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konstantyaTitle: And Foolish Though It May Seem (To Me, That’s Everything)
Fandom: This Gun For Hire (1942)
Genre: AU, drama, romance.
Characters/pairings: Philip Raven/Ellen Graham
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,662
Summary: When had their roles gotten reversed, she suddenly wondered. She was the one who was supposed to worry about him, or so she’d thought. He’d had such a rougher time of things, after all. (Or, a missing scene from They’ll Ask Me Why and I’ll Tell Them I’d Rather, that takes place the day after Ellen’s breakdown.)
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
The back door to the kitchen was propped wide open, spilling a measure of light and noise out into the alley behind the club. Ellen approached it a little reticently, tugging at the wrist of one of her mesh gloves.
It wouldn’t have been her first time interacting with the kitchen staff, but she also didn’t want to interrupt or make a big scene. It was shortly after midnight, the last of the food orders had been filled, and now everyone was cleaning up and getting ready to leave—either to go home or to spend the rest of the evening elsewhere. Only the bartenders and a couple waiters would remain, to cater to those patrons who would see the club through to close.
Ellen hovered uncertainly, trying to work up the courage to step out of the shadows and poke her head into the end-of-the-night bustle, but the object of her intended search beat her to the punch—just then, as she was dallying, Philip came out of the doorway with another man, the two of them carrying a heavy trash can between them. They were both wearing aprons and their shirt sleeves were rolled up, and Ellen watched as they hauled the can to a nearby dumpster.
In the glow from the kitchen, Philip’s broken wrist stuck out like—well, a sore thumb—but it was his naked forearms that really caught her attention. They were covered in a layer of dark hair and they flexed downright fascinatingly as he helped his colleague empty the trash into the dumpster. It occurred to her that—even with all the time they’d spent together since their reacquaintance, even as intimately as it could be argued they knew each other—she’d still never seen him so disheveled and dressed down. (Not that he was ever particularly well-kempt—she didn’t think she’d seen him with a starched collar even once—but there were the average concessions to presentability: His hair was always combed, he appeared to shave daily, and even if his suit was a few years old and far from the most expensive cut, well, he still had one and wore it.)
Ellen became aware that she was ogling like some wolf in the audience and stopped. Philip had, by this point, noticed she was there, and after a couple words and a suggestive grin from his partner in garbage disposal, he broke away and started over, taking a moment to wipe his bare arm across his brow. Some of his hair had fallen out of its usual style and flopped rather adorably against his forehead.
“Well,” she joked weakly, when he halted in front of her, “I see you haven’t been fired. I’m guessing you got here okay yesterday?”
He nodded, dusting his hands on the white cotton apron. “Had to run most of the way. Showed up a little worse for wear. But I wasn’t late.”
Ellen smiled briefly, and a relieved breath made its way out of her. “Good.”
He tilted his head at her in response, his gaze sharp and probing. “How about you?” he asked. “You doin’ okay?”
Her lips parted and she stared up at him. When had their roles gotten reversed, she suddenly wondered. She was the one who was supposed to worry about him, or so she’d thought. He’d had such a rougher time of things, after all.
She shook off the thoughts and nodded. “Yeah,” she admitted, and gave another brittle smile. “Been doing a lot of thinking, I guess you’d say, but…yeah. I’m okay.”
“Good,” he said. A beat passed, then he pointed at her person, at the scarf tied around her hair and the purse over her shoulder. “You headin’ home?”
Ellen nodded again.
“Mind if I walk with you?”
Of course he wouldn’t directly ask if he could see her to her apartment—that wasn’t his style—but that was what the question amounted to all the same. She smiled once more and shook her head. “Not at all.”
Philip glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen door. “Gimme a minute, will you?” And with that, he disappeared back inside. A few minutes later he returned, apron off, sleeves rolled down, and suit jacket on. He raked his hair back with his hand, settled his hat on his head, and then they were off.
It was a mild night—warm enough to not need an overcoat, though early enough in the season that the air hadn’t yet gained the heavy humidity that was so characteristic of Midwestern summers. Sometimes Ellen thought that was the worst part of Chicago, even more than the bitter winters—it was one thing to be hot, but quite another when your sweat wasn’t even capable of cooling you off. It was almost enough to make her miss California and its consistently-comfortable climate.
Almost. But it occurred to her as they walked, strangely relaxed despite the silence, that if staying in California meant she’d have to give up the company of the man beside her, then she wouldn’t change anything for all the nice weather in the world.
When had he become so important to her? Or maybe it was something that hadn’t had to ‘become’ at all. Maybe he’d always been so important to her, ever since that fateful night in Willard Gates’ house, when she’d woken up in his arms. It was only natural that she would find it difficult to forget the person who’d literally saved her life, right? No matter what other frightening things he might have done in addition to that.
They were slightly more than halfway to her building when she finally spoke: “Can I ask you something?”
Philip looked over at her, hands in his pockets. “Sure,” he said, and Ellen took a breath, bracing herself.
“Why…” She faltered, restarted. “Why did you kiss me yesterday? Before you left?” The question had been in the back of her mind, all day, along with so many other things, and she just couldn’t fathom it. He was fond of her, that much was obvious, though it appeared to be in a purely platonic way—never mind that everyone else seemed to think they were some sort of romantic item. Still, it was the first legitimate display of affection from him that she could remember.
Philip dropped his eyes from her and shrugged, almost as if he wasn’t quite sure why he’d done it, himself. “Just returnin’ the favor, I guess. You looked like you needed it.”
Returning the…? Maybe she was still a little fragile, because she found she had to swallow down the feelings that were suddenly welling up in her throat. Kissing his cheek back then had seemed like such a small gesture—a token of her appreciation and a way to wish him good luck—but clearly it had made an enormous impact on him, if he still remembered it and was trying to emulate it. Until yesterday, she hadn’t much thought about the events that had transpired between them four years ago—hadn’t much wanted to think about them, she now knew, lest they dredge up other, wholly unpleasant memories—but the truth was, the time they’d spent together had been significant, and not just in the quantitative sense of the word. It was as if the night they’d shared in that train car had formed a mutually indelible connection between them. Because, honestly, how could it not have?
“Yeah,” Ellen finally confessed, with a self-deprecating smirk. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
They fell silent again, and it was only when they reached her building that it broke. “So…” she intoned, as she dug her keys out of her purse, “when’s your next day off?”
“Next Tuesday.”
Tuesday. She was due at the club for an early rehearsal, but would be finished by the afternoon. She paused on the threshold, holding the now-unlocked outer door open with her other hand, and turned to him. “Would…would you like to come over again that day? I was…thinking we could…maybe take another nap?”
“Nap?” Philip echoed, genuinely surprised.
Ellen shrugged, embarrassed, but valiantly ignored the flush that had risen to her cheeks. “Sometimes I don’t sleep so well.” That he suffered similar issues hung in the air between them, unsaid. “And it was nice. Being with you yesterday. Well, at least until the abrupt awakening,” she added, a little humorously.
The corner of his mouth twitched up at that. “Yeah,” he agreed, looking at her like he’d just realized the fact and was taken aback by the information. “It was.”
She smiled, and her fingers tightened around the door handle while her other palm convulsively gripped her keys. Somehow she was worried that if she didn’t keep her arms occupied in that instant, she was at risk of throwing them around his neck. The urge to hug him was almost unbearable, and it wasn’t even born out of a desire to offer comfort, but more out of a desire to express her own emotions. Ellen ducked her head, momentarily regarded the stoop, then raised her eyes back to his a little shyly. “So…I’ll see you about three?”
Philip nodded. “Sure,” he said, and she smiled again, wider this time.
“Well.” Good Lord, she must have looked like a simpering idiot, and felt about as fluttery as a schoolgirl. She cut her losses and simply said, “Goodnight, Philip.”
He touched his fingers briefly to the brim of his hat. It was such a tiny, everyday action, but coming from him—someone who could typically only be bothered to perform the barest minimum of social pleasantries—it seemed to take on immeasurable meaning. “’Night, Ellen,” he returned, and with that, he was gone. And for a long minute, she merely stood there in the doorway, watching his light, lean form disappear down the dark street, feeling surreally as if she was seeing him for the very first time.
-----
A/N: YO, nothing like remembering how much you love a couple characters and their complicated ship dynamic, amirite? Anyway, maybe I can work up the motivation to finish the other TGFH WIP that’s been languishing on my hard drive? (It has Millie! And baking! And Raven slowly learning how to be a human being!) We shall see. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
All other fics can be found here.
Fandom: This Gun For Hire (1942)
Genre: AU, drama, romance.
Characters/pairings: Philip Raven/Ellen Graham
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,662
Summary: When had their roles gotten reversed, she suddenly wondered. She was the one who was supposed to worry about him, or so she’d thought. He’d had such a rougher time of things, after all. (Or, a missing scene from They’ll Ask Me Why and I’ll Tell Them I’d Rather, that takes place the day after Ellen’s breakdown.)
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
- And Foolish Though It May Seem (To Me, That’s Everything) -
The back door to the kitchen was propped wide open, spilling a measure of light and noise out into the alley behind the club. Ellen approached it a little reticently, tugging at the wrist of one of her mesh gloves.
It wouldn’t have been her first time interacting with the kitchen staff, but she also didn’t want to interrupt or make a big scene. It was shortly after midnight, the last of the food orders had been filled, and now everyone was cleaning up and getting ready to leave—either to go home or to spend the rest of the evening elsewhere. Only the bartenders and a couple waiters would remain, to cater to those patrons who would see the club through to close.
Ellen hovered uncertainly, trying to work up the courage to step out of the shadows and poke her head into the end-of-the-night bustle, but the object of her intended search beat her to the punch—just then, as she was dallying, Philip came out of the doorway with another man, the two of them carrying a heavy trash can between them. They were both wearing aprons and their shirt sleeves were rolled up, and Ellen watched as they hauled the can to a nearby dumpster.
In the glow from the kitchen, Philip’s broken wrist stuck out like—well, a sore thumb—but it was his naked forearms that really caught her attention. They were covered in a layer of dark hair and they flexed downright fascinatingly as he helped his colleague empty the trash into the dumpster. It occurred to her that—even with all the time they’d spent together since their reacquaintance, even as intimately as it could be argued they knew each other—she’d still never seen him so disheveled and dressed down. (Not that he was ever particularly well-kempt—she didn’t think she’d seen him with a starched collar even once—but there were the average concessions to presentability: His hair was always combed, he appeared to shave daily, and even if his suit was a few years old and far from the most expensive cut, well, he still had one and wore it.)
Ellen became aware that she was ogling like some wolf in the audience and stopped. Philip had, by this point, noticed she was there, and after a couple words and a suggestive grin from his partner in garbage disposal, he broke away and started over, taking a moment to wipe his bare arm across his brow. Some of his hair had fallen out of its usual style and flopped rather adorably against his forehead.
“Well,” she joked weakly, when he halted in front of her, “I see you haven’t been fired. I’m guessing you got here okay yesterday?”
He nodded, dusting his hands on the white cotton apron. “Had to run most of the way. Showed up a little worse for wear. But I wasn’t late.”
Ellen smiled briefly, and a relieved breath made its way out of her. “Good.”
He tilted his head at her in response, his gaze sharp and probing. “How about you?” he asked. “You doin’ okay?”
Her lips parted and she stared up at him. When had their roles gotten reversed, she suddenly wondered. She was the one who was supposed to worry about him, or so she’d thought. He’d had such a rougher time of things, after all.
She shook off the thoughts and nodded. “Yeah,” she admitted, and gave another brittle smile. “Been doing a lot of thinking, I guess you’d say, but…yeah. I’m okay.”
“Good,” he said. A beat passed, then he pointed at her person, at the scarf tied around her hair and the purse over her shoulder. “You headin’ home?”
Ellen nodded again.
“Mind if I walk with you?”
Of course he wouldn’t directly ask if he could see her to her apartment—that wasn’t his style—but that was what the question amounted to all the same. She smiled once more and shook her head. “Not at all.”
Philip glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen door. “Gimme a minute, will you?” And with that, he disappeared back inside. A few minutes later he returned, apron off, sleeves rolled down, and suit jacket on. He raked his hair back with his hand, settled his hat on his head, and then they were off.
It was a mild night—warm enough to not need an overcoat, though early enough in the season that the air hadn’t yet gained the heavy humidity that was so characteristic of Midwestern summers. Sometimes Ellen thought that was the worst part of Chicago, even more than the bitter winters—it was one thing to be hot, but quite another when your sweat wasn’t even capable of cooling you off. It was almost enough to make her miss California and its consistently-comfortable climate.
Almost. But it occurred to her as they walked, strangely relaxed despite the silence, that if staying in California meant she’d have to give up the company of the man beside her, then she wouldn’t change anything for all the nice weather in the world.
When had he become so important to her? Or maybe it was something that hadn’t had to ‘become’ at all. Maybe he’d always been so important to her, ever since that fateful night in Willard Gates’ house, when she’d woken up in his arms. It was only natural that she would find it difficult to forget the person who’d literally saved her life, right? No matter what other frightening things he might have done in addition to that.
They were slightly more than halfway to her building when she finally spoke: “Can I ask you something?”
Philip looked over at her, hands in his pockets. “Sure,” he said, and Ellen took a breath, bracing herself.
“Why…” She faltered, restarted. “Why did you kiss me yesterday? Before you left?” The question had been in the back of her mind, all day, along with so many other things, and she just couldn’t fathom it. He was fond of her, that much was obvious, though it appeared to be in a purely platonic way—never mind that everyone else seemed to think they were some sort of romantic item. Still, it was the first legitimate display of affection from him that she could remember.
Philip dropped his eyes from her and shrugged, almost as if he wasn’t quite sure why he’d done it, himself. “Just returnin’ the favor, I guess. You looked like you needed it.”
Returning the…? Maybe she was still a little fragile, because she found she had to swallow down the feelings that were suddenly welling up in her throat. Kissing his cheek back then had seemed like such a small gesture—a token of her appreciation and a way to wish him good luck—but clearly it had made an enormous impact on him, if he still remembered it and was trying to emulate it. Until yesterday, she hadn’t much thought about the events that had transpired between them four years ago—hadn’t much wanted to think about them, she now knew, lest they dredge up other, wholly unpleasant memories—but the truth was, the time they’d spent together had been significant, and not just in the quantitative sense of the word. It was as if the night they’d shared in that train car had formed a mutually indelible connection between them. Because, honestly, how could it not have?
“Yeah,” Ellen finally confessed, with a self-deprecating smirk. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
They fell silent again, and it was only when they reached her building that it broke. “So…” she intoned, as she dug her keys out of her purse, “when’s your next day off?”
“Next Tuesday.”
Tuesday. She was due at the club for an early rehearsal, but would be finished by the afternoon. She paused on the threshold, holding the now-unlocked outer door open with her other hand, and turned to him. “Would…would you like to come over again that day? I was…thinking we could…maybe take another nap?”
“Nap?” Philip echoed, genuinely surprised.
Ellen shrugged, embarrassed, but valiantly ignored the flush that had risen to her cheeks. “Sometimes I don’t sleep so well.” That he suffered similar issues hung in the air between them, unsaid. “And it was nice. Being with you yesterday. Well, at least until the abrupt awakening,” she added, a little humorously.
The corner of his mouth twitched up at that. “Yeah,” he agreed, looking at her like he’d just realized the fact and was taken aback by the information. “It was.”
She smiled, and her fingers tightened around the door handle while her other palm convulsively gripped her keys. Somehow she was worried that if she didn’t keep her arms occupied in that instant, she was at risk of throwing them around his neck. The urge to hug him was almost unbearable, and it wasn’t even born out of a desire to offer comfort, but more out of a desire to express her own emotions. Ellen ducked her head, momentarily regarded the stoop, then raised her eyes back to his a little shyly. “So…I’ll see you about three?”
Philip nodded. “Sure,” he said, and she smiled again, wider this time.
“Well.” Good Lord, she must have looked like a simpering idiot, and felt about as fluttery as a schoolgirl. She cut her losses and simply said, “Goodnight, Philip.”
He touched his fingers briefly to the brim of his hat. It was such a tiny, everyday action, but coming from him—someone who could typically only be bothered to perform the barest minimum of social pleasantries—it seemed to take on immeasurable meaning. “’Night, Ellen,” he returned, and with that, he was gone. And for a long minute, she merely stood there in the doorway, watching his light, lean form disappear down the dark street, feeling surreally as if she was seeing him for the very first time.
-----
A/N: YO, nothing like remembering how much you love a couple characters and their complicated ship dynamic, amirite? Anyway, maybe I can work up the motivation to finish the other TGFH WIP that’s been languishing on my hard drive? (It has Millie! And baking! And Raven slowly learning how to be a human being!) We shall see. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
All other fics can be found here.
