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No True Pair cutting room floor
Back when I was doing No True Pair in September, I wrote a few that I rejected, or rewrote as new versions, because I felt like they didn't quite hit the notes I wanted or needed more editing than I felt like doing, or I just didn't feel like posting them at the time for whatever reason. So here are the cutting room floor versions for your reading enjoyment.
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Sept. 6 - Algy packs a lunch/meal for Erich (original version)
There's really nothing wrong with this one per se. I just wrote a different version I liked better, so I posted that one instead. But this one's still pretty fun.
"No. No, no, get out."
"I'm fine here, actually," von Stalhein said, leaning on the doorframe and looking into the kitchen.
"You're leaving, actually."
Algy turned a cold shoulder to him, but he could feel the heat of von Stalhein's gaze on him, confirmed when Algy shot a glare over his shoulder.
"Is there ham and cheese?"
"No!" Algy said, despite the fact that he was slicing ham at the moment. "Go away."
He looked up with a glower to find that his nemesis had shifted further inward and was now leaning on the Frigidaire.
"Go away."
"I merely wished to express a preference."
"Please take a swan dive off a bridge," Algy said, turning back to his work.
"Honestly," von Stalhein said from behind him, and Algy briefly closed his eyes. "I want to offer my help."
"Your help would be best expressed by going away."
"You do this for them at least as often as the housekeeper does," von Stalhein said, and Algy opened his eyes for a further glower. "I'm not particularly useful in other areas of their packing, and there are too many hands out there as it is." There was a hint of unhappiness there, which made Algy turn his head, suddenly curious. "I thought perhaps I might help here. If you have the sandwiches covered, may I fetch something else from the icebox?"
Algy turned a narrow gaze on him, which von Stalhein returned blandly. Giving up, Algy returned to wrapping items in paper. "Plums in the basket there," he said. "Biscuits on the counter. Add some tins from the cupboard over the sink, whatever you pick will be fine. Biggles has this complex about keeping a few days of preserved food in our stores in case we end up in a survival situation."
There were small rustles behind him, the sound of items being briskly and efficiently packed. Algy reached for the next round of waxed paper, and said, "There's ham and there's cheese and there's roast beef, and if you're the one who packs the lunch basket, you can make the one you want and know which one to take out first. Benefits of kitchen duty," he said over his shoulder, flashing a quick smile without really intending to.
He was only slightly startled when von Stalhein smiled back.
Sept. 12 - Erich & Raymond - another trial
This one is basically Too Much Woobie Erich and I couldn't figure out how to fix it aside from a complete rewrite. On the other hand, if woobie Erich is your flavor, have fun; I certainly did enjoy writing it.
The cab let Erich out on the pavement, and he tipped the driver enough to be generous without being too memorable. There was no reason to be that careful, in particular, but it was just one of the many habits he had picked up through a lifetime of learning not to be noticed.
He arranged his coat around him and leaned heavily on his stick. Everything ached, and he had to struggle not to cough. It was another recurrence of the lung ailment that had deviled him since Sakhalin. He would have greatly preferred, as always, to sleep it off in his flat, doing his translation work from bed and sending polite apologies to Bigglesworth that he had a commitment elsewhere.
Instead, he was here at the courthouse in a light misting rain. He already knew that he was in this country through an irregular arrangement, but this had been made all too clear to him through the last few weeks, when evidently his case had been brought to the attention of some rule-obsessed magistrate. Since then, he had been relentlessly hounded, visited, sent threatening letters, and given stern warnings of deportation. He could not afford a lawyer and had no desire to involve Bigglesworth in this business after all the man had done for him; Erich had no desire to be an anchor on him, the cause of one inconvenient problem after another. It had been made clear to him the consequences if he didn't arrive for this hearing on time.
The time was early, but he spent most of the day in a series of small waiting rooms, some too hot and others too cold. He ended up giving the small packet of bread and cheese he had brought for his lunch to a tired older woman in a headscarf, accompanied by two small children, who clearly (from her attitude of weariness and despair) had her own, equally difficult story to tell. She tried to refuse, he insisted for the children's sake, and she thanked him profusely before going on to her own hearing.
Erich ended up in a room with a number of other people waiting for their chance to speak. Exhausted and unsure what time it was, he was braced to be browbeaten, verbally chastised, and sent back to the place he came from, which in his case was a death sentence. But at least, he thought, he was not likely to be beaten or tortured here.
He was well aware that he looked awful, sweaty and pale, and was trying to brush out one of the many worn and damaged spots in his overcoat when the door to the room opened and Air Commodore Raymond came in.
Erich looked up in surprise.
Raymond was wearing a military uniform. Erich had never seen him dressed like that. He gave Erich a brisk nod, then went forward, leaned over the wooden rail that separated the tribunal from those whose hearings they were overseeing and spoke quietly to them. Some paperwork passed hands. Erich was beckoned forward, and at this point he was too tired, lightheaded, and hungry, to do more than sign a few forms, after which Raymond ushered him out into the rain-haloed street lights of early evening.
"Well, that was a bother," Raymond said, and caught him lightly by the arm before Erich would have walked off. A car was pulling up before them, and Erich belatedly registered that it was meant for both of them. "Would you care for something to eat?"
"You can take me home, if it's all the same," Erich said quietly. He wasn't aware that he had called it home, by instinct, until they were in the backseat and Raymond was beside him. He was no longer sure that he cared where he was going; after the long, exhausting day he felt a floating sense of unreality. "Thank you for coming down," he added belatedly.
"It was in some sense my fault in the first place," Raymond said. "I hadn't realized—well, no matter. But you could have said something if you needed to. How long have they been hounding you about this?"
"I know I could have said something," Erich said, dodging the other question. "But I like to think that I'm not so much a charitable case as that. Life, however, has a way of showing me otherwise."
It came out more bitter than he had meant it to. Raymond didn't react, and Erich was scrambling for something to say, another small blow to his badly dented pride, when Raymond said, "I could take you back to your flat, but I haven't eaten yet. Since I've helped you today, I feel it's your turn. Why don't you buy us something to eat."
Erich had to laugh softly, aware of the thin wallet in his pocket, and stifled a cough in his fist. "If you don't mind a workingman's pub. That's my main form of accommodation these days."
"Lead on," said Raymond.
Sept. 28 - Biggles & Marie with the title "We're Done Here"
This one is just kind of ... sad? It's not a happy Biggles & Marie ending, but I like it.
He arrived at her cottage early in his long black car, but Marie, an early riser herself, was out cutting flowers in the front garden for her weekly bouquets.
Biggles stepped out with that light grace she had always admired. He looked at her for a moment, then came to rest his elbows on her fence.
"I suppose we aren't to resume as we once were," he said, looking at her with those same clear hazel eyes.
"We are very different people now," she said quietly, and went on cutting blossoms. After a moment, her bouquet collected, she set it down and went over to the fence. "Biggles ... I am truly grateful to you for all that you have done to help me. Please do not think that I am not. If you—if you should wish dinner, or any other favors, you have only to ask."
But she had had enough of men asking "favors" for their help, and she thought she saw a recognition of this in his face. He smiled a little, and there was no bitterness in it.
"I didn't help you in the hope of favors," he said gently. "But I did bring you flowers."
He brought out a bouquet that had been in the car. Her own chosen coneflowers and sunflowers were all shades of gold and pink; his bouquet was blues and purples, and they both laughed a little at the contrast.
"I'll put them in water," she said. "Do you want to come in?"
She was happy to see him, but she had been looking forward to a quiet morning in her own house, with a cup of tea and a book. And perhaps her reluctance showed, because he gave her a rather rueful smile.
"No, thank you," he said. "I just came to see if you were settling in all right. I should have rung first."
"I am doing fine," she told him. "I'm happy to see you, just busy." And then, thinking about it, "I will be in London tomorrow for some business. Perhaps I might have lunch with you—and your friends?"
The rueful look lightened, and she relaxed a little inside. "I'll look forward to showing you all our favorite places," he told her.
"I would enjoy it," she said. They shared a smile, and with the soft sense of a door closing, or perhaps the renewed awareness of a door that had closed long ago, she watched him drive away.
--
Sept. 6 - Algy packs a lunch/meal for Erich (original version)
There's really nothing wrong with this one per se. I just wrote a different version I liked better, so I posted that one instead. But this one's still pretty fun.
"No. No, no, get out."
"I'm fine here, actually," von Stalhein said, leaning on the doorframe and looking into the kitchen.
"You're leaving, actually."
Algy turned a cold shoulder to him, but he could feel the heat of von Stalhein's gaze on him, confirmed when Algy shot a glare over his shoulder.
"Is there ham and cheese?"
"No!" Algy said, despite the fact that he was slicing ham at the moment. "Go away."
He looked up with a glower to find that his nemesis had shifted further inward and was now leaning on the Frigidaire.
"Go away."
"I merely wished to express a preference."
"Please take a swan dive off a bridge," Algy said, turning back to his work.
"Honestly," von Stalhein said from behind him, and Algy briefly closed his eyes. "I want to offer my help."
"Your help would be best expressed by going away."
"You do this for them at least as often as the housekeeper does," von Stalhein said, and Algy opened his eyes for a further glower. "I'm not particularly useful in other areas of their packing, and there are too many hands out there as it is." There was a hint of unhappiness there, which made Algy turn his head, suddenly curious. "I thought perhaps I might help here. If you have the sandwiches covered, may I fetch something else from the icebox?"
Algy turned a narrow gaze on him, which von Stalhein returned blandly. Giving up, Algy returned to wrapping items in paper. "Plums in the basket there," he said. "Biscuits on the counter. Add some tins from the cupboard over the sink, whatever you pick will be fine. Biggles has this complex about keeping a few days of preserved food in our stores in case we end up in a survival situation."
There were small rustles behind him, the sound of items being briskly and efficiently packed. Algy reached for the next round of waxed paper, and said, "There's ham and there's cheese and there's roast beef, and if you're the one who packs the lunch basket, you can make the one you want and know which one to take out first. Benefits of kitchen duty," he said over his shoulder, flashing a quick smile without really intending to.
He was only slightly startled when von Stalhein smiled back.
Sept. 12 - Erich & Raymond - another trial
This one is basically Too Much Woobie Erich and I couldn't figure out how to fix it aside from a complete rewrite. On the other hand, if woobie Erich is your flavor, have fun; I certainly did enjoy writing it.
The cab let Erich out on the pavement, and he tipped the driver enough to be generous without being too memorable. There was no reason to be that careful, in particular, but it was just one of the many habits he had picked up through a lifetime of learning not to be noticed.
He arranged his coat around him and leaned heavily on his stick. Everything ached, and he had to struggle not to cough. It was another recurrence of the lung ailment that had deviled him since Sakhalin. He would have greatly preferred, as always, to sleep it off in his flat, doing his translation work from bed and sending polite apologies to Bigglesworth that he had a commitment elsewhere.
Instead, he was here at the courthouse in a light misting rain. He already knew that he was in this country through an irregular arrangement, but this had been made all too clear to him through the last few weeks, when evidently his case had been brought to the attention of some rule-obsessed magistrate. Since then, he had been relentlessly hounded, visited, sent threatening letters, and given stern warnings of deportation. He could not afford a lawyer and had no desire to involve Bigglesworth in this business after all the man had done for him; Erich had no desire to be an anchor on him, the cause of one inconvenient problem after another. It had been made clear to him the consequences if he didn't arrive for this hearing on time.
The time was early, but he spent most of the day in a series of small waiting rooms, some too hot and others too cold. He ended up giving the small packet of bread and cheese he had brought for his lunch to a tired older woman in a headscarf, accompanied by two small children, who clearly (from her attitude of weariness and despair) had her own, equally difficult story to tell. She tried to refuse, he insisted for the children's sake, and she thanked him profusely before going on to her own hearing.
Erich ended up in a room with a number of other people waiting for their chance to speak. Exhausted and unsure what time it was, he was braced to be browbeaten, verbally chastised, and sent back to the place he came from, which in his case was a death sentence. But at least, he thought, he was not likely to be beaten or tortured here.
He was well aware that he looked awful, sweaty and pale, and was trying to brush out one of the many worn and damaged spots in his overcoat when the door to the room opened and Air Commodore Raymond came in.
Erich looked up in surprise.
Raymond was wearing a military uniform. Erich had never seen him dressed like that. He gave Erich a brisk nod, then went forward, leaned over the wooden rail that separated the tribunal from those whose hearings they were overseeing and spoke quietly to them. Some paperwork passed hands. Erich was beckoned forward, and at this point he was too tired, lightheaded, and hungry, to do more than sign a few forms, after which Raymond ushered him out into the rain-haloed street lights of early evening.
"Well, that was a bother," Raymond said, and caught him lightly by the arm before Erich would have walked off. A car was pulling up before them, and Erich belatedly registered that it was meant for both of them. "Would you care for something to eat?"
"You can take me home, if it's all the same," Erich said quietly. He wasn't aware that he had called it home, by instinct, until they were in the backseat and Raymond was beside him. He was no longer sure that he cared where he was going; after the long, exhausting day he felt a floating sense of unreality. "Thank you for coming down," he added belatedly.
"It was in some sense my fault in the first place," Raymond said. "I hadn't realized—well, no matter. But you could have said something if you needed to. How long have they been hounding you about this?"
"I know I could have said something," Erich said, dodging the other question. "But I like to think that I'm not so much a charitable case as that. Life, however, has a way of showing me otherwise."
It came out more bitter than he had meant it to. Raymond didn't react, and Erich was scrambling for something to say, another small blow to his badly dented pride, when Raymond said, "I could take you back to your flat, but I haven't eaten yet. Since I've helped you today, I feel it's your turn. Why don't you buy us something to eat."
Erich had to laugh softly, aware of the thin wallet in his pocket, and stifled a cough in his fist. "If you don't mind a workingman's pub. That's my main form of accommodation these days."
"Lead on," said Raymond.
Sept. 28 - Biggles & Marie with the title "We're Done Here"
This one is just kind of ... sad? It's not a happy Biggles & Marie ending, but I like it.
He arrived at her cottage early in his long black car, but Marie, an early riser herself, was out cutting flowers in the front garden for her weekly bouquets.
Biggles stepped out with that light grace she had always admired. He looked at her for a moment, then came to rest his elbows on her fence.
"I suppose we aren't to resume as we once were," he said, looking at her with those same clear hazel eyes.
"We are very different people now," she said quietly, and went on cutting blossoms. After a moment, her bouquet collected, she set it down and went over to the fence. "Biggles ... I am truly grateful to you for all that you have done to help me. Please do not think that I am not. If you—if you should wish dinner, or any other favors, you have only to ask."
But she had had enough of men asking "favors" for their help, and she thought she saw a recognition of this in his face. He smiled a little, and there was no bitterness in it.
"I didn't help you in the hope of favors," he said gently. "But I did bring you flowers."
He brought out a bouquet that had been in the car. Her own chosen coneflowers and sunflowers were all shades of gold and pink; his bouquet was blues and purples, and they both laughed a little at the contrast.
"I'll put them in water," she said. "Do you want to come in?"
She was happy to see him, but she had been looking forward to a quiet morning in her own house, with a cup of tea and a book. And perhaps her reluctance showed, because he gave her a rather rueful smile.
"No, thank you," he said. "I just came to see if you were settling in all right. I should have rung first."
"I am doing fine," she told him. "I'm happy to see you, just busy." And then, thinking about it, "I will be in London tomorrow for some business. Perhaps I might have lunch with you—and your friends?"
The rueful look lightened, and she relaxed a little inside. "I'll look forward to showing you all our favorite places," he told her.
"I would enjoy it," she said. They shared a smile, and with the soft sense of a door closing, or perhaps the renewed awareness of a door that had closed long ago, she watched him drive away.
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EvS wanting a job to do! And Algy managing to find one for him - and a handy tip about the perks of being the designated sandwich maker, plus of course Biggles insists on tins of bully beef, handy for starvation situations or when you need to bring down an enemy airplane...
I love the Too Much Woobie Erich - I see exactly what you mean, but on the other hand, it's that kind of day here so I don't care. Of course he doesn't want to be a charity case or bother anyone about all this legal harassment he's struggling through - but Raymond shows up in full Air Commodore mode to slice through it all anyway, and then they go and have a meal together.
And the Marie one is poignant and lovely and I can completely believe this Marie, who was in love with Biggles once but isn't any more - and Biggles too, for all that he hasn't assimilated it the way Marie has.
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Too Much Woobie Erich is also Very Much Id Erich, I regret nothing. Also, I do legit want to write a fic about Marie settling in post-canon and deciding who she is in England, I think it'd be really fascinating ...
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I see what you mean about woobie!Erich but on the other hand: softly.
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