Villanelle
AN: For SpyFest Week four, the fic exchange.
Prompt: (Character) accidentally takes Alex's phone for a day.
I hope you enjoy! :)
I tried to translate the villanelle poem format to story-form... I'm not sure how well it worked...
Disclaimer: Alex and Co. belong to Anthony Horowitz. Villanelle belongs to Luke Jennings.
You couldn't tell. Smithers had really outdone himself. Sure, the phone had nicks and scratches. Most phones did. It certainly wasn't top-of-the-line (middle-range, but not so middling as to draw attention to its averageness was Smithers' mantra), but it had all the trappings Alex could ever ask for – and then some. On top of that, its SIM card gave unlimited data wherever he was, using whatever phone towers were available, loyalty be damned. Working for MI6 might have meant all his money was stored in the Bank so securely even he couldn't access it, but at least he didn't have to pay for such a basic human right. Well, he didn't think he was paying for it.
Sometimes Tom told him he was being ridiculous, but Alex knew the value of a good phone signal. There had been that time in Coober Pedy…
Alex smiled down at the smooth black screen, contrasted against the rough wooden table it lay on, and stroked the slightly-bevelled corner.
A flash of yellow brought his eyes up. Blunt's photo hadn't done her justice. She wore an eye-watering poufy concoction that reminded him more than a little of a jonquil mixed with a dandelion gone to seed. This she paired with rain hat and matching wellies. He supposed the waterproof gear made sense – Roscoff was a coastal town, after all, but the dress would be ruined completely by a single splash. He was surprised the drizzle hadn't already soggified her. Maybe she'd Scotchgarded all the layers. Sabina would know.
Sabina had curated a wardrobe for Alex. She'd insisted that if he was going to be a spy, then he'd better do it fashionably like Pierce Brosnan. Out of regard for Smithers she'd conceded the extravagance, but somehow she managed to eke sartorial subtlety out of even the most mundane items. He thought it was something to do with the colours – he liked to think the navy really brought out his eyes – but she always laughed when he said that.
The rain began to deepen and the girl splashed and wafted closer until she was at his table, in the shelter of the awning above him. She smiled brilliantly, and placed her blue-fingernailed hand on the chair opposite him. "Hey," she said, "Mind if I wait out the rain here?"
She smelt of jasmine. The scent mingled pleasingly with his coffee. Jack had never worn perfume to his knowledge, and Sabina usually went a touch more masculine.
He smiled her. "I'm Alex. And what do I call you?"
"Mademoiselle."
Things were going well. Ordering le chocolate chaud viennois, she drew out her phone. It was the same as his. The shell, at least – Alex had yet to be convinced that there was anyone else like Smithers in the world. But still, the coincidence made him smile into his coffee.
Under the pretence of finishing his drink (which he did, but his mind was elsewhere), he studied her: eyelashes tinted blue, the same as her nails, and lemon yellow at the inner corners of her eyes. He imagined he felt faint emanations of heat from her, soothing the crisp wet cold on his skin. Her nails, trimmed short, didn't tap on the glass of her phone screen. She was completely, inscrutably silent. So was he.
And then her hot chocolate arrived, and she set down her phone to drink it.
Alex pushed his now-empty cup away. She looked up at the sound and caught his gaze.
He stood, and caught his chair as it toppled. "Um," he said. He pointed to the cup, and took out his umbrella. "Bye," he said, and went to the counter, fishing in his pockets for change.
While he was there, he decided to pay for her, too.
He was just opening his umbrella against the rain when she ran up behind him. He smelt her a millisecond before her blue-tipped fingers grasped his shoulder and his heart rose to his throat.
"You forgot your phone!" She held it out to him.
Shock and relief flooded through him. He was getting careless. He wondered if her smile was mocking or sympathetic. He couldn't tell.
Alex was trying not to dwell. He held his phone in front of his face and wondered if maybe he could have asked for her number. Would it have been too suspicious, on their first meeting? Ah, well – he knew where she was staying.
Now, however, he just tapped his phone's screen to awaken it.
A lock screen with onions.
That wasn't right. Could someone have changed it..? Could Tom have somehow come all the way here to Roscoff and snuck in and changed it? Surely not. Alex was never without his phone in hands reach.
Except…
He frowned at the thought of her unlocking his phone to change the lock screen. He didn't keep anything truly confidential on it, only the many photos he and Sabina had taken when he had lived with them, along with plenty with Tom and Jack. Still…
He swiped his thumb in his usual password.
It didn't unlock.
He tried again.
Nope.
He put his thumb to the screen again, paused. As he thought, his thumb slid down the screen.
Unlocked.
The wallpaper was different, too. And the apps, and everything else. She… what had she done to his beautiful phone? He almost felt a sob rise in his throat with how estranged he felt with it.
The little Tom and Sabina voices at the back of his mind told him he was being silly. It was just a phone – not just a phone, his heart protested; it was a Smithers phone – and besides, there was an explanation that was much more probable given the speed at which she would have had to change everything.
It was simple, really:
This was her phone. She had his phone.
He frowned again. He could dislike her for daring to confuse her plain, albeit nice phone for his marvellous work of wonder, could go after her like he had after someone stole the crown jewels, but he counselled himself towards restraint. He knew where she was staying. And now he had an excuse to introduce himself, or his cover. And she hers, if she had one.
It would be better than 'mademoiselle'.
Alex rang the doorbell. The long granite house had been built in the typical style with the back facing the wind, so he'd had to squint as he approached from the front. Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe it was a way to defend against intruders. Blunt would say the latter, and point out that it was a sign of her deviousness. Alex hoped not. It was supposed to be a simple mission, simply scouting some discrepancies they'd found when she'd left Britain after a two day stay. Blunt had spared him the details, unfortunately. He was only to investigate.
He felt as though he should contact someone, to tell them he was approaching the target – never mind that they'd already been in contact – but he didn't have his phone now, did he, and he didn't know their phone numbers without it. Previous experience had told him that the numbers on their websites were completely useless.
The house was silent. He wondered how long it had been since he'd rung the bell. Had she seen him coming? Had she left already?
A scream ripped through the cold air. Was it her, or a victim? He couldn't tell.
Three steps in, and he fell.
It hadn't been the tripwire she'd left, nor the grease on the floor he'd stumbled onto. No, he fell because the floor crumbled, giving way to the room below, which was made up in a string maze. He felt like a marionette. The radio that had played the scream he'd heard mocked him from the dirt floor below.
It didn't take long to detangle himself, the affront being the worst part of it. A simple mission, indeed.
He was carefully surveying the room when his phone rang. Her phone. He answered it.
"Hello?"
"You have my phone," she said.
Alex rolled his eyes but refrained from his usual snide remarks. "And you have mine."
She giggled. "You just stay there. I'm coming to get it." And then she hung up.
Alex abandoned his evaluation of the room, and jumped up towards the ropes that had held him. Swinging precariously, he managed to manoeuvre a leg over a loop, and then slowly, hand-over-hand, draw his torso up above. He hooked his other foot on the loop, and straightened his leg.
It was just enough to raise his head above the hole he'd fallen down.
He blinked at the face smiling down at him.
Mademoiselle.
He couldn't help but yell.
Unfortunately, his loud protests didn't stop the ropes around him making her job even easier, which was the excuse he was going to give if someone had to cut him free later. He hoped not but her knots were very tight… She must have had experience.
"You have a very nice phone, you know that," she muttered from across the room. Her back was to him, shielding whatever she was doing from his sight.
"It's the same as yours," he answered.
"Then you won't mind if we swap." He could hear the smile in her voice.
He stiffened, inasmuch as he could while tied up.
She looked back at him and pulled a pout that rapidly changed to delight. "Unless it has sentimental value."
She was right. As much as he loved his phone with all its add-ons, it was, essentially, replaceable. And while she might use them for whatever nefarious purposes she had, he was sure she would have found alternatives. The smart thing to do would be to let her finish whatever it was she was doing and start thinking about getting out of the ropes. .
Unfortunately, his mind rebelled. No such alternative existed for the hundreds of photos and videos and memories on his phone. Yes, it was sentimental. Yes, it was completely unnecessary to his functioning as a spy. But without those memories, Alex was sure he would start going mental. Especially if Blunt became his main source of human contact outside of missions.
He cleared his throat. Ropes be damned. "Can you at least—"
She turned around before he could finish and tossed a phone into his lap. He looked back at her.
"You can keep the SIM card. I don't want your photos taking up all the space." She walked towards him.
Alex stared as she placed a perfume bottle at his feet.
"That's for the girl in the photos. Tell her I like her style."
A joke? A warning? Both? He couldn't tell.
"Mademoiselle –"
Another pout. "Oh, please. It's Villanelle."