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maderrI really need to come up with a name for this.
James realized abruptly, and with no little annoyance, that it was suddenly much easier to breathe.
He took another look around the tent, but saw nothing that he had not seen the first time. It was relatively small, though not stifling. There was his bed, rugs upon the ground, a small stove to fend off the chill nights, and a lantern upon a small, low table. Were it a room proper, it might have belonged to a monk, save for the stove. That was a might too creature comfort for monks.
Resuming the bed, he sat and thought of the job recently completed. He'd successfully destroyed the incriminating documents, and dealt accordingly with the double agent. Nasty business that, but he had dealt with worse. Far worse. All had been going quite until, of course, the bloody pilot. Perhaps his host had a point upon keeping one's feet on the ground.
Hopefully, word had reached M that the job was completed. He wondered if they would launch a search to find him, or cheerfully stamp his file MIA. He rather thought the later, and it almost drew a chuckle. At least he'd had the good sense to finish the job before stranding himself in the desert. It was always deucedly annoying to strand one's self in the middle of nowhere while still in the middle of a mess.
He supposed there were worse vacations to be inflicted upon him.
Just as he grew tired of sitting still, and rose to pace, two men appeared, cloaked head to foot in black the same as Ardeth. One set a tray of food upon the table, and the other set a bundle of clothing upon the bed.
When they had gone, he examined the clothes. His own, from the single overnight bag he had taken on the plane. There had been at least three other bags. How, of all those choices, had they selected his very own? It was too much coincidence to think his bag alone had survived the crash.
Well, no matter for the moment. It could be innocuous. A double –oh knew better than anyone to be suspicious of everything…but also to know that not everything was suspicious. It was odd, but not necessarily threatening. Even he was hard pressed to be threatened by their selecting the proper luggage.
Stripping, he reached for the clothes—then abruptly froze. Waking up, he'd felt sore and stiff, but grateful that seemed the worst he'd suffered. He counted himself lucky to get out of any job with nothing more than scrapes and bruises. Too many of them required weeks of recuperation.
But the scar running along his left thigh, and now he saw another running the length of his left bicep—they looked new, still red and raw, but otherwise fully healed. Unless he had been unconscious much longer than he had initially thought, his wounds should not be so healed. The leg injury, at least, looked as though stitches would have been required.
The devil?
Making note of the question, he dressed quickly in the fresh clothes, then moved across the tent to the table and the wonderful-smelling food set upon it. He'd just taken his first bite when Ardeth returned, quiet and easy, but so there he may as well have been screaming and running.
"You seem to have fully recovered," Ardeth said with seeming idleness, but he did not seem the sort of man to say anything lightly.
James simply nodded. "Yes, and I thank you yet again. How long have I been unconscious?" He pushed up his sleeve to display the scar upon his bicep. "This is fully healed, yet I would not have thought myself to have been unconscious for more than a couple of days."
Something flickered in the those dark eyes. James could not interpret what that something was, but felt an instinctive urge to recoil..or perhaps move in for closer inspection. Such opposite reactions, but there they were. Danger, obviously. On some level, every double-oh was drawn to the danger.
"Three days, actually," Ardeth replied. "The wounds were not as bad as all that. You look as though you were made to endure, and we are not without skills in matters of wounds, here in the desert."
James did not believe it for a moment. He knew wounds; he knew his limits. "I want to know how long I've been here," he said coldly, but still politely. He pushed his food away. "Do not play me for a fool; that is not a mistake any man gets a chance to make twice."
The dark eyes went hard, but never flinched. Not once. Ardeth met his gaze like he was a man with nothing to fear. Not a trace of it was in his gaze. That James was not used to seeing. "You slept three days. We barely found you in time, and it is by the blessing of the gods alone you live. I am no liar, do not call me one, for that is a dishonor no man repeats twice in my presence."
James smiled, despite himself.
Ardeth smiled back—only slightly, only briefly, but it did wonders. James was never impressed by beauty, but for that fleeting moment he was tempted.
Then the solemn demeanor returned, that still quiet that James could not comprehend.
"So where am I, exactly?" James asked. He had lost complete track of their coordinates in the scuffle, and he suspected the pilot had disregarded the plotted course entirely, anyway.
"The Sahara," Ardeth replied.
James gave him a look. That was more than a little vague, and entirely unhelpful. Ardeth did not want him to know precisely where he was—security was the likeliest reason, but he was hardly any sort of threat. Then again, in Ardeth's position, he would not tell him anything either.
Ardeth smirked briefly in reply, and James conceded the round to him by returning to his food and eating with relish. He'd not had such food in more years than he could bother to count, and it was surprisingly good. Not eating for three days might partially responsible for his enthusiasm, but not wholly.
On the opposite side of the table, Ardeth sat still and silent, not watching him eat but not ignoring him either. James might have been unsettled, except he had endured far worse scrutiny. Being watched without malice was almost refreshing.
Though, something definitely made the air thick. Now that he'd noticed it, missing it was impossible. Ardeth harbored no hostility, but he did not harbor apathy either.
The silence was broken by the arrival of a man, and James realized they all had a soldier look about them. Not as though they were going into battle, exactly. More like they would not be surprised if they came across one.
He should have noticed it sooner, and was irritated that he had not—and curious. He seldom missed anything, why miss something so obvious?
The man said something, and Ardeth laughed, throwing his head back, body shaking with it. Then he shook his head, and motioned, and said something that had the flavor of an order in the tone. The man bowed, then vanished.
James realized with sudden, sharp irritation that part of the problem with his breathing might have to do with Ardeth's appearance.
Honestly, he was recovering from a plane crash and only God knew how many hours in the hot desert, the good Queen may or may not have already declared him legally dead—he should be well past something this juvenile.
Then again, greater problems had not kept him from enjoying himself in Singapore.
James smirked at the memory, and continued to eat.
James realized abruptly, and with no little annoyance, that it was suddenly much easier to breathe.
He took another look around the tent, but saw nothing that he had not seen the first time. It was relatively small, though not stifling. There was his bed, rugs upon the ground, a small stove to fend off the chill nights, and a lantern upon a small, low table. Were it a room proper, it might have belonged to a monk, save for the stove. That was a might too creature comfort for monks.
Resuming the bed, he sat and thought of the job recently completed. He'd successfully destroyed the incriminating documents, and dealt accordingly with the double agent. Nasty business that, but he had dealt with worse. Far worse. All had been going quite until, of course, the bloody pilot. Perhaps his host had a point upon keeping one's feet on the ground.
Hopefully, word had reached M that the job was completed. He wondered if they would launch a search to find him, or cheerfully stamp his file MIA. He rather thought the later, and it almost drew a chuckle. At least he'd had the good sense to finish the job before stranding himself in the desert. It was always deucedly annoying to strand one's self in the middle of nowhere while still in the middle of a mess.
He supposed there were worse vacations to be inflicted upon him.
Just as he grew tired of sitting still, and rose to pace, two men appeared, cloaked head to foot in black the same as Ardeth. One set a tray of food upon the table, and the other set a bundle of clothing upon the bed.
When they had gone, he examined the clothes. His own, from the single overnight bag he had taken on the plane. There had been at least three other bags. How, of all those choices, had they selected his very own? It was too much coincidence to think his bag alone had survived the crash.
Well, no matter for the moment. It could be innocuous. A double –oh knew better than anyone to be suspicious of everything…but also to know that not everything was suspicious. It was odd, but not necessarily threatening. Even he was hard pressed to be threatened by their selecting the proper luggage.
Stripping, he reached for the clothes—then abruptly froze. Waking up, he'd felt sore and stiff, but grateful that seemed the worst he'd suffered. He counted himself lucky to get out of any job with nothing more than scrapes and bruises. Too many of them required weeks of recuperation.
But the scar running along his left thigh, and now he saw another running the length of his left bicep—they looked new, still red and raw, but otherwise fully healed. Unless he had been unconscious much longer than he had initially thought, his wounds should not be so healed. The leg injury, at least, looked as though stitches would have been required.
The devil?
Making note of the question, he dressed quickly in the fresh clothes, then moved across the tent to the table and the wonderful-smelling food set upon it. He'd just taken his first bite when Ardeth returned, quiet and easy, but so there he may as well have been screaming and running.
"You seem to have fully recovered," Ardeth said with seeming idleness, but he did not seem the sort of man to say anything lightly.
James simply nodded. "Yes, and I thank you yet again. How long have I been unconscious?" He pushed up his sleeve to display the scar upon his bicep. "This is fully healed, yet I would not have thought myself to have been unconscious for more than a couple of days."
Something flickered in the those dark eyes. James could not interpret what that something was, but felt an instinctive urge to recoil..or perhaps move in for closer inspection. Such opposite reactions, but there they were. Danger, obviously. On some level, every double-oh was drawn to the danger.
"Three days, actually," Ardeth replied. "The wounds were not as bad as all that. You look as though you were made to endure, and we are not without skills in matters of wounds, here in the desert."
James did not believe it for a moment. He knew wounds; he knew his limits. "I want to know how long I've been here," he said coldly, but still politely. He pushed his food away. "Do not play me for a fool; that is not a mistake any man gets a chance to make twice."
The dark eyes went hard, but never flinched. Not once. Ardeth met his gaze like he was a man with nothing to fear. Not a trace of it was in his gaze. That James was not used to seeing. "You slept three days. We barely found you in time, and it is by the blessing of the gods alone you live. I am no liar, do not call me one, for that is a dishonor no man repeats twice in my presence."
James smiled, despite himself.
Ardeth smiled back—only slightly, only briefly, but it did wonders. James was never impressed by beauty, but for that fleeting moment he was tempted.
Then the solemn demeanor returned, that still quiet that James could not comprehend.
"So where am I, exactly?" James asked. He had lost complete track of their coordinates in the scuffle, and he suspected the pilot had disregarded the plotted course entirely, anyway.
"The Sahara," Ardeth replied.
James gave him a look. That was more than a little vague, and entirely unhelpful. Ardeth did not want him to know precisely where he was—security was the likeliest reason, but he was hardly any sort of threat. Then again, in Ardeth's position, he would not tell him anything either.
Ardeth smirked briefly in reply, and James conceded the round to him by returning to his food and eating with relish. He'd not had such food in more years than he could bother to count, and it was surprisingly good. Not eating for three days might partially responsible for his enthusiasm, but not wholly.
On the opposite side of the table, Ardeth sat still and silent, not watching him eat but not ignoring him either. James might have been unsettled, except he had endured far worse scrutiny. Being watched without malice was almost refreshing.
Though, something definitely made the air thick. Now that he'd noticed it, missing it was impossible. Ardeth harbored no hostility, but he did not harbor apathy either.
The silence was broken by the arrival of a man, and James realized they all had a soldier look about them. Not as though they were going into battle, exactly. More like they would not be surprised if they came across one.
He should have noticed it sooner, and was irritated that he had not—and curious. He seldom missed anything, why miss something so obvious?
The man said something, and Ardeth laughed, throwing his head back, body shaking with it. Then he shook his head, and motioned, and said something that had the flavor of an order in the tone. The man bowed, then vanished.
James realized with sudden, sharp irritation that part of the problem with his breathing might have to do with Ardeth's appearance.
Honestly, he was recovering from a plane crash and only God knew how many hours in the hot desert, the good Queen may or may not have already declared him legally dead—he should be well past something this juvenile.
Then again, greater problems had not kept him from enjoying himself in Singapore.
James smirked at the memory, and continued to eat.
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Date: 2008-11-07 04:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 05:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 06:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 06:33 am (UTC)"Bonding in the Desert"
*keeps a straight face for a minute before cracking up*
Oh wow.
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Date: 2008-11-07 02:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-08 12:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 11:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 01:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 02:41 pm (UTC)You are totally the awesomecakes. :3
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Date: 2008-11-07 02:55 pm (UTC)^______^
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Date: 2008-11-07 07:02 pm (UTC)what?
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Date: 2008-11-07 11:39 pm (UTC)Sorry, that's a joke I thought most bondslash! readers of mine would get:
http://maderr.livejournal.com/732885.html#cutid1
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Date: 2008-11-08 01:31 am (UTC)cool.
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Date: 2008-11-08 12:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-08 08:31 am (UTC)*waggles eyebrows*
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Date: 2008-11-08 10:17 am (UTC)That was the only thing my brain noticed while it busy pumping my fist in the air and screaming, "Oh HELLS, yeah--Ardeth!" because your Ardeth rocks and FINALLY does partial justice to one of my favorite cartoon characters.
Also, if you don't detest Jonathan with every fiber of your soul, here's a pretty good portrayal of Ardeth. ^__________^