I. First Meeting
Angel the Series belongs to Whedon. Mr. & Mrs. Smith belongs to the writers, directors, producers, et al of this blockbuster flick. Other characters not belonging to either fandom? Those are mine -- and also the plot bunny idea for the premise of this fic. Summary:
He was hired to Kill the Man. She was hired to Steal from the Man. PhoenixRae's Notes:
This is set pre-Mr. & Mrs. Smith and some time before Gwen's first appearance on Angel. Timeline's a bit screwed here, but I'm assuming Gwen's age is right about near John Smith's age or younger -- either way if they were hitched before John and Jane met, it was safe to assume that Gwen's already over the age of 21. -LoL-
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = I. First Meeting
JOHN SMITH WASN'T THE TYPE who rushes when pulling a job. In fact he liked to take his time, act nonchalant and get along with his targets before going for the kill. That was his style.
Now part of the perks of having such wonderful job (who wouldn't love getting paid the big bucks by skillfully eliminating somebody higher up on the food chain who yanked somebody else's chain, huh?) was him being able to travel all over the world and see it with his own two eyes. Granted he was rarely a tourist in any of the countries he has visited since he became what he was now, still, there were those rare occasions when he needed to pose as one and actually got a nice tour of the place he was currently staying at.
Right now he was booked in one of Paris, France's top hotels enjoying the awesome view from the terrace of his Louis XV suite at the Hôtel de Crillon. Normally a $10,000-plus US dollars a night suite rental would put a dent on anyone's bank book (especially for one whose cover when not going on jobs was a thriving automotives repair shop owner), John didn't seem to mind, after all the pay he will receive for this hit will be enough to pay for a five-days, four-nights stay at the hotel and still leave him with a decent amount of loose change
to use up for later.
For now he was just enjoying the view from the terrace and watch the afternoon traffic go by. He could see the Eiffel Tower from his room as well and he'd love to check it out at night, but unfortunately he will be busy finishing up this job he was sent to Paris to do and by the time he heads back to his hotel room...well, he'd be lucky if he'd be able to sit out here, kick up his feet and enjoy the view. * * * * *
GWEN RAIDEN HATED PUSHY CLIENTS. But she needed a source of income so she can't really be too picky, especially when the said pushy client was willing to pay her a million bucks to steal a rare, very ancient artifact that would grant its bearer ultimate power.
A spine-tingling shiver passed up and down her back at the thought of seeing Garrison Montmercy taking possession of such artifact. The man was a real...pain in the ass would be putting what the man was mildly. She wanted to remove her trademark armpit high black gloves and electrocute the sorry bastard for his cockiness during the odd couple of times they met face to face to discuss the whereabouts of the said artifact, but she had a job to do and she wouldn't get the money he promised to pay her if she let him writher as thousands upon thousands of electric volts run through his body.
She needed her first few millions in order to help support herself. Gwen knew she was different ever since she was a child. She was a lightning magnet and her parents has long since washed their hands off her. Since then she knew she needed to fend for herself in order to survive, and if her curse would be her meal ticket to living a life of luxury, then so be it.
Her first high-stake robbery came as a lark. She met a man at a bar who was all gung-ho about getting back what was stolen from him at a card game. He was a son of a rich Hollywood magnate and was willing to spend lots of money to retrieve said family heirloom he careless lost. On a whim she boasted to him that she could steal it back for him, but for a price. The young numbskull was way into his second glass of whiskey by then and asked what her price was.
She told him and without blinking an eye he told her he'd pay her up the amount and add a few more if she could retrieve the heirloom before the week was over. Gwen thought the guy was crazy, but she needed the money so she agreed. Within forty-eight hours she got the heirloom back and she earned her first million.
That was a little over a year and a half ago. Now she was slightly a pro at this stealing for the rich from the rich business.
She was in Paris, France at the moment. All expense paid by Mr. Montmercy himself, and she even got a sweet deal to stay at some ritzy hotel. She didn't mind that she was booked in one of the rooms this 18th century hotel boasts; the service was great and the bed was excellent. It rejuvenated her after a tiring ten and a half hour non-stop flight from LAX to Charles de Gaulle, but she didn't complain too much since she traveled first class as opposed to economy (she made damn sure Montmercy doesn't skimp on her travel expenses and let her sit with some rowdy-dandy tourist).
Her plane left LAX at three-thirty-five in the afternoon and arrived a day later in Paris (the plane touched down at eleven-oh-five in the morning). She was shuttled from the airport to the hotel, checked in and was left to herself. It was all accomplished within two hours and by two o'clock she was changed to something comfortable (meaning she was down to her skivvies) and slid under the cool sheets and fell asleep. She only slept for four hours though and made sure she was up and ready by six o'clock.
Her target was due to make its appearance with the artifact at the hotel to meet with potential Black Market buyers at the hotel's restaurant for dinner. She was informed of the reservation time and table. Her disguise was already in place and now she was dressed as one of the restaurant servers.
Gwen needed to see the artifact first before she grabbed it. She already concocted a plan on how she'd steal it from its bearer's possession, but when she arrived at their table, she was surprised at how heavily guarded the artifact's bearer was. There were three identical briefcases that could be housing the artifact. Now a novice would quickly assume that the bearer's briefcase was where the artifact would be, but Gwen knew better.
The artifact's bearer knew he held such a priceless gem and a lot of people wanted to get their hands on it. He needed something to throw off his would-be robbers by having three identical briefcases with him. Heck, even the person he was meeting has the same damn suitcase!
She was about to offer them dessert when the bearer finally grabbed the briefcase housing the artifact, opened it and showed it to his potential buyer.
Gwen thought quickly and moved even quicker. She needed to grab the briefcase before it exchanged hands.
She dropped the tray she was carrying back to the kitchen on to a nearby cart, causing the other server to complain at her carelessness, but Gwen didn't care. She wasn't one of the servers anyway; she just needed a disguise to get close to the artifact and its bearer.
Everything happened in a blink of an eye. One moment Gwen was concentrated on making a grab-and-go of the briefcase, then the next the bearer and his goons -- along with the buyer and his set of goons -- were gunned down right where they were. Pandemonium ensued.
"Fuck," Gwen cursed and sprinted towards the table amidst the sea of frenzied patrons and workers. She knew which briefcase the artifact was kept and grabbed it.
She used the frenzied crowd as cover and moved along the crush of people. At the restaurant's entrance she stopped and turned towards the direction of the public washrooms where she hid her change of clothing. She removed the artifact from the briefcase, wrapped it in a soft, velvet cloth she brought along with her, and stuffed it inside her carryon black bag. She stepped out of the washroom and headed straight for the exit along with everyone else, but as soon as she turned something big and hard blocked her path, sending her reeling backwards and would've landed on her butt if it hadn't been for the masculine arm that wrapped around her waist, pulling her close against her assailant's hard body.
"Whoa, steady now," said the man with an American accent.
Gwen snapped her head back, but thanks to her height, she didn't need to pull her head all the way back to be able to gaze into a pair of the most tantalizing bluish-green eyes belonging to the man sporting a sexy five o'clock shadow.
"What--" Gwen was about to chastise him for running into her, but he cut her off with a curt, "Let's get outta here. The crowd's going crazy! Some people got shot inside," and he dragged her outside the hotel along with the other patrons.
Once outside Gwen didn't wait for the cops to pull up (she could hear the wang of their sirens headed for the hotel) and moved away from the man who accompanied her. She thought she heard him protest when she ditched him, but she has one important artifact that must be delivered, and her client arranged a private plane for her to board once the job was done and the plane will charter her out of France and in to England where Montmercy resides. * * * * *
JOHN WAS SLOWLY LOSING HIS PATIENCE when the server of his target's table often blocked his target. He found a nice, comfortable place for himself to hide that allowed him enough space to take out the target. He has had a couple of chances to take the man out, but the damn server kept on appearing and
blocking him just as he was about to pull the trigger.
Finally he saw his chance when the diligent server left with the dirty main course dishes. He aimed for the man's forehead and shot him right between the eyes. Once his target was taken care of, he took down the rest of his party in rapid succession; all the men at the table were down before the crowd in the dining room went berserk
John climbed down from his hiding place and headed straight for the public washrooms. He tucked away his weapons, changed into jeans and t-shirt fit for an American tourist in Paris and stepped outside to join the others evacuating the hotel. What he didn't count on was running into something soft and delicate.
John didn't see her coming out of the women's washroom until the very last minute, and by then it was too late for him to stop. They collided and he sent her staggering backwards, but he quickly wrapped his arm around her waist, hauled her close to him and felt the soft crush of her body against his side. And she smelled good too.
"Whoa, steady now," he whispered into her ear. John couldn't help from liking the perfect fit this complete female
stranger has when he pulled her to his side. And her height...he wouldn't be breaking his back if he wanted to kiss her, which he wouldn't do right now. Maybe later, once they were out of the hotel and amongst the throng of people outside he'd steal a kiss.
She pushed away from him, her cat-like eyes glaring at him. She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off by telling her they needed to move. He didn't bother waiting for her to get ready. He hauled both their asses out of there. Once outside he intended to have a proper introduction with her, but before he could utter a single word she wrestled free off his grip and ran off.
" John called after her. Heck, he even ran after her, but the mob outside slowed him down until all he could see was a flash of her raven head that disappeared amidst the Paris traffic.