A couple of Biggles prompt fics

[sholio]

*surfaces from the Depths with a couple of ficlets from Tumblr*

1. Prompt from Anonymous:
If you're still taking prompts for Biggles - then Bertie, Algy and Fritz on a hunting weekend in Chedcombe? Maybe make it a casefic where there's robbers/spies/murderers? I imagine Fritz being a very skilled horseman, like his uncle :D

500 wds, posted on Tumblr here



Fritz had been uncertain and shy about the weekend's invitation, but after a slightly awkward car ride and even more awkward introduction to the Chedcombe staff, he was charmed immediately by the horses.

"We've a quiet old lass in the stables here, Lady is her name, you might enjoy her," Bertie suggested, while Fritz was making friends with all the horses, petting and talking to them.

"Oh, but I like this one very much," Fritz said, stroking a silky equine nose. "He's beautiful. I would very much like to ride him. What is his name, please?"

"That's Jupiter, old boy, he might be a bit much for a novice rider, but let's see if he's been getting his daily gallop, what?"

The groom saddled the horses for them. Fritz listened avidly to Bertie's explanations, mounted with a little awkwardness but sat his saddle proudly, adjusting his grip on the reins swiftly at a word from Bertie.

"Let's walk him round a bit, what? Good form, lad," Bertie said happily. "You've ridden before?"

"Only a little. There wasn't much opportunity back home."

"Chip off the old block, I say," Bertie declared, and Fritz flushed and ducked his head. Meanwhile, Algy mounted up on the blue roan hunter he had selected for himself. After a few more turns round the paddock and some corrections to Fritz's seat, Bertie announced them ready for the gallops -- or the walking trails, at least.

"Chip off the old block, what?" Bertie repeated to Algy as they rode behind Fritz, who sat upright and natural, holding the rein self-consciously but with a relaxed grip. Several of the dogs from Bertie's kennels coursed alongside. The well-trained horses danced only a little at the dogs' presence, and Fritz, reacting almost instinctively, tugged his horse back under control when it began to prance.

"Exactly what we all hoped for," Algy said dryly, but he said it quietly, so that Fritz couldn't hear.

"I told you the lad's a natural. Jolly old Biggles doesn't know what he's missing."

"Jolly old Biggles would be bored off his head in an hour and driving the rest of us up the wall by evening."

Bertie laughed. "Right there with you, right with you. The Chief and Ginger will most likely have found an entire smuggler's den of criminals by the time we're back. Not to speak of old Erich--"

"Let's not speak of him, then," Algy said between his teeth.

But whatever Biggles, Ginger, and (regrettably, in Algy's eyes) von Stalhein might have been getting up to back in London, the Chedcombe parkland and forest lay golden-green and lovely in the afternoon sun. They flushed a pair of foxes, but Bertie called back the dogs -- "Just a married couple on a stroll, let's give 'em a little space" -- and they ended up walking the horses down to a lovely pond with ducks paddling about and pheasants on the far grass. It was a soul-soothing place after all they'd been through, and Fritz looked delighted.





2. Prompt from Anonymous:
I've read a couple presumed-dead fics where Biggles is the presumed party, but I don't think I've seen one with the reverse dynamic of Biggles thinking EvS dead and coping (or rather, not as the case may be) until the sudden revelation/reunion- which seems like something that would fit your writerly wheelhouse

In my wheelhouse indeed. :D For a longer take on this idea, I also know of a couple of Sakhalin presumed dead AUs:

• A Desperate Execution by Philomytha
• But At What Price by me

...but there is absolutely NO bad time to write presumed dead.

1000 wds, posted on Tumblr here


The item came across Biggles's desk in a stack of other reports and files. It was his habit to come into the office early and read the stack of post, analysts' reports, and other items flagged for his attention over a cup of tea before the others got there. When Algy came in, however, it was to find him staring into space, the dregs of his tea going cold at his elbow.

"Something wrong?" Algy asked, taking his jacket off. Then, getting a better look at his cousin's face, he amended it with more concern. "Bad news?"

"What? Oh—no, nothing, I ..." Biggles jerked a little, as if coming back to himself. "A piece of international news that caught me by surprise, that's all." He shuffled the papers he had been looking at into a stack.

"Anything the rest of us should be worried about?"

"No—no, just ... a surprise," Biggles repeated, and as Algy continued to look at him with concern, Biggles hastily opened another file, almost at random.

He continued to be distracted all morning, occasionally missing the others' comments, staring uncomprehendingly rather than laughing at jokes. After a while, Algy went and sat on the edge of Biggles's desk, eyeing his oldest friend and disliking the pallor he saw, a drawn look that made him think uncomfortably of Biggles in wartime. "If you're feeling under the weather, go home. We have things in hand here."

"I'm perfectly well," Biggles said with a surliness that suggested to Algy he wasn't.

"Right," Algy said, hopping off the desk only to take Biggles by the elbow. "Time for lunch. Hold down the fort, lads."

"Wait a minute, we're hungry too!" Ginger protested.

"Get a sandwich then!" Algy said over his shoulder.

In the hallway, Biggles drew himself up stiffly, adjusted his jacket, and said, "You're behaving very strangely."

"I'm behaving strangely? You're either about to go down with a bout of malaria or you've just heard someone died -- oh God," Algy said in a very different tone, as Biggles looked away. "It is that, isn't it?"

He didn't say anything else, but he steered Biggles, not towards the main entrance, but down the back stair that led to a small courtyard with benches. A few people were having their lunches there. Algy walked to the end and sat Biggles on a bench.

"Now look," he said, sitting beside him. "If it's anyone I know, I won't thank you to stay quiet about it. I suppose it's something awful from the way you're acting—it's not old Wilks, is it?"

"No, you've the wrong idea entirely. I knew you'd—oh well, why not." Biggles sighed and reached into his pocket, and pulled out the sheet of typewritten paper he had been reading earlier. Algy hadn't even noticed him tucking it into his pocket, folded and folded again. Algy took it and opened it, noting as he did the softness of the folds that suggested it had already been opened and refolded more than once.

It was an analyst's report; he had become familiar with the dry tone of collated reports distilled from firsthand sources. This was a brief summary about mercenary operations in the North African desert involving cargo aircraft ... an Algerian police action leaving six dead ... the names of the deceased ...

"Ah," Algy said. He laid the paper down on his knee, unsure what to say.

"It shouldn't really be as much of a surprise as all that," Biggles said quietly. "I always knew—well, that I'd see that name on this sort of list someday. I simply felt that ..." He stopped abruptly, looked off into the distance for a minute, and then said, "He was capable of better things. That's all."

Algy rather doubted that, but sensed that now was not the time to say it. "Look," he said, handing back the paper. "D'you suppose there's a—a next of kin, or something?"

Biggles folded up the page with an odd sort of care, handling it gently as if the typewritten sheet of bond meant something to him. "I suppose there must be," he said, looking a little more focused and less pale and unhappy with something to do, as Algy had known he would. "Unless all his people were lost in the war—but no, there must be someone. And they might like to hear from someone who knew him. I'll ask Major Charles about it, that's a good idea, Algy."

Lunch was a bit funereal all the same, and Algy found himself lifting a glass in a toast. "I won't pretend that I liked him," he said. "But a lonely grave in the desert's a hard end, and—and I'm sorry for it." He was a little surprised to find that he meant it, and Biggles smiled a little, the first smile all morning, and clinked glasses.

They ordered takeaway sandwiches for the others and returned to the office. As they came in, Ginger called, "A fellow from the Air Commodore's office was in and left you something, Biggles. Eyes only. Do we have a case or not?"

Biggles strode over to his desk, one hand in his pocket. He swiped up the folded slip from his desktop, opened it, and read it. Algy was close enough to see the swift flash of delight that crossed his face, all the animation that had been absent for the entire morning returning in a rush.

"Oh, it's nothing much," he said casually, and tucked it in his pocket beside the other.

Algy took the opportunity later that afternoon to slip off to the coat room during a quick trip to the loo, and was very much unsurprised by the contents of the slip.

Earlier report from Algiers in error. Five casualties, not six.

Algy replaced it carefully; he supposed it was likely to end up into some box of souvenirs in Biggles' room. So, he thought, not the end of an era after all. But after seeing Biggles that morning—quiet and dull, as if the best part of his bright energy had gone out of him—Algy discovered that he couldn't find it in himself to be too upset about it.


ETA: And don't miss the lovely Erich-POV follow-up ficlet in the comments!

Comments

[philomytha]

That really brings home how close it must have been to ending up like that, a name of a villain in a casualty list. I love how Algy forces Biggles to explain what's happened, and all the little details of Biggles holding the report and rereading it are so poignant. And then the correction, you wonder how fast the grapevine worked that everyone knew Biggles would want the update at once, and Biggles's joy!

And Fritz being taken off for some sporting fun with Bertie and Algy is adorable, he deserves all the peaceful rural hacks after everything <333

[sholio]

Thank you! <3 Yeah, I think Biggles is all too aware throughout this entire time period that EvS is one wrong decision away from being a name on a casualty list and/or an unmarked shallow grave somewhere. *cries*

A commenter below suggested that EvS himself inserted the additional information, which is too wonderful, especially if he couldn't stand the idea of his best enemy being sad having the wrong idea for too long!

[philomytha]

A commenter below suggested that EvS himself inserted the additional information, which is too wonderful, especially if he couldn't stand the idea of his best enemy being sad having the wrong idea for too long!

This implies that EvS was around in England when Biggles got the news and got to see his reaction firsthand... oh no I have to write this now:


The surge of energy and confidence that followed a victorious brush with death was dangerous, Erich knew. It was no good managing to be half a mile away driving an Algerian police jeep when the rest of the mercenaries were being put in the bag or worse, if he got himself arrested three days later for burgling Scotland Yard's offices.

But the new job he had taken required his presence in England, and his fluent English and knack for disguise were among the skills by which he made his living. And if he thought he might also enjoy the opportunity to get something past a certain Air Police inspector, that was nobody's business but his own.

As it happened, on the first day of his temporary assignment as a Scotland Yard archivist, the Special Air Police were absent on a job. He was not able to finish the work in a single day, and arrived early the following morning--and found himself entering the building only a few paces behind a slim, swift-moving figure. He did not dare react: he was just another office worker today, likely invisible to such exalted souls as DI Bigglesworth, unless he did something foolish like suddenly duck and bolt away at the sight of him. Instead he watched Bigglesworth stride into the building, greeting the doorman by name and with a few cheery words, and take the stairs up to his offices two at a time without once looking back.

The exhilaration that filled Erich at his own success at evading Bigglesworth here, on his own home turf, buoyed him up all morning as he dutifully filed reports and took careful photographs with a miniature camera of certain ones requested by his employer. At lunch he took the cheese and pickle sandwiches that fit his persona to the courtyard to eat, washed down with a mug of ordinary English tea from the canteen: the bread was in no way what he would have chosen, but he'd dined on worse. He sat on the far side of the courtyard, back to a solid wall, partly shielded by a bay tree growing in a pot at the side of the bench. It was a fine day and he was still filled with pleasure at his success when two men entered the courtyard bearing mugs of tea.

Bigglesworth looked like he'd aged ten years during the morning: his step was heavy, his posture slumped. The autumn sun still beaming down on them seemed like an insult: there should have been a crack of thunder, a bitter wind and a downpour. Lacey was with him, shepherding him towards a bench with anxious care. Erich's first thought was that one of the others must have died or been terribly injured, but Lacey's demeanour disabused him of that idea. Whatever sorrow weighed on Bigglesworth, Lacey did not share it.

They were looking at a piece of paper that Bigglesworth had been holding in his breast pocket. Erich recognised the shape of it even from his vantage point: he'd spent all yesterday filing similar documents. Some kind of news had come through, and caused Bigglesworth distress. Erich could not hear their words, but whatever Lacey said, it seemed to give Bigglesworth some little bit of animation. Then they both raised their mugs as if in toast, and returned inside, heading in the direction of the canteen.

This time Erich did not feel any particular satisfaction at having eluded their notice. Bigglesworth did not look as if he would have noticed if Erich had strolled over to where they were sitting and started playing the violin. Instead, finishing his sandwiches and tea without tasting them, he went back into the archives before his lunch break was over. Whatever news that had evinced this reaction from Bigglesworth, he needed to know.

Finding the file copies of reports circulated today to the Special Air Police was the work of ten minutes. He skimmed through them, and nearly dropped them at the sight of his own name in neat typewritten text, one of several in a list. He was so stunned by this that it took him a minute to parse the meaning of the document. It was a report of his death.

A shiver went over him, someone walked over my grave, the English said. It was an excellent development, he informed himself sternly. If the British authorities no longer sought him, he would be far safer in the future. He would no longer turn around and discover that Bigglesworth was on his trail again. This same falsehood had sheltered him for decades, before he had put an end to it by telephoning Bigglesworth. But that time, it had been Bigglesworth who had unmasked him, who had shot him down as he escaped, the story had been worthy of them both. This--some unmarked desert grave following a sordid job and an ignorant boss who had dismissed his warnings--was an ignominious ending for him even in fiction. When he was killed in truth, he wanted it to be in a worthy fight, against an enemy he could respect.

He had photographed all the documents he needed to, now. He took a photograph of this one too, for his own purposes. His job was done, there was no need to stay here in Scotland Yard another minute longer.

Bigglesworth's grieving face floated in his mind's eye, impossible to believe, equally impossible to forget. He sat at a typewriter, took a sheet of the office's headed paper and typed two sentences, then folded it. The camera with its precious films were safely in his breast pocket. Bigglesworth had been keeping the report of his death in his breast pocket, said an unwanted voice at the back of his mind. He strode out of the archives and up the stairs past the canteen. Bigglesworth and Lacey were in there, and Lord Lissie too, sitting around a table together, and Bigglesworth still wore that disturbing look of grief, only a little relieved by his friends. He carried on past the canteen, past the exit too, up the stairs two at a time exactly as Bigglesworth had climbed them this morning, and went to the office marked Special Air Police and knocked briskly.

Hebblethwaite's distinctive accent--one Erich could not replicate--called out, "Come in!"

The rush of adrenaline that went through his body as he entered seemed to fill him to the tips of his fingers. Erich went in casually, his walk easy as if he were not forcing himself not to limp, and said in his best English accent, "A message for DI Bigglesworth. Eyes only."

Hebblethwaite barely glanced at him. "He's at lunch, you can leave it on his desk."

The room was filled with the scent of Bigglesworth's cigarettes, mingled with leather and aviation fuel. Erich crossed to the indicated desk, noting the neatly squared-off stacks of paper, the used ashtray, the blotter pulled correctly over the open documents. He set his note on top, turned, and went out to a brief, "Thanks," from Hebblethwaite.

That afternoon he processed the film and left the photographs at the designated drop point, then returned to sit in the window of a pub half a street down from Scotland Yard, on the route back to Mayfair. A little before six, he saw a slim energetic figure leaving the offices, striding along briskly with his head high and a faint smile on his lips.

[ysande]

OH MY GOSH thank you for healing my broken heart, I didn’t know how much I needed this!!

Erich’s smugness at hiding right beneath Biggles’ nose! His horror and concern at seeing Biggles so distraught, because CLEARLY something world-shattering has happened to Biggles and that is Not OK and Erich needs to know, because even if he can’t fix it, he needs to both know for Biggles’ sake, and to be absolutely sure that he can’t fix it….

And then the stunning realisation that the belief that something has happened to HIM is world-shatteringly awful to Biggles - that HE is an essential and much treasured part of Biggles’ world T__T And the LEAST he can do in return for that breath-taking revelation is to put an end to Biggles’ unnecessary heartache and grief, because Erich would have felt the same in Biggles’ place, and could very clearly imagine the feeling of life-saving relief that knowing the truth would have brought him is an Honourable Opponent and of course it was 100% essential for Erich to stick around to make sure that he sees Biggles feel better after having received his note <33333

[philomytha]

Aww, I'm glad you enjoyed it! Of course Erich has to stick around and make sure Biggles is all right again. (Whether, after calmer reflection, it occurs to Biggles to enquire as to who specifically sent the correction and he realises exactly what happened, I am not sure, but I am sure that after this news Biggles would have been THRILLED if Erich had showed up in his office...)

[ysande]

Also Erich’s absolute DISDAIN at the very idea of someone MISTAKENLY thinking that he was killed by anyone other than Biggles, which is CLEARLY an outrage he cannot live with and must correct at once, because if he’s going to die, he will at least be given the dignity of dying at Biggles’ own hand <333

[philomytha]

When Erich says 'a worthy opponent' everyone who's ever met him even once knows he means Biggles <3

[sholio]

I LOVE THIS FANDOM <3333

And I love this! ERICH! He absolutely WOULD walk brazenly into Scotland Yard to copy documents knowing he could run into Biggles & Co at any time (it probably gives him a thrill down his spine knowing that, honestly) and I especially love that he manages to slip by without Ginger recognizing him; he's Just That Good. And he has no idea that he's been taken for dead, but then he absolutely cannot rest without finding out exactly what made Biggles look like that, and then he can't stand it until he's done something about it, even though he knows it makes so much more sense (and would give him considerably more freedom to operate) if he goes on being presumed dead.

When he was killed in truth, he wanted it to be in a worthy fight, against an enemy he could respect.

Just admit you daydream of dying in Biggles's arms, Erich. <3 (Also the quiet tragedy of "when", not if. *cries in Erich von Stalhein*)

And it's not even enough to leave the note; he has to quietly hang around afterwards and make sure that Biggles got the note and is better again!

This is a completely delightful follow-up and I'm so glad you wrote it! I also cannot help imagining them comparing notes and realizing exactly what happened many years later, and Biggles's and Algy's respective reactions to finding out that Erich is capable of walking around in Scotland Yard photographing documents without being noticed ...

Biggles: he's just so GOOD at this, isn't he *_*
Algy: Terrible. You mean terrible. The entire situation is terrible.
Biggles: ....yes, of course. Terrible. *_*

[philomytha]

I love that my fellow Biggles-fandomers are so laid-back about my habit of randomly tacking bits onto the ends of their lovely fics <3

I wonder if later that day Biggles followed up the question of who had brought the intel, discovered that nobody knew anything about it but that a nondescript guy working in the archives had left after lunch in a bit of a hurry... he wouldn't need any more to go on than that, and I am sure that in the relief of discovering that Erich was alive he would have a whole lot to say about how clever Erich is and be sorry to have missed him <3

[lokifan]

Love this!!! Erich knowing this isn't a clever move but he can't have Biggles looking so sad and worn down such an unworthy death left on his record!

[philomytha]

Of course he can't have an unworthy death on his record!

[lunabee34]

Oh, I don't even go here AT ALL, and that presumed dead is delightful! <3 <3 <3

[sholio]

Thank you! <3

[chanter1944]

That first fic is delightful! <3

The second is also excellent, but in an ouch! sense. I can just *imagine* the handwriting on the second note matching a certain gentleman's own... It would be just like EvS to have sneakity access to enough intel reports to pick up on the error regarding his own demise, and then to inform his best adversary of the truth of the matter. I mean, how else would Biggles know the mistakenly-listed sixth casualty wasn't someone else? Or were there further details to the note that Algy didn't include?

[sholio]

The idea of Erich sneakily amending his own files and/or slipping his own additions to the intel reports on himself is AMAZING and I am adopting it as personal headcanon immediately. <3 I didn't really intend him to be the one to pass the note, but I love the idea that he did do it because he couldn't stand the idea of Biggles being sad having the wrong impression for too long!

[ysande]

"What? Oh—no, nothing, I ..." Biggles jerked a little, as if coming back to himself. "A piece of international news that caught me by surprise, that's all." He shuffled the papers he had been looking at into a stack.

"Anything the rest of us should be worried about?"

"No—no, just ... a surprise," Biggles repeated, and as Algy continued to look at him with concern, Biggles hastily opened another file, almost at random.

The aching loneliness of a grief that you can’t share the burden or even the news of :( There’s so little that separates Biggles from Algy, but the way he feels about Erich is a gulf between them, and it adds so much to Biggles’ distress. Not only does he have to process the news, he has to hide it and how devastated by it he is.

After a while, Algy went and sat on the edge of Biggles's desk, eyeing his oldest friend and disliking the pallor he saw, a drawn look that made him think uncomfortably of Biggles in wartime. "If you're feeling under the weather, go home. We have things in hand here."

Except that Algy is Algy, and he’s not going to let Biggles be visibly Not Ok without checking in, very insistently if that’s what’s called for <333

"He was capable of better things. That's all."

Algy rather doubted that, but sensed that now was not the time to say it. "Look," he said, handing back the paper. "D'you suppose there's a—a next of kin, or something?"

Except Algy surprises them both <333 Because he absolutely will share in Biggles’ joys and his sorrows; and what matters isn’t the cause but the result, because he’s 100% Team Biggles and this made my heart swell, because ALGY <333

Algy found himself lifting a glass in a toast. "I won't pretend that I liked him," he said. "But a lonely grave in the desert's a hard end, and—and I'm sorry for it."

And that is such a beautiful, genuine sentiment from Algy, that expresses so eloquently and honestly and sensitively his feelings on the matter, I loved this so much!! <333 There’s never any false sympathy or trite words, just the sincere words of a very dear friend who is also a kind and generous soul <333

But after seeing Biggles that morning—quiet and dull, as if the best part of his bright energy had gone out of him—Algy discovered that he couldn't find it in himself to be too upset about it.

The best part of Biggles’ brightness!! Oh my gosh, my HEART, I love them all fiercely and this fic was achingly perfect in every way!

[sholio]

Oh, this comment is lovely. <333 Algy is just such a kind person, and he cares so much about Biggles - for his own personal reasons he might wish EvS to just drop dead somewhere far away, but when it actually does (apparently) happen, he can't even be properly glad for it because Biggles is so upset, and then he'd rather have a happy Biggles than a less stressful EvS-free life. <3

[spatz]

Ahhh, the presumed-dead one is so great! What a terribly plausible near miss for Erich, and of course Biggles mourned the man as much as the lost hope.

The first ficlet was very soft, too - I adore Bertie's turn of phrase, and Fritz's delight and instincts.

[sholio]

Erich is just so close to the edge for most of the post-WW2 years, it could very easily have gone that way (and Biggles knows how close it is, so it's not even really a surprise for him, or at least he tells himself that). And yes, he'd tell himself (and Algy) that he's sad for the wasted potential, but he's really grieving for Erich himself. :(((

(Happy ending though! No Biggleses or Erichs were harmed in the making of this fic!)

[osprey_archer]

Ah, I love Fritz getting a chance to ride horses at Chedcombe. And Algy happy that Fritz is having a good time but still NOT wanting to talk about Erich.

Also BIGGLES, so devastated when he thinks that EvS is dead, but certain that he will be alone in his grief so trying to hide it from everyone! But actually terrible at hiding his feelings. (Algy is so right in Flies East when he comments to himself that Biggles is not made to be a spy. He can do it in a pinch but it's NOT where he's at his best.) And Algy seeing and refusing to let him stew alone.

[sholio]

Yeah, Biggles really does wear his heart on his sleeve, even though it's subtle enough that people can easily miss it if they aren't paying attention. But Algy has a long history of being very much in tune with him. <3

[lokifan]

Aw, Fritz <3! And omg poor Biggles! And Algy's toast.

[sholio]

Thank you! :) (Algy is such a kind person, even if he won't admit it.)

[tweague]

Re: Presumed Dead fic: Okay, this was *so* plausible - you feel like this is the sort of thing that must have happened at least once in the course of their careers, we just never saw it in the books. And Biggles’ and Algy’s reactions were just spot on - Biggles would absolutely take that grief and pain and not have a clue what to do with it except try to take it into a corner to be private with it, because he can hardly explain even to himself let alone the others why it matters so much. And Algy, always so attuned to Biggles that of *course* he notices, of *course* he’s going to haul Biggles off somewhere so he can make James tell him all about it, and of *course* he’s going to be surprised by actually regretting the news, at least a little bit.

And then Biggles’ quiet and TOTALLY CASUAL delight when the correction comes through was so perfect. You can feel the sun coming out again. I thoroughly enjoyed this :D

Fritz bonding with Bertie and Algy was so sweet :D I loved how proud he was at being compared with his uncle - and how splendidly Bertie, to know that that particular compliment would be the thing to please Fritz the most. (Also, Algy muttering imprecations against von Stalhein through gritted teeth is always A+.)

Thank you for these, they were lovely :D

[sheron]

I love both of these! Such a lovely Fritz fic! And the presumed dead!! My comment is short but full of SQUEEE!!!! because I loved these fics very much ♥