"What do you mean, 'He can't come until six'?"The lady said quietly, dangerously into the phone.
Sebastian hesitated, as he would have with Jim. Damn, if she didn't have the same poised, close-to-screaming voice that Jim did when he was offed with things.
"Sincere 'pologies, madam." Seb made his gravelly voice say, very politely, in a Northern accent. Sebastian was good at disguising his voice if need be, and Jim had told him not to be seen. He glanced up at the posh apartment building from the phone booth he was hiding out in and continued, "But findin' your people to be so affable my boss said he wanted to come meet you his own self."
Elle's voice was snappish and tinny from the poor reception. It was the bloody phone boxes, really. They ought to be done away with, they were useless. "I have places to be tonight, I haven't time to fraternize with Alistair's 'friends' from the other side of the-"
"Which Alistair are we speakin' of, miss?" Seb asked, too pleasantly.
A two seconds' pause. She'd slipped and given a name. Probably a vital one. Stupidly, she'd just opened her side to a hit- and they both knew it.
"If you'd be so kind,"she ground out at last, with extreme reluctance, "To tell your boss that I'm under a bit of a schedule tonight, I'd be delighted to make his acquaintance."
"Thank you plenty, miss. He'll meet you promptly at six. Goodnight."
Seb cleared his throat and used his cell phone to report to Jim, fiddling with the handgun in his belt fondly. All was going according to plan. And now they had a name.
A few hours later, when Sebastian had driven Jim back to 9 Brown Place and opened the door for him, he asked casually,
"Are you sure you want to do this? It could be a trap. Her people- all of them could know about you by now, Jim."
Jim scoffed, fiddling with the button on his left cuff. "Of course it's not a trap. She was annoyed I was coming, and even more annoyed that I was coming late. She's not thinking of anything but Richard Brook."
"Yeah, but not after you spoil it." Seb ran a hand through his blonde buzz and stared up at the apartment building, analyzing it. He wasn't nervous- never. He was a man too prepared for any eventuality to be anxious about anything. His feet were wide apart and steady. His hands were steady too as he batted Jim's hand away to do the cuff's button for him. But he still worried. "You're going to come out of hiding to her?"
"Who better? If she's going to beg me for her pitiful life, might as well be the right name. Nobody will care about the loss of one stupid girl."
Seb shut up and automatically reached up to swipe down Jim's suit, simply out of habit. He would have done the same to himself, except he was wearing his hit jacket. It was dusty, faded, worn black leather and why the hell he was so fond of it Jim would never know- and he'd even offered to buy an upgrade.
Clothes were disposable. They got worn out, tore, didn't fit, had to be displaced, tossed away, stored, or disposed. Same with people. Same with Elizabeth.
"There. How is it?"
"Posh, as usual, Jim. Fab." Jim could hear the dryness in Seb's voice, even if he wasn't looking. He didn't mind, really. He enjoyed their subtle teasing.
But he still swatted Seb upside the head. Idiot.
"Right then." Jim shoved his hands inside his pockets and started walking towards the doors of the apartment building. "Might be long. Never know with these things. Wait in the car."
"Sure, boss." Seb got into the driver's seat, and Jim listened to him driving away as he pressed the buzzer for Elle's apartment, number 523. Top floor. Good.
The intercom crackled a bit before coming to life. "Hello?"
"I've an appointment with a Miss Daniels at 6 o'clock." Jim said as blandly as possible. He kept his arm covering the camera, hastily checking his watch as he did so. 5:55.
"Please come in." Elle's voice responded, graciously and just a note impatiently.
"Thank you, I will." Jim pulled the door open and ignored the man behind the counter who looked up as he came in and punched the button for the elevator.
Floor one, two, three, four, five. Ding. Doors open.
The light outside the elevator flickered hesitantly as he stepped out, and went out as he began to walk away. For a moderately well-kept apartment building, it's maintenence was sure rubbish.
Still, the effect was heartening- the flickering seemed to follow him all the way down the hall to the last door- 523.
He rang the bell and waited impatiently in the shadow of the shivering lights, tucking his hands deeper into his pockets. Damn Seb, not letting him carry in a gun.
Though she knew he was coming, it was a few moments before the door opened with a hasty and generous smile and a-
"Please excuse me, I'm right in the middle of getting ready for a-"
Her eyes caught up to her mouth, and she halted. Dark red lips parted in surprise, large eyes widened. A flurry of emotions- confusion, mostly- and then he watched her calm, collected mask fall neatly into place. God, he wanted to slap it off. Just give him time. He knew how frightened she must be. She would break.
"Date?" he finished, perking up a grin. He wandered an appreciatively slow gaze from her stocking'd feet to her sharp, glaring stare. He watched her lips purse tightly and grinned wider. Then he sighed mock exasperatedly.
"Lucky man. You look simply marvelous, dear."
And she did. More daring even then the red dress she'd worn only a week ago- was it only a week?- it was knee length and nude colored and slim, with a black lace overlay that could have hinted at subtlety, except with a raspberry red mouth and heels to match, she obviously wasn't just hinting.
He bit the corner of his lip absently, flicking his eyes back up to her face and thinking with a pang of regret about how good she would've been.
"May I come in?" he asked abruptly, business-like.
"Please do." He heard her murmur. Dear thing.
She stepped aside to let him through and he walked in easily, stretching his shoulders a bit just to get comfortable.
Then, as though faintly hopeful, as she was shutting the door she half-asked quietly,
"Richard Brook..."
Jim scoffed and brushed Richard Brook away with a toss of the hand. "Fiction." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Very similar, in fact, to Elle Daniels."
She shut the door with a snap and turned around, a faint smile on her lips.
"You never told me you were working for the other side."
Jim smirked. "I am the other side, andyou're the one who failed to mention your substantial contacts on this 'other side' we speak of. Why not? Don't you want to be friends?"
"We've only just met. Besides- a lady's got to keep her secrets." She folded her arms protectively over herself, as though guarding the remaining secrets there. Not that they stood a chance.
"Ah, but now you've lost your trump card." He sauntered forward, enjoying the mounting tension in her posture. "And you've forgotten, we've not really met at all."
Stillness. Silence. He could hear her thinking- she was bouncing from point to point like a pinball machine, but she was coming up with no answers.
Jim smiled and made a little bow like he had the week before. "Jim Moriarty." He straightened and reached up to curiously brush the gentle curve of her cheek with the back of his hand, watching it flush with something like pleasure. "Hel-lo."
A charming smile appeared, very tight. Her chin lowered and her eyes were steady and bright, as though she were playing coy, but her hands were clasped. Anxious.
"Hello indeed."
"This is the point in the conversation where you introduce yourself." Jim mock-whispered.
"I'm disappointed." she murmured. "Don't you know by now?"
He swiped his fingers down her cheek to lift up her face into the light. So pale, even under stress. "Give me the satisfaction of having it right."
"Why should I give you satisfaction in anything?" she asked coolly.
In response, he reached up with his other hand and pressed his fingers gently into her neck. "Because you want to." He clicked his tongue gently and returned his eyes slowly to hers.
"Your heart is all of a flutter."
She jerked away, taking a step backwards. For a few seconds, she wouldn't- couldn't?- look at him, lips drawn tight.
When she had composed herself, she met him straight in the eyes with a complex look that held many different things. Frustration. Nerves. Something else, something strange he couldn't place. It bemused him.
Then, at last, she caved. Just a little. Just enough. She bowed her shoulders and sank into a graceful little mock curtsey, introducing herself dryly, "Elizabeth Spencer. Pleasure."
"Quite." Jim murmured, watching closely. Then he turned and began to pace slowly around her little apartment. It was neat. Clean. No dust. Nothing out of place. Even the fireplace was newly scrubbed.
Scrupluous, he noted with approval. His own apartment was currently in a state of disaster. He ought to hire this girl himself.
He shoved that thought away, annoyed. She was going to die in this neat little apartment, remember? Bringing himself back to task, he said conversationally,
"Now that we're properly acquainted, let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?"
She remained silent, watching him amble around her space. He went on, trailing into a hallway by the windows behind the living room,
"Who do you work for? Why have you infiltrated the offices of Mycroft Holmes?"
Quaint bewilderment crossed her face. She stepped behind the coffee table to watch him. "Infiltrated? I haven't the slightest idea what you're-"
"-Elizabeth, let's not, shall we?" he snapped, whipping around to glare menacingly at her. "Just this once- enough games. Tell the truth."
For a moment, she looked blown away by his words. And then, impossibly, she smirked.
"All right." she said simply. "All truths."
He stalked back down the hall and stood over the couch, leaning into her face. "Who are you working for?"
"Me." she answered easily. "Next."
Liar. "Why do you want ID papers?"
"Because I didn't want you-" she hesitated- "Richard Brook to find out who I am. Was. Whichever. I have a long history that's better left... unread."
Jim's eyes narrowed. "I have no doubt it will be a fascinating read."
For a minute, she bit her lips, and she seemed to be far away. Then Elle sighed and turned her back on him, sinking into the couch with sudden fluidity. "This interrogation is rather boring. Shall I just start on page one? I'll skip the prologue." She reached down and pried off one high heeled shoe, then another.
"What?" he snapped. What the hell had just happened?
She looked over the back of the couch at him, smiling. "Come, dear." She patted the seat beside her. "Let me tell you a story. Mine."
Damn her. How? How could she guess? The one thing- two things, actually- that would shut him up instantaneously. A story. A game.
"Cast of Characters." she began without him, speaking to the fireplace, her eyes closed. "Elliot Spencer, a wealthy man- a king, albeit of questionable means. Cecilia Daniels Spencer, his wife, the queen."
Jim's ears pricked up at "Daniels". So that's where she'd gotten it from.
"Elizabeth, their only child. Alistair, the king's advisor, the queen's cousin. Dukes, lords, pages, and other members of the court. End of cast. The scene- a red castle, covered in ivy, which has been in the family for generations, among other things. The year is one since past. The estate is in chaos."
Despite himself, Jim sank on the arm of the couch, listening and watching her placid little face. She continued,
"Center stage, the king, Elliot, speaks with his advisor Alistair. The queen looks on, probably doing needlepoint or something. There is a knock at the door.
"'Alas, a knock!' the king says. 'Come in!'
"'Father, I wish to speak to you.' said Elizabeth, with much trembling.
"'Well, my child, what is it?' the king asked impatiently. He had little time for such things as daughters.
"'I wish to go to school.' The princess replied. 'Well, that is already agreed upon. You have almost completed university. Why do you bother me with this, stupid girl?'
"'Father,' said the princess, 'I wish to go to school to study law.'" Elle shifted slightly. Her peacefulness had melted. Jim understood. This had actually happened. She was lost in memory.
"'What! No daughter of mine shall study law! Impertinent child, I sent you to school to find a suitable husband to rule the kingdom after I am dead. Be gone, and never speak of it again!'
"The princess wept and fled, vowing that she would learn what she liked, do what she pleased, and never more be bound by the wishes of her father. But at this, her father cut off the princess' funds. She could graduate university, but she couldn't afford to continue alone."
Elle opened her eyes slowly, staring far, far away. "She hated him for that. For a long time- a year- they didn't speak. The queen was distraught by it all- she was their only child, after years of trials and tribulations."
She stood up and wandered towards the window, hugging herself. "She moved into the city, managing to live unsupported. Untethered, free. But lonely. Her father's allies were dubious in the eyes of the public, and she was no traitor. So she kept herself busy. Held a few jobs. Gained experience, skill. Had a few lovers, met some new faces. But she was still lonely. And growing bored. So finally, the gap was bridged between father and daughter. They found each other in themselves, and regretted the time lost. They moved on, and things went on as they always had, except for one thing- the princess, for the first time, was entirely on her own."
A pause. Jim stood. But the story wasn't over.
"She thought she had escaped the... obligations her father had made the family. For a while there, she really believed she was something different. Someone normal at last. And then she met somebody- a man. So familiar, so mysterious, that it sent chills into her bones. If this man, she thought, finds out about my family and I, all is lost, and I will be doomed back to whence I came, this time forevermore."
Another pause.
Impatient for the end, Jim stepped behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders, watching her look out into the setting sun.
"And then?" he prompted.
"And then all was lost." She finished simply, and sighed. "You found me out, and you turned out to be... well." She turned, smiling at him. "What shall you be? The lonely kingdom next door?"
"What makes you think I'm lonely?" Jim scoffed.
"You were going to take me on a date until you thought I was zoning in on your scheme with Mr. Holmes, whatever that may be- point one. You took the time to flirt with me instead of killing me off, point two." She lifted her arms and trailed them loosely around his neck, her smile becoming teasing. "And I've seen how you look at me, consulting criminal. You want to pull me apart bit by bit." She breathed her lips across his cheek and then hovered over his mouth. "But first you want to have me ask you to."
Jim laughed quietly and closed his eyes. Damn her. His grip suddenly tightened on her shoulders as she began dropping light kisses down his jaw. She smelled good- not sweet, exactly. Floral. Like lilac and fresh grass.
"I don't believe you. But you have heard of me?" he murmured as though bored, distracting himself in order to try to think. What was he doing, again?
"Oh, yes." Elle answered. She lazily drew her fingernails up his scalp as she spoke and he nearly combusted. "Father was so interested in your little spectacle on the roof of St. Bart's. He said you weren't dead. What would be the point of the game if you were?" His grip was getting tighter and tighter, but she seemed to pay no mind to it.
"That's all he knows." she murmured suddenly. "I know other things."
He couldn't take her touching him any more. He tilted back to look at her, and her eyes were thoughtful and as big as ever. They flicked up to meet his, almost wonderingly, dreamily.
"I know where to listen to the whispers that aren't there." Elle whispered. "The name nobody ever says. The perpetual question mark. The man with all the keys."
"You're making it very difficult to choose between killing you and kissing you."
She smiled like this was obvious, massaging circles into his neck with her fingers, unconcerned. "Better choose."
He leaned down. Her eyes closed.
A sudden vibrating noise. Burr, burr. Burr, burr. And immediately afterwards, a familiar, dramatic durge. Dun dun dun dun...dun dun dun dun...
Jim glanced down at Elizabeth, who sighed heavily and morosely.
"Beethoven's Fifth?" he drawled lightly. "Bit melodramatic of a ringtone."
"You're one to talk?" she quipped, letting go and gliding away to pick up her phone from the couch.
"...Nah." he agreed, shoving his hands back into his pockets and leaning against the window to watch her phone call.
Beethoven ceased as she picked up the phone and pressed it to her ear without looking at it, facing away from him as she said painfully sweetly,
"Alistair, dear, like I told you, I am absolutely and completely f-"
She froze. The muscles in her back tensed. Jim quirked an eyebrow.
"Papa!" Elle gasped. Her entire demeanor changed from slightly annoyed to complete bewilderment. "How did you-?"
Pause. Jim couldn't hear the reply, but Elle laughed uncertainly. "Of course." A longer pause. Her father must be clever (or otherwise connected) indeed, to get a number Elle had hadnso carefully guarded. She was certainly rattled- her usually confident voice was shy, uncertain. It was endearing.
Elizabeth's shoulders softened, and Jim could imagine her face doing the same. Her voice lowered to a gentle pitch.
"Whenever it suits you, Papa." she said softly. "I want to see you."
Another pause, a few 'yes'es and 'fine's.
"Yes, all right. I'll see you then." Then her head perked up suddenly. "Oh, and Papa? If I might bring a friend along, he's someone you've wanted to meet."
Jim's eyes narrowed suspiciously. She wouldn't dare, the little brat. He wasn't about to throw himself around London, being seen by other people who might matter.
She turned and smirked at him. Daring.
"Yes, Papa, him. You'll quite like him- I do. Yes, I'll see you then. Good night."
She hung up, tossed the phone back into the couch, and casually began to step back into her heels.
"Is the car still waiting?" she asked lightly. "I'm starving."
"You didn't." Jim growled.
"Oh, but I did, dear." She leaned to check her lipstick, tutted, and strolled past him to presumably her bedroom, heels clicking. When she emerged, she had a clutch in her hands.
"What makes you think I would have any desire whatsoever to meet your parents, you presumptuous little meddler?" But he did, really. He wondered who Elliot Spencer was. He wondered if Elizabeth took after him or her mother. Mostly he wanted to know just how deeply rooted Elliot's 'family' was in the heart of London's criminal affairs. Was it true? It might be. It just might. Because they certainly couldn't be anything else but criminals, to be making such money. You only had to look at Elle's expensive wardrobe. But still he hesitated, suspecting treachery.
"Oh, whatever, come if you like, don't if you don't. I don't care." Elle waved her hand airily at him, fixing her lipstick in a mirror in the hall.
"Yes you do. You want me to meet your father." He stepped behind her in the mirror, meeting her eyes in the reflection. They quickly looked away. "Why?"
"Maybe..." she said at last, "I want him to see I haven't been totally useless for the past year." she murmured, dropping the lipstick back into her clutch. "Maybe I want him to know I'm still on his side."
She looked up, sad and serious for just a second. Then she said brightly,
"Please Jim? Won't you fix it for me to come to tea?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Please?" she drawled, smiling coaxingly. "I'll owe you a favor. Two, if you like."
"What favors could I possibly need from you?" he raised an eyebrow at her dramatics, wondering where the hell this woman had been all his life.
"Anything you like." she said seriously. "Anything. I'm sure you'll find a use for them."
He looked at her pale, clever face and dark lips and thought perhaps he could. Tonight, even. Just maybe.
Damn it, why did this keep happening to him? The minute he stood in her presence his plans crumbled. His resolve to be done with her failed. What was happening to him? Why couldn't he just give in? It had always been so easy.
This was becoming anything but easy. He didn't know what to do, and he hated that feeling. Perhaps he'd talk to Sebastian. The only person on Earth who would listen.
But first things first.
"Dinner, Elizabeth?" he suggested lightly.
She beamed. "I thought you'd never ask."
Notes: Chapter seven! Elle's secret identity is partially revealed. More room to play now that the masks are off, eh? ;) I'm thinking about possibilities of future chapters, and have decided to knock up the rating to M, just in case Jim and Elle decide to get- ahem- intimate, but also because... well, you'll see. :) I EAT REVIEWS FOR BREAKFAST, SUPPER, AND ELEVENSES. ~Much love, A
