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dolevalanTitle: A Few Bad Nights
Fandom: The Maltese Falcon (spoilers for the ending)
Rating: PG-13 ish
A/N: A quick one inspired by just re-watching the movie and by Constantine over at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
desperatefans bringing up Brigid.
Surprisingly, it was Miles he missed first. Not that he had particularly liked Miles – he hadn’t, though more than Iva had, towards the end. It was just that, once all the business with the bird was done, he settled back into a routine that was slightly off. Glancing instinctively at the place his desk used to be, the small moment of shock every time he saw only one name on the door, the time about once a month when Effie’d almost slip and answer the phone “Spade and Arch—”
Miles had been his partner, and even if they didn’t see eye to eye, they’d been working together since they were both kids too green to know their business right. Since before he knew Miles was a card, and before Miles knew that Sam was smarter than he was. Iva had finally stopped calling, and now Miles was out of his life entirely, and it left a hole much like the one Brigid had left in his corpse.
Spade downed the bourbon and looked out the window. No one was there, now; no one had reason to be. But he’d come to be so used to being tailed that it felt almost eerie, no one looking. He’d told Effie he might call, but decided not to. He was always punchy between cases, and she could use the rest after shacking up with Brigid.
It always came back to Brigid. Christ, she had been good. He’d said it when they met, but he hadn’t realized how good until the very end. Sam was not a man to dwell on the past, but in the smoky dimness of his apartment, he couldn’t help but hear her begging him to take the fall because he loved her and her pair of big angel eyes. And he was too fond of answers not to wonder. To wonder if she had loved him at all, to wonder how many times she’d played out the same sorry scene with a different ending. Wonder if Thursby had thought of her as he lay bleeding to death on the pavement.
And it was the uncertainty that haunted him, or so he told himself as he poured more booze. The eternal not knowing the answer that drove the detective up the wall. He’d loose his mind PDQ if a pretty face could wreck him that easy, but she’d been different because she was a pretty face on a puzzle.
It wasn’t her million dollar smile that he missed. It wasn’t her shapely legs or the way she tilted her head just so when she lied. The throb in her voice or the way her eyes got big and soft when she wanted them to. It wasn’t even, he said to himself with firm conviction, that he’d hesitated sending her over for Miles. It was that, in the months after the falcon case, he could never be sure which of her lies had been peppered with truth, and which had been the pure confection of her admittedly nimble tongue.
He privately hoped someone wanted their wife followed soon. Too much thinking got bad for a man’s liver, after awhile.
Fandom: The Maltese Falcon (spoilers for the ending)
Rating: PG-13 ish
A/N: A quick one inspired by just re-watching the movie and by Constantine over at
desperatefans bringing up Brigid.Surprisingly, it was Miles he missed first. Not that he had particularly liked Miles – he hadn’t, though more than Iva had, towards the end. It was just that, once all the business with the bird was done, he settled back into a routine that was slightly off. Glancing instinctively at the place his desk used to be, the small moment of shock every time he saw only one name on the door, the time about once a month when Effie’d almost slip and answer the phone “Spade and Arch—”
Miles had been his partner, and even if they didn’t see eye to eye, they’d been working together since they were both kids too green to know their business right. Since before he knew Miles was a card, and before Miles knew that Sam was smarter than he was. Iva had finally stopped calling, and now Miles was out of his life entirely, and it left a hole much like the one Brigid had left in his corpse.
Spade downed the bourbon and looked out the window. No one was there, now; no one had reason to be. But he’d come to be so used to being tailed that it felt almost eerie, no one looking. He’d told Effie he might call, but decided not to. He was always punchy between cases, and she could use the rest after shacking up with Brigid.
It always came back to Brigid. Christ, she had been good. He’d said it when they met, but he hadn’t realized how good until the very end. Sam was not a man to dwell on the past, but in the smoky dimness of his apartment, he couldn’t help but hear her begging him to take the fall because he loved her and her pair of big angel eyes. And he was too fond of answers not to wonder. To wonder if she had loved him at all, to wonder how many times she’d played out the same sorry scene with a different ending. Wonder if Thursby had thought of her as he lay bleeding to death on the pavement.
And it was the uncertainty that haunted him, or so he told himself as he poured more booze. The eternal not knowing the answer that drove the detective up the wall. He’d loose his mind PDQ if a pretty face could wreck him that easy, but she’d been different because she was a pretty face on a puzzle.
It wasn’t her million dollar smile that he missed. It wasn’t her shapely legs or the way she tilted her head just so when she lied. The throb in her voice or the way her eyes got big and soft when she wanted them to. It wasn’t even, he said to himself with firm conviction, that he’d hesitated sending her over for Miles. It was that, in the months after the falcon case, he could never be sure which of her lies had been peppered with truth, and which had been the pure confection of her admittedly nimble tongue.
He privately hoped someone wanted their wife followed soon. Too much thinking got bad for a man’s liver, after awhile.
