Fic - The Baker Street Irregulars - 2: Role of a Lifetime - The History Boys - PG-13
Title: The Baker Street Irregulars
Chapter Title: 2 - Role of a Lifetime
Fandom: The History Boys
Characters/Pairing: Posner, Dakin, eventual Posner/Scripps
Summary: Historical AU, WWII. Dakin gets Posner on board using his powers of persuasion.
Rating: PG-13
Contains: Git!Dakin
Word Count: 1311
Notes: By popular demand, Posner's recruitment to the SOE! The song at the start is La Vie en Rose. Enjoy!
Role of a Lifetime
September, 1941
‘Il est entre dans mon coeur, une parte de bonheur, dont je connais la cause...’
Posner’s voice rose above the general low-level lunchtime noise of the café he was singing in, the sound clear and faultless and even, as always, though his heart wasn’t really in it. Although it was a bright day outside, the screens had been pulled across the windows and the wall lamps had all been lit in order to create ‘atmosphere’. Posner privately thought it made the place look like a brothel, especially with the coloured glass lampshades throwing a red glow over the room.
‘C’est lui pour moi, moi pour lui, dans la vie, il me l’a dit, l’a jure pour la vie...’
He doubted anyone had even noticed he hadn’t altered the song’s pronouns. As far as Posner was aware, no-one in the mock-Parisian café spoke French apart from him, not even Jack, the owner, though he pretended to be French when the occasion called for it, becoming Jacques. He opened his eyes (they often drifted shut when he was performing) and scanned the room, surprised when he noticed someone who appeared to be giving his full attention to Posner’s singing. The man smiled and inclined his head when their eyes met, raising his glass towards Posner.
Posner threw him a wink and took a breath before singing with renewed gusto, keeping his eyes on the man, who was lounging in his chair at one of the back tables. They exchanged glances every few bars, and Posner’s admirer stayed until lunchtime service was over and Posner had finished singing. He took his time straightening his microphone and helping the band with their instruments before he stepped down gracefully from the stage and sauntered over to the bar, leaning his hip against it, angling his body towards the man who, Posner could see all the better for being closer, was dark and handsome. He arched one eyebrow towards him in invitation.
To Posner’s delight, the man smirked and got up, walking over to Posner with his hands in the pockets of his smart trousers, still in his coat, his hat tucked under his arm.
‘Hello,’ Posner said, blinking slowly and half-smiling at the man.
‘Hello,’ the man replied. ‘May I buy you a drink?’
Posner’s smile widened and he nodded, ordering his usual from the barman - a dry martini - allowing the other man to pay before he took it, sipping from it delicately.
‘Perhaps there’s somewhere we could talk in private?’ the man murmured, his voice deep and quiet as he leant in to Posner’s ear.
‘Follow me,’ Posner said with another dazzling smile, leading the stranger into a back room of the café that consisted of a single booth, a light hanging low over the table. ‘Will this do?’ he asked, hardly able to believe his luck.
‘Perfectly,’ the man said, closing the door behind them with his foot, sliding the bolt across.
Posner’s stomach thrilled.
‘Stuart Dakin,’ the man murmured, sliding his warm, soft hand into Posner’s, who couldn’t help but be slightly disappointed he hadn’t been shoved against the wall in favour of introductions. He opened his mouth to reply, but Dakin cut across him, leaning in so that their lips were almost brushing. ‘And I know all about you, David.’
Posner’s lips quirked. ‘Oh?’ he breathed, his stomach fluttering with excitement. ‘Why don’t you, ah... enlighten me? Stuart?’
Dakin smirked back and sat down at the table, gesturing to the seat opposite him. He pulled a file out of his coat and placed it on the table. ‘Sit yourself down.’
Posner raised his eyebrows and lowered himself onto the leather seat, straight-backed, looking down his nose at the folder.
‘Why is my name printed on that?’ Suspicion rapidly began to overwhelm his original feelings of flattery and lust.
‘Well,’ Dakin said, leaning back, putting two cigarettes in between his lips and lighting them, handing one to Posner who took it after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Allow me to enlighten you.’ He smiled again. Posner didn’t feel the same thrill he had done at Dakin’s smile before. He smelt the cigarette briefly before taking a drag from it, eliciting another grin from Dakin.
‘I’m waiting,’ Posner said, leaning against the table, his right arm folded across his front, his left elbow resting on the surface, his wrist limp and his cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers.
Dakin opened the file but pulled it up so that Posner couldn’t see, scanning the front page. ‘David Solomon Posner, born Dawid Zalman Poznanski in Berlin, 1920, son of a Polish stage manager - also Dawid Poznanski - and Golda Krantz, a German club singer. Family moved to England in 1924, settled in North London. Attended the Jews’ Free School and won a scholarship to King’s College, Cambridge, in 1937. Graduated with a first-class honours degree in History in May. President of the Footlights, 1939, fluent in English, German, Polish and French. Triple citizenship in Britain, Poland and Germany. ’Exceptionally talented singer and actor.’ Jewish. Known homosexual.’
Dakin looked up and smiled.
The cigarette had nearly burnt down to Posner’s fingers. ‘What is it you want?’ he said, his voice uncharacteristically hard, his mind working at a hundred miles an hour.
‘Well, David, it’s all very simple. I want you. We want you.’
Posner stared at him through narrowed eyes.
‘Don’t think you can intimidate me,’ he murmured. He’d allowed that to happen far too many times in the past.
‘I don’t want to intimidate you, David. You asked to be enlightened, after all,’ Dakin said with another infuriating smile. ‘I work for an organisation called the Special Operations Executive. We’d like you to work for us.’
Posner was silent for a moment and busied himself with stubbing out the wasted cigarette, lighting one of his own. He’d never heard of the Special Operations Executive.
‘Unorthodox methods of recruitment you people have,’ he murmured, inhaling from his cigarette and observing Dakin.
‘Just my bit of fun,’ Dakin said, blowing the smoke he’d been holding in his chest to one side.
Posner raised his eyebrows again, waiting for further explanation.
‘I have to get your attention somehow, David, and it gets so very... dull, saying the same things over and over again.’
Posner sniffed.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘What does it entail, this work?’
‘Oh, good, you’re interested,’ Dakin said, sitting up. ‘I’m offering you the role of a lifetime, David. We want you to star in our upcoming production. The whole thing’s being put on in France and you’re to play the role of a French-German singer who’s secretly a Jew working for the Allies under the direction of a British organisation, which, obviously is us.’ He smiled again, fox-like. Posner wasn’t sure whether to trust him. ‘Of course, there’s plenty of room for improvisation with your role, the more Nazis that end up dead the better; we’ll pay you handsomely and there’s a journalist I hear who’s just moved to Paris who can be trusted to give you a rave review.’
Despite himself, Posner smiled, his heart beating quicker - this time, nothing to do with Dakin himself. It sounded... thrilling. And that... that sort of thing, it really was just acting, and it meant they couldn’t call him up, the army, he wouldn’t have to march or fight battles or depend on other people or do anything else that didn’t come naturally to him. And the thought of being headhunted, recruited, wanted... He didn’t actually have to think about it at all.
‘When do you want me to start?’
Chapter Title: 2 - Role of a Lifetime
Fandom: The History Boys
Characters/Pairing: Posner, Dakin, eventual Posner/Scripps
Summary: Historical AU, WWII. Dakin gets Posner on board using his powers of persuasion.
Rating: PG-13
Contains: Git!Dakin
Word Count: 1311
Notes: By popular demand, Posner's recruitment to the SOE! The song at the start is La Vie en Rose. Enjoy!
Role of a Lifetime
September, 1941
‘Il est entre dans mon coeur, une parte de bonheur, dont je connais la cause...’
Posner’s voice rose above the general low-level lunchtime noise of the café he was singing in, the sound clear and faultless and even, as always, though his heart wasn’t really in it. Although it was a bright day outside, the screens had been pulled across the windows and the wall lamps had all been lit in order to create ‘atmosphere’. Posner privately thought it made the place look like a brothel, especially with the coloured glass lampshades throwing a red glow over the room.
‘C’est lui pour moi, moi pour lui, dans la vie, il me l’a dit, l’a jure pour la vie...’
He doubted anyone had even noticed he hadn’t altered the song’s pronouns. As far as Posner was aware, no-one in the mock-Parisian café spoke French apart from him, not even Jack, the owner, though he pretended to be French when the occasion called for it, becoming Jacques. He opened his eyes (they often drifted shut when he was performing) and scanned the room, surprised when he noticed someone who appeared to be giving his full attention to Posner’s singing. The man smiled and inclined his head when their eyes met, raising his glass towards Posner.
Posner threw him a wink and took a breath before singing with renewed gusto, keeping his eyes on the man, who was lounging in his chair at one of the back tables. They exchanged glances every few bars, and Posner’s admirer stayed until lunchtime service was over and Posner had finished singing. He took his time straightening his microphone and helping the band with their instruments before he stepped down gracefully from the stage and sauntered over to the bar, leaning his hip against it, angling his body towards the man who, Posner could see all the better for being closer, was dark and handsome. He arched one eyebrow towards him in invitation.
To Posner’s delight, the man smirked and got up, walking over to Posner with his hands in the pockets of his smart trousers, still in his coat, his hat tucked under his arm.
‘Hello,’ Posner said, blinking slowly and half-smiling at the man.
‘Hello,’ the man replied. ‘May I buy you a drink?’
Posner’s smile widened and he nodded, ordering his usual from the barman - a dry martini - allowing the other man to pay before he took it, sipping from it delicately.
‘Perhaps there’s somewhere we could talk in private?’ the man murmured, his voice deep and quiet as he leant in to Posner’s ear.
‘Follow me,’ Posner said with another dazzling smile, leading the stranger into a back room of the café that consisted of a single booth, a light hanging low over the table. ‘Will this do?’ he asked, hardly able to believe his luck.
‘Perfectly,’ the man said, closing the door behind them with his foot, sliding the bolt across.
Posner’s stomach thrilled.
‘Stuart Dakin,’ the man murmured, sliding his warm, soft hand into Posner’s, who couldn’t help but be slightly disappointed he hadn’t been shoved against the wall in favour of introductions. He opened his mouth to reply, but Dakin cut across him, leaning in so that their lips were almost brushing. ‘And I know all about you, David.’
Posner’s lips quirked. ‘Oh?’ he breathed, his stomach fluttering with excitement. ‘Why don’t you, ah... enlighten me? Stuart?’
Dakin smirked back and sat down at the table, gesturing to the seat opposite him. He pulled a file out of his coat and placed it on the table. ‘Sit yourself down.’
Posner raised his eyebrows and lowered himself onto the leather seat, straight-backed, looking down his nose at the folder.
‘Why is my name printed on that?’ Suspicion rapidly began to overwhelm his original feelings of flattery and lust.
‘Well,’ Dakin said, leaning back, putting two cigarettes in between his lips and lighting them, handing one to Posner who took it after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Allow me to enlighten you.’ He smiled again. Posner didn’t feel the same thrill he had done at Dakin’s smile before. He smelt the cigarette briefly before taking a drag from it, eliciting another grin from Dakin.
‘I’m waiting,’ Posner said, leaning against the table, his right arm folded across his front, his left elbow resting on the surface, his wrist limp and his cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers.
Dakin opened the file but pulled it up so that Posner couldn’t see, scanning the front page. ‘David Solomon Posner, born Dawid Zalman Poznanski in Berlin, 1920, son of a Polish stage manager - also Dawid Poznanski - and Golda Krantz, a German club singer. Family moved to England in 1924, settled in North London. Attended the Jews’ Free School and won a scholarship to King’s College, Cambridge, in 1937. Graduated with a first-class honours degree in History in May. President of the Footlights, 1939, fluent in English, German, Polish and French. Triple citizenship in Britain, Poland and Germany. ’Exceptionally talented singer and actor.’ Jewish. Known homosexual.’
Dakin looked up and smiled.
The cigarette had nearly burnt down to Posner’s fingers. ‘What is it you want?’ he said, his voice uncharacteristically hard, his mind working at a hundred miles an hour.
‘Well, David, it’s all very simple. I want you. We want you.’
Posner stared at him through narrowed eyes.
‘Don’t think you can intimidate me,’ he murmured. He’d allowed that to happen far too many times in the past.
‘I don’t want to intimidate you, David. You asked to be enlightened, after all,’ Dakin said with another infuriating smile. ‘I work for an organisation called the Special Operations Executive. We’d like you to work for us.’
Posner was silent for a moment and busied himself with stubbing out the wasted cigarette, lighting one of his own. He’d never heard of the Special Operations Executive.
‘Unorthodox methods of recruitment you people have,’ he murmured, inhaling from his cigarette and observing Dakin.
‘Just my bit of fun,’ Dakin said, blowing the smoke he’d been holding in his chest to one side.
Posner raised his eyebrows again, waiting for further explanation.
‘I have to get your attention somehow, David, and it gets so very... dull, saying the same things over and over again.’
Posner sniffed.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘What does it entail, this work?’
‘Oh, good, you’re interested,’ Dakin said, sitting up. ‘I’m offering you the role of a lifetime, David. We want you to star in our upcoming production. The whole thing’s being put on in France and you’re to play the role of a French-German singer who’s secretly a Jew working for the Allies under the direction of a British organisation, which, obviously is us.’ He smiled again, fox-like. Posner wasn’t sure whether to trust him. ‘Of course, there’s plenty of room for improvisation with your role, the more Nazis that end up dead the better; we’ll pay you handsomely and there’s a journalist I hear who’s just moved to Paris who can be trusted to give you a rave review.’
Despite himself, Posner smiled, his heart beating quicker - this time, nothing to do with Dakin himself. It sounded... thrilling. And that... that sort of thing, it really was just acting, and it meant they couldn’t call him up, the army, he wouldn’t have to march or fight battles or depend on other people or do anything else that didn’t come naturally to him. And the thought of being headhunted, recruited, wanted... He didn’t actually have to think about it at all.
‘When do you want me to start?’