How He Changes

[izzytheskittle.livejournal.com]

Title: How He Changes Chapter Three
Pairing: AU Howard/Vince
Summary: An AU fic, where Howard is one of England's best known criminals and Vince works in a pub. Obviously they meet, but there are a few things that need to be sorted out before the happy ending, that may or may not come... 
Word Count: 2,363
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, swearing, violence and possible sex scenes.
Disclaimer: The characters ain't mine, and neither are any of the recognisable quotes, thank you to 10_quotes for providing them. The situation, however, I take full credit for.
The quote's used in this chapter are from Lawrence of Arabia, The Maltese Falcon, Rear Window, It Happened One Night and Annie Hall.
Author’s Notes: This was inspired by the 10_quotes forum, but instead of writing a story based around 10 quotes, I picked all of the ones I liked (71 in total) worked out a plot and wrote them into the story. Expect around 15 chapters in total.

Thanks again to sisidraig for putting up with this.  We're almost into unrecognisable territory now...

EDIT: Sorry for the format issues, they are fixed now.

Chapter One - community.livejournal.com/booshslashhaven/803616.html
Chapter Two - community.livejournal.com/booshslashhaven/812039.html

The air whips at my face as soon as I step outside and I curse myself for not getting my scarf. But the door’s already shut and I can’t be bothered with opening it now, so I just wrap my coat around me tighter and make the short walk to my car.

The engine roars into life and the heating kicks in straight away. Having money does have its advantages. I remember the first car I ever owned. It was a third, possibly fourth, hand Ford Anglia from the fifty’s. It had been my dad’s, but he gave it to me on my seventeenth. By then it was over thirty five years old, but I managed to keep it for seven years, running it to the ground, and eventually wrapping it around the tree outside our house. I’d loved that car, but it was nice to be able to afford a car that actually starts on the first try.

By the time I reached the supermarket I was dreading getting out, because of the cold I know will greet me. I dash through the car park, without actually running, and sigh once I’m back in the heat. It really is bitterly cold.

I decide to get my bread first, before it all goes. As I turn into the end aisle, I see a thin frame about 10 yards in front of me. I instantly know it’s him, because he’s wearing another ridiculously tight tee-shirt, even tighter jeans and his hair sits on his shoulders as though it’s been sculpted. I’m surprised I didn’t hear the awful click of his shoes on the lino because he’s wearing a pair of ridiculously high heels, making him at least three inches taller. For a split second I hope he won’t notice me, but then I do something stupid.

 

“Hey, kid!”

He spins around, and I’m surprised his heels allow him to do that. For a minute, he doesn’t recognise me and his face is blank, but then he’s grinning and coming towards me, swinging a barely full basket by his side.

“Hey…”

“Howard,” I say, and then wonder why I did.

“Howard. You were at the bar last night, yeah?”

I nod, unable to take my eyes off him. He seems to be the perfect picture of beauty.

“Nice to see you again. Well… bye.”

He’s gone again, off the aisle in his stupid shoes, and I’m left standing here like an idiot, completely unable to remember why I’m standing in a supermarket. I scowl at his retreating back, grab the first loaf of bread my hand touches and stalk over to the counter, getting myself a pack of cigarettes. I can tell I’m going to need them as soon as possible.

As I’m handing over my money, he comes up behind me and whispers in my ear, “You shouldn’t smoke, you know. It’s bad for you.”

“Thanks, Sherlock,” I snap, grabbing the smokes, and stomp off. I can hear him, almost jogging, to keep up with me. Then, suddenly, I hear a crash, a yell and the sound of tins rolling away. I turn around quickly, to see the kid on the floor, clutching his knee. I bend down, instinctively, and put my hand on his shoulder.

"Are you badly hurt?"

"I'm not hurt at all. Didn't you know? They can only kill me with a golden bullet," but he winces, ruining the effect of his words.

“Come on, try and stand up.”

I put my hand around his arm and help him to stand. Once he’s up, three shop assistants are crowding around us, fussing and asking if he’s okay. To be honest, they were lucky it was only his knee, because if he had been bleeding from the head, by the time they’d got here it would have been too late. I don’t mention that, obviously, it would bring up too many questions, but I have half a mind to make a complaint. Then I remember I barely know this kid so there isn’t any point me getting all worked up over nothing.

Eventually, the shop assistants leave and the kid turns to me, looking a bit pale.

“Thanks, Howard.”

“It was nothing.” I feel awkward, all of a sudden; I’m not used to this sort of thing.

“Do you need a hand to get to your car?” Well, as long as I’m being helpful, I might as well finish the job.

“No thanks. I walked.”

“You walked?”

“Yeah. I can’t drive so…”

“You can’t walk home with a damaged knee, you’ll make it worse.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing…” he tries to protest, but I decide not to listen.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

I grab his shoulder, propelling him towards the door. As we pass one of the shop assistants, I hand his basket to her, before continuing out of the shop.

“You really didn’t have to,” he tells me once we’re in the car. I just shake my head, flicking the radio on.

I drive for ten minutes without a word being said.

"You're a close-mouthed man?" I eventually ask.

"Nah, I like to talk."

"Better and better. I distrust a close-mouthed man. He generally picks the wrong time to talk and says the wrong things. Talking's something you can't do judiciously, unless you keep in practice."

I can see in the corner of my eye the kid’s smiling.

“I never asked you your name,” I suddenly realise.

“Vince,” he mutters quietly, as though he’s ashamed of it.

“Vince.” The word sounds funny on my tongue, but I like the feel of it rolling around my mouth. “That’s a nice name.”

“You weren’t lying when you said you had a nice car, then.”

I shake my head, “What, did you think I was?”

“No… It’s just that most guys don’t always tell the truth.”

I laugh gently. The way he talks makes it sound as if he means more than he says. He seems to know more than a twenty-four year old should anyway. Then I remember I don’t actually know how old he is. When I ask him he answers straight away, as though he’s been expecting it for ages. Turns out he is twenty-four. I’ve always been good at guessing things.

“Your hair’s not actually black, is it?”

He shakes his head this time, “No, it’s blonde. I like to die it though. This is my street.”

I make a right, manoeuvring the car easily. I stop when he motions to.

 

The house looks old, dirty and badly maintained. The door is a flaky green and one of the windows is broken, brown tape covering the hole.

“Maybe I’ll see you tonight?”

He sounds hopeful.

“Around seven?” I ask, not caring if I might be busy. I can always cancel other plans.

“Pick me up?”

“Of course.”

He gives me a final smile and hops out the car. I watch his house for almost five minutes after he’s gone through the door.

---

 

Evening comes much too quickly, and before I know it, it’s half six and I’m going to be late. Nick glances up as I come down the stairs and wolf whistles.

“Fuck off. Have you seen my white shirt?”

“Is that the shirt you’re going to get married in?” he asks with a wink.
I turn away from him, finding the shirt in a pile of clothes that need distributing. Now really isn’t the time for jokes at my expense.

“Right, I’m off.”

“Good luck!”

I hit him around the head as I shrug on my coat, just subtle enough that I can say it was an accident if he gets stroppy later.

Vince is already waiting at the end of the road when I pull up. He gets straight into the car. He’s actually bothered wearing a coat but it’s fluffy and smooth and brightly coloured and everything I hate.

"How's your leg?" I ask, determined not to slip into an uneasy silence.

"Hurts a little."

"Your stomach?"

"Empty as a football."

"And your love life?"

I hold my breath, not sure which answer would annoy me more.

"Not too active."

I let the breath out. Clearly that was the answer I wanted.

"Anything else bothering you?" I feel like I’m an interrogator, probing a close mouthed suspect.

"Uh-huh, who are you?"

 

I frown, confused by his question.

 

“I thought you told me you knew who I was?”

 

“Yeah, I lied. Tryin’ to impress you, an’ all that.”

 

My stomach flips at this, but I suppress it and instead answer his earlier question.

 

“The name’s Howard Moon.’

“Genius,’ he says, ‘I’m Vince Noir.”

“Hi,” is all I can think of saying.

“Hey,” he replies, still smiling.

“Where exactly are we going?” he asks, after a short pause.

“A movie. Then dinner. That alright?”

He nods, his face visibly lighting up. I swallow, willing myself to calm down, and remember that it’s just a film with someone I met yesterday.

 

Surprisingly, that doesn’t help.

I was already late when I picked him up but the traffic on the roads didn’t help. The large board in the window of the cinema told me that the film had already started… twenty minutes ago.

"Why didn't you take off all your clothes? You could have stopped forty cars." I say to Vince, not really angrily, but I think my voice comes out like it anyway.

"Well, ooo, I'll remember that when we need forty cars," he replies, sarcastically.

"So you wanna go into the movie or what?" he asks, when I make no sign of moving.

"No, I can't go into a movie that's already started. Because I'm anal." I add as a way of explanation.

"That's a polite word for what you are."

Even though it’s incredibly rude, an insult and usually I’d have hit anyone that said it; I laugh, a proper laugh, which actually manages to reach my eyes.

“We’ll skip the film, just go to dinner instead.”

He looks pleased with this, so I pull out of the car park and head further into town.

Vince starts talking. I’m not really listening, just enjoying the way he rambles on about nothing, his voice so bubbly and light. It’s something about a new outfit he bought last week; he seems to be able to go into explicit detail about something I couldn’t care less about. When he stops talking, I can’t bear the silence.

"I haven't lived a good life,” I suddenly say, “I've been bad, worse than

you could know."

He looks at me briefly.

"You know, that's good, because if you actually were as innocent as you pretend to be, we'd never get anywhere."

“What?”

“I never once thought you were just some normal guy who happened to have loads of money. There has to be a reason behind it. And it’s fine, whenever you’re ready to tell me.”

I have nothing to say to that. Whether I can’t think of anything or that there’s nothing I could say that would make a blind bit of difference, I’m not quite sure.

Another five minutes silence ensues, until we arrive at the restaurant. As soon as I’ve parked, I’m out of the car and opening Vince’s door for him.
Neither of us says anything until we’re sat down. As soon as the waiters gone, Vince starts talking as if nothing’s happened, which I suppose it hasn’t. It’s just me being stupid. We slip into an easy conversation, I ask him a question and he answers. He doesn’t mention anything more about my finance, but I can tell that he is only lightly stepping around the subject, biding his time, like a lioness waiting to kill.

When we’ve finished dessert and I’ve asked for the bill, Vince tries to pay his half but I just laugh and bat his hand away.

“As if I’m going to let you pay.”

Vince pouts, crossing his arms and staring at me. Again, I laugh.

“Right, let’s go.”

I chuck down a handful of notes; enough so that the waitress will be able to buy herself a new pair of shoes. Vince stares at me open mouthed. I’m not trying to show off, I’m just so used to having spare cash and usually I only go out with other people who are used to money, so I never think anything of it. But Vince is clearly in awe, so I grab his arm and pull him to the car, before people start looking at us.

The roads are unusually quiet, which normally I like but we’re not saying anything again, which means there’s nothing to drown out my thoughts.

“How fast can you drive this?” he pipes up suddenly.

“… I got it up to 155 once.”

“Wow! How did you manage that?”

 

“I was on a runway.”

It’s not the whole truth, but it isn’t a lie either. Vince looks impressed anyway.

“What’s the fastest you’ve ever been in a car then?” I’m actually curious to know; everything seems to amaze Vince and I can’t help wondering if he’s been locked inside all his life.

“About 75,” he admits quietly.

I smile slightly, not quite enough for him to see and I’m very tempted to push down on the accelerator but then I remember the four hundred speed cameras on this road and decide against it. Maybe one day.

“So, when are you going to tell me about all your money?”

I’d thought he’d dropped the subject but clearly he’s not that kind of person.

“What do want to know?” I sigh, keeping my eyes on the road.

“Where’d you get all the money?” he asks, instantly.

“I’m an assassin.”

Vince laughs, but then goes quiet and looks slightly scared.

“You’re not though, are you? Come on, seriously?”

“I’m a-I used to… rob banks and stuff.”

“A criminal? That’s pretty sexy. How come you ain’t been caught or

nothin’?”

“Because I’m actually good at what I do. It’s not all robbing, anyway, half the time it’s tracking down people to get money, stuff like that.”

Vince lets out a long whistle. “That still sounds eighty times better than my job.”

Comments

[thecatinthetree.livejournal.com]

Oooo.
Sexy criminalz activitiess

[izzytheskittle.livejournal.com]

Hopefully! ;)

[crowson75.livejournal.com]

The fact that Howard is embarrassed... so cute.

[izzytheskittle.livejournal.com]

He is rather cute, in a manly sort of way :D

[elle-lovvie.livejournal.com]

aack so cute.