Fic: HIJACKING HER HEART
I found this piece in my scrap folder today. I think I wrote this for Lauren circa June 2007. That's nearly 5 years ago. I think this was the previous harlequin attempt before Halfway Around the World a Hurricane Forms. I fear I will be the only one who sees the irony.
Lauren’s Harlequin
HIJACKING HER HEART
A/N - Also, to Hugo Weaving fans, I love him too - so ignore whatever I say. Also? Andrew=Andrew Embley. Yes, the football player. Yes, the player who BB is madly infatuated with. Yes, I am lame. And no, Tom Felton is NOT in this as well. I assure you.
Part One: I Will Survive
Leora Schneider was a survivor. Everything that had been thrown at her in her young twenty-four years of life she had either dodged or overcome the obstacle. She had pulled through adolescence, learned to drive without crashing, drugs, her sisters, the Paris-Hilton syndrome and even outlasted the lousy never-would-be-but-kept-on-stalking-her boyfriends. She had survived high-school and then eventually even the University of California tumbled to its foundations as Leora graduated with her high honours in Psychology. She had survived everything, so she knew she could survive this… or more specifically, this man.
Or maybe not. She didn’t know, for although her blindfold confined her to the darkness, it was unable to save her from that wickedly sweet voice currently trying to seduce her thoughts. But this wasn’t a game, this was reality, and the skins on her wrists were raw from attempting to break through the confining knots that stilled her arms.
“It is futile to try and escape.” That hideously beautiful, masculine voice spoke again. He could have been a tenor if he had woken up one day and decided to be someone else. He must have lacked the self-governing merit and had gone for the cheaper option.
Leora was unwilling to listen. She was going to escape from this god-forsaken eternal night even though she was firmly strapped on a chair and in the middle of nowhere. Her remaining senses informed her that the room was damp - underground, while the occasional dripping of water from a forgotten pipeline confirmed her suspicions.
“All we need you to do is cooperate.”
He needed to stop using that voice. And he needed to stop using those clichéd lines which reminded her of Agent Smith from those Matrix movies. And oh, recently V for Vendetta too. What was the actor’s name? Hugo Weaving - that’s right. Not really a beautiful man - but beautiful voice. God, this sounded familiar.
If Leora knew where the asshole was standing she would have fired a spit-ball at him. Of course he would have slammed something to break her beautiful face in return, or at least disfigure one of her feminine features - but Leora was much more intelligent than that. Did he really believe that he and his no better than a band of hooligans with the fancy collective term as ‘terrorists’ could bring the almighty United States of America to their knees? Extremists! She wanted to yell at them. Idealists! Fools! You-over-there-who-needs-a-new-hobby! She finally settled on “Losers!”
The young woman gritted her teeth, knowing it was the answer the terrorist despised the most. But God! The back of her left leg hurt like hell! It was the only part of the freezing room that actually felt alive - burning in fact. Whatever it was, it was painful and … and the room was silent now. All she could hear was the rasping of her own breath - a sound she refused to believe was being made by her.
She felt strangely numb but alert thanks to her system pumping out cortisol in her bloodstream - the extra hormones screaming at her to do something… anything. Was it fear that was keeping her back? She wasn’t too sure. If she had been more afraid than stubborn she would have long opened her mouth and succumbed to him long ago. Yes, she will survive this ordeal although how she was going to do so was a question that was left wanting.
“I’m waiting,”
Leora unconsciously twitched, he had sounded grumpy but it was no different from before. She just had to think! Thinking was something that she was good at! At least it had been something she had thought she was good at. Hindsight had eluded her, it seemed. Whatever. She had to get the irritating blindfold off to get a good glance at her surroundings, then calculate her unlikely chances of escape and then believe the dream of the unthinkable. She forgot her friend’s warnings that she was a romantic.
She was also fortunate. Even nature called for that body with the lovely voice which he had to inevitably answer, and she highly doubted there was any other organism in the wonderfully charming room aside from termites and rats. She knew it was just perfect for an IKEA catalogue.
“That’s it.” Had he ran out of patience? “I’m getting out of this damn cell for some air, but when I come back you better start cooperating or I’m going to have to do to you what some of my friends have done to the others of your pathetic kind.”
It was a threat. It also meant he needed to pay a trip to the bathroom. He must have been getting desperate (and busting) and oh, how his voice just became rougher when he spoke in that tone! Not that she liked it. Never.
Leora focused on the sound of footsteps, the heavy soles of his boots and then the loud, creaking and then careless slamming of the door. It had sounded wooden. Wood was breakable. Ignitable. She didn’t smoke. Nor did she plan on suicide. Damn.
Had there been other survivors? There just had to be. Were they all being interrogated as marvellously as she was? Probably. But she had been the (un)fortunate one who had the terrorist with the silky voice. Worse still, she knew the face of her captor. In fact, she knew it very well and even had found it once a visage to admire. That had only been how long ago? 24 hours?
It had felt more like weeks. How long had she been here?
What the hell had happened in the past 24 hours?
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part Two: A Voice to Make Love To
What Leora remembered 24 hours ago was the sound of laughter. Or more specifically she remembered her friend Phoebe’s charming, unintelligible laughter when the girl had hurried to the airport to see Leora off. It was a loud, uncontrollable sound which usually detonated at the stimulus of absolutely nothing. Charming, Leora had to remind herself.
“Man, I am so envious,” Phoebe said while she had helped Leora with the luggage. Leora herself was doing a last minute check-up on her plane ticket and glad she had been allocated to a window seat.
“Just imagine,” Phoebe continued with amazement, “to work for the parliament of England!”
“Awesome isn’t it?” Leora had to allow herself to beam. “Although I don’t see why they would require the services of a psychologist - unless there has been an outbreak of mental illnesses among London’s politicians.”
“That’s always a possibility.” Phoebe pointed out, causing Leora to catch sight of her friend’s diamond ring.
“I won’t be missing anything while I’m away, right?” Leora asked.
“What? What do you mean?”
Leora pointed to the ring. “The wedding?”
“Of course not. I couldn’t get married to Andrew without you here.”
Like Leora was going to believe that. But it would have been nice to attend a wedding, preferably as the bride herself - but she knew that was never going to happen anytime in the near future. Her luck with men had always been like a game of russian roulette, and she had always been the one losing her share in the chips.
“Here,” Phoebe gave Leora the handle of her main luggage bag. “Your flight’s boarding now. I will see you in a few months, hopefully, because you will remember to come back and visit. Maybe we can have a double-wedding during that time too.”
Leora decided to remain silent about the subject. They gave each other a friendly hug before saying their goodbyes before Leora had to hurry to gate 21.
~~~
The terminals were buzzing with action even early in the morning as Leora made her way confidently past the duty-free stores, Chanel, Lancôme, and Estee Lauder knowing her hard earned cash was spent better on other amusements - like the contents inside her luggage. Her precious psychology books had to make the journey with her, and they were the reason why her luggage might have been so heavy. And oh, some of her DVD’s too. Leora raised a fine eyebrow. Okay, let’s be honest…maybe a lot of her DVD’s were making the trip with her. Hey, every natural Stargate fan would take at least 10 box sets with them.
Leora barely noticed the fine amount of looks that were cast her way as she walked - she didn’t see the admiration from the men and certainly was blind to the jealous glares from the women. It was not her fault that she had been blessed with a natural beauty and a voluptuous figure that was almost offensive to be constrained in casual bright green top and simple, light denim jeans. Nor could she alter her genes which had given her those eyes. Hidden behind her clear glasses were eyes which captured a passion that paralleled her wit and at times temper. It was where a constant war was raged between the blue and green in her iridescent irises with no declared victor.
Leora made her way through gate 21 and was pleased to discover they had only just begun boarding. Eyeing the length of the line, she frowned but made her way politely to the end, pausing only momentarily to stop and check her passport and visas. But that was all it had to take for another body to collide with her.
It could have rivalled a passing hurricane as Leora’s body was thrown off balance. She let out a cry of dismay as she watched her luggage bag that contained all those precious contents escape from her arms and was thrown against the carpet floor ahead of her. There was barely enough seconds for Leora to turn around and glare before she was beaten by a shrill voice that assaulted her eardrums.
“You there!” The taller, blonder, predominately skimpier and (judging from the amount of her excessive luggage) obviously richer young woman stared down at her. “You just stole my place in the line!” Her tone was completely accusatory, and Leora - noting the large spectacle they had created due to the pleasing audacity of the woman’s voice, was forced to suppress back her pride and serve an apology, although clearly there had been no fault upon her part.
Leora allowed the woman to shuffle ahead of her as she hurried to retrieve her luggage. She didn’t have to for a man ahead in the line had stepped out of his way to retrieve it for her. Or so it seemed.
The tall man had bent down to pick up her luggage, but not without somehow pausing in movement with only his graceful back facing her. There was a brief moment of panic in Leora’s chest as she thought the man was about to do the impossible and attempt robbery in front of such a large audience, but he immediately spun around, straightening up with her luggage in his hands and with a smile that was so perfect it was as if angels had carved it.
“I believe this is yours,” the male voice was silky smooth - and it flowed like water. He walked slowly towards her and handed back the luggage, their fingers briefly brushing against the others. Her skin just might have tingled… just a bit. He smiled again and Leora realised her lips too had curved as well. She stuttered her thanks, unable to sort out if she was either flustered or embarrassed. It was not like her at all.
The tall man effortlessly stepped back in line but gave her that extra wink. Leora realised she would be lying if she did not find the man attractive. Clean-shaven, blond, tall and deliciously dark-eyed, he wore a long, sepia trench-coat that seemed oddly out of place on a nice spring’s day. But those variables could be pushed aside as she remembered his voice. There could be no words to describe his voice. Oh! Keeping the with the very comprehensible analogy of angels - Leora knew his voice could have made even the angels weep.
“Excuse me,” growled a deep voice from behind her and Leora snapped out of her temporary (not daydreaming) reverie. She glanced back over her shoulder to see another handsome man - only this one completely towered over her with an intimidating stance, his brows set in a frown and looking nowhere as nearly as friendly. “The purpose of this line is to keep it moving, yes?”
Leora forced herself to turn again, flushing for only a second when she discovered the sudden large space that separated her and the wealthy woman she had clashed with earlier. “Oh.”
She found herself apologizing again, this time a genuine one to the passengers behind her and in particular the man behind her before she shifted herself and her luggage to close the space. She was not acting like herself at all.
God it was going to be a long flight to London.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part Three: The Hunter
How she hated the crowded corridors of airliners - particularly when the flight had been delayed and passengers were busily pushing their way in, searching (wrongly) for their correct seats. The hum of the plane’s engine buzzed in her ears as she made her way slowly towards seat 41F. Leora found it secretly evil that the airline’s doors would always open into the first-class cabins, allowing one to envy their generous space and those much more luxurious seats until you had to stumble towards the tail of the airline where economy waited you. It was shameful self-advertising, and the very nice woman in front of Leora popped herself down in such a seat, causing the rest of the line to halt, turn green and allowed the other sex of the species to notice her nice shapely legs when she stretched herself out like a pampered-cat.
Lauren’s Harlequin
HIJACKING HER HEART
A/N - Also, to Hugo Weaving fans, I love him too - so ignore whatever I say. Also? Andrew=Andrew Embley. Yes, the football player. Yes, the player who BB is madly infatuated with. Yes, I am lame. And no, Tom Felton is NOT in this as well. I assure you.
Part One: I Will Survive
Leora Schneider was a survivor. Everything that had been thrown at her in her young twenty-four years of life she had either dodged or overcome the obstacle. She had pulled through adolescence, learned to drive without crashing, drugs, her sisters, the Paris-Hilton syndrome and even outlasted the lousy never-would-be-but-kept-on-stalking-her boyfriends. She had survived high-school and then eventually even the University of California tumbled to its foundations as Leora graduated with her high honours in Psychology. She had survived everything, so she knew she could survive this… or more specifically, this man.
Or maybe not. She didn’t know, for although her blindfold confined her to the darkness, it was unable to save her from that wickedly sweet voice currently trying to seduce her thoughts. But this wasn’t a game, this was reality, and the skins on her wrists were raw from attempting to break through the confining knots that stilled her arms.
“It is futile to try and escape.” That hideously beautiful, masculine voice spoke again. He could have been a tenor if he had woken up one day and decided to be someone else. He must have lacked the self-governing merit and had gone for the cheaper option.
Leora was unwilling to listen. She was going to escape from this god-forsaken eternal night even though she was firmly strapped on a chair and in the middle of nowhere. Her remaining senses informed her that the room was damp - underground, while the occasional dripping of water from a forgotten pipeline confirmed her suspicions.
“All we need you to do is cooperate.”
He needed to stop using that voice. And he needed to stop using those clichéd lines which reminded her of Agent Smith from those Matrix movies. And oh, recently V for Vendetta too. What was the actor’s name? Hugo Weaving - that’s right. Not really a beautiful man - but beautiful voice. God, this sounded familiar.
If Leora knew where the asshole was standing she would have fired a spit-ball at him. Of course he would have slammed something to break her beautiful face in return, or at least disfigure one of her feminine features - but Leora was much more intelligent than that. Did he really believe that he and his no better than a band of hooligans with the fancy collective term as ‘terrorists’ could bring the almighty United States of America to their knees? Extremists! She wanted to yell at them. Idealists! Fools! You-over-there-who-needs-a-new-hobby! She finally settled on “Losers!”
The young woman gritted her teeth, knowing it was the answer the terrorist despised the most. But God! The back of her left leg hurt like hell! It was the only part of the freezing room that actually felt alive - burning in fact. Whatever it was, it was painful and … and the room was silent now. All she could hear was the rasping of her own breath - a sound she refused to believe was being made by her.
She felt strangely numb but alert thanks to her system pumping out cortisol in her bloodstream - the extra hormones screaming at her to do something… anything. Was it fear that was keeping her back? She wasn’t too sure. If she had been more afraid than stubborn she would have long opened her mouth and succumbed to him long ago. Yes, she will survive this ordeal although how she was going to do so was a question that was left wanting.
“I’m waiting,”
Leora unconsciously twitched, he had sounded grumpy but it was no different from before. She just had to think! Thinking was something that she was good at! At least it had been something she had thought she was good at. Hindsight had eluded her, it seemed. Whatever. She had to get the irritating blindfold off to get a good glance at her surroundings, then calculate her unlikely chances of escape and then believe the dream of the unthinkable. She forgot her friend’s warnings that she was a romantic.
She was also fortunate. Even nature called for that body with the lovely voice which he had to inevitably answer, and she highly doubted there was any other organism in the wonderfully charming room aside from termites and rats. She knew it was just perfect for an IKEA catalogue.
“That’s it.” Had he ran out of patience? “I’m getting out of this damn cell for some air, but when I come back you better start cooperating or I’m going to have to do to you what some of my friends have done to the others of your pathetic kind.”
It was a threat. It also meant he needed to pay a trip to the bathroom. He must have been getting desperate (and busting) and oh, how his voice just became rougher when he spoke in that tone! Not that she liked it. Never.
Leora focused on the sound of footsteps, the heavy soles of his boots and then the loud, creaking and then careless slamming of the door. It had sounded wooden. Wood was breakable. Ignitable. She didn’t smoke. Nor did she plan on suicide. Damn.
Had there been other survivors? There just had to be. Were they all being interrogated as marvellously as she was? Probably. But she had been the (un)fortunate one who had the terrorist with the silky voice. Worse still, she knew the face of her captor. In fact, she knew it very well and even had found it once a visage to admire. That had only been how long ago? 24 hours?
It had felt more like weeks. How long had she been here?
What the hell had happened in the past 24 hours?
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part Two: A Voice to Make Love To
What Leora remembered 24 hours ago was the sound of laughter. Or more specifically she remembered her friend Phoebe’s charming, unintelligible laughter when the girl had hurried to the airport to see Leora off. It was a loud, uncontrollable sound which usually detonated at the stimulus of absolutely nothing. Charming, Leora had to remind herself.
“Man, I am so envious,” Phoebe said while she had helped Leora with the luggage. Leora herself was doing a last minute check-up on her plane ticket and glad she had been allocated to a window seat.
“Just imagine,” Phoebe continued with amazement, “to work for the parliament of England!”
“Awesome isn’t it?” Leora had to allow herself to beam. “Although I don’t see why they would require the services of a psychologist - unless there has been an outbreak of mental illnesses among London’s politicians.”
“That’s always a possibility.” Phoebe pointed out, causing Leora to catch sight of her friend’s diamond ring.
“I won’t be missing anything while I’m away, right?” Leora asked.
“What? What do you mean?”
Leora pointed to the ring. “The wedding?”
“Of course not. I couldn’t get married to Andrew without you here.”
Like Leora was going to believe that. But it would have been nice to attend a wedding, preferably as the bride herself - but she knew that was never going to happen anytime in the near future. Her luck with men had always been like a game of russian roulette, and she had always been the one losing her share in the chips.
“Here,” Phoebe gave Leora the handle of her main luggage bag. “Your flight’s boarding now. I will see you in a few months, hopefully, because you will remember to come back and visit. Maybe we can have a double-wedding during that time too.”
Leora decided to remain silent about the subject. They gave each other a friendly hug before saying their goodbyes before Leora had to hurry to gate 21.
~~~
The terminals were buzzing with action even early in the morning as Leora made her way confidently past the duty-free stores, Chanel, Lancôme, and Estee Lauder knowing her hard earned cash was spent better on other amusements - like the contents inside her luggage. Her precious psychology books had to make the journey with her, and they were the reason why her luggage might have been so heavy. And oh, some of her DVD’s too. Leora raised a fine eyebrow. Okay, let’s be honest…maybe a lot of her DVD’s were making the trip with her. Hey, every natural Stargate fan would take at least 10 box sets with them.
Leora barely noticed the fine amount of looks that were cast her way as she walked - she didn’t see the admiration from the men and certainly was blind to the jealous glares from the women. It was not her fault that she had been blessed with a natural beauty and a voluptuous figure that was almost offensive to be constrained in casual bright green top and simple, light denim jeans. Nor could she alter her genes which had given her those eyes. Hidden behind her clear glasses were eyes which captured a passion that paralleled her wit and at times temper. It was where a constant war was raged between the blue and green in her iridescent irises with no declared victor.
Leora made her way through gate 21 and was pleased to discover they had only just begun boarding. Eyeing the length of the line, she frowned but made her way politely to the end, pausing only momentarily to stop and check her passport and visas. But that was all it had to take for another body to collide with her.
It could have rivalled a passing hurricane as Leora’s body was thrown off balance. She let out a cry of dismay as she watched her luggage bag that contained all those precious contents escape from her arms and was thrown against the carpet floor ahead of her. There was barely enough seconds for Leora to turn around and glare before she was beaten by a shrill voice that assaulted her eardrums.
“You there!” The taller, blonder, predominately skimpier and (judging from the amount of her excessive luggage) obviously richer young woman stared down at her. “You just stole my place in the line!” Her tone was completely accusatory, and Leora - noting the large spectacle they had created due to the pleasing audacity of the woman’s voice, was forced to suppress back her pride and serve an apology, although clearly there had been no fault upon her part.
Leora allowed the woman to shuffle ahead of her as she hurried to retrieve her luggage. She didn’t have to for a man ahead in the line had stepped out of his way to retrieve it for her. Or so it seemed.
The tall man had bent down to pick up her luggage, but not without somehow pausing in movement with only his graceful back facing her. There was a brief moment of panic in Leora’s chest as she thought the man was about to do the impossible and attempt robbery in front of such a large audience, but he immediately spun around, straightening up with her luggage in his hands and with a smile that was so perfect it was as if angels had carved it.
“I believe this is yours,” the male voice was silky smooth - and it flowed like water. He walked slowly towards her and handed back the luggage, their fingers briefly brushing against the others. Her skin just might have tingled… just a bit. He smiled again and Leora realised her lips too had curved as well. She stuttered her thanks, unable to sort out if she was either flustered or embarrassed. It was not like her at all.
The tall man effortlessly stepped back in line but gave her that extra wink. Leora realised she would be lying if she did not find the man attractive. Clean-shaven, blond, tall and deliciously dark-eyed, he wore a long, sepia trench-coat that seemed oddly out of place on a nice spring’s day. But those variables could be pushed aside as she remembered his voice. There could be no words to describe his voice. Oh! Keeping the with the very comprehensible analogy of angels - Leora knew his voice could have made even the angels weep.
“Excuse me,” growled a deep voice from behind her and Leora snapped out of her temporary (not daydreaming) reverie. She glanced back over her shoulder to see another handsome man - only this one completely towered over her with an intimidating stance, his brows set in a frown and looking nowhere as nearly as friendly. “The purpose of this line is to keep it moving, yes?”
Leora forced herself to turn again, flushing for only a second when she discovered the sudden large space that separated her and the wealthy woman she had clashed with earlier. “Oh.”
She found herself apologizing again, this time a genuine one to the passengers behind her and in particular the man behind her before she shifted herself and her luggage to close the space. She was not acting like herself at all.
God it was going to be a long flight to London.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part Three: The Hunter
How she hated the crowded corridors of airliners - particularly when the flight had been delayed and passengers were busily pushing their way in, searching (wrongly) for their correct seats. The hum of the plane’s engine buzzed in her ears as she made her way slowly towards seat 41F. Leora found it secretly evil that the airline’s doors would always open into the first-class cabins, allowing one to envy their generous space and those much more luxurious seats until you had to stumble towards the tail of the airline where economy waited you. It was shameful self-advertising, and the very nice woman in front of Leora popped herself down in such a seat, causing the rest of the line to halt, turn green and allowed the other sex of the species to notice her nice shapely legs when she stretched herself out like a pampered-cat.