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no_true_pairTitle: Lost Property
Fandom: England World - KJ Charles
Pairing/Characters: Daniel da Silva & Bill Merton
Rating: G
Content Notes: none
Prompt: 1 finds 7's lost [item] and...
Bill had nearly reached the Underground station when he realized the letter was gone. Cursing himself for a fool for carrying it (and bloody Jimmy for writing it!), he retraced his steps. Back up Horse Guards Avenue, through Whitehall Gardens—even going up and down paths he hadn’t taken… where he had lost the silly sheet of paper became more obvious as his anxiety rose.
He tried to remain casual as he re-entered the building in which the Private Bureau kept its offices. He kept his pace normal as he trotted up the marble staircase—glancing for a letter that might have slid into the corner of the landing or gone unnoticed up against a riser.
His concern had nearly reached the point of panic when he reached the office without having seen it. He didn’t even bother to console himself with the platitude that perhaps he hadn’t even had it with him. He’d looked at it close to ten times an hour. Jimmy, who could be so foolish sometimes with words he had to eject out of his mouth, could be surprisingly eloquent in writing. And with the new affirmation of their relationship just this past August… It had been difficult for Bill to return to London. Easy enough to put the regrettable events of a shooting party cut short by murder behind him, of course, but not so easy to leave Jimmy, not with the new understanding and the intensity that now burned between them. What had become easy and comfortable like a well-worn jacket was now electric. And Jimmy had been shockingly explicit in a letter, which Bill had not sensibly burned, or hidden away in his rooms, but had carried with him because he was too lovesick to go eight hours without looking at ink and paper.
And now Bill had gone and thrown it all away by losing the letter.
He slowed his pace as he entered the now-deserted Private Bureau offices. He’d stayed late double-checking his work before submitting it; his preoccupation with Jimmy had caused him to make several silly errors the first time and so he’d devoted extra time to making sure no such foolishness slipped through to Vaizey. The prosecution of Gregson counted on Bill’s calculations and…
The office was empty, save for a figure outlined in the window of the darkened room. Bill snapped the light on. If someone meant to blackmail him, they would do it in the full glare of electric light.
“Forget something, Merton?” Da Silva’s voice was oily enough to make Bill’s skin crawl. Da Silva was obvious in a way Bill could never be, so he knew what they had in common, but it was about the only thing they had in common. Bill tensed before Da Silva in the same way he had as a schoolboy or before his brothers who thought preferring numbers over people was something to make sport of. Boxing and the discovery at university that his interests were useful and admired had ironed out most of the youthful awkwardness, but he still didn’t like people like da Silva, who could barely manage two sentences without insulting someone, often too subtly for them to pick up on. Da Silva had never directed his barbs at Bill, but he supposed it was only a matter of time before he was noticed. It always was. He would have a field day with Jimmy, he thought, though the likelihood of da Silva even learning of Jimmy’s existence was unlikely.
Except for the fact that in the light, Bill could now see da Silva had a folded sheet of paper held between two fingers, like a stage magician about to perform a trick with the cards. “I think you’ve lost this,” he said.
Bill’s first instinct was anger. “What business have you got with my letter, you—”
Da Silva’s perfect eyebrows rose. “I wonder how you were going to complete that, Merton. I have a feeling we share one of the three characteristics people are most likely to use to insult me, and I can’t say I’ve seen you in synagogue of late.”
Bill’s jaw worked soundlessly. Sneak thief was what he’d been about to say, which didn’t exactly cover himself in glory even if it hadn’t been a disreputable word about faith or family background. “Good God, I wasn’t about to insult you. What sort of person do you take me for?”
Da Silva gestured expansively at the office. “A person.”
Now that he thought about it, Da Silva didn’t seem to get on with anyone at the office. Bill had mentally lumped them all in the same category, but had overheard men talking about da Silva, how they dreaded being partnered with him. Being a financial analyst, this had never affected Bill, but now found a new sort of sympathy dawning on him.
As long as da Silva gave back his bloody letter.
“Surely you must think me better than them.”
Da Silva’s expression didn’t change. Of course he wouldn’t think Bill any better than the rest of them. Bill had never given him any reason to. He dropped his hand, which had been unconsciously reaching forward, to his side.
“I didn’t read it.” Da Silva held the letter out. “At least not all of it. Only enough to know what it was.” The eyebrow lifted again but Bill felt suddenly that he was in on the joke. “An eloquent sort, your friend?”
“Not normally.” Bill flushed, surprised at himself for having spoken so freely. “But he… we… there was a misunderstanding, and it’s been resolved. Things are different now.”
Bill decided he could take the letter without appearing too eager to snatch it back. Da Silva’s smile was not the mocking sort it usually was, but there was a wistfulness to it, Bill was almost certain. “I’m glad for you.”
Bill hesitated. “D’you want to get a drink? I don’t mean like that, of course, I’m—”
Da Silva smiled, and this time it was genuine. It softened his face. “I may not have some sporting fool tucked away in the country somewhere—in fact, I abhor the very idea—but I am not a subject to be pitied. I have plans for the theater.”
“What are you seeing?”
Da Silva gave a very put-upon sigh. “My friend’s choice is Ben-Hur.”
Da Silva looked truly baffled by Bill’s laughter. He was not about to explain himself to da Silva. “Thank you,” he said, tucking the letter back into this pocket. It would not come out until he was home. “Enjoy it. It’s quite the spectacle.”
Fandom: England World - KJ Charles
Pairing/Characters: Daniel da Silva & Bill Merton
Rating: G
Content Notes: none
Prompt: 1 finds 7's lost [item] and...
Bill had nearly reached the Underground station when he realized the letter was gone. Cursing himself for a fool for carrying it (and bloody Jimmy for writing it!), he retraced his steps. Back up Horse Guards Avenue, through Whitehall Gardens—even going up and down paths he hadn’t taken… where he had lost the silly sheet of paper became more obvious as his anxiety rose.
He tried to remain casual as he re-entered the building in which the Private Bureau kept its offices. He kept his pace normal as he trotted up the marble staircase—glancing for a letter that might have slid into the corner of the landing or gone unnoticed up against a riser.
His concern had nearly reached the point of panic when he reached the office without having seen it. He didn’t even bother to console himself with the platitude that perhaps he hadn’t even had it with him. He’d looked at it close to ten times an hour. Jimmy, who could be so foolish sometimes with words he had to eject out of his mouth, could be surprisingly eloquent in writing. And with the new affirmation of their relationship just this past August… It had been difficult for Bill to return to London. Easy enough to put the regrettable events of a shooting party cut short by murder behind him, of course, but not so easy to leave Jimmy, not with the new understanding and the intensity that now burned between them. What had become easy and comfortable like a well-worn jacket was now electric. And Jimmy had been shockingly explicit in a letter, which Bill had not sensibly burned, or hidden away in his rooms, but had carried with him because he was too lovesick to go eight hours without looking at ink and paper.
And now Bill had gone and thrown it all away by losing the letter.
He slowed his pace as he entered the now-deserted Private Bureau offices. He’d stayed late double-checking his work before submitting it; his preoccupation with Jimmy had caused him to make several silly errors the first time and so he’d devoted extra time to making sure no such foolishness slipped through to Vaizey. The prosecution of Gregson counted on Bill’s calculations and…
The office was empty, save for a figure outlined in the window of the darkened room. Bill snapped the light on. If someone meant to blackmail him, they would do it in the full glare of electric light.
“Forget something, Merton?” Da Silva’s voice was oily enough to make Bill’s skin crawl. Da Silva was obvious in a way Bill could never be, so he knew what they had in common, but it was about the only thing they had in common. Bill tensed before Da Silva in the same way he had as a schoolboy or before his brothers who thought preferring numbers over people was something to make sport of. Boxing and the discovery at university that his interests were useful and admired had ironed out most of the youthful awkwardness, but he still didn’t like people like da Silva, who could barely manage two sentences without insulting someone, often too subtly for them to pick up on. Da Silva had never directed his barbs at Bill, but he supposed it was only a matter of time before he was noticed. It always was. He would have a field day with Jimmy, he thought, though the likelihood of da Silva even learning of Jimmy’s existence was unlikely.
Except for the fact that in the light, Bill could now see da Silva had a folded sheet of paper held between two fingers, like a stage magician about to perform a trick with the cards. “I think you’ve lost this,” he said.
Bill’s first instinct was anger. “What business have you got with my letter, you—”
Da Silva’s perfect eyebrows rose. “I wonder how you were going to complete that, Merton. I have a feeling we share one of the three characteristics people are most likely to use to insult me, and I can’t say I’ve seen you in synagogue of late.”
Bill’s jaw worked soundlessly. Sneak thief was what he’d been about to say, which didn’t exactly cover himself in glory even if it hadn’t been a disreputable word about faith or family background. “Good God, I wasn’t about to insult you. What sort of person do you take me for?”
Da Silva gestured expansively at the office. “A person.”
Now that he thought about it, Da Silva didn’t seem to get on with anyone at the office. Bill had mentally lumped them all in the same category, but had overheard men talking about da Silva, how they dreaded being partnered with him. Being a financial analyst, this had never affected Bill, but now found a new sort of sympathy dawning on him.
As long as da Silva gave back his bloody letter.
“Surely you must think me better than them.”
Da Silva’s expression didn’t change. Of course he wouldn’t think Bill any better than the rest of them. Bill had never given him any reason to. He dropped his hand, which had been unconsciously reaching forward, to his side.
“I didn’t read it.” Da Silva held the letter out. “At least not all of it. Only enough to know what it was.” The eyebrow lifted again but Bill felt suddenly that he was in on the joke. “An eloquent sort, your friend?”
“Not normally.” Bill flushed, surprised at himself for having spoken so freely. “But he… we… there was a misunderstanding, and it’s been resolved. Things are different now.”
Bill decided he could take the letter without appearing too eager to snatch it back. Da Silva’s smile was not the mocking sort it usually was, but there was a wistfulness to it, Bill was almost certain. “I’m glad for you.”
Bill hesitated. “D’you want to get a drink? I don’t mean like that, of course, I’m—”
Da Silva smiled, and this time it was genuine. It softened his face. “I may not have some sporting fool tucked away in the country somewhere—in fact, I abhor the very idea—but I am not a subject to be pitied. I have plans for the theater.”
“What are you seeing?”
Da Silva gave a very put-upon sigh. “My friend’s choice is Ben-Hur.”
Da Silva looked truly baffled by Bill’s laughter. He was not about to explain himself to da Silva. “Thank you,” he said, tucking the letter back into this pocket. It would not come out until he was home. “Enjoy it. It’s quite the spectacle.”
no subject
Date: 2022-09-02 02:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-09-02 08:53 pm (UTC)