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fellowshippers2007-01-01 11:37 pm
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2007-01-01 11:37 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Eastern Promise
Title: Eastern Promise
Author: Viktoria Angelique (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
v_angelique)
Pairing: OB/BB
Rating: PG-13 for not-really violence
Disclaimer: AU and therefore very, very untrue.
Summary: I was reading the "Unsound" universe chapters and felt somewhat inspired, so this is just a brief little foray in that direction. I may write more or I may not, but I felt like it was cheating to just slap an ending on it when it's clearly much more realistic to leave it unresolved at least temporarily. Title shamelessly stolen from an upcoming film.
The moment at which the butt of a pistol is shoved directly between your eyes is not a very good time to start questioning your personal philosophy. It's certainly not the time to realise that maybe you should've taken that retirement package after all, that maybe when the boss told you to go do a little investigation in southern California you should've told him to fuck off.
But let me back up a little, and explain why the owner of said pistol was so intent on using it at this particular juncture, and why I, Billy Boyd, found myself on its receiving end, watching the sun sink low in the sky through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows at the other end of this endearing bungalow's living room.
I am an agent of the British government. No, I'm not a "Double oh," or anything remotely that fancy. I'm not even one of the best of what Her Majesty has to offer. I'm a decent fighter, an excellent shot, trained in a number of martial arts though that's entirely of my own volition. I can read people, good judge of character, but again, just a coincidence. I sometimes refer to myself as an "investigator with a gun." I look into things.
And so this is why I found myself on the ground level of a Mr. Orlando Bloom's sprawling Orange County home one Tuesday afternoon. It wasn't an officially sanctioned mission, no, the CIA would have our heads for that. And Bloom wasn't even a defector; he simply retired, up and left, about a year previous. But the agency was convinced that something fishy must be going on, and so they put me on it.
You're probably wondering now : what agency? MI5, MI6, Secret Service? Well I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.
No, seriously.
Anyway, the little snoop job had been going just fine, and I had just started to relax and let my guard down, when out of the woodwork pops Mr. Long and Lanky himself, or rather from around the corner, and it unnerves me greatly that he knew my exact position, that he'd been watching me this entire time and I didn't catch it.
Like I said, I know a few martial arts. I put about half my chips in on the eastern philosophy side of the existential table, but Mr. Bloom, yeah, he's thoroughly invested. Everyone knew when he left that Bloom was very Zen, that he was a practicing Buddhist, etc etc. But according to the powers that be, this is not an acceptable excuse to retire. Something had to be going on.
So far in my search, the story had checked out. The back of the property was truly stunning—up in the hills, there was a view for miles around, a one hundred and eighty degree panorama, almost, and right at the precipice was a meditation garden, and a shrine with a small roof, a jade statue of the Buddha. The inside of the house conformed to Feng Shui, from what I could remember of the basic principles lodged rustily somewhere in the back of my mind. Everything was crisp, sleek. No family photos, no expensive stereo equipment or flat-panel televisions. No attachments, I said to myself in a mental whisper as I creeped along the perimeter.
My own philosophy had always been simple. Know thyself, but know your own surroundings better. Pay attention. Bloom was more of an inner child kind of a guy. He didn't pay attention to the outside world all that much. He was very calm. He was higher up in the system than I ever could be, back when he bought into the system. No one knew why this intrinsic bullshit worked, but it did. He could move without a sound, and a strike from his hand was deadly.
Which is why, much to my dismay, I was now sporting an infinitesimal tremor and one hell of a hard-on.
"Fancy a cup of tea?"
I blinked, and Orlando Bloom smiled. This round to him.
The tea service was brought by two women who seemingly materialised from the background, and Bloom simply smiled at my bewilderment as we sat, barefoot, facing one another on soft cushions at a low table. The Glock sat casually by his right hand. I didn't dare make any sudden movements.
"I have an entire security and service detail running in the background, Mr. Boyd. Deep background."
He smiled, all too charmingly, and I had to bite my lip to hold back a grimace. "Billy. I… don’t know what to say. They're practically invisible."
"Practically." Orlando smiled again, and poured my tea. I nodded in thanks. This was one weird motherfucker. "Did you happen to notice that my house has a lot of closets, Billy?"
I nodded, carefully. The yellow pine doors were everywhere.
"Staircases, some. Others are rooms. I've got people running surveillance. You were spotted the minute you hopped the back fence."
"But I didn't see any cameras…"
"Ah ah," Orlando cautioned, wagging his finger slowly back in forth in front of me like a schoolteacher. "Always pay more attention to what you don't see than to what you do. Never expect the things you expect."
I frowned. This bullshit was starting to grate on my nerves. I snapped a ginger biscuit in half to distract myself, calmed by the hard cracking sound. Better than my own skull.
"Why didn't you just have one of these guys off me then? Up on the top of the fence, I was vulnerable."
"I could have," Orlando agreed, folding his hands into a triangle shape in front of his body. "But I wanted to deal with you personally. Consider it a compliment."
I snorted and took a sip of the steaming liquid. "Charmed, I'm sure."
"Billy," Orlando continued with a smile that held just the knife's edge of condescension. "How long have you been in the service?"
I looked at him, uneasy. Didn't like where this was going. "Nineteen years."
"Right. In a year, you can take early retirement."
I nodded, uneasily. Wasn't like I hadn't thought about it. Sure as hell had.
"You'll be how old, then? Forty?"
"Thirty nine." Of course the fucker knew that already, but I wasn't about to get testy with the gun on the table pointed quite symbolically at my testicles.
"Long time to bumble through the lower ranks, mate."
Something in my eyes flared up a bit. My fingers tightened on the porcelain teacup. "If you're trying to get me to sell out, insults won't help your case."
Orlando laughed, clearly delighted by my assumption, and shook his head. "Billy, Billy, Billy. I'm not trying to get you to sell out. I'm merely suggesting that you re-evaluate a little."
"Re-evaluate?" I gave him a sceptical look. Sounded to me like he wanted another goon for his security detail. I wasn't interested.
"You're a forward-thinking enough bloke. But you also have an idea of what it's like to be in the moment. You do tai chi forms every morning." The look he gave me was significant. So he'd been watching me. "Had they sent me someone else, I probably would've had someone put a bullet through his brain immediately, it's true. But I'm not all the way along the path to enlightenment, Billy. There are still some attachments I crave."
He gave me a very direct look then, and my cock twitched, still half hard. I was surprised the teacup hadn't shattered by now.
"You want a concubine?" I bristled as I said it, and he noticed. He remained calm, however.
"Not at all. I want a companion."
"Sounds like you've got a house full of em."
Orlando shrugged. "I'm not offering you money, Billy. I could, but you wouldn't take it. I'm offering something altogether more valuable—freedom. I'm very protected here. Next guy they send, I'm going to alert the American authorities, and they won't be too happy. But I confess, Billy, I wanted to meet you. I wanted to offer you the proverbial olive branch. Take it or leave it."
"And if I leave it, you'll shoot me?" Just wanted to clarify.
Orlando smiled slowly and shook his head. "British Airways is holding a spot on the next flight to London. There's a stopover in New York; hope you won't find it too inconvenient."
I frowned. "So what is this, exactly? What are you offering me?"
"A home," Orlando said, with a shrug. "A friend. A place to be peaceful and unbothered. You'll be provided for, but this isn't a gilded cage. You may come and go as you please."
"And this 'attachment' you spoke of…"
"It's not a condition of the deal. You can reject me, physically, but I don't think you'll feel a need to spiritually. I think we could be ideal partners, if you want to know the truth."
I frowned, wondering which meaning of the term he was using in this case. I wondered what a man like him would want in a "partner" like me. But these were the terms, and I had been wondering. I hadn't planned on taking the retirement package, but it looked tempting.
"What if I go, and then come back in a year?"
Orlando shrugged. "If that's what you need to do. But this business—you can't count on being alive in a year, and we both know it."
I folded my hands and let out a resigned sigh. He had a point. I wasn't that good at the job. It was a risk.
"May I stay here and think about it?"
"For as long as you like," Orlando said softly. "I will have to ask you for once thing, though," he added, nodding towards my lower body.
"My gun."
"I can't have you trying to murder me in my sleep, can I?" he pointed out with a half smile. I sighed and handed it over.
"What do you do here, though? Are you a hundred percent out?" I asked. Wouldn’t be too surprised if he was running some sort of a covert operation out of this house. Drugs, maybe.
"Absolutely," Orlando replied. "The security is a necessary evil. Our blokes aren't the only ones who want me dead."
"Then what do you do?" I repeated.
Orlando shrugged. "I study. I practice. I pray."
"Path to enlightenment, eh?"
Orlando nodded, almost deferential. I furrowed my brow and made a decision.
"All right, Orlando. I'll give this a try."
"That's all I ask," he replied calmly, smiling once more, and then stood and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Author: Viktoria Angelique (
v_angelique)Pairing: OB/BB
Rating: PG-13 for not-really violence
Disclaimer: AU and therefore very, very untrue.
Summary: I was reading the "Unsound" universe chapters and felt somewhat inspired, so this is just a brief little foray in that direction. I may write more or I may not, but I felt like it was cheating to just slap an ending on it when it's clearly much more realistic to leave it unresolved at least temporarily. Title shamelessly stolen from an upcoming film.
The moment at which the butt of a pistol is shoved directly between your eyes is not a very good time to start questioning your personal philosophy. It's certainly not the time to realise that maybe you should've taken that retirement package after all, that maybe when the boss told you to go do a little investigation in southern California you should've told him to fuck off.
But let me back up a little, and explain why the owner of said pistol was so intent on using it at this particular juncture, and why I, Billy Boyd, found myself on its receiving end, watching the sun sink low in the sky through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows at the other end of this endearing bungalow's living room.
I am an agent of the British government. No, I'm not a "Double oh," or anything remotely that fancy. I'm not even one of the best of what Her Majesty has to offer. I'm a decent fighter, an excellent shot, trained in a number of martial arts though that's entirely of my own volition. I can read people, good judge of character, but again, just a coincidence. I sometimes refer to myself as an "investigator with a gun." I look into things.
And so this is why I found myself on the ground level of a Mr. Orlando Bloom's sprawling Orange County home one Tuesday afternoon. It wasn't an officially sanctioned mission, no, the CIA would have our heads for that. And Bloom wasn't even a defector; he simply retired, up and left, about a year previous. But the agency was convinced that something fishy must be going on, and so they put me on it.
You're probably wondering now : what agency? MI5, MI6, Secret Service? Well I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.
No, seriously.
Anyway, the little snoop job had been going just fine, and I had just started to relax and let my guard down, when out of the woodwork pops Mr. Long and Lanky himself, or rather from around the corner, and it unnerves me greatly that he knew my exact position, that he'd been watching me this entire time and I didn't catch it.
Like I said, I know a few martial arts. I put about half my chips in on the eastern philosophy side of the existential table, but Mr. Bloom, yeah, he's thoroughly invested. Everyone knew when he left that Bloom was very Zen, that he was a practicing Buddhist, etc etc. But according to the powers that be, this is not an acceptable excuse to retire. Something had to be going on.
So far in my search, the story had checked out. The back of the property was truly stunning—up in the hills, there was a view for miles around, a one hundred and eighty degree panorama, almost, and right at the precipice was a meditation garden, and a shrine with a small roof, a jade statue of the Buddha. The inside of the house conformed to Feng Shui, from what I could remember of the basic principles lodged rustily somewhere in the back of my mind. Everything was crisp, sleek. No family photos, no expensive stereo equipment or flat-panel televisions. No attachments, I said to myself in a mental whisper as I creeped along the perimeter.
My own philosophy had always been simple. Know thyself, but know your own surroundings better. Pay attention. Bloom was more of an inner child kind of a guy. He didn't pay attention to the outside world all that much. He was very calm. He was higher up in the system than I ever could be, back when he bought into the system. No one knew why this intrinsic bullshit worked, but it did. He could move without a sound, and a strike from his hand was deadly.
Which is why, much to my dismay, I was now sporting an infinitesimal tremor and one hell of a hard-on.
"Fancy a cup of tea?"
I blinked, and Orlando Bloom smiled. This round to him.
The tea service was brought by two women who seemingly materialised from the background, and Bloom simply smiled at my bewilderment as we sat, barefoot, facing one another on soft cushions at a low table. The Glock sat casually by his right hand. I didn't dare make any sudden movements.
"I have an entire security and service detail running in the background, Mr. Boyd. Deep background."
He smiled, all too charmingly, and I had to bite my lip to hold back a grimace. "Billy. I… don’t know what to say. They're practically invisible."
"Practically." Orlando smiled again, and poured my tea. I nodded in thanks. This was one weird motherfucker. "Did you happen to notice that my house has a lot of closets, Billy?"
I nodded, carefully. The yellow pine doors were everywhere.
"Staircases, some. Others are rooms. I've got people running surveillance. You were spotted the minute you hopped the back fence."
"But I didn't see any cameras…"
"Ah ah," Orlando cautioned, wagging his finger slowly back in forth in front of me like a schoolteacher. "Always pay more attention to what you don't see than to what you do. Never expect the things you expect."
I frowned. This bullshit was starting to grate on my nerves. I snapped a ginger biscuit in half to distract myself, calmed by the hard cracking sound. Better than my own skull.
"Why didn't you just have one of these guys off me then? Up on the top of the fence, I was vulnerable."
"I could have," Orlando agreed, folding his hands into a triangle shape in front of his body. "But I wanted to deal with you personally. Consider it a compliment."
I snorted and took a sip of the steaming liquid. "Charmed, I'm sure."
"Billy," Orlando continued with a smile that held just the knife's edge of condescension. "How long have you been in the service?"
I looked at him, uneasy. Didn't like where this was going. "Nineteen years."
"Right. In a year, you can take early retirement."
I nodded, uneasily. Wasn't like I hadn't thought about it. Sure as hell had.
"You'll be how old, then? Forty?"
"Thirty nine." Of course the fucker knew that already, but I wasn't about to get testy with the gun on the table pointed quite symbolically at my testicles.
"Long time to bumble through the lower ranks, mate."
Something in my eyes flared up a bit. My fingers tightened on the porcelain teacup. "If you're trying to get me to sell out, insults won't help your case."
Orlando laughed, clearly delighted by my assumption, and shook his head. "Billy, Billy, Billy. I'm not trying to get you to sell out. I'm merely suggesting that you re-evaluate a little."
"Re-evaluate?" I gave him a sceptical look. Sounded to me like he wanted another goon for his security detail. I wasn't interested.
"You're a forward-thinking enough bloke. But you also have an idea of what it's like to be in the moment. You do tai chi forms every morning." The look he gave me was significant. So he'd been watching me. "Had they sent me someone else, I probably would've had someone put a bullet through his brain immediately, it's true. But I'm not all the way along the path to enlightenment, Billy. There are still some attachments I crave."
He gave me a very direct look then, and my cock twitched, still half hard. I was surprised the teacup hadn't shattered by now.
"You want a concubine?" I bristled as I said it, and he noticed. He remained calm, however.
"Not at all. I want a companion."
"Sounds like you've got a house full of em."
Orlando shrugged. "I'm not offering you money, Billy. I could, but you wouldn't take it. I'm offering something altogether more valuable—freedom. I'm very protected here. Next guy they send, I'm going to alert the American authorities, and they won't be too happy. But I confess, Billy, I wanted to meet you. I wanted to offer you the proverbial olive branch. Take it or leave it."
"And if I leave it, you'll shoot me?" Just wanted to clarify.
Orlando smiled slowly and shook his head. "British Airways is holding a spot on the next flight to London. There's a stopover in New York; hope you won't find it too inconvenient."
I frowned. "So what is this, exactly? What are you offering me?"
"A home," Orlando said, with a shrug. "A friend. A place to be peaceful and unbothered. You'll be provided for, but this isn't a gilded cage. You may come and go as you please."
"And this 'attachment' you spoke of…"
"It's not a condition of the deal. You can reject me, physically, but I don't think you'll feel a need to spiritually. I think we could be ideal partners, if you want to know the truth."
I frowned, wondering which meaning of the term he was using in this case. I wondered what a man like him would want in a "partner" like me. But these were the terms, and I had been wondering. I hadn't planned on taking the retirement package, but it looked tempting.
"What if I go, and then come back in a year?"
Orlando shrugged. "If that's what you need to do. But this business—you can't count on being alive in a year, and we both know it."
I folded my hands and let out a resigned sigh. He had a point. I wasn't that good at the job. It was a risk.
"May I stay here and think about it?"
"For as long as you like," Orlando said softly. "I will have to ask you for once thing, though," he added, nodding towards my lower body.
"My gun."
"I can't have you trying to murder me in my sleep, can I?" he pointed out with a half smile. I sighed and handed it over.
"What do you do here, though? Are you a hundred percent out?" I asked. Wouldn’t be too surprised if he was running some sort of a covert operation out of this house. Drugs, maybe.
"Absolutely," Orlando replied. "The security is a necessary evil. Our blokes aren't the only ones who want me dead."
"Then what do you do?" I repeated.
Orlando shrugged. "I study. I practice. I pray."
"Path to enlightenment, eh?"
Orlando nodded, almost deferential. I furrowed my brow and made a decision.
"All right, Orlando. I'll give this a try."
"That's all I ask," he replied calmly, smiling once more, and then stood and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
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Hehe. I like this universe, and I hope you will write more. After all, two ex-agents have probably quite a lot to learn from each other. *g*
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