Le Tourbillon de la Vie (1/12)
Title: Le Tourbillon de la Vie
Characters/Pairings: Noah, Claude, Sandra
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Violence, a little. Very vague references to a threesome.
Word Count: 1331
Spoilers: In this part not terribly much but for the story overall it really helps to have read the Golden Handshake series of the GN.
Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah.
Summary: A Company trip to Paris takes a turn for the...interesting.
A/N: Because I am clearly insane I took a perfectly decent Noah/Sandra/Claude threesome fic (which is now the prologue) and turned it into an action movie set in Paris. I still don't even know. I blame Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn.
Super-awesome-special thanks to englishmuffin2 for beta-ing and assisting with the French.
[ Prologue] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]
[Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Epilogue]
“Claude?”
He opened the door immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
“I…” she was trying not to look frightened, and somehow that made it worse. “Is Noah here?”
“No, he’s…he’s not in your room,” more a statement than a question, and his mind started racing with possibilities as she shook her head. “Come in.”
She did; looked around listlessly, hands on her arms, as if she could tell something was off.
Watched him as he did a quick scan of his own room; looked out the window, assessing the ledge outside of it, before shutting and locking it. Checked the closet, even though that’d be too easy, opened the door to the bathroom, and-
“I don’t think he’s playin’ hide and seek.”
He turned around to look at her trying to smile, and chuckled weakly.
“Always good to be sure,” he shut the bathroom door, and stepped closer to her. “Stay here a bit, all right? I’ll go look.”
“You know, it’s probably nothing, I bet he went out for…” she stopped, because they both knew there were very few things Noah Bennet would decide he needed so much that he’d disappear without so much as a note. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Probably,” he tried to smile. “Stay here, though?”
She nodded, confused.
“And…and don’t open the door for anyone else.”
“Really, Claude, it’s not…”
“For me,” he hated to say, but it seemed most likely to work. “Be back in a second.”
*
Noah’s gun was still in his suitcase. He checked that first.
The window was open; not enough of a ledge to stand on, seventh floor up too much of a drop to take lightly, but it’s not like any of that would be a real barrier.
The rest of the room was…well, how much of it was detritus from the night before and how much of it was the sign of a struggle was something he forced himself to analyze.
He didn’t remember any of them bumping up against the desk, and it wasn’t on the path from the door to the bed anyway, but it’d clearly been moved.
The torn button on the floor was most likely his own but the same couldn’t be said for the crumpled jacket by the bathroom door, and there was the smell of something vaguely medicinal in there that wasn’t exactly normal.
He stepped out into the main room, looking for Sandra’s bag, and jumped when the phone started ringing. Ignored it, though, sure it would stop eventually, and it did.
And then started again, shrill and echoing in the empty room, the red light indicating an internal call flashing steadily, and he reached for his gun on instinct before remembering he’d left it upstairs.
Sighed and found Noah’s, which was heavier than his own and felt awkward against his palm, before moving for the door.
*
The door opened on the second knock and the older man’s expression went from surprised to angry with admirable speed as Claude took a half-hearted swing. The blow slide off the man’s chin but probably wasn’t especially pleasant, not that Claude lingered to check.
“Who are-what are you-Wait, you’re the man from next door, you can’t-“
“Sorry mate,” he said, opening the window and preparing himself. “Forgot my key, you know how it is.”
“Who do you think you…” Claude heard him trail off, but didn’t stop to look back. Climbing across a ledge fifteen stories above the ground was more than enough to keep his attention for the time being.
As was the scene he could glimpse from the window, which was admittedly limited.
And he’d give the man (or what he figured was a man, from the shape of the body dialing the phone with its back to him) credit, in having turned off the lights; less chance of curious onlookers from the street or the opposite building.
Sandra, her hands tied together (in front of her, and that was a mark down), sat still but tense in a chair that she didn’t seem bound to, and that, at least, was lucky.
Also lucky was the fact that she was closer to the window than the man was, and actually looking out it.
Her eyes widened and he shook his head, finger to his lips, and glanced down at the locked window.
She frowned and glanced at the other figure and he tried to imbue his answering frown with urgency and the general understanding that he was distracted for the moment and now would be the best time.
Sandra gave another look to the man, and then visibly steadied herself. Eased out of the chair, crept to the window, and fiddled with the lock as Claude kept his eyes on the man who was still on the phone.
Saw him slam it down in obvious annoyance just as Sandra grinned with nervous relief and Claude gestured at her desperately to sit down again before he faded out.
And took a breath, because it seemed to have worked.
The figure, his face mostly in shadow, gave Sandra a cursory look and then turned away.
Claude waited, standing as close as he could to the window as he felt the wind pick up around him, and then heard it.
The sound of indignant knocking, loud enough to be heard from outside the room, more than loud enough to cover for the sound of the window pane being slide up.
Sandra must have heard him, though, because she half turned but the man didn’t, too busy frowning at the rantings about it being very bad form to attack your neighbor and go out his window just because you’d forgotten your key coming from the door that was actually rattling from how hard it was being knocked on.
And once again, Claude had to give credit where it was due: he apparently figured it out almost immediately, turning around before Claude had the chance to close the window.
He moved to grab at Sandra but Claude got to him first, a swift hit to the chin that he recovered from much too quickly, with an answering lunge in his direction.
And he was faster than Claude, he could tell that much, and younger; definitely less taken by the element of surprise than someone entirely unfamiliar with the possibility of an invisible man would be.
Relentless, too, adaptive, punching and grabbing and kicking ferociously enough that Claude couldn’t avoid everything, and as much as Claude knew better than to lose track of a weapon, he was too busy trying to keep his ribs and nose and quite possibly something much more essential from getting broken to keep the gun in his hand.
He heard it clatter across the floor, generally behind him, and pushed the man back. And was on the verge of punching him again, when he heard the soft click of an advanced metal mechanism behind him.
“Move away from him, Claude,” the voice was steady and low, and he turned.
Took a step toward her, his hands up, automatically, but she didn’t even look at him. Just stared at the young man, who Claude finally got a good look at.
Much younger than him, twenty years old, at most, dark hair, dark skin, small sneer, and completely relaxed posture, despite the woman training a gun on him with a surprising amount of calm and steadiness of hand.
Hands, as they were still bound together.
“Sandra…” he began, but she just shook her head.
“Where is he?”
The young man kept smirking, face smug and blank, and Sandra got off a round of French that his mind could just barely register as mostly threatening as he stepped further back without turning away, until he bumped into the desk.
“You wouldn’t dare,” the kid said, in barely-accented English, with the confidence of the basically bright and unfortunately aware of it.
“All right,” she said, voice trembling a little, hands as steady as ever, and pulled the trigger.
*
Characters/Pairings: Noah, Claude, Sandra
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Violence, a little. Very vague references to a threesome.
Word Count: 1331
Spoilers: In this part not terribly much but for the story overall it really helps to have read the Golden Handshake series of the GN.
Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah.
Summary: A Company trip to Paris takes a turn for the...interesting.
A/N: Because I am clearly insane I took a perfectly decent Noah/Sandra/Claude threesome fic (which is now the prologue) and turned it into an action movie set in Paris. I still don't even know. I blame Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn.
Super-awesome-special thanks to englishmuffin2 for beta-ing and assisting with the French.
[ Prologue] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]
[Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Epilogue]
“Claude?”
He opened the door immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
“I…” she was trying not to look frightened, and somehow that made it worse. “Is Noah here?”
“No, he’s…he’s not in your room,” more a statement than a question, and his mind started racing with possibilities as she shook her head. “Come in.”
She did; looked around listlessly, hands on her arms, as if she could tell something was off.
Watched him as he did a quick scan of his own room; looked out the window, assessing the ledge outside of it, before shutting and locking it. Checked the closet, even though that’d be too easy, opened the door to the bathroom, and-
“I don’t think he’s playin’ hide and seek.”
He turned around to look at her trying to smile, and chuckled weakly.
“Always good to be sure,” he shut the bathroom door, and stepped closer to her. “Stay here a bit, all right? I’ll go look.”
“You know, it’s probably nothing, I bet he went out for…” she stopped, because they both knew there were very few things Noah Bennet would decide he needed so much that he’d disappear without so much as a note. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Probably,” he tried to smile. “Stay here, though?”
She nodded, confused.
“And…and don’t open the door for anyone else.”
“Really, Claude, it’s not…”
“For me,” he hated to say, but it seemed most likely to work. “Be back in a second.”
*
Noah’s gun was still in his suitcase. He checked that first.
The window was open; not enough of a ledge to stand on, seventh floor up too much of a drop to take lightly, but it’s not like any of that would be a real barrier.
The rest of the room was…well, how much of it was detritus from the night before and how much of it was the sign of a struggle was something he forced himself to analyze.
He didn’t remember any of them bumping up against the desk, and it wasn’t on the path from the door to the bed anyway, but it’d clearly been moved.
The torn button on the floor was most likely his own but the same couldn’t be said for the crumpled jacket by the bathroom door, and there was the smell of something vaguely medicinal in there that wasn’t exactly normal.
He stepped out into the main room, looking for Sandra’s bag, and jumped when the phone started ringing. Ignored it, though, sure it would stop eventually, and it did.
And then started again, shrill and echoing in the empty room, the red light indicating an internal call flashing steadily, and he reached for his gun on instinct before remembering he’d left it upstairs.
Sighed and found Noah’s, which was heavier than his own and felt awkward against his palm, before moving for the door.
*
The door opened on the second knock and the older man’s expression went from surprised to angry with admirable speed as Claude took a half-hearted swing. The blow slide off the man’s chin but probably wasn’t especially pleasant, not that Claude lingered to check.
“Who are-what are you-Wait, you’re the man from next door, you can’t-“
“Sorry mate,” he said, opening the window and preparing himself. “Forgot my key, you know how it is.”
“Who do you think you…” Claude heard him trail off, but didn’t stop to look back. Climbing across a ledge fifteen stories above the ground was more than enough to keep his attention for the time being.
As was the scene he could glimpse from the window, which was admittedly limited.
And he’d give the man (or what he figured was a man, from the shape of the body dialing the phone with its back to him) credit, in having turned off the lights; less chance of curious onlookers from the street or the opposite building.
Sandra, her hands tied together (in front of her, and that was a mark down), sat still but tense in a chair that she didn’t seem bound to, and that, at least, was lucky.
Also lucky was the fact that she was closer to the window than the man was, and actually looking out it.
Her eyes widened and he shook his head, finger to his lips, and glanced down at the locked window.
She frowned and glanced at the other figure and he tried to imbue his answering frown with urgency and the general understanding that he was distracted for the moment and now would be the best time.
Sandra gave another look to the man, and then visibly steadied herself. Eased out of the chair, crept to the window, and fiddled with the lock as Claude kept his eyes on the man who was still on the phone.
Saw him slam it down in obvious annoyance just as Sandra grinned with nervous relief and Claude gestured at her desperately to sit down again before he faded out.
And took a breath, because it seemed to have worked.
The figure, his face mostly in shadow, gave Sandra a cursory look and then turned away.
Claude waited, standing as close as he could to the window as he felt the wind pick up around him, and then heard it.
The sound of indignant knocking, loud enough to be heard from outside the room, more than loud enough to cover for the sound of the window pane being slide up.
Sandra must have heard him, though, because she half turned but the man didn’t, too busy frowning at the rantings about it being very bad form to attack your neighbor and go out his window just because you’d forgotten your key coming from the door that was actually rattling from how hard it was being knocked on.
And once again, Claude had to give credit where it was due: he apparently figured it out almost immediately, turning around before Claude had the chance to close the window.
He moved to grab at Sandra but Claude got to him first, a swift hit to the chin that he recovered from much too quickly, with an answering lunge in his direction.
And he was faster than Claude, he could tell that much, and younger; definitely less taken by the element of surprise than someone entirely unfamiliar with the possibility of an invisible man would be.
Relentless, too, adaptive, punching and grabbing and kicking ferociously enough that Claude couldn’t avoid everything, and as much as Claude knew better than to lose track of a weapon, he was too busy trying to keep his ribs and nose and quite possibly something much more essential from getting broken to keep the gun in his hand.
He heard it clatter across the floor, generally behind him, and pushed the man back. And was on the verge of punching him again, when he heard the soft click of an advanced metal mechanism behind him.
“Move away from him, Claude,” the voice was steady and low, and he turned.
Took a step toward her, his hands up, automatically, but she didn’t even look at him. Just stared at the young man, who Claude finally got a good look at.
Much younger than him, twenty years old, at most, dark hair, dark skin, small sneer, and completely relaxed posture, despite the woman training a gun on him with a surprising amount of calm and steadiness of hand.
Hands, as they were still bound together.
“Sandra…” he began, but she just shook her head.
“Where is he?”
The young man kept smirking, face smug and blank, and Sandra got off a round of French that his mind could just barely register as mostly threatening as he stepped further back without turning away, until he bumped into the desk.
“You wouldn’t dare,” the kid said, in barely-accented English, with the confidence of the basically bright and unfortunately aware of it.
“All right,” she said, voice trembling a little, hands as steady as ever, and pulled the trigger.
*