The next closest establishment, a dry goods store, was about half a mile back—too far to be useful, unfortunately, which had probably been his plan all along. There was, however, a line of trees opposite the station, across the road, leading into some woods.
The light was failing. Already she’d had to switch the sedan’s headlamps on for safety’s sake. In another twenty minutes it would be dark. It was a gamble, but if she could only get to those trees, she might be able to lose herself in them. Might be able to lose him, long enough to make it through to the other side, or at least back to that store. Maybe if she timed it for when he was distracted—he’d already finished with his lighter, smoke already beginning to curl between them, but maybe if she waited until he was busy paying—
“I wouldn’t try it,” Red said, interrupting her thoughts as clearly as if she’d been speaking them aloud. His voice was soft enough for the attendant not to hear him, yet with an unmistakable edge of warning. “Those woods go for miles and I’d catch you in no time.”
For an instant, Paula imagined his arms going around her, pulling her back against his body, hard, and involuntarily, her breathing turned a little wobbly. Her gaze dropped to her fingers and she flexed them on the steering wheel. “Then can you at least offer me a cigarette?” she asked testily.
Red looked at her, as if he knew she was typically only a social smoker and thus was surprised by the request, or else was gauging the likelihood that this was some kind of ploy on her part. Paula wished she could have claimed it was the latter, but honestly, in that moment, she just needed something to keep her hands busy and her mind relatively calm.
Why did he seem so familiar for some reason? How did he know so much about her?
Finally, with a grace that belied the tension between them, he pulled out his cigarettes once more, tapping a few from the pack and offering them to her wordlessly. Paula took one, trying to prevent her fingers from shaking, as he gallantly did her the favor of lighting it. Like they were really just friends, or else sweethearts, going on a sunset drive.
No case for his cigarettes, she noted. No fancy, custom lighter, either. They were details that were at odds with the tailored suit he wore, the finely-made overcoat, his well-manicured nails. Could his story about being Jack Delafield really be true? She remembered hearing about the family, vaguely, in the months following the market crash, when her own uncle’s finances had taken a hit and he’d had to table that idea for an outdoor swimming pool. Since then, the finances had recovered, admirably so from what she understood, but the swimming pool never had materialized.
The tank now full, the attendant’s young head popped into view once more, framed by the passenger-side window. “One dollar and seventy cents, sir,” he chirped, and Red casually reached for his wallet. The boy—for he still held the telltale lankiness of youth—couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Hardly a match for the full-grown man next to her, were a physical altercation to break out, and that was even ignoring the gun that still sat, heavy and dangerous, in one of her captor’s pockets. Even assuming he wouldn’t shoot her, due to his apparent need for her, could the same be said for some nameless, country gas station attendant? Paula’s conscience wouldn’t let her risk it. She breathed in smoke as if her life depended upon it, and tapped the ash numbly into the car’s built-in tray.
Red paid, giving a five-cent tip, and the boy doffed his uniform cap with an appreciative grin before stepping back, out of the way. “If you please, Miss Ingram,” Red said mockingly, with a gesture at the ignition key, and there was that uncanny sense of familiarity again.
Where had she heard his voice before?
She crushed her cigarette out in the ashtray, then turned the engine over. Somewhat reluctantly, she pulled back out onto the road, and soon enough the station attendant—and the little comfort his presence had provided—was gone. The light was even lower, dusk fully settling in, and it lent a new, anxious intimacy to the atmosphere inside the cab. Paula flexed her hands on the steering wheel once more, and Red leaned over, uncomfortably close, to stub out the end of his own cigarette. He smelled of tobacco and soap and a hint of aftershave. Nothing like how one would expect a criminal to smell. Nothing like how a criminal should have smelled, and she fought to purge the scent from her nose, lest it inadvertently lull her into a false sense of security.
His hair, under his hat, flared auburn in the twilight, and in the west, beyond the trees, the sun sunk inexorably beneath the horizon.
-----
A/N: It seems I just can’t quit these two. In all honesty, I keep wanting to write expanded versions of canon scenes, kind of like how I did with Checkmate, but I inevitably never get very far because (unlike that fic) it feels ridiculous rehashing a scene only to add, like, literally three extra lines of dialogue to it, pfft. So I guess full-on missing scenes it is! Canonically, it’s said Paula and Red stop “twice” for gas, which frankly seems ridiculous (even taking 1930s’ gas tanks and mileage into account), considering that Wilmington to Philadelphia is only about thirty miles, but I could certainly see them stopping at least once? Anyway, it seemed a good excuse for a bit of sexy tension and internal angsting. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
All other fics can be found here.
