RPF Fic: one sunday, later
It may or may not be a fic dump kind of night. But I'm back on track for catch up on the Advent Calendar, which I'm excited about! This is for the lovely, lovely glassbomb who asked for some Daniel Craig/Eva Green RPF for the holidays. Have a wonderful holiday, my dear! ♥
one sunday, later
rpf ; daniel craig/eva green; 2,067 words, pg.
a good actor never turns down a character study. liars and thieves, this is your life.
-
They are not good at this.
This is the truth.
There are suitcases in the hallway, stacked and flushed against the wall like a few forgotten boxes. He sighs loudly.
“I haven’t seen you in awhile and you’re already leaving,” Daniel says, and Eva pretends not to hear him, caring the wine that he’s brought with a fist to the kitchen sink. She opens a drawer and closes it, frowning. She cannot remember where she put the opener.
“It is somewhere,” she says, out loud.
“What is?”
She turns and puts the bottle of wine down, reaching for her cigarettes on the kitchen counter. Her fingers pull one and she slides into her mouth, studying him. It’s been awhile, she thinks.
Eva lights her cigarette. “You look wonderful,” she says calmly. She turns briefly, grabbing one of the kitchen knives.
“Happy,” she adds.
Daniel looks at her in amusement. She shrugs. Taking the knife, she begins to peel the wrapping around the mouth of the bottle. It unravels quickly, spitting onto the floor.
“And no,” she says. “I am not going anywhere yet.”
“We’re just catching up, sweetheart,” he murmurs. Eva smirks and slides the knife into the cork, pulling it out. It makes an unceremoniously loud pop and she licks her lips. She takes a sip from the bottle and then passes it to him as he comes to stand by her. “Don’t be angry at me,” he says.
“Angry?”
He brings the bottle to his mouth and drinks. He prefers scotch, drinks wine often to humor, or humor the others around them.
“Angry,” he says again. His eyes are bright. “We’d make terrible friends.”
They both look at Bond as a strange chapter that they share. Him, it’s definition, it’s this unfathomable sense of awareness that is no longer his and now prone to vulnerability; for her, it’s everything else, it’s too much, too soon, and a woman she often tries to hide herself away from being.
But the two of them, they never happened, never touched that line of almost and not quite. Talking after, that came much, much later, after a second project and a failed third.
Eva loves to work. Daniel understands why.
“Where’s Marton?” he asks, and they’ve moved around the kitchen, settling at the table in the middle of the room. There is music on and she’s finished most of the wine herself, staring blankly off to the side.
Her flat gets cold in the winter. It’s a charming homage to childhood and the freedom of living alone, away from home and her family. She leaves the windows open upstairs, in her bedroom, and cracks one in the kitchen and decides it’s all fine.
“Home,” she answers. Her mouth twitches. “We have decided on taking some time apart, or whatever diplomatic way people tend to talk about breakups as.”
“Are you all right?”
She looks up. Daniel’s fingers are rapping against her cigarette box. He’s staring at it thoughtfully.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar,” he says. I know you usually comes after. They’re neither drunk nor reading lines; he laughs too. “Although, I suppose you are, given that you’re here and not over there. Are you hiding?”
“No,” she answers. She sighs, looking away. “Maybe. My sister invited me to her vineyard and I told her I was working.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
Eva chuckles, reaching for her cigarettes. She pulls another out. The first is somewhere on the kitchen counter, in a old ashtray.
“Yes you did,” she murmurs.
“You didn’t tell me.”
It’s an accusation and she cocks her head to the side. She slides the cigarette into her mouth. She thinks about holidays and lights it.
“You read it.”
He snorts. “Oh,” he says. Then, “Well, I reckon I did. Why don’t I see you anymore? I know you’re working, but -”
“You are engaged,” she points out. He holds up his hand and flexes it. There’s no ring, yet; or maybe, it’s just like the papers speculate, there’s a ring there and it’s awkward glance, and really, just really, she’s never known him to share well.
“And you hide,” he throws back, and she laughs. The sound echoes in the kitchen and suddenly, her dog scampers into the room, tail wagging. Her gaze softens as he comes around the table, jumping at her legs. “Hello,” she says softly, but Daniel is talking over her, “You’re quite good, you know, at this hiding business. I feel like you and I could be something - I don’t know. It sounds like terrible bullshit, I guess.”
She shakes her head. She picks up her dog and lets him curl into her lap. Her fingers slide through his fur and she reaches back for her cigarette, dropping the ash into an empty candle glass.
“I am terrible at being soft,” she says, and he laughs too.
It did almost happen, once, and a long time ago; there was an elevator ride somewhere in New York, to separate bedrooms and separate thoughts, thoughts she barely admits to when there are close friends.
They are standing side by side, when they both tell this story, or recall, mostly it’s recalling, as Daniel likes to bring it up the most, and she is wearing black and her lips are too red, all for apparent clichés and her own sense of amusement. He will turn to her (she’ll turn away first, of course) and they’ll look at each other; he catches her, and then she catches him, and it’s the slightest of softness, a smile, and the uncanny need to slide her hand into his and then the way his fingers slipped, spreading into her palm.
His floor is the first stop. She never asked.
He is looking at a painting in her sitting room. It’s a present from Louis, but she doesn’t tell him that.
Instead Eva moves to her couch, her dog following at her heels. The wine sits empty back in the kitchen and when she drops to the couch, she curls her legs tightly underneath her.
“Do you like it?” she asks.
Daniel makes a soft sound. He shrugs and she catches the way his shoulders rise and fall, almost like a backwards side.
“Not my taste,” he answer. He turns and there is a cigarette in his mouth. “The colors are nice,” he says too, as if he were just deciding to humor her after all. She believes that more.
He moves to sit at her coffee table. His jacket is somewhere in the flat. She can’t quite remember if she decided to hang it up or let it sit elsewhere in the flat. It’s forgotten and now, it’s unimportant.
She watches too as his legs stretch out and his hand fall over his knees. His fingers press into his trousers, his thumb picking at the fabric before he reaches out and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth. He blows smoke to the side into a small ring.
“I am going to Tokyo,” she decides to tell him then; it’s sudden, it feels awful, and it’s entirely impulsive, even for her. She feels herself smile, and rather curiously, shaking her head. “For a little while,” she adds. “Just until I clear my head and walk around for myself, I suppose.”
“You’re not making sense,” he says.
“Do I have to? I would prefer not to have to explain myself and my reasons and this need to go out and be somewhere without any sense of attachments and imperative to share every revolting aspect of my life - it’s why my mother and my sister are both angry at me.”
Daniel reaches out and grabs a book from next to him. It opens and the pages scatter back loudly.
“You are angry at me,” he murmurs.
Eva laughs, surprised, genuinely surprised, and the sound sort of skips out of her mouth, honest and somewhat warm.
“You are an ass,” she says.
“Well?”
Her fingers brush through her hair and she shrugs. “Why would I be angry with you?” she asks and carefully, “you and I do not pretend to be anything but what we are - what, or rather, who can be angry at that?”
He says nothing and it’s rather strange, she thinks. Her legs uncurl from underneath her and drop onto the carpet. It’s then that she realizes that her feet are bare and as she shifts onto the edge of the couch, her knees press against his.
There is a hint of a smile that she catches too. He relaxes too and leans forward on his knees, his chin resting on a fist. His face softens and there’s no sense of wonderment when he looks at her; this is Eva, right there, completely and utterly self-aware of her own inability to accept the way people watch her. Daniel, always Daniel, has been so different, so certain, and so intimate without letting her understand why.
They stare at each other. Her lips purse, and then she sighs.
“Marton asked me to marry him,” she says. Her mouth twists and her intention, suddenly, is self-deprecating. “I said no.”
Watch the camera.
“Unconventional,” Daniel tells a reporter, once and very long time ago, “it’s a bit unconventional, myself and her, nothing like you’re prepared to expect - but it’s there and you get to see how hard it is for us both to open up.”
It’s frank and vague, a mass of contradictions, and if you see the interview, and if you really watch his face, you’ll see the lines in Daniel’s mouth as they flash and that sudden, honest laugh that falls, low and warm and hers all the same - it’s hers, yes, it’s hers and it’s apart of a story that neither of them have been willing to share even with each other even if she isn’t there.
Watch the camera again. “Bond, you mean?” the reporter clarifies.
Daniel looks away.
It’s early morning when he decides to leave, and Eva is walking him to her door, a lazy sweater wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
“Good luck,” she murmurs, and it’s business, her voice, impossibly calm and coy all at once. “Rome is lovely this time of year, of course.”
Daniel gets to the door but doesn’t open it. He’s blocking it too and she can’t quite reach around to continue his exit. But she’s patient and studies him as he starts to slide into his jacket.
“Are you going to be all right?” he asks, suddenly. “I mean, Tokyo -” she catches the hesitation, and when he looks down, “ - it’s wonderful, of course, but if you’re looking for a particular break -”
“It is not a break,” she says.
“It’s not a break,” he repeats and then nods. His back presses against the door and he slides his hands into his jacket. His brow furrow. She watches him carefully, and a bit wary, somehow unable to completely read him.
He coughs then, covering his mouth and she remembers something about him quitting smoking but not quite; it’s odd thing to remember, all of the sudden, like a reassurance but not completely there. But when he smile at her, finally, he leans in and lets his mouth brush against her forehead. He lingers too and she lets out a little sigh, her eyes closing.
“You should go home,” she murmurs, and it’s unintentional and full of longing. Her voice shifts and her hands drop back against his chest. “I’ve kept you long enough, you know.”
He chuckles and his fingers catch her hair, right at the nape of her neck. She feels them as they slide against her skin and her lips purse as she tries to swallow. She wants to shake her head.
“Scotch next time,” he says.
“All right.”
“Promise?” he asks; when he steps back, she nods too, drawing her arms around her chest as he opens the door. She licks her lips and he offers a slight smile, something that seems too much like an apology. There are no well-wishes, no call, or even a thoughtful, odd smile. She doesn’t expect it and that, there, may or may not be part of the absolute problem. There is nothing in her ready to touch that.
It’s beyond that here. Daniel opens the door first.
Eva stays an extra week in Tokyo.
one sunday, later
rpf ; daniel craig/eva green; 2,067 words, pg.
a good actor never turns down a character study. liars and thieves, this is your life.
-
They are not good at this.
This is the truth.
There are suitcases in the hallway, stacked and flushed against the wall like a few forgotten boxes. He sighs loudly.
“I haven’t seen you in awhile and you’re already leaving,” Daniel says, and Eva pretends not to hear him, caring the wine that he’s brought with a fist to the kitchen sink. She opens a drawer and closes it, frowning. She cannot remember where she put the opener.
“It is somewhere,” she says, out loud.
“What is?”
She turns and puts the bottle of wine down, reaching for her cigarettes on the kitchen counter. Her fingers pull one and she slides into her mouth, studying him. It’s been awhile, she thinks.
Eva lights her cigarette. “You look wonderful,” she says calmly. She turns briefly, grabbing one of the kitchen knives.
“Happy,” she adds.
Daniel looks at her in amusement. She shrugs. Taking the knife, she begins to peel the wrapping around the mouth of the bottle. It unravels quickly, spitting onto the floor.
“And no,” she says. “I am not going anywhere yet.”
“We’re just catching up, sweetheart,” he murmurs. Eva smirks and slides the knife into the cork, pulling it out. It makes an unceremoniously loud pop and she licks her lips. She takes a sip from the bottle and then passes it to him as he comes to stand by her. “Don’t be angry at me,” he says.
“Angry?”
He brings the bottle to his mouth and drinks. He prefers scotch, drinks wine often to humor, or humor the others around them.
“Angry,” he says again. His eyes are bright. “We’d make terrible friends.”
They both look at Bond as a strange chapter that they share. Him, it’s definition, it’s this unfathomable sense of awareness that is no longer his and now prone to vulnerability; for her, it’s everything else, it’s too much, too soon, and a woman she often tries to hide herself away from being.
But the two of them, they never happened, never touched that line of almost and not quite. Talking after, that came much, much later, after a second project and a failed third.
Eva loves to work. Daniel understands why.
“Where’s Marton?” he asks, and they’ve moved around the kitchen, settling at the table in the middle of the room. There is music on and she’s finished most of the wine herself, staring blankly off to the side.
Her flat gets cold in the winter. It’s a charming homage to childhood and the freedom of living alone, away from home and her family. She leaves the windows open upstairs, in her bedroom, and cracks one in the kitchen and decides it’s all fine.
“Home,” she answers. Her mouth twitches. “We have decided on taking some time apart, or whatever diplomatic way people tend to talk about breakups as.”
“Are you all right?”
She looks up. Daniel’s fingers are rapping against her cigarette box. He’s staring at it thoughtfully.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar,” he says. I know you usually comes after. They’re neither drunk nor reading lines; he laughs too. “Although, I suppose you are, given that you’re here and not over there. Are you hiding?”
“No,” she answers. She sighs, looking away. “Maybe. My sister invited me to her vineyard and I told her I was working.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
Eva chuckles, reaching for her cigarettes. She pulls another out. The first is somewhere on the kitchen counter, in a old ashtray.
“Yes you did,” she murmurs.
“You didn’t tell me.”
It’s an accusation and she cocks her head to the side. She slides the cigarette into her mouth. She thinks about holidays and lights it.
“You read it.”
He snorts. “Oh,” he says. Then, “Well, I reckon I did. Why don’t I see you anymore? I know you’re working, but -”
“You are engaged,” she points out. He holds up his hand and flexes it. There’s no ring, yet; or maybe, it’s just like the papers speculate, there’s a ring there and it’s awkward glance, and really, just really, she’s never known him to share well.
“And you hide,” he throws back, and she laughs. The sound echoes in the kitchen and suddenly, her dog scampers into the room, tail wagging. Her gaze softens as he comes around the table, jumping at her legs. “Hello,” she says softly, but Daniel is talking over her, “You’re quite good, you know, at this hiding business. I feel like you and I could be something - I don’t know. It sounds like terrible bullshit, I guess.”
She shakes her head. She picks up her dog and lets him curl into her lap. Her fingers slide through his fur and she reaches back for her cigarette, dropping the ash into an empty candle glass.
“I am terrible at being soft,” she says, and he laughs too.
It did almost happen, once, and a long time ago; there was an elevator ride somewhere in New York, to separate bedrooms and separate thoughts, thoughts she barely admits to when there are close friends.
They are standing side by side, when they both tell this story, or recall, mostly it’s recalling, as Daniel likes to bring it up the most, and she is wearing black and her lips are too red, all for apparent clichés and her own sense of amusement. He will turn to her (she’ll turn away first, of course) and they’ll look at each other; he catches her, and then she catches him, and it’s the slightest of softness, a smile, and the uncanny need to slide her hand into his and then the way his fingers slipped, spreading into her palm.
His floor is the first stop. She never asked.
He is looking at a painting in her sitting room. It’s a present from Louis, but she doesn’t tell him that.
Instead Eva moves to her couch, her dog following at her heels. The wine sits empty back in the kitchen and when she drops to the couch, she curls her legs tightly underneath her.
“Do you like it?” she asks.
Daniel makes a soft sound. He shrugs and she catches the way his shoulders rise and fall, almost like a backwards side.
“Not my taste,” he answer. He turns and there is a cigarette in his mouth. “The colors are nice,” he says too, as if he were just deciding to humor her after all. She believes that more.
He moves to sit at her coffee table. His jacket is somewhere in the flat. She can’t quite remember if she decided to hang it up or let it sit elsewhere in the flat. It’s forgotten and now, it’s unimportant.
She watches too as his legs stretch out and his hand fall over his knees. His fingers press into his trousers, his thumb picking at the fabric before he reaches out and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth. He blows smoke to the side into a small ring.
“I am going to Tokyo,” she decides to tell him then; it’s sudden, it feels awful, and it’s entirely impulsive, even for her. She feels herself smile, and rather curiously, shaking her head. “For a little while,” she adds. “Just until I clear my head and walk around for myself, I suppose.”
“You’re not making sense,” he says.
“Do I have to? I would prefer not to have to explain myself and my reasons and this need to go out and be somewhere without any sense of attachments and imperative to share every revolting aspect of my life - it’s why my mother and my sister are both angry at me.”
Daniel reaches out and grabs a book from next to him. It opens and the pages scatter back loudly.
“You are angry at me,” he murmurs.
Eva laughs, surprised, genuinely surprised, and the sound sort of skips out of her mouth, honest and somewhat warm.
“You are an ass,” she says.
“Well?”
Her fingers brush through her hair and she shrugs. “Why would I be angry with you?” she asks and carefully, “you and I do not pretend to be anything but what we are - what, or rather, who can be angry at that?”
He says nothing and it’s rather strange, she thinks. Her legs uncurl from underneath her and drop onto the carpet. It’s then that she realizes that her feet are bare and as she shifts onto the edge of the couch, her knees press against his.
There is a hint of a smile that she catches too. He relaxes too and leans forward on his knees, his chin resting on a fist. His face softens and there’s no sense of wonderment when he looks at her; this is Eva, right there, completely and utterly self-aware of her own inability to accept the way people watch her. Daniel, always Daniel, has been so different, so certain, and so intimate without letting her understand why.
They stare at each other. Her lips purse, and then she sighs.
“Marton asked me to marry him,” she says. Her mouth twists and her intention, suddenly, is self-deprecating. “I said no.”
Watch the camera.
“Unconventional,” Daniel tells a reporter, once and very long time ago, “it’s a bit unconventional, myself and her, nothing like you’re prepared to expect - but it’s there and you get to see how hard it is for us both to open up.”
It’s frank and vague, a mass of contradictions, and if you see the interview, and if you really watch his face, you’ll see the lines in Daniel’s mouth as they flash and that sudden, honest laugh that falls, low and warm and hers all the same - it’s hers, yes, it’s hers and it’s apart of a story that neither of them have been willing to share even with each other even if she isn’t there.
Watch the camera again. “Bond, you mean?” the reporter clarifies.
Daniel looks away.
It’s early morning when he decides to leave, and Eva is walking him to her door, a lazy sweater wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
“Good luck,” she murmurs, and it’s business, her voice, impossibly calm and coy all at once. “Rome is lovely this time of year, of course.”
Daniel gets to the door but doesn’t open it. He’s blocking it too and she can’t quite reach around to continue his exit. But she’s patient and studies him as he starts to slide into his jacket.
“Are you going to be all right?” he asks, suddenly. “I mean, Tokyo -” she catches the hesitation, and when he looks down, “ - it’s wonderful, of course, but if you’re looking for a particular break -”
“It is not a break,” she says.
“It’s not a break,” he repeats and then nods. His back presses against the door and he slides his hands into his jacket. His brow furrow. She watches him carefully, and a bit wary, somehow unable to completely read him.
He coughs then, covering his mouth and she remembers something about him quitting smoking but not quite; it’s odd thing to remember, all of the sudden, like a reassurance but not completely there. But when he smile at her, finally, he leans in and lets his mouth brush against her forehead. He lingers too and she lets out a little sigh, her eyes closing.
“You should go home,” she murmurs, and it’s unintentional and full of longing. Her voice shifts and her hands drop back against his chest. “I’ve kept you long enough, you know.”
He chuckles and his fingers catch her hair, right at the nape of her neck. She feels them as they slide against her skin and her lips purse as she tries to swallow. She wants to shake her head.
“Scotch next time,” he says.
“All right.”
“Promise?” he asks; when he steps back, she nods too, drawing her arms around her chest as he opens the door. She licks her lips and he offers a slight smile, something that seems too much like an apology. There are no well-wishes, no call, or even a thoughtful, odd smile. She doesn’t expect it and that, there, may or may not be part of the absolute problem. There is nothing in her ready to touch that.
It’s beyond that here. Daniel opens the door first.
Eva stays an extra week in Tokyo.