FIC: Five Things That Never Happened To Frank Martin [The Transporter, 1/1]
So I wrote this, like, three years ago, way back when Transporter 2 came out. It remains one of the very few pieces of completed non-wrestlefics I've done in the past eight years, and the only completed Five Things despite my love for the device. Honestly won't make much sense if you haven't seen the movies recently or many times, but for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm truly breaking away from wrestling, so let's start with this, shall we?
Disclaimer: Movies and characters belong to people who are not me. No copyright infringement has been intended.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Mostly Transporter 1, a little for Transporter 2.
Five Things That Never Happened To Frank Martin
I. Never Open The Package
Every now and then, Frank would find his thoughts be inexplicably drawn back to her. Sitting at a rest stop, eating a sandwich, a refreshment break in the middle of a job, and he would stare out the window at the trunk of his BMW and think of her.
That girl in his trunk.
Except, of course, she had long since been delivered to her destination, a job completed, money accepted and spent. She should be nothing but a distant memory.
But he thought of her anyway. Wondered who she was, where she had been, where she was now. The whys and the hows, and these were things a man like him shouldn't be troubled with, shouldn't bother to think about. Granted, they were idle thoughts. He didn't lie awake at night, restless because he was bothered by what could be happening to her right now. That would imply he cared, and he didn't. He had long since made his peace with his conscience. Couldn't do his job otherwise, then or now. A soldier had no conscience, only orders; a transporter had no morals, only instructions.
And yet, Frank found himself wondering just the same. Was she the kidnapped daughter of a millionaire? A high priced call girl who knew too much? The possibilities were endless.
This was why he had Rule Number Three. A little curiosity was a dangerous thing.
*
II. No One Cared
They said that at the heart of every cynic was a dreamer, and he'd laugh in the face of anyone who dared to call him a dreamer, but it wasn't like he'd enlisted all those years ago because he had wanted a gun so he could impress his girlfriend. No, he had been stupid enough to think that he could have made a difference. He'd bought the sales pitch hook, line, and sinker.
The world had looked mighty different through a sniper scope, though, and it never seemed to matter what he'd done anyhow. Everything stayed the same. That was the way of the world. Newton's Laws applicable to social dynamics: things in motion tended to stay in motion. Nobody really wanted change. It wasn't profitable.
And he knew all along that she was playing him, wanted to drag him into her affairs so he could solve her problems for her, but that didn't make her words any less true or stung any less deep.
"You were a soldier. Your job was to save people."
He'd been damned since the moment he opened that bag. Just a moment of curiosity, and he shouldn't have succumbed. Once you wanted to know, then you'd start to care, and Frank Martin didn't want to give a damn.
Too late for that, of course. Too late for everything.
"Kill him."
He looked at her, then he looked down the barrel of the gun aimed at his head. He'd saved the girl, but there'd be nothing to save him.
He shouldn't have cared.
*
III. Start Over
He met her while he was on leave. She was a dainty thing in strappy heels and a short short skirt. Her dark hair gleamed in the sunlight, and he'd been caught by the shine until he realized that she was falling, and he darted forward to catch her.
She smiled at him, and he remained caught ever since.
She said her name was Lai, and she was a student at the local university, majoring in marketing. He didn't need to explain what he did; it was boldly stated by the uniform he was wearing. Something about the uniform, he knew, always made girls wild, but Lai? Well, she didn't like soldiers all too much, but she seemed to like him, and he counted his blessings.
A week of leave passed by like mere hours. They promised to stay in touch, but in her eyes, he could see that she knew it was just the way of things if they never exchanged another word again. He was determined to prove her wrong. Military life had steadily been losing its flavour, one pointless mission after another, miscalculated targets, rescue attempts botched by political red tape. He had been content enough to stay with the life he had known, but there was another life opening up for him, and if Frank Martin was anything, he was a man who knew to take his chances when they came to him.
It was worth it just to see the look on her face when he showed up at her doorstep.
It was even better when she flew into his arms and clung to him. That was when he knew he'd made the right choice.
*
IV. No Names (Another Time, Another Place)
1.8 by 0.4 metres, 45 kilograms, 6800 kilometers, 550000 US dollars.
It was a payday that he couldn't pass up, so he made the deal.
Rule #1: Deals once made cannot be renegotiated.
And so he was stuck, once he'd found out that his client was his package. It made his third rule rather moot, but he had been quite determined to ensure that the rest remained unthreatened.
There was a reason why he had rules. They protected him, and they protected his clients. But it must have been the Brazilian sun that made everything seem more surreal, like a dream came to life, and rules were just inconveniences that could be swept aside for pleasures of the moment.
He shouldn't have slept with her, even after they'd arrived in Rio de Janeiro and his job was complete. But she was blonde, she was dangerous, and she could reassemble a long range high powered rifle in under seven seconds. There was something very enticing about that.
As he'd half-dozed on the bed with his cheek pressed into the pillow, she drew a fingertip down his spine and whispered into his ear,
"My name is Lola."
She shouldn't have told him her name. Because this meant that he had something to tell, and he knows now that it's only a matter of time before the knife making its way down his chest meets something vital that he can't afford to lose.
Nothing good ever comes out of breaking the rules.
*
V. Never Open The Package, v.2
Frank couldn't see. It was dark. It was cramped. He could hardly breathe. His mouth was taped, his hands and feet were bound. It was safe to say that he'd been kidnapped.
He shifted about, and he could gather that he was in a bag of some sort; he could feel the zipper with his fingertips. There was a sense of motion. He was... in a car? A train? Difficult to tell, only that he was moving. He closed his eyes -- vision was useless anyway -- and concentrated on the sounds filtering through. Whatever was carrying him was coming to a slow stop. There was a pop, and he knew that pop.
A car trunk.
He was in a car trunk.
Then all of a sudden, the zipper was ripped down and fresh cold air hit his face. He drew in a deep breath through his nose and blinked his eyes open, stung by the bright afternoon sun. Standing over him was an Asian woman, long hair, pouty lips, cold eyes. Beautiful, really, and young.
She held up a bottle of Orangina. He stared at her.
"If you yell, I will kill you," she told him in heavily accented English, then she held up a knife to illustrate her threat. Frank nodded, then winced as the tape was ripped off his mouth, taking some of his stubble with it.
"What do you want? Who do you work for?"
The blade kissed his throat, and he shut up. Then she offered the lip of the bottle to his mouth. He drank, knowing that he would need to stay hydrated, and though Orangina wasn't exactly his drink of choice, he would take what he could get. His eyes remained upon her, but her expression gave nothing away.
The drink was soon taken away, and she started to reseal the tape over his mouth.
"Wait!"
She paused.
"Who are you?"
Finally, her expression changed. A smile curved her lips.
"I'm the transporter."
Then she taped his mouth, shoved his head back inside the bag, zipped it up, and slammed the trunk shut.
~end~
Disclaimer: Movies and characters belong to people who are not me. No copyright infringement has been intended.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Mostly Transporter 1, a little for Transporter 2.
Five Things That Never Happened To Frank Martin
I. Never Open The Package
Every now and then, Frank would find his thoughts be inexplicably drawn back to her. Sitting at a rest stop, eating a sandwich, a refreshment break in the middle of a job, and he would stare out the window at the trunk of his BMW and think of her.
That girl in his trunk.
Except, of course, she had long since been delivered to her destination, a job completed, money accepted and spent. She should be nothing but a distant memory.
But he thought of her anyway. Wondered who she was, where she had been, where she was now. The whys and the hows, and these were things a man like him shouldn't be troubled with, shouldn't bother to think about. Granted, they were idle thoughts. He didn't lie awake at night, restless because he was bothered by what could be happening to her right now. That would imply he cared, and he didn't. He had long since made his peace with his conscience. Couldn't do his job otherwise, then or now. A soldier had no conscience, only orders; a transporter had no morals, only instructions.
And yet, Frank found himself wondering just the same. Was she the kidnapped daughter of a millionaire? A high priced call girl who knew too much? The possibilities were endless.
This was why he had Rule Number Three. A little curiosity was a dangerous thing.
*
II. No One Cared
They said that at the heart of every cynic was a dreamer, and he'd laugh in the face of anyone who dared to call him a dreamer, but it wasn't like he'd enlisted all those years ago because he had wanted a gun so he could impress his girlfriend. No, he had been stupid enough to think that he could have made a difference. He'd bought the sales pitch hook, line, and sinker.
The world had looked mighty different through a sniper scope, though, and it never seemed to matter what he'd done anyhow. Everything stayed the same. That was the way of the world. Newton's Laws applicable to social dynamics: things in motion tended to stay in motion. Nobody really wanted change. It wasn't profitable.
And he knew all along that she was playing him, wanted to drag him into her affairs so he could solve her problems for her, but that didn't make her words any less true or stung any less deep.
"You were a soldier. Your job was to save people."
He'd been damned since the moment he opened that bag. Just a moment of curiosity, and he shouldn't have succumbed. Once you wanted to know, then you'd start to care, and Frank Martin didn't want to give a damn.
Too late for that, of course. Too late for everything.
"Kill him."
He looked at her, then he looked down the barrel of the gun aimed at his head. He'd saved the girl, but there'd be nothing to save him.
He shouldn't have cared.
*
III. Start Over
He met her while he was on leave. She was a dainty thing in strappy heels and a short short skirt. Her dark hair gleamed in the sunlight, and he'd been caught by the shine until he realized that she was falling, and he darted forward to catch her.
She smiled at him, and he remained caught ever since.
She said her name was Lai, and she was a student at the local university, majoring in marketing. He didn't need to explain what he did; it was boldly stated by the uniform he was wearing. Something about the uniform, he knew, always made girls wild, but Lai? Well, she didn't like soldiers all too much, but she seemed to like him, and he counted his blessings.
A week of leave passed by like mere hours. They promised to stay in touch, but in her eyes, he could see that she knew it was just the way of things if they never exchanged another word again. He was determined to prove her wrong. Military life had steadily been losing its flavour, one pointless mission after another, miscalculated targets, rescue attempts botched by political red tape. He had been content enough to stay with the life he had known, but there was another life opening up for him, and if Frank Martin was anything, he was a man who knew to take his chances when they came to him.
It was worth it just to see the look on her face when he showed up at her doorstep.
It was even better when she flew into his arms and clung to him. That was when he knew he'd made the right choice.
*
IV. No Names (Another Time, Another Place)
1.8 by 0.4 metres, 45 kilograms, 6800 kilometers, 550000 US dollars.
It was a payday that he couldn't pass up, so he made the deal.
Rule #1: Deals once made cannot be renegotiated.
And so he was stuck, once he'd found out that his client was his package. It made his third rule rather moot, but he had been quite determined to ensure that the rest remained unthreatened.
There was a reason why he had rules. They protected him, and they protected his clients. But it must have been the Brazilian sun that made everything seem more surreal, like a dream came to life, and rules were just inconveniences that could be swept aside for pleasures of the moment.
He shouldn't have slept with her, even after they'd arrived in Rio de Janeiro and his job was complete. But she was blonde, she was dangerous, and she could reassemble a long range high powered rifle in under seven seconds. There was something very enticing about that.
As he'd half-dozed on the bed with his cheek pressed into the pillow, she drew a fingertip down his spine and whispered into his ear,
"My name is Lola."
She shouldn't have told him her name. Because this meant that he had something to tell, and he knows now that it's only a matter of time before the knife making its way down his chest meets something vital that he can't afford to lose.
Nothing good ever comes out of breaking the rules.
*
V. Never Open The Package, v.2
Frank couldn't see. It was dark. It was cramped. He could hardly breathe. His mouth was taped, his hands and feet were bound. It was safe to say that he'd been kidnapped.
He shifted about, and he could gather that he was in a bag of some sort; he could feel the zipper with his fingertips. There was a sense of motion. He was... in a car? A train? Difficult to tell, only that he was moving. He closed his eyes -- vision was useless anyway -- and concentrated on the sounds filtering through. Whatever was carrying him was coming to a slow stop. There was a pop, and he knew that pop.
A car trunk.
He was in a car trunk.
Then all of a sudden, the zipper was ripped down and fresh cold air hit his face. He drew in a deep breath through his nose and blinked his eyes open, stung by the bright afternoon sun. Standing over him was an Asian woman, long hair, pouty lips, cold eyes. Beautiful, really, and young.
She held up a bottle of Orangina. He stared at her.
"If you yell, I will kill you," she told him in heavily accented English, then she held up a knife to illustrate her threat. Frank nodded, then winced as the tape was ripped off his mouth, taking some of his stubble with it.
"What do you want? Who do you work for?"
The blade kissed his throat, and he shut up. Then she offered the lip of the bottle to his mouth. He drank, knowing that he would need to stay hydrated, and though Orangina wasn't exactly his drink of choice, he would take what he could get. His eyes remained upon her, but her expression gave nothing away.
The drink was soon taken away, and she started to reseal the tape over his mouth.
"Wait!"
She paused.
"Who are you?"
Finally, her expression changed. A smile curved her lips.
"I'm the transporter."
Then she taped his mouth, shoved his head back inside the bag, zipped it up, and slammed the trunk shut.
~end~