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No True Pair Sept. 7 - Raymond & Fritz
September Seven - Raymond & Fritz - "this is your idea of breakfast?"
Fritz Lowenhardt was lodged at a seaside hotel that had been used in the past to hasten the recovery of operatives whose jobs involved clandestine matters. The boy knew nothing of this, Raymond supposed; he knew only that he had been provided with pleasant lodgings underwritten by the British government. Not being stupid, he must be wondering what services he would be expected to provide in exchange. Raymond wondered if he'd believe that it was mostly because he had saved the life of Raymond's best operational pilot. Mostly—but, to be fair, not entirely.
It was several days before Raymond could find the opportunity to drive over and see him. He found Fritz sitting in a wicker chair in his airy seaside room, draped in a robe and picking at dry toast and black coffee on his breakfast tray.
"I don't suppose you'll be gaining much weight on that," Raymond said, looking critically at the boy. He was thin and wiry, nearly as pale as the white robe, with a compressed sense of agitated energy and fatigue combined, as if he might explode into action at the slightest provocation and then fall down in a heap. Not a set of features Raymond was completely unfamiliar with.
"Should I?" Fritz asked vehemently. "I am a prisoner—"
"If you choose to walk out that door, no one would stop you."
"There are men in the hall," Fritz said truculently. "Reporting to I know not whom."
Ah. Of course, being from the Soviet sector, he would have identified Raymond's operatives at a glance. Raymond reminded himself to be more careful; the boy was young, but not naive.
"I haven't eaten yet," he said. It might as well have been true; he'd had a quick bite of a hard roll and coffee at the office before his drive—not a meal to sustain a man, especially as he was no longer as young as he had been. "I'll have something sent up."
The tray was brought round promptly (Raymond's appearance in the hotel tended to have that effect), with a full breakfast, a side dish of fruit in deference to the convalescent, and a large pot of strong tea.
Raymond unapologetically served himself. Fritz was eyeing him thoughtfully with a shrewd gaze that made Raymond think this lad might be one the intelligence service should watch out for—or possibly try to recruit—in a few years. Cautiously, Fritz took a sausage and a piece of toast.
Raymond stirred milk into his tea. "They are mine," he said. "The men in the hall. They're here for your protection. And, yes, to keep an eye on you and report back to me," and he saw the boy's tense posture ease, just a little, at the admission that the flow of information was self-serving as much as altruistic. Cynical Fritz might be, but he also had a straightforwardness that Raymond approved of. The boy did not want to be lied to.
And so, Raymond went straight to the point. "I intend to approach Bigglesworth about a rescue mission for your uncle," he said, and watched Fritz's eyes widen a little. Then the boy reached for the plate and drew it towards himself, suddenly hungry.
Ficlet master list in this post
Fritz Lowenhardt was lodged at a seaside hotel that had been used in the past to hasten the recovery of operatives whose jobs involved clandestine matters. The boy knew nothing of this, Raymond supposed; he knew only that he had been provided with pleasant lodgings underwritten by the British government. Not being stupid, he must be wondering what services he would be expected to provide in exchange. Raymond wondered if he'd believe that it was mostly because he had saved the life of Raymond's best operational pilot. Mostly—but, to be fair, not entirely.
It was several days before Raymond could find the opportunity to drive over and see him. He found Fritz sitting in a wicker chair in his airy seaside room, draped in a robe and picking at dry toast and black coffee on his breakfast tray.
"I don't suppose you'll be gaining much weight on that," Raymond said, looking critically at the boy. He was thin and wiry, nearly as pale as the white robe, with a compressed sense of agitated energy and fatigue combined, as if he might explode into action at the slightest provocation and then fall down in a heap. Not a set of features Raymond was completely unfamiliar with.
"Should I?" Fritz asked vehemently. "I am a prisoner—"
"If you choose to walk out that door, no one would stop you."
"There are men in the hall," Fritz said truculently. "Reporting to I know not whom."
Ah. Of course, being from the Soviet sector, he would have identified Raymond's operatives at a glance. Raymond reminded himself to be more careful; the boy was young, but not naive.
"I haven't eaten yet," he said. It might as well have been true; he'd had a quick bite of a hard roll and coffee at the office before his drive—not a meal to sustain a man, especially as he was no longer as young as he had been. "I'll have something sent up."
The tray was brought round promptly (Raymond's appearance in the hotel tended to have that effect), with a full breakfast, a side dish of fruit in deference to the convalescent, and a large pot of strong tea.
Raymond unapologetically served himself. Fritz was eyeing him thoughtfully with a shrewd gaze that made Raymond think this lad might be one the intelligence service should watch out for—or possibly try to recruit—in a few years. Cautiously, Fritz took a sausage and a piece of toast.
Raymond stirred milk into his tea. "They are mine," he said. "The men in the hall. They're here for your protection. And, yes, to keep an eye on you and report back to me," and he saw the boy's tense posture ease, just a little, at the admission that the flow of information was self-serving as much as altruistic. Cynical Fritz might be, but he also had a straightforwardness that Raymond approved of. The boy did not want to be lied to.
And so, Raymond went straight to the point. "I intend to approach Bigglesworth about a rescue mission for your uncle," he said, and watched Fritz's eyes widen a little. Then the boy reached for the plate and drew it towards himself, suddenly hungry.
Ficlet master list in this post
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"I intend to approach Bigglesworth about a rescue mission for your uncle," he said
<333
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.... honestly it occurred to me while I was writing this that Raymond is definitely playing the long game with Fritz in Hatchet. It's true that putting police protection on him if someone's actively trying to kill him makes sense, but they do a lot more than that, and there has *got* to be an element of "this boy is a potential asset, let's put him somewhere safe while we figure out what to do with him."
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He was thin and wiry, nearly as pale as the white robe, with a compressed sense of agitated energy and fatigue combined, as if he might explode into action at the slightest provocation and then fall down in a heap. Not a set of features Raymond was completely unfamiliar with.
Oh yes, perfect <3
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