The Harkness Supremacy - 7 of 12
Apr. 27th, 2007 02:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fangrrl_squeesTitle: The Harkness Supremacy - Chapter 7 of 12
Overall Rating: 15 (some violence, a tiny bit of slash, strong language)
Total Length: 11,100 words - which is why it's been broken down into 12 parts!
Chapter Rating: R (a little bit of slash)
Disclaimer: This is an homage. The characters are not mine.
Summary: What happens when a member of MI6, an assassin and a former time agent run into each other in Hong Kong? Quite a lot.
Part 1 - James Bond hated Hong Kong...
Part 2 - 'You're not about to win any awards for safe driving.'
Part 3 - 'I must have *really* pissed M off.'
Part 4 - 'One man's trash is another man's treasure'
Part 5 - It was only human to have a few drinks after hearing bad news...
Part 6 - Dr. Stuart Bell seemed to be pushing research along some very specific paths
***
Jack had seen some truly tacky and tasteless places in his long life. Some of them were even quite fun, in a shameless sort of way. Jack rather hoped that he could add The End Zone to that list but he doubted it.
The End Zone was a sports-themed pickup joint and that, in many ways, told Jack far more than he wanted to know about the local population’s capacity for good taste.
It didn’t help that whoever designed the place apparently didn’t like sports or America – or possibly both. Oversized – and overloud - LCD televisions hung on every wall, each one broadcasting a different sporting event, which almost sufficiently distracted patrons from the rather threatening ceiling décor – an assortment of football helmets, baseball bats, hockey sticks and other hefty accoutrements glued or hung up where-ever room could be found for them.
Jack surveyed the place and had just started assessing his chances of finding Bell at home after all – and possibly calling an air strike on the End Zone – when a compelling argument to stick around manifested at his elbow. A nigh-on six foot tall, sandy-haired, blue-eyed reason, in fact. Damn, the job might be annoying but the eye candy’s top notch.
“Gross, isn’t it?” the stranger smiled. “But it’s only place around here that’s got ESPN2 and decent beer on tap.”
Jack’s ears perked up at the stranger’s accent. “That would depend on what you’d call a decent beer.” Jack replied with a grin of his own. “No offense but you Brits have a strange idea of what qualifies as decent beer.”
The other man laughed. “Don’t worry, there’s quite a variety, here. Don’t let the décor scare you off. Once you tune out the noise, it’s not so bad.”
“It takes more than bad taste to frighten me away.” Jack said with aplomb.
“Is that so?” the stranger took the remark far more seriously than Jack had intended and, dammit, he didn’t want to be taken too seriously by someone that cute.
“Yeah. They’d have to be out of ice for that. Then I’d be nervous.” If Jack had one weakness, it was a complete and utter inability to not flirt whenever an opportunity presented itself – and what an opportunity because, by God if this wasn’t a pickup attempt, Jack would eat his metaphorical hat. People sure as hell weren’t there for the ambiance.
“Truly nerves of steel.” He deadpanned then held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Stuart and I’m guessing that you’re new in town. I haven’t seen you here before.”
Jack shook the proffered hand and arranged his features into an expression of polite astonishment. “Stuart? Not Stuart Bell? No way!”
Now it was the other man’s turn to look surprised and a little wary. “How’d you know? You’re not a student are you?” He pulled back, slightly – but not too far, Jack noticed.
“No, no.” Jack hastened to reassure him. “I just, uh, didn’t expect a college prof to be so, y’know…” Jack stopped short of an outright leer, but only just. “A mutual friend of ours asked me to look out for you – wanted me to pass a message along.”
The wariness receded, replaced by curiosity. “Oh? Who?”
Jack looked sly. “Can we step outside? I don’t want to shout.” That much was true, and getting this guy alone was now high on Jack’s agenda.
Bell made a show of considering the question but not for long. “Sure. Let’s go.”
The small, underlit parking garage adjacent to the block occupied by the End Zone seemed made for illicit assignations. Jack half-wondered if it was instrumental in the owner’s decision to operate in the area. He led Bell to an appropriately underlit spot and pushed him up against a concrete pillar. They kissed greedily, pushing against each other and fumbling to get clothes out of the way.
Jack enjoyed it while it lasted, which wasn’t nearly long enough. A damn shame, he thought.
“You’re not really Stuart, are you?” Jack murmured as his partner paused for breath.
The other man looked startled, then ashamed and shook his head. “No, my name’s Jason,” he admitted. “I’m sorry about that. And this.” With that, “Stuart” shoved a knife in between Jack’s ribs.
“If you were having second thoughts…” Jack wheezed painfully. He could feel the nauseating gurgle that warned him that a lung had been punctured, and the wound itself burned painfully.
In response, Jason stabbed him again– another well-placed blow, Jack noticed – and shoved Harkness away, obviously expecting him to die immediately. Jack let himself fall and debated the merits of playing possum versus badly startling someone with no small amount of deadly skill when the convulsions started.
Poison? What a drag. Rather than face the unpleasant chore of metabolizing the toxin, Jack passed out – which was rather unfortunate, given the circumstances. Dimly, he heard a celphone keypad beep. “It’s Bourne. I got him.”
On To Part 8
Overall Rating: 15 (some violence, a tiny bit of slash, strong language)
Total Length: 11,100 words - which is why it's been broken down into 12 parts!
Chapter Rating: R (a little bit of slash)
Disclaimer: This is an homage. The characters are not mine.
Summary: What happens when a member of MI6, an assassin and a former time agent run into each other in Hong Kong? Quite a lot.
Part 1 - James Bond hated Hong Kong...
Part 2 - 'You're not about to win any awards for safe driving.'
Part 3 - 'I must have *really* pissed M off.'
Part 4 - 'One man's trash is another man's treasure'
Part 5 - It was only human to have a few drinks after hearing bad news...
Part 6 - Dr. Stuart Bell seemed to be pushing research along some very specific paths
***
Jack had seen some truly tacky and tasteless places in his long life. Some of them were even quite fun, in a shameless sort of way. Jack rather hoped that he could add The End Zone to that list but he doubted it.
The End Zone was a sports-themed pickup joint and that, in many ways, told Jack far more than he wanted to know about the local population’s capacity for good taste.
It didn’t help that whoever designed the place apparently didn’t like sports or America – or possibly both. Oversized – and overloud - LCD televisions hung on every wall, each one broadcasting a different sporting event, which almost sufficiently distracted patrons from the rather threatening ceiling décor – an assortment of football helmets, baseball bats, hockey sticks and other hefty accoutrements glued or hung up where-ever room could be found for them.
Jack surveyed the place and had just started assessing his chances of finding Bell at home after all – and possibly calling an air strike on the End Zone – when a compelling argument to stick around manifested at his elbow. A nigh-on six foot tall, sandy-haired, blue-eyed reason, in fact. Damn, the job might be annoying but the eye candy’s top notch.
“Gross, isn’t it?” the stranger smiled. “But it’s only place around here that’s got ESPN2 and decent beer on tap.”
Jack’s ears perked up at the stranger’s accent. “That would depend on what you’d call a decent beer.” Jack replied with a grin of his own. “No offense but you Brits have a strange idea of what qualifies as decent beer.”
The other man laughed. “Don’t worry, there’s quite a variety, here. Don’t let the décor scare you off. Once you tune out the noise, it’s not so bad.”
“It takes more than bad taste to frighten me away.” Jack said with aplomb.
“Is that so?” the stranger took the remark far more seriously than Jack had intended and, dammit, he didn’t want to be taken too seriously by someone that cute.
“Yeah. They’d have to be out of ice for that. Then I’d be nervous.” If Jack had one weakness, it was a complete and utter inability to not flirt whenever an opportunity presented itself – and what an opportunity because, by God if this wasn’t a pickup attempt, Jack would eat his metaphorical hat. People sure as hell weren’t there for the ambiance.
“Truly nerves of steel.” He deadpanned then held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Stuart and I’m guessing that you’re new in town. I haven’t seen you here before.”
Jack shook the proffered hand and arranged his features into an expression of polite astonishment. “Stuart? Not Stuart Bell? No way!”
Now it was the other man’s turn to look surprised and a little wary. “How’d you know? You’re not a student are you?” He pulled back, slightly – but not too far, Jack noticed.
“No, no.” Jack hastened to reassure him. “I just, uh, didn’t expect a college prof to be so, y’know…” Jack stopped short of an outright leer, but only just. “A mutual friend of ours asked me to look out for you – wanted me to pass a message along.”
The wariness receded, replaced by curiosity. “Oh? Who?”
Jack looked sly. “Can we step outside? I don’t want to shout.” That much was true, and getting this guy alone was now high on Jack’s agenda.
Bell made a show of considering the question but not for long. “Sure. Let’s go.”
The small, underlit parking garage adjacent to the block occupied by the End Zone seemed made for illicit assignations. Jack half-wondered if it was instrumental in the owner’s decision to operate in the area. He led Bell to an appropriately underlit spot and pushed him up against a concrete pillar. They kissed greedily, pushing against each other and fumbling to get clothes out of the way.
Jack enjoyed it while it lasted, which wasn’t nearly long enough. A damn shame, he thought.
“You’re not really Stuart, are you?” Jack murmured as his partner paused for breath.
The other man looked startled, then ashamed and shook his head. “No, my name’s Jason,” he admitted. “I’m sorry about that. And this.” With that, “Stuart” shoved a knife in between Jack’s ribs.
“If you were having second thoughts…” Jack wheezed painfully. He could feel the nauseating gurgle that warned him that a lung had been punctured, and the wound itself burned painfully.
In response, Jason stabbed him again– another well-placed blow, Jack noticed – and shoved Harkness away, obviously expecting him to die immediately. Jack let himself fall and debated the merits of playing possum versus badly startling someone with no small amount of deadly skill when the convulsions started.
Poison? What a drag. Rather than face the unpleasant chore of metabolizing the toxin, Jack passed out – which was rather unfortunate, given the circumstances. Dimly, he heard a celphone keypad beep. “It’s Bourne. I got him.”
On To Part 8
