Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He crouched over the man that lay dying on the platform, desperate for answers. Commuters waiting for their trains watched, shocked, as he shook the man. He yelled, “Who am I?” but the man was dead. The answer was gone, forever out of reach. He looked around. The commuters were whispering, staring at him. He ran.

A car horn blared, a long, angry blast that jolted Martin out of his thoughts. His eyes widened — then he was furiously cranking the steering wheel. The car swerved, accompanied by screeching tires and squealing brakes.

He caught a glimpse of the other driver’s face through the window, scared and angry, as he narrowly avoided sideswiping the other car. He exhaled sharply.

He steered back into his own lane, his heart still racing from the adrenaline rush of the near miss, and looked for a place to pull over. The evening streets of Los Angeles were too crowded for the speed he needed. Which of his legends had craved the exhilaration of speed? He couldn’t remember. Maybe it was something that was unique to him, to Martin Odum. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He was afraid that he really was losing himself in the many undercover identities he had lived. He squinted when the setting sun reflected off the mirror of the car ahead of him.

A bright flash on the hill caught his eye. Sniper! He raced towards Dobbs. Shoved him off the porch, out of the way. Too late. The hot Texas sun beat down on his head as he reeled, staring in disbelief at Dobbs’ body lying in the grass. He felt sick, bile rising in his throat. Another chance to learn the truth about his past was gone.

He pushed the memory away and found a place to park. As he got out of the car, he admitted to himself that walking to clear his head was better than driving right now. He was too distracted.

He considered the possible danger of being out in public. It was a concern after what he had learned in Texas, but this probably wasn’t all that dangerous. The sniper that had killed his prisoner in Texas was still out there, but no one had come against him directly since then. They — Verax or some other unknown — seemed to be intent only on keeping anyone from finding out what had happened in Basra ten years ago. He had been undercover the whole day as Sebastian Egan, and there had been no signs of anyone coming after him.

As just another anonymous pedestrian, he was unremarkable in his worn blue jeans and beat-up leather jacket. He had desperately needed to get out and think. Six months ago, Sonya had kicked him out of their house, making it clear that she intended to divorce him. Just hours ago, she had come to his apartment, saying that she needed him. That their son needed them to be a family again.

Sonya said she wanted to work things out. Things had quickly worked out to include his bed. But as he lay there beside her, he had thought again of her insistence that he had been in a car crash and coma in February of 2004. He was sure now that he had been in Iraq at that time. And if Sonya was lying to him, then so was Gates. But why? What reason did they have to lie to him?

The uncomfortable realization that the two people he most trusted, his wife and his boss — his friend, someone he had known for ten years — had lied to him, and were still lying to him, had left Martin feeling trapped in the apartment. He had needed to escape for a while, to clear his head, and the best way to do that was to drive.

Sonya was still asleep in his bed when he left.

Now he was just another face in the gathering gloom, walking along the still busy sidewalk, as he tried to think. He felt off-balance. Sonya had left him because she thought he was a danger to their son. Now, she said she wanted to get back together, that she missed him. What had changed? She knew that he still had trouble leaving the legends behind, even though he wouldn’t admit it. She had looked at him, with fear and pity, when he had accidently signed her support check with his undercover identity’s name.

“Alec?!”

A man was stopped, calling to someone, interrupting the flow of pedestrians along the sidewalk.

“Who am I?!” The thought intruded suddenly; Martin gave his head a shake, trying to dismiss it. Sonya’s sudden change of mind didn’t make sense to him. It was getting harder to let go of his legends and come back to himself after being undercover. It was too easy for him to become another person for the mission; the other personas would spill over at odd times afterwards.

He was getting better at hiding how unnerved he was when someone pointed out he’d done something in legend when he was supposed to be Martin. He should be grateful that Sonya was giving him the chance to get back together with her. Even with the lies about the car crash, he still loved her and their son. He needed to —

“Alec!”

The odd man that he had noticed earlier reached out suddenly, grabbing his arm, and pulled him to an abrupt stop. Martin stared in surprise, caught by the other man’s ice blue eyes, nearly on a level with his own. He had ignored the man earlier. Whoever the man was calling to, whoever this Alec was, had nothing to do with him. Why was the man stopping him?

Alec had never been one of his legends. But... there was something about that name, and the man who had called it, that made Martin uneasy.

The man was dressed casually, khaki pants and a polo shirt, topped by a black leather jacket. Martin resisted the sudden urge to stroke the soft-looking leather.

Martin’s training shrieked at him to break the man’s grip and get away. If anyone else had grabbed him, he would have fought back — decisively. He didn’t know why he felt so reluctant to fight his way free of this man’s hold.

“My God, Alec,” the man breathed, “you’re alive!” The man’s gaze swept over him, pausing here and there, as if he was checking Martin for injuries. “What happened? Where have you been?" His hand tightened on Martin’s arm.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said with a puzzled smile as he tried to ease his arm out of the other man’s grasp. “You’ve confused me with someone else.”

The man blinked at him, looking confused, but loosened his grip. He let go of Martin’s arm, his hand dropping to his side, as he stepped back.

Martin shivered, feeling oddly chilled at the new distance between them. He found himself automatically taking a step closer; a strange instinct was yelling at him to not let the other man get too far away. The deep certainty that this man was important filled him with a growing sense of panic. He didn’t know this man. Why did he think that he should?

Their encounter was getting attention from passersby who eyed the pair curiously. The other man must have noticed, too. After glancing around, he crowded Martin back into a darkened doorway, just off the sidewalk.

Martin’s back hit the door with a soft thump, jarring him out of his bemused silence. “Who are you? Are you from Verax?”

The man frowned, as if he hadn’t expected that. Then his face twisted with anger and suspicion as he leaned in, demanding, “What the hell is going on, Alec? Why have you been playing dead for four years?”

Martin blinked. He had no idea what to say. None of this made any sense. “What? Playing dead? Why are you calling me Alec?”

The other man stared at him through narrowing eyes. “Drop the innocent act, Alec. Are you undercover?”  He stiffened. “No, you’re not undercover, are you? If you were you’d have given me a warn off.”

A slight movement of the other man’s shoulder warned Martin; the two men drew their guns at the same moment. Their bodies hid the weapons from public view as the barrels dug into each other’s stomachs. Neither man moved, regarding each other silently.

Then the man broke the standoff. “Who are you working for?”

Martin couldn’t shake the bone deep certainty that the man wouldn’t really harm him, but how could he know that? There was no way he could. The man was a threat, he had to be, he was dangerous. Martin needed to shoot him and get away. Didn’t he? Why was the man suddenly looking alarmed? What was that noise? Who was talking?

“...shoot, shoot damn you, why don’t you shoot? He’s an enemy, shoot him…” Martin realized to his horror that he was the one muttering and abruptly stopped, appalled.

The man’s alarm changed to concern as he asked cautiously, “Are you all right?”

“I—” Martin looked down at the guns between them and back up at the other man. The odd trust him feeling prompted him to admit, “I don’t know.”

The other man looked torn, and then he sighed. “Alec, I need you to tell me what’s going on. You were declared dead. It’s been years.” He stopped, and again swept Alec with his gaze. “You look awful, even for being dead. Don’t tell me you’re fine, because you’re not.”

They stared at each other for another moment. Then, in silent agreement, each man holstered his gun.

The man watched Martin, waiting, and leaned closer as if to keep him in place. Having the other man so close to him should make him uncomfortable, he knew, but somehow it didn’t. It was almost… comforting.

Even as he realized that, questions were racing through his mind. He had been declared dead? By whom? This man seemed so familiar, and he acted like he was truly concerned. Why? Martin finally settled on what seemed the most important question, “Do I know you?”

The man straightened, again peering intently at Martin. “You don’t —” he stopped and inhaled sharply before continuing, “You don’t recognize me?”

Martin hesitated. He’d already started to trust the other man, so he decided to take a chance. This man seemed to know him, was familiar in a way that he couldn’t remember feeling before. Maybe the man had the answers that he needed. “No, I don’t. You know me? You’ve been calling me Alec, but that’s not my name. I’m Martin Odum.”

“Martin,” the man said with deliberate emphasis, “are you sure?” Arctic blue eyes looked at him steadily, demanding an answer.

Martin swallowed and looked away, not quite able to bear that penetrating gaze. Why was that a difficult question? Of course he was sure. But there were those men who had told him that he wasn’t Martin Odum. And all those nightmares of explosions, with rockets and bullets flying somewhere he couldn’t remember being, jolting him awake, gun in hand, ready to attack ghosts that weren’t there.

He tried to sort out his thoughts, distantly aware of the pedestrians who looked at the pair half hidden in the shadows of the doorway and hurried on, not wanting to get involved in a confrontation.

He took a deep breath and turned back. His eyes widened as he heard his own voice growling, “Damn it, James, I am not Alec Trevelyan. My name is Martin…” He stopped, terrified. Unable to breathe. What was he saying? Why couldn’t he remember? “...something… Odum!” Martin stared at the other man, eyes wide and chest heaving with sudden panic. He wanted to run, to get away, but he couldn’t force himself to move.

The man — James? — stared at Martin in surprise before schooling his expression to a blank mask. He went still, watching and waiting, for Martin to say something to fill the silence.

He felt the warmth of James’ hand on his arm again; this time it seemed more like support rather than an attempt to keep him in place. He found himself leaning into the touch, his panic easing into an odd calmness.

Did this man know him? How? The familiarity and trust  — the comfort — that he felt nagged at him when he looked at the other man. Could he believe James? “Why did I say that? Is your name really James? How do I know you?” He asked, biting back his other questions. Do you know if I was in Basra in 2004? Who am I?

“Yes.” James eyed him cautiously, waiting for a response.

My name is Bond. James Bond. The words bubbled up from the depths of his mind. It was this man, but so much younger. Wearing some sort of a uniform, with a smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes. Martin caught his breath at the memory. A feeling of deep affection — love — filled him. “James Bond. But, you were young. You were wearing a uniform?”

James’ eyes lit up as he smiled at Martin. “Young and in uniform? That must have been when we met, in the SBS.” He paused, his voice gentle as he added, “You remembered your name. Alec Trevelyan.”

“Alec.” Martin shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, it doesn't seem to be mine. How did I know that name? I’m not even sure how I knew yours.”

“We’ve known each other for many years, Alec. We’ve done everything, gone everywhere together.” James stopped. His eyes closed, as if against a bad memory. His hand tightened, squeezing briefly, before he began rubbing his thumb soothingly on Martin’s arm. “Then you died.”

“When?” Martin demanded. “When was it, what happened?”

“It was in 2010; you had a mission and I couldn’t follow. I’d been injured on an assignment, and I was still in medical when you were sent out.” James looked at Martin apologetically, “I couldn't watch your back. And then our boss told me that you were dead, that there was barely enough left of you to identify, let alone bury.” James’ voice was choked with emotion. He swallowed before continuing, “But now you’re alive. How?”

Martin felt helpless in the face of James’ pain, and completely confused. Mission? With Special Boat Service?  That must be it. But — “2010? That can’t be right. I only found out recently that I might have been in Iraq in 2004. I was badly injured; I can’t remember anything before that. My wife —”

“Wife?" James interrupted, looking shocked.

Martin nodded warily; he didn’t know why James would look so surprised. And upset? Irrationally, he just wanted to put his arms around the other man and hold him. “My wife, Sonya. We have a son, too. Aiden. He’s nine.” He smiled at the thought of his son before continuing, “They said that I was in a car accident in 2004. I was in a coma for weeks, and much longer in recovery and therapy afterwards. I think —” He licked his dry lips before continuing, “I know Sonya’s been lying to me. And my boss, too. Both of them, but I don’t know why.”

“Christ, Alec.” James wiped his free hand over his face and looked back at Martin. “You were badly injured in Basra in 2004, but you came home. You survived. You couldn’t tell me the details of your mission because it was classified.” He hesitated, as if weighing how Martin would take his next words. “You had a head injury too. I don’t think you remembered what happened that clearly. It was in 2010 that you went on a mission and didn’t come home.”

“How can that be right? I remember things back to 2004, but not before that. If I knew you until 2010, how could I remember my life with Sonya and Aiden?”

“I don’t know. All I can tell you is that you were alive and with me until your mission in 2010.”

James’ gaze went far away, turning slightly to his left, “No, you’re right.” he said absently, before focusing suddenly back on Martin. “We shouldn’t do this here.”

Martin realized that James must be talking to someone else. Suspicion flared as disappointment punched him in the gut. “Who is that? Who are you talking to? Who is listening?" he attempted to shove James out of his way.

James looked startled; he let go of Martin’s arm and brought both hands up in a calming gesture. He took a step back, moving to stay in front of Martin. “Alec, no. It’s all right, it’s only Q. He’s —” he hesitated, “he’s mine.”

There was an odd tone in James’ voice that caught Martin’s attention. He stopped trying to get around James. “Yours? Your what?”

James shrugged. “Boyfriend sounds too teenage girl, and lover sounds too romance novel.”

Martin wasn’t expecting the jealousy that surged through him. “Why?"

“You know why, Alec. You were dead. And now you have a wife. And a son.”

Martin shook his head. The words were sullen, an accusation, and he didn’t want to discuss Sonya and Aiden. If James was right, Aiden couldn’t possibly be his son, and Martin wasn’t prepared for the deep feeling of betrayal at that thought. It was stronger than when he realized that Sonya lied to him about the car crash. Aiden was his son. It didn’t matter if the boy shared his genes.

He deflected with a question. “How are you talking to anyone? I can’t see your earpiece.”

James accepted the change of subject, smiling with a quiet pride. “It’s one of Q’s prototypes. Virtually unnoticeable.”

“Q?” Martin asked, puzzled; James had said that before. A name? It seemed almost familiar to him, in a fond sort of way. “I… MI6? There’s a connection, I think; I remember — no.” He stopped with a frustrated huff. It wasn’t coming to him, only a vague memory that hovered just out of reach.

James’ hand was back on his arm again, squeezing. Comforting. “It’s fine. You’re remembering.” James’ eyes softened. “Q is MI6’s Quartermaster. He’s new, I think you’d like him.”

“MI6? You’re joking.” Martin shook his head in disbelief. “I’m FBI now.” He had no idea why he was revealing this, but something in him still trusted James despite the suspicion he felt only a little while ago.

“Of course you are.” James looked at him with a fond smile. “You’d be wasted if you weren’t some sort of agent. You were one of our best.”

Some of Martin’s vague memories were becoming clearer as James spoke. “Q. I… I think I remember an older man?”

James nodded. “Major Boothroyd. He was our Quartermaster when you were an agent.”

“He made gadgets, right? An exploding pen?”

“He did.” James smirked, as if at a private joke. “I’m told Q-branch doesn’t go in for exploding pens these days.” Then James crowded closer again, his hand sliding up to Martin’s shoulder. Looking into Martin’s eyes. “Do you trust me, Alec? I want to bring you home.”

Martin made what he hoped was the right decision. “I don’t know who to trust anymore, James. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. I’m missing huge chunks of my life. People who I should trust most have been lying to me.”

“Oh, Alec.” Now James was looking at him with so much sympathy and he couldn’t stand it.

“I’m fine.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “As all right as I can be right now. Sonya is lying to me. So is Gates, my boss. I’ve remembered more about my life before 2004 — 2010 — with you in the last few minutes than I’ve done with her over the last ten years. But it’s not ten years is it? If you’re right then it’s four. Four years.”

James gave him a sad, lopsided smile. “That’s probably because they don’t want you to remember.”

“You have a point,” he said drily. “How can it have been only been four years? I remember things with Sonya and Aiden, working in DCO with Gates. How can my whole life for the last ten years be a lie?”

“They must have manipulated your memories somehow. I’ve heard rumours that there was some sort of process. Why are you starting to remember now? Is it just talking with me?”

“No. I’ve been having problems for a while. My real life is getting tangled with my legends. Well, Martin’s real life.” Martin paused, considering. “I’ve had some flashbacks recently, but you’re helping me remember more.”

“Then come home with me.” James urged him again, giving his shoulder another comforting squeeze.

“I can’t. I need to find out what happened to me. I need to remember being Alec, not Martin. I need to find out the reasons behind all this. And I need to find out what happened in Basra in 2004, and what it has to do with Verax, and why they seem to be killing anyone who looks into what happened there.”

“The only thing you could tell me about Basra was that it was classified.” James sighed, his shoulders slumping. He let his hand drop off Martin’s shoulder and stepped back. “All right. Will you at least keep in touch with me? Q and I can help find answers on our end.”

Martin smiled. “I will. Thank you, James.”

“Just be careful, won’t you?  I don’t want to lose you again.”

Chapter Text

James had never seen Alec looking so tired and worn. He stopped walking and clenched his fists, fighting the need to go back. Turning and walking away from Alec was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

Every instinct he had was screaming at him to grab Alec and run, to get to a safe place. Instead, he was just walking away. He felt guilty leaving Alec behind, and the guilt was compounded. Alec had been alive and he hadn’t known.

“James?” It was Q’s voice, tentative, as if he was unsure whether he should say anything.

James closed his eyes for a moment. More guilt. Q shouldn’t be worried about talking to him. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m always all right, Q.”

“Bullshit.”

He quirked a small smile at Q’s blunt reply. “The truth, then.” He paused, taking a deep breath.

“No, Q, I am not all right. I’m leaving Alec,” my lover! howled a voice deep inside him, “out in the cold instead of bringing him home.”

There was silence for a moment. Then, “I’ll begin the investigation on our end. We’ll find out what’s going on and we will bring him home. I promise.”

James’ smile softened. “Thank you, Q.”

~~~~~

Q exhaled as James signed off. He wasn’t jealous of Alec Trevelyan. At least, he didn’t think he was. When James had said to Alec, ‘boyfriend sounds too teenage girl, and lover sounds too romance novel,’ the words had been familiar. James had said that before, about them. It had almost seemed as if James had expected Alec to recognize the words. Had James or Alec said that about their own relationship?

James had told him a little about Alec’s place in his past, but it was the past. Or at least it had been. Now that Alec — or should he say Martin? — had resurfaced, he wasn’t sure what that might mean. Would James leave him for Alec? Would Alec want James back?  Alec’s cover identity was married. Was it a legal marriage? A quick record check showed that Martin Odum married Sonya over ten years ago, but that was obviously faked. Alec had been in MI6 until 2010.  And what about the boy? Aiden had been born in 2005, and couldn’t be Alec’s son.

Q shook his head to banish those thoughts. He needed to focus. His current goal was to find out what happened when Alec went on that last mission. After that? He didn’t know what would happen.

~~~~

James stretched out a bit and closed his eyes after takeoff, thankful that he had a seat in first class.  He hadn’t gotten much sleep while finishing this mission. Every time he had closed his eyes, he’d seen Alec standing on the sidewalk in L.A. At least he’d been able to get through the rest of his mission without a major body count.

That didn’t hold true for the rest of his life. He had a parade of the dead behind his eyes that kept growing. His parents. Vesper, even though she had betrayed him. Alec. He had loved Alec almost from the moment they met, though he hadn’t admitted it to himself until after Vesper.

Then there was Ronson. Had he actually loved Ronson? He didn’t think so, which made him feel even more guilty that he had followed orders and left his lover to die. Bleeding out, alone, while he chased after the killer. And for what? A hard drive that he never recovered, and a bullet through his own shoulder. Which brought him inevitably to M. James had loved and hated the old harpy equally.

James blew out a breath. At least Q wasn’t in the parade of his dead. Yet.

He hadn’t managed to get Q killed. And now Alec was alive, not dead. The guilt he’d been feeling on and off since L.A. came flooding back. James hadn’t gone looking for Alec. He’d believed M and the reports. He should have known better.

His stomach clenched at the memory of M telling him about Alec’s death, as he recovered from a fucked up mission of his own.

~*~

M’s words slammed into him like blows. He couldn’t breathe. Black crept in around the edges of  his vision.

He struggled to maintain his composure. When he dared to look over at her after she finished speaking, M had been looking at him with something close to pity on her face.

“He’s not dead.” James forced the words from a throat closed tight with grief. “He’s not. He can’t be.”

M’s face grew stern, leaving no trace of the earlier pity. “It’s confirmed. The body has Trevelyan’s DNA. Not that there’s much left to identify.”

He shook his head in denial. He couldn’t believe Alec was dead. He wouldn’t.

M sighed as she rose from her chair. “You need to heal. I need you out there, 007, especially since —” she didn’t finish her sentence, just tightened her lips against something she wouldn’t say. Finally, she said, almost gently, “You are my best agent, Bond. England needs you.”

He stared after her as she left the room. England needed him? He already felt a gaping hole beside him where Alec’s presence should be. England would never be enough to staunch that wound.

~*~

A voice close to his ear startled him out of his thoughts.

“Sir, would you like anything to drink?”

It was the flight attendant. She was an attractive brunette, bending over him with an inviting smile. He would gladly have taken her up on that invitation, once upon a time.  Now, though, he was happy with Q, and he just wanted to be left alone.

“No, thank you.” He turned down the drink and whatever else she was offering.  Was he imagining her look of disappointment? He shrugged to himself and closed his eyes once more.

He didn’t need alcohol. After the revelations in L.A., he’d wanted a drink. But that one drink would have turned into several. Then even more. Drinking was a familiar refuge, and it was calling to him now. But he’d never found any answers at the bottom of a bottle before, and that was reason enough to not to start. He’d wait until he got back to his own territory, back to the flat he shared with Q.

He’d thought that he was hallucinating when he had spotted Alec walking toward him in L.A. His disbelief changed to suspicion when Alec claimed not to recognize him. At first he’d thought that Alec was on a mission. The idea that Alec had kept it a secret, not trusting him enough to tell him about it, had knifed painfully through him. But Alec hadn’t given any kind of recognition code or warn away.

He had been so angry and suspicious. If Alec hadn’t been on a mission, that meant he’d betrayed MI6 — betrayed James — and his supposed death was just a chance to defect. James had been lied to for years and the proof was that Alec was right in front of him. He wanted answers, but the man who called himself Martin Odum only had more questions.

His anger had turned to horror when Alec began muttering. They’d been standing there, weapons digging into each other’s guts, and he had realized that Alec might not be quite sane. And not in the way any Double O was not quite sane, finding reckless joy in their dangerous lifestyle. Agents were — needed to be  — supremely self-confident, knowing themselves and their abilities.

Alec was suffering a basic loss of self that was horrifying. He had been so obviously scared when he realized that he hadn’t quite been in control of his actions.

James swallowed as he remembered just how frightened he’d been. Not of Alec, but for him. It hadn’t mattered then whether Alec had lied or betrayed MI6. James had just wanted to protect him.

God. He still found it hard to believe that Alec was alive. James had needed to touch him, to confirm that he was actually there. Making sure that Alec was real. Then he had just continued, unable to keep himself from rubbing Alec’s arm or shoulder. He’d kept his hand in contact with Alec for as long as he had been allowed to touch. The contact had seemed to soothe both of them.

Tears pricked his eyes as he remembered Alec’s shock and confusion.

Alec thought he had been living Martin Odum’s life for 10 years, instead of the four years that he’d been declared dead. Everything he thought he knew about himself as Martin was wrong. And then he told James that Alec’s Martin identity was married, with a son.

His unexpected jealousy had felt like a punch to the gut. He knew that he shouldn’t be jealous. He had Q. But that hadn’t kept him from feeling angry that someone else had been sharing Alec’s life.

He’d been relieved when Alec started remembering. Even those few bits and pieces meant that he hadn’t completely lost Alec. They gave him hope that Alec might remember enough to come back to him.

He knew that Alec had made the right decision to stay in place as Martin, even though he had begged Alec to come home.

Alec needed to remember himself and his life. He needed to find out what had happened to leave him an FBI agent who didn’t know who he truly was, and if it was safe for him to come home.

Even so, James couldn’t help worrying. After just finding Alec again, James didn’t want to lose him.

But what would happen when — if, his traitorous mind supplied — Alec came home? James loved Q, and he still loved Alec. How could he choose between them? What would he do when he had to make that choice?

~~~~~

Meanwhile, back in L.A.:

Martin Odum stalked into the L.A. apartment building with his partner, Tony Rice, by his side. They had a quick discussion whether to take the elevator or the stairs. Taking the elevator won.

Rice followed him into the elevator, waving off a man who might have been a resident. Martin pressed the button for the floor they needed.

He was starting to trust Rice, despite the circumstances of their first meeting. He had tried to use Rice’s FBI position to find out more about McComb’s murder, hoping that if he found out who had killed the homeless man he’d find out more about his own past.

Unfortunately, Rice had suspected him of the murder.  When that had been cleared up, and after the mess in Texas, his boss had told them that Rice was part of their team. Rice had proven to be a good team player — something that Martin himself often found difficult.

They got off the elevator, Rice leading the way, and walked down the hallway.

Martin checked the door numbers for the correct apartment. Hopefully their suspect, Aaron Rawley, was still in his girlfriend’s apartment. If not, there might be a clue that could set them on his trail.

They believed that Rawley had conspired to kill a visiting Saudi prince and that an innocent woman was being questioned by the police for the murder. Martin agreed with Maggie, their technician, that Hani Jabril was being framed.

At the door, he glanced at Rice, who nodded. Good. They were both ready. Martin turned and kicked the door in. He didn’t want to announce they were there and have their suspect try to rabbit on them.

The two entered the dark room, flashlights held to support their gun hands and provide light. They couldn’t be sure that Rawley wasn’t hiding somewhere in the darkened apartment.

The two men split up, each checking opposite sides of the room. Rice checked the kitchen before joining him at the bedroom door. Rice led the way through the open door.

Martin pointed out a pair of boots sitting neatly next to the bed. Odd place for them, he thought. Why not in the closet or near the front door?

He pushed open the door to the walk-in closet. The light was on, shining on their suspect. Hanged. “Rice.” He lowered his arms. “In here.”

Rice entered the closet, spotted Rawley’s body. “Damn.” He holstered his gun and pulled out a pair of latex gloves.

Martin holstered his gun as well. “Awfully convenient,” he said, a sour note entering his voice. He eyed the scene. He didn’t like when things were convenient. That usually meant that some deeper digging was needed to find the truth.

Rice studied the body as he pulled on his gloves. “No defensive wounds, bruising around the neck. All consistent with suicide by hanging.”

There was something off about this, something almost familiar. Martin frowned, concentrating, trying to remember. Ah. “He’s fully dressed, look.” He flicked Rawley’s suit coat. “With bare feet.”

Rice looked at him, puzzled. “Meaning what?”

“Check between his toes.” Martin directed, waving in the direction of Rawley’s feet.

Rice’s glance at Martin spoke volumes about his opinion of Martin’s mental state, but he crouched down to examine Rawley’s toes. He moved the toes, peering between them. “Looks like an injection site.” He looked back at Martin.

“With the right drug you can stop the heart,” Martin explained, feeling as though he was echoing someone else’s words. “No one’s the wiser. Stage the suicide, case closed. Most autopsies will miss it.”

Rice stood up, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “You mind me asking how you know that?”

He frowned. It was a hazy, deep memory. It seemed to come from the time before Martin, when he had been Alec Trevelyan.  He wasn’t sure if it was something he’d done or something he’d discovered. He had a feeling that whatever had happened, James had been there too. In any case, it wasn’t something he wanted to admit to Rice. He shrugged slightly, lifting an eyebrow. “Just do.”

Silence.

Rice stared at him. “You’re what my wife calls a poor communicator.”

He just shrugged again. There was nothing that he could — or wanted — to tell Rice.

Rice reached out and pulled the suicide note from Rawley’s jacket pocket.  Then he stepped back and read the note aloud:

“I only wanted to help Hani Jabril. I didn’t know she would assassinate Prince Abboud. I let my country down and I can’t live with myself knowing what I was responsible for.”

He looked at Martin as he finished. “Typed and unsigned.”

Martin huffed. “As send offs go, not terribly convincing.” He turned and headed to the closet door where he looked back, waiting for Rice.

Rice stepped forward to put the note back in Rawley’s pocket. He looked at the body thoughtfully. “I agree.” He turned and followed Martin out.

Chapter Text

Q unlocked the door and pushed it open, entering their flat. He frowned. The lights were off. Was James home, or had he gone out to work off some steam?

Earlier, James had stopped in at Q Branch after a quick debrief with Mallory, and had been disappointed that he hadn’t managed to find anything about Alec’s last mission.

He had suggested that James go home, get a shower, and relax until he was done with his shift. He wasn’t looking forward to disappointing James again.

He flipped on the lights and turned towards the living room. There was sudden movement from the couch as James sat up, blinking at the light.

One of the cats had been curled up on James’ chest, like a furry black lump. Fort jumped off when James moved, landing on the coffee table with a thump. He sat, all offended dignity, and began grooming his paw.

“Yes, I’m sorry I disturbed you.” Q smiled at the cat.

Fort flicked an ear at him, then settled down on the coffee table. His yellow-green eyes half-closed, apparently ready to resume his interrupted nap.

Q bit back a sigh as he saw what else was there as he put his satchel down next to the coffee table. A half empty bottle of scotch was next to the cat. At least it was joined by an empty water bottle. James was keeping Q’s worries about his self-destructive tendencies in mind.

“What? No apology for disturbing me?” James asked, his smile fond as he watched Q.

“You don’t need an apology, you’re always disturbed,” Q shot back with a grin.

“Am I, now?” James chuckled.

“About the search —” Q paused. He wasn’t sure how to continue.

James’ chuckling cut off as he leaned forward eagerly. “Did you find anything?”

Q shook his head regretfully. “There is no trace in MI6’s computers of the reason Alec ended up an amnesiac FBI agent in America.” He was confident in his programming; if there had been anything for his searches to find, they would have found it.

Fort’s brother, Pax, sauntered into the room. The cat leapt gracefully onto the back of the couch. He reclined there, the feline lord of all he surveyed. With his black-spotted brown coat, he looked like a miniature leopard lounging on a tree branch.

Q huffed a laugh at the cat. He walked over to the couch and stroked the soft fur as he sat down next to James.

Pax immediately put a paw on Q’s head.

James reached up and moved Pax’s paw back to the couch. Then he shifted, his arctic blue eyes searching Q’s. “Nothing?”

“I ran the initial search while I was waiting for you to return from America. There’s nothing in the official files about Alec going undercover with the FBI. The only thing I’ve found so far is—” Q hesitated.

“The mission where he died. Was supposed to have died.” James interrupted.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“What reason could there be? It makes no sense. There has to be something,” James growled as he surged to his feet, beginning to pace the flat in frustration.

His abrupt movement startled the two cats, who raced from the room in furry streaks.

“James,” Q called, trying to get his attention. He knew that James desperately needed something to do. A target to go after, to interrogate or kill.

James stopped and faced Q, hands clenching.

“Could the mission have been a ruse for an operation in America?” Q had tried to come up with possible reasons for Alec to have gone undercover while he was running his search. “Or could he have discovered something during his mission that sent him undercover with the FBI?”

“I don’t know.” James shook his head. “There shouldn’t have been anything about the Arkhangelsk mission that would have caused him to go to America. I read his mission brief after I was released from medical, and it seemed to be a normal mission.”

Q hummed in thought. “I read the report on his last mission. We can go over it. Tell me what you know, and maybe we can figure out what might have happened.”

James was silent for a few minutes, the muscles of his jaw clenching. Just when Q thought he would refuse, James nodded.

He focused his ice blue eyes over Q’s head, staring into the distance. When he began speaking, his voice was rigidly controlled, emotionless. “Alec was sent to Russia to destroy a chemical weapons factory in Arkhangelsk. No one knows what really happened. According to the report, he was killed when the charges he set went off. They either exploded too soon due to defective timers, or he reset the timers himself for some reason and didn’t have time to escape.”

James stopped, and Q thought that was the end of it. Then James said, almost too softly for Q to hear, “He —” James stopped, he cleared his throat before continuing. “M said the remains had to be identified by DNA.”

James’ face had become a blank mask, showing no hint of what he might be feeling.

Q stood and approached slowly. He was reluctant to touch James, knowing how Double O’s reacted to being startled, so he spoke softly. “James?”

James started slightly, and looked at him, face coming alive again with a concerned expression. “Q? Are you all right?”

“Me? Yes I—” Q stopped, interrupting himself. “Never mind. Why did M send Alec on that mission, and not someone else?”

James shook his head. “I don’t know. She could have sent any of the Double O’s that spoke Russian. I wasn’t assigned because I was still recovering after a fucked up routine courier job.”

Q frowned. He remembered reading about the courier mission in the files but hadn’t looked too deeply into it. Had that been a mistake? “What happened?”

James shrugged slightly. “We’d been hanging around too long between missions and got into a bit of trouble.” He smiled wryly at the memory of that trouble. “M decided to send me on a courier run to America. It was just to get me out of the way for a while until tempers cooled.” He smirked a bit. “She had Alec teaching some of the baby agents survival techniques.”

Q blinked. From what he knew of Double O’s, letting one play with the new agents would be asking for trouble.  That meant that whatever mischief Alec and James had gotten into had been worse. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know what it had been.

James gave him a knowing smile at his reaction. “I was in New York City, meeting my contact. He was an agent with the local FBI office. The location should have been secure. Instead, there was a sniper. I was hit first. My contact yelled for his backup, then he was killed.  Fortunately his backup wasn’t far away. They got there before the sniper could finish me off.”

James paused, then shrugged. “After that, I was in hospital there for a few days. One of the FBI agents signed for the information I was carrying before I was transferred back to England and medical here.”

“How long were you in medical?”

James started to speak and stopped, giving Q a sheepish look. “About a month.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “How long is about a month?”

“Six weeks.”

And that was what James considered not life threatening. Q sighed; he hated the way James was always dismissive of injuries he took while on a mission. At least James seemed calmer now.

“It really wasn’t that bad, Q,” James insisted. “Alec was sent out three weeks before I was released, and as far as I knew he was dead a week later.”

“Do you know what you were carrying? How important was it?”

“Couriers often don’t know what they are carrying. M just wanted it delivered to the FBI.” James paused, frowning slightly before he continued. “An agent named Gates signed for it. He had to wait until I was out of surgery — it was locked in a case around my wrist.”

Q smirked. “How very cliche.”

“There’s a reason it’s a cliche. It gets the job done and keeps the information secure.”

The clock on the wall chimed, reminding Q that it had been a long time since lunch. He doubted that James had given much thought to food before starting to drink. “Have you eaten?”

James smirked, reaching out to pull Q into an embrace. “No, I thought I’d wait for you before starting anything.”

Q smirked back. Some things were more important than food. “I’m glad you didn’t start without me.”

“Never.”

~~~~

Later, they lounged on the couch. James was always glad when Q was in the mood to make love. He had no complaints about the romantic or sensual side of their relationship, but their differing sex drives sometimes caused misunderstandings.

He couldn't help but feel that Q was more trying to get his mind off of Alec rather than a genuine interest in sex, although he had made sure that Q had enjoyed it. Q was probably just as uncertain as he was about what would happen to their relationship when — not if, but when — Alec remembered himself again. He needed to bring it up, soon, but he had no idea how to begin.

He tightened his arms around Q, who was using him as a cushion, and nibbled contentedly on Q’s neck.

Q seemed to be enjoying the attention, he was making appreciative noises. James was startled when Q jumped.

James stopped his attention to Q’s neck, and craned his head to see what was the matter. Pax was back on the couch; he had stretched out a paw on Q’s naked shoulder.

James chuckled. He reached up to remove the paw, being careful when he felt claws come out. “Silly cat. He’s my human.”

“Am I?” Q winced, as if he hadn’t meant to say that.

James stiffened underneath Q. He watched carefully as Q shifted to look him in the eye.

“Alec is important to me. So are you. I want you to know that.” He ran a caressing finger across Q’s cheek. “You’re worried about me.”

Q turned his head into the caress and kissed James’ finger in apology as it brushed his mouth. “And you’re worried about Alec.”

James sighed. “Yes, I am. He has no real memory of who he is and no one to trust in L.A. Now that he’s trying to figure out what happened, Martin’s boss and wife are blocking him. Lying, to keep Alec from remembering. What else have they done to him? What else will they do to stop him from becoming Alec again?”

He pulled Q closer, shifting to tuck Q’s head under his own. “You heard him, over the earpiece; the way he was talking to himself.” James swallowed. “He’s already paranoid and suspicious. We need to get him out of there soon.”

Before there’s another Double O on the loose who is completely bugfuck insane. Which brought back unpleasant memories of Silva.

Q snuggled closer. “What do you think —” He stopped, shook his head, and started again more confidently. “He started remembering while you were talking to him.” Q paused, rubbed his temple against James’ jaw. “He is remembering more. If we could find out what caused his amnesia, we’d be closer to figuring out what happened.”

“If it was a brain injury or if it was induced somehow?” James frowned. There was something, just a rumour that he had heard years ago. But that was CIA related, wasn’t it? Maybe he should give Felix a call.

“Right. Perhaps it was trauma from the explosion in Russia. If it wasn’t, then someone deliberately overrode his memory somehow. Maybe you should contact him, help him continue remembering.” Q paused, then added tentatively, “If you think it’s safe, that is. Once we unravel what happened, he can decide what to do next.”

James squeezed him tighter, hating that Q seemed so uncertain when they talked about Alec. “I’ll do that, once we know it’s safe.” He dropped a kiss on Q’s head. “And then there’s whoever is behind Verax; Alec said that they seem to be killing anyone who looks into what happened in Basra ten years ago. I have no idea what that has to do with Alec disappearing,” not dying thank god, “four years ago. There doesn’t seem to be a connection.”

“I can look over the Basra mission report tomorrow,” Q offered, “see if there’s anything that might be relevant.”

“Good. I’m sure there’s some connection to MI6 behind all this, and that means M. I’ll go see Tanner; he was her Chief of Staff for years. He might know where there are physical records since there’s nothing in the computer. M always kept records of some kind. He might even know what happened.” James’ tone promised that if Tanner did know something, then James would get the information from him.

Chapter Text

James rose and dressed early the next morning. He kissed a still mostly asleep Q, and headed back to MI6. He made his way up to Tanner’s office, slipped inside, and settled into a chair — a predatory shadow lying in wait for its prey.

~~~

He smirked as the doorknob rattled and began to turn. He was already deep in his Double O mindset, ready to respond to any reaction from his prey.

The door swung open. Bill Tanner was silhouetted in the doorway, reaching out to flip on the office lights. He looked toward his desk, his eyes widening in shock at the sight of 007 sitting there.

Bond pinned Tanner with his stare. His voice was cold as he instructed, “Come in and close the door.”

Tanner did as he was told, then stood there, waiting for the next instruction. Bond felt a tiny curl of satisfaction at Tanner's obvious alarm. It was best to be cautious with a Double O on a hair trigger — which was the way that the rest of MI6 usually treated him.

“Sit down.” He indicated Tanner's visitor chair.

“What's this about, Bond?” Tanner blustered as he moved to sit in the chair.

“What do you know about 006's last mission?” He noted the fear that flickered across Tanner’s face for an instant. It might not mean anything, though. He knew that he was still considered to be volatile when it came to Alec’s death.

Still, it might mean that Tanner had information about what had caused Alec to become Martin. He narrowed his eyes. “You do know something. What? There's nothing in the computer files. Q checked.”

Tanner’s jaw dropped. “The Quartermaster is in on this too?”

“Don't lose track of the conversation, Tanner. Trevelyan’s last mission. Tell me what you know.”

Tanner blinked rapidly and licked his lips. “Uh, he was killed. Don’t you remember? There was an explosion —”

“Not the Arkhangelsk mission,” Bond interrupted. “His last mission.”

Tanner went, if possible, even more pale.

He thought for a moment the man might actually faint. He wrestled down his murderous rage at the sign that Tanner might have known that Alec had been alive all this time.

“What —” Tanner cleared his throat. “What brought this on?”

“Not important right now,” he said icily. “Tell me.”

Tanner studied him for a moment, then blew out a breath, looking down. “I think M could tell it best.”

He frowned, bemused. “Mallory? What could he know about this?”

“No, I mean M.” Tanner got up and moved to a file cabinet in the corner.

Bond watched carefully. Tanner seemed meek and mild, which made it easy to forget that he had been a field agent in his younger days, until sidelined by an injury. It was not outside the realm of possibility for him to have an unauthorised weapon in or near the cabinet.

Even though he didn’t have his Walther out, Tanner had to consider him a threat.  He tensed when Tanner bent down and opened the bottom drawer.

But Tanner simply stood back up, holding a folder in his hands. He nudged the drawer shut with his foot and walked back across the office. He wordlessly opened the folder and handed the lone report that it contained over to Bond. Then he laid the folder on the desk and sat again in the visitor's chair.

“What is this?” Bond eyed the report with suspicion. It didn’t look like much. A standard report cover, holding perhaps half a dozen pages.

“You know that M kept records of everything.” Tanner nodded at the report. “That is the only file on 006’s last mission.”

He hesitated, taking a breath. Would this answer all their questions? He opened the cover, his eyes falling on a note that was attached to the front page of the report. It was M’s handwriting.

Bond —

If you are reading this, you’ve somehow discovered there was more to Trevelyan’s death than I let you know. I regret his death. He was one of my best agents.

You were badly injured, and he would have gone hunting your attacker whether I had authorized it or not. I came up with what I hoped was the best solution. The Americans had a program that I was interested in. Memory replacement, designed for deep cover operations. The original memories would still be there, but inaccessible, obscured by new ones. It was supposed to make undercover agents safer by ensuring they would stay in character. I arranged with an acquaintance in the CIA to have Trevelyan undergo the process. When he returned, I expected him to advise me whether it was something that MI6 should consider. His assignment was to go undercover in the FBI to catch the mole who attacked you. Instead, about a week into the mission, the lab caught fire, destroying it and killing five people — including Trevelyan. All the reports indicate that it was accidental. I had my suspicions, but my CIA contact was one of the dead. I wasn’t able to obtain any concrete evidence that the fire was deliberate. All I could do was file the paperwork away. There was no point in telling you the truth after that.

Yes, I lied to you about Trevelyan’s death in Arkhangelsk. You were in no shape to go after him. Don’t be stupid, Bond. Of course you would have.

M

Guilt and disappointment crashed through him. He was the reason that Alec had gone to America — but that didn’t explain why the report said that Alec died in a fire. Or why Alec still thought he was Martin. There were still missing pieces of the puzzle.

He glared at Tanner. “M decided to send 006 to infiltrate the FBI, and thought it was a good idea to use him as a  — what? A guinea pig? —   to test out an experimental process?”

Tanner shifted in the chair, an apologetic look on his face. “006 was furious that you’d been attacked on that courier run. M was, too. But she couldn’t just allow him to tear apart the United States and the FBI.”

Tanner paused, clasping his hands in front of him as he leaned forward with an earnest expression. “We’d been hearing rumblings about the CIA’s new deep cover memory project, Mnemosyne. We knew nothing concrete about it, other than the name. M had a contact in the CIA that told her he could slip 006 through the process.”

Tanner held up a hand before he could ask the obvious question. “No, the contact didn’t have any real information about the process. As far as I know, he was only peripherally connected to it.”

“That’s the contact that M said died in the fire?” Good riddance, he thought viciously. Although it would have been helpful to have someone on the CIA side that he could question. Maybe Felix could dig something up.

“Yes.” Tanner eyed him warily, as if to gauge how well he was taking the revelations. “She was in a fury for weeks after that. Her contact and Trevelyan both gone, and you still recovering.”

Tanner apparently thought that Bond was taking it calmly enough, because he leaned back in his chair. “Trevelyan was supposed to undergo the Mnemosyne process. They would give him an overlay personality, programmed to do the job — finding the mole in the FBI. Later, after the mole was caught, he’d be triggered, a code word or something, to counteract the overlay and become himself again. M thought it a perfect opportunity to evaluate a new technology.” Tanner shrugged slightly. “I thought the idea of memory replacement was a bit dodgy, myself.”

“It does sound a bit science fiction.” He narrowed his eyes and let the chill of unspoken threats come into his voice. “Keep talking, Tanner. I want to know everything you do.”

Tanner swallowed nervously. “Right. The report on the lab fire said that it was accidental, an overload that caused the computers to overheat and catch fire. They must have stored something flammable nearby, because the whole lab ended up destroyed.”

“And five people dead,” he snapped. “Who identified them?”

“The CIA. They knew who were supposed to be in the lab, and they identified them by their dental records. They must have had Trevelyan’s. They did a physical work-up on him to prep for the process, and they were able to identify him.”

He studied Tanner, mulling over what he had been told. He didn’t think Tanner was holding any more information back. “Why did M tell me Alec died in Russia? Why say he died at all?”

“You were still recovering. She told you that he was dead because she didn’t want you following Trevelyan out of some misguided sense of obligation. He was listed as dead in Arkhangelsk so that there would be no possibility of connecting him to his cover identity in the FBI. When he died in the lab fire —” Tanner winced slightly, probably in anticipation of his reaction — “there was no reason to change Trevelyan’s official cause of death.”

He gritted his teeth. “I still should have been told when it happened. It was my right. I’m — I was —” he corrected himself hastily, “Alec’s next of kin.”

“M—”

“No,” he cut Tanner off. “It was wrong. Don’t try to justify it.” Frustration and guilt filled him. Tanner didn’t seem to to know any more. He needed to get out of the office before he gave in to the temptation to hurt Tanner.

Tanner flinched as he abruptly stood up. “Wh-what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Yet.” He left Tanner gaping wide-eyed after him.

~~~

James growled in irritation as he left Tanner’s office with the report. He knew more now, but he had more questions than answers.

He paused in the hallway to check his watch and groaned. Q would still be in a meeting with Danielle Marsh, second in command of Q Branch.

He considered his options — waiting in Q Branch or somewhere else — and decided to head to one of the empty offices reserved for agents. Other MI6 personnel parted around him like the bow wave of a ship. He knew it was the anger on his face making them nervous, and tried to school his expression to something that was somewhat less intimidating. From the way one poor admin type gulped and backed away nervously the way they had come, he didn’t think he was too successful. No matter. He had reached a vacant office he could use. He went in and locked the door behind him, not bothering to turn on the light.

He leaned back against the door, then slid down to sit on the floor. Christ. Ever since he had read M’s note he had been fighting his guilt and anger. He dropped the report and put his head in his hands.

Shortly after he had been released from medical four years ago, he had been walking past a small group of boisterous agents, looking like they were just back from some puppy training mission. He had recognized them as part of the potential Double O pool. He was brushing past them, ignoring them, when what one was saying caught his attention. Something about being the next 006. James had stopped short, turned to glare icily at the man grinning cockily back at him.

“You think you can be 006? Take Alec’s place?” he gritted out, getting into the agent’s face. The other man puffed himself up and tried to crowd James back. James just kept glaring at him, unmoved. Then other man shifted his weight, getting ready to throw a punch. Idiot puppy, telegraphing his moves. James caught the punch before it could land. That was the last thing he clearly remembered. People were yelling, trying to pull him off the idiot. Someone stuck a needle into his arm; the world tilted sideways and went dark.

Later, he drifted in a twilight world between waking and sleeping; the sedative they'd jabbed him with kept him from waking fully. His wrists were already abraded from his restless, instinctive attempts to pull his arms free from the leather cuffs that kept him securely strapped to the bed in medical. No Double O could tolerate being restrained against their will. He could hear M, on the other side of the curtain that shielded the bed from the rest of the ward.

“Damn it, Tanner. How many agents must I lose because of this foolishness? I have to let Simmons go due to his injuries, but I'm not losing Bond. He's too useful. Simmons was nowhere near ready to be a Double O. He shouldn't have been talking about being the next 006. None of the current crop of potentials are ready.” She huffed angrily. “I promoted Bond too soon years ago and I won’t make that mistake again. I am not going to reassign Trevelyan’s number just yet.”

“But what about Bond, ma'am? Simmons will never be the same. He’ll recover, but the doctors aren’t hopeful that it will be a complete recovery.”

“It took three other agents and a needle full of sedative to take Bond down,” M snapped. “Call it a training exercise. I have a country to protect. Bond is one of — is my best agent. That means I protect him too.”

He was fighting the same impulse today as the one that led him to attack the agent four years ago. He was always willing to do anything, to kill anyone, to protect Alec. Right now he desperately wanted a target — someone, anyone, to fight. But that wouldn’t help Alec. He needed a cool head, to investigate and find out what had happened, and to decide if it was safe for Alec to return.  If it wasn’t safe, he’d just go after whoever he needed to until it was, whether or not he had authorization.

Chapter Text

Q sighed inwardly at his distraction and brought his wayward thoughts back to where they belonged: paying attention to his meeting with Danielle Marsh, second in command of Q-Branch. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts kept returning to James and Alec.

Despite all his skills as a hacker and his familiarity with MI6’s computers, he hadn’t been able to find any records of Alec’s last mission. If he couldn’t find them, then they didn’t exist in digital form. Now, James was talking — just talking, hopefully — to Tanner, to find out what he knew.

There had to be some connection between Alec’s Basra mission and him ending up as an amnesiac FBI agent in America. He hadn’t found any links besides the company, Verax, which had ties to the CIA and the war in Iraq. Martin thought that they were after him but didn’t know why, except that they seemed to be killing anyone that was trying to find out what happened in Basra in February of 2004. None of it made any sense.

The growing silence in the room caused Q to look up. Danielle peered at him with a frown of concern. She had obviously noticed his distraction. He huffed, annoyed at himself. He had no choice but to give the meeting up as a lost cause.

He apologized to Danielle for being distracted and explained, “James was talking about Alec the other day. Remembering some of the things they did.” He widened his eyes, expression hopeful.  “I was wondering if you could tell me more.” While phrased like a question, he made sure that his tone carried the fact it was a statement. He didn’t want to make her feel as if she had to answer.

Danielle had been part of the Q-Branch for years. She should have been promoted to Q during the mess with Silva, but she had refused. She knew all the agents in some way or another, including the information that didn’t make it into the records of their missions. Maybe that included what happened when Alec went undercover with the FBI.

He knew that she was very fond of James and she had probably been just as fond of Alec. Unfortunately, he also knew that fondness might make her reluctant to discuss them. Danielle didn’t care for gossip.

Her eyebrows rose at that statement, as if she hadn’t expected that. She absently shuffled the files in front of her, saying with a surprised murmur, “James talked about Alec?”

He nodded, watching the indecision on her face, although he had the feeling she was paying more attention to her own thoughts instead of to him.

Finally she nodded. “I suppose it’s all right for for me to tell you.” She looked lost in thought, a fond smile curving her lips from what he presumed to be memories of Alec and James.

Q waited, determined to be patient. He wanted to give her time to remember and think. He hoped that she had some insight that would lead to a clue to their mystery.         

Eventually she started to reminisce. “They were thick as thieves from the start. They came up together from the SBS, you know.” She nodded, almost to emphasize the point. “They could be terrors, here and in the field, but they were so good they always got out of the trouble they had gotten themselves into. Alec gained Double O status before James.” She paused, meeting his gaze, “You know about their relationship?”

He nodded, answering seriously, “Yes, James told me about it.”

Her smile returned, as if she was relieved not to be betraying James and Alec’s confidence. “Good,” she stated firmly before returning to her tale. “They were best friends. I don’t think they were more than that in those days. That changed after —” she shot Q a sharp glance.  “What do you know about James’ early missions as a Double O?”

Q blinked at the abrupt question before he answered. “James told me about them. You mean the one where he almost quit MI6 for —”

Danielle huffed in disapproval, unintentionally cutting him off. At his questioning look, she explained, “Lynd.” There was disapproval in her voice as she said the name. “That woman was a menace. If Alec hadn’t been on a long term undercover mission during that time James would never have fallen for her lies. It was bad timing. James had just recently been made a Double O and Alec had gone dark for his assignment.”

“Which left James without his best friend’s support.” He stated with a nod of understanding, hoping she would pick up where she left off.

A few moments passed as she scowled at the memory. “Yes. James had a rough start, but he pulled off that mission successfully.” Danielle sighed sadly, giving a tiny shake of her head. She began to speak, but held herself back after a quick glance at him.

That was odd. He paid closer attention to her words.

“He was different after that. Colder and more distant. He didn’t seem to allow himself to have any emotions, whether he was at MI6 or out on a mission — at least, until Alec finally returned.”

“What happened then?” Q leaned forward, intent on what Danielle was telling him. She hadn’t been lying to him, but he couldn’t help but feel that she keeping something from him. He didn't think it had anything to do with Basra or Arkhangelsk, so he made a mental note to bring it up in the future.

Her scowl faded, replaced by the fond smile once more. “After Alec came back, James changed again. They were closer than before. Whenever they were here they were never far apart. In the field, even when not officially paired, they managed to work together. They were safer and more effective with reliable backup and communication.”

She paused to take a moment and collect her thoughts, her smile turning wistful. “Alec’s specialty was long term deep cover assignments. When he went under, James would orbit around, coming back to Alec to touch base and relay messages, and going off on shorter missions of his own. If James was on a mission and Alec wasn’t, he was the one that would go in and touch base with James to relay information or instructions. Then he would stay close by, ready to go in if James needed him.”

Curious, he asked, “Did M know about their relationship?” He hadn’t really known the previous M and wondered what her opinion on it was, if it affected her treatment of them.

Danielle nodded. “She did. Relationships between agents aren’t frowned upon, and they were nothing but professional when they were working. M only cared that James and Alec were her best agents. Together they were unstoppable.”

“Can you tell me what happened when Alec died?” Q asked gently, guiding her to the topic he needed information about the most.

“James went back to the way he was right after Venice. Cold, not allowing anyone close.” She bit her lip and glanced away for a moment, as if the memories were painful. “After a while he began a relationship of sorts with Ronson, but I don’t believe it was serious. At least, it wasn’t anything like he had with Alec. It did surprise people though, since he seemed to prefer ladies.”

She shook her head sadly. “I know he asked M when he came back if Ronson made it. He must have suspected. I’m sure if he thought Ronson had survived he wouldn’t have played dead. I suppose he did his grieving for Ronson then.”

While this was interesting, and he’d need to consider it later, it’s not what he needed to know. He started to ask another question, but before he could Danielle began speaking again.

She smiled warmly at him. “And then he met you. He’s almost the same as he was when he was with Alec. Less haunted, or maybe less driven. Lighter, I suppose I mean.”

He nodded, happy to hear he had helped James, and then asked quietly, “Do you know anything about Alec’s last mission?”

“Arkhangelsk?” she asked, waiting for a nod from him before she continued, her expression thoughtful. “Not a lot. Just what was in the mission brief for the technical requirements.”

A small frown flickered across her face. “We built the timers he took. Q — Major Boothroyd, I mean — tore the blueprints apart and interrogated the technicians that built them.” She shook her head. “He was so upset, thinking that it might have been a fault in our timers that led to Alec’s death. No one could be sure that it had been the timers, but the possibility they were defective haunted him. After that, he made sure that each piece of equipment was inspected for quality control at each stage of manufacture instead of just before it left the branch.”

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes as he considered what she said. Her expression told him that she was not hiding anything. Well, except for whatever she might have been hiding about James earlier.

Danielle didn’t seem to have a lot of information about Alec’s last mission, but perhaps she knew something about the other mission. He didn’t want to push Danielle too hard with his questions, he didn’t want to lose her goodwill. But he decided to risk asking about the other mission. “Alec had a mission in 2004, Basra. Do you know anything about that?”

Danielle looked puzzled.  “That was before their relationship started. Why do you want to know about it?”

At that point Q was uncomfortable telling her that Alec was still alive, and that he thought the Arkhangelsk mission and that one were tied together somehow. “James said that he had been worried about Alec that time. That Alec had almost died.”

“Well, that is true.” Danielle looked pensive. “It was terrible; so many died that day. They called it Raining Fire, I think. It must have been hellish. Alec was dark for that assignment and he hadn’t taken anything from the Branch when he went out, so I don’t know any of the details. He was barely alive when he was rescued, and had some memory problems from his head injury.” She shrugged apologetically. “There’s not a lot I can tell you about that one, Q.”

Memory problems, he repeated to himself, just like Martin was having. Did something start then, maybe without Alec knowing?

Changing the topic, he decided to ask her something that he had wondered about, something he couldn’t have asked James. “Why didn’t M reassign Alec’s number? There hasn’t been another 006. A few other of the Double O’s have been KIA since then, and their numbers were reassigned.”

“Oh dear.” Danielle hesitated, biting her lip. “That was James. He was devastated by Alec’s death. He tried not to show it, but he was. A few weeks after he was released from medical he reacted —” she paused, considering her words carefully, “ — poorly, to one of the potential Double O’s that was talking about becoming the next 006.”

Q’s eyes widened. Reacting poorly sounded like it had been very bad. “What happened?”

Danielle looked him in the eye. “James beat the potential almost to death.”

Q gaped at Danielle. He didn’t know why he was so shocked.  James had a wide — and violent — protective streak when it came to those he loved.

“The man survived, barely. He was with a group of other potentials, and they were able to pull James off of him. They needed a sedative to do it. He’s a Double O for a reason,” she said grimly, “deadly, as they all are. M didn’t exactly hush up the incident and Simmons was pensioned off. But the damage, as they say, was done. None of the potentials would take on Alec’s number — not unless they were certain that James was dead too.” Her lips twitch into a sardonic smile. “And stayed dead for at least a year, given his history of returning from the grave.”

Q quirked a smile of his own. He had read some of the past mission reports, and James’ reputation for resurrection seemed to be well-founded. “What about them taking James’ number, when he was reported dead?”

“Oh, his number? Not one of them would agree to take his number unless he was confirmed dead for at least two years.”

He nodded in understanding. “Thank you, Danielle, for talking with me.” Q stated sincerely, “I appreciate you taking the time to answer my questions.”

She nodded back once, responding, “It’s natural to be curious about your partner’s earlier relationships, especially if they’ve started opening up about them.” Danielle’s smile changed to pleased. “I’m surprised that James has; he’s always so closed off. I’m glad though. He needs to let go of some of that grief he’s always carrying.”

~~~

James tapped on the doorframe before walking into the office. He smiled. Q looked like he was engrossed with something on his computer.

At the sound, Q looked up with a smile. “There you are. I was just reviewing the report on Alec’s Basra mission.”

“Good. Tanner gave me the file on Alec’s last mission,” James said, pulling up a chair to sit next to Q. “There was a note in there for me, from M — my M.”

Q’s eyebrows rose. “She anticipated you trying to find out what happened?”

“It looks like it.” He blew out a breath. “She — well, not apologized, but said she regretted Alec’s death.”

“So she thought he really was dead?”

He nodded. “So did Tanner.” He told Q what he had learned from Tanner and the file about Mnemosyne, and about the lab fire that had supposedly killed Alec.

“Hmmm.” Q frowned critically. “That all sounds so —”

“Far-fetched?” He quirked a smile at Q’s nod. “I agree.  That fire was too convenient. How did they identify Alec as one of the dead? Who identified him? The report doesn’t say.”

“Let me see that.” Q took the folder and quickly scanned through the report. “Hmmm... This is interesting. Look here, James. Do you see this name? Kessler. I think it’s the same person that Alec was working with in Basra.”

Q opened the other report, flipping through several the pages before he stopped at one. “Yes, it’s the same name. Maybe that’s our connection? He’s listed as dead in the fire, but perhaps he survived? Alec did, after all.”

“Who is — or was — he? CIA?” James mentally added the name to the list of questions he was going to ask Felix later.  

“The operation in Basra was the CIA’s. They requested assistance from MI6. Kessler was their agent on the op. According to his report,” Q tapped the page, “he wasn’t able to talk to Alec the last few days before Raining Fire. At that time, they suspected that a mercenary was behind the thefts, but hadn’t been able to verify that or identify who it was.”

“Raining Fire... That was what they called the airstrike that destroyed the camp.” James shuddered, remembering how Alec had looked when rescue had brought him back.  

“Yes. It left about 400 dead and more injured. Recordings indicate that it was Alec who called in the coordinates and authorized it — to stop a potential Broken Arrow.”

“Christ,” he said, appalled. He hadn’t known that little twist.  

Q nodded somberly. “We don’t know the details, but forensic evidence found that there were chemical weapons in the camp that weren’t supposed to be there. Alec suffered from a traumatic brain injury and couldn’t remember what happened. He’d lost approximately 48 hours.”

James sat straighter and snapped, “He almost died.”  He immediately felt guilty at Q’s startled look.

He forced himself to calm down; Q wasn’t being deliberately callous. “‘Traumatic brain injury’ wasn’t all of it.” James swallowed, remembering the stomach-churning fear that Alec might die. That had been before he realized that he was in love with his best friend. If Alec had died then — he shuddered.

Q reached over and placed a comforting hand on James’ forearm and quietly waited for him to pull himself together.

James wiped his hand over his face before he looked up. “What about Kessler?”

“He survived. He hadn’t been as badly injured; he was the one to find Alec and get him evac’d. After Kessler was debriefed, the CIA reassigned him. I have no idea where, but evidently he wound up working on Mnemosyne in some capacity.”

“What does all this have to do with Verax? Why are they killing people who are investigating this?”

“Oh.” Q blinked at him. “I thought you knew. Verax was the contracting company there. The dead and injured were mostly their personnel. Alec and Kessler — or rather, their cover identities — worked for Verax.”

“No, I didn’t know. Alec never discussed Basra with me.” He hadn’t wanted to know more, he’d just been damn glad that his friend was still alive.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” Q gave him an apologetic look. “There’s not a lot of information here. I’m going to hack the CIA to find out more.” His eyes gleamed at the opportunity.

James sighed. He had hoped they’d be able to find out what had happened on their own. This was growing more complex than he’d imagined. “Try to restrain yourself, Q. I’m going to call Felix, and see what he can find out before you go rooting around in the CIA’s servers. So far, it seems as though people have the information we need, not computers.”

“Oh, all right. See what he can find out,” Q huffed. “I can always get into their computers later.”

James quirked a smile as he shook his head. “Of course you can.”  He impulsively leaned in and kissed Q’s cheek, avoiding the Quartermaster’s hand as it batted at him in a not-really-annoyed way.

“James! Not here! Go on, get out and let me do my work.”

“Of course, Quartermaster.” He grinned down at Q, who was grinning back and making shooing motions, before heading out of the office to phone Felix.

Chapter Text

James left Q’s office and headed home. He didn’t want to be anywhere near MI6 when he talked to Felix. He fired off a text when he got in his car, asking Felix to call the flat — when he was away from his own office.

When he entered their flat, the cats leapt onto the counter and watched him expectantly, the tips of their tails twitching with anticipation. He dutifully obeyed the ritual the cats required when one of their humans came home, and gave each one a couple of treats. They fell to devouring the tidbits with enthusiasm, purring loudly.

He chuckled and gave each glossy coat a couple of strokes. He eyed the clock and did a quick calculation. Felix should be calling any minute now.

As if on cue, the phone began to ring. James picked up the handset, seeing Felix’s information appear on the caller ID screen. “Felix, it’s good of you to call.”

“Cut the crap, James. You asked me to call you from a safe place. What’s up?”

“I need your help.”

There was the sound of a heavy sigh on the line. “What is it this time?”

James smiled.

“Find some information for me. I need to know about a CIA project from a few years back, called Mnemosyne.” He pulled the phone away from his ear as Felix demanded to know if he was insane. He waited patiently for Felix’s complaints to die down.  “This is important, Felix.”

“What do you need to know?” Felix’s voice was long-suffering.

“Mnemosyne ended with a lab fire. I need to know if you can find out anything about it, especially who identified the dead. Also, see if you can find out anything about someone named Kessler. He was involved in the project somehow.”

“Hmmm. I remember something about Mnemosyne. All right. Is that it?”

He hesitated. He wanted to ask Felix to look into  Basra and Raining Fire, but Alec said people were being killed for getting too curious about them. He was sure that Felix could take care of himself, but perhaps that could wait until they figured out Mnemosyne. “Yes. I might have more questions later, though.”

“Uh huh. Right. Why do you need to know this?”

“It… might have something to do with Alec.”

“What? He died in Russia before the mess with Mnemosyne happened,” Felix sounded puzzled. When he remained silent, Felix swore, then grumbled, “Fine. I’ll see what I can do. But you owe me one, brother.”

‘Thanks, Felix. I’ll probably owe you several before this is over.”

Felix groaned. “Now you’ve done it. This is going to end up being a nightmare, thanks, James.”

“Felix,” he hesitated. He knew Felix might take a warning as an insult, but he had to make sure the other man knew there might be danger. “Be careful with this.”

“Shit, James. You’re just a ray of fucking sunshine. I’ll get back to you when I can.” The phone clicked as Felix rang off.

~~~~

Martin got into the limo, his confident words from earlier in the DCO office ringing through his head — “Make Prince Fayeen try to kill me.” He’d thought that It was a good plan. Catch the prince in the act, and they could get the evidence to free Hani Jabril. Now all he had to do was let himself be kidnapped. Rice and Crystal were already in place, ready to follow in a chase car.

After a few minutes of driving, the limo took a sudden turn. Martin knew damn well what was going on, the driver was checking for tails, but to stay in character he asked.

“It’s a short cut,” the driver said in his Arabic-accented English.

Martin refrained from rolling his eyes at the lie. The limo made a few more sharp turns, ending up back on the street. He spotted the car Rice and Crystal were in parked on the side of the road. Good. They hadn’t been taken in by the ruse.

He looked up sharply as the driver raised the blacked-out divider between the front of the car and the passenger area. This was it, the kidnapping attempt. He glanced through the limo’s back window, surreptitiously trying to find the car Rice and Crystal were in.

The limo’s sudden acceleration through a red light caused him to lose his balance. He tried to brace himself against the door and the seat as the car took a couple of sharp turns. Then he felt the car take a ramp, and saw the inside walls of a semi through the side windows. Fuck. I’m fucked.

The divider lowered after the limo came to an abrupt stop inside the semi. The driver was holding a gun aimed at him.

While the gun had his attention, another man opened the door nearest to him, reaching in to grab his coat and pull him off balance toward the door.

His breath caught as a black cloth bag was forced over his head. He hated this part. He hoped Maggie would be able to keep the other agents on his trail. He had the unhappy feeling that the next little while would end up being very painful. It would be best if his teammates could find him quickly and arrest the bad guys.

~~~~

Martin moaned, trying to fight his way back to consciousness. His head ached. He thought that he was sitting in a chair, his hands tied behind him. He swallowed his nausea as the smell of concrete and cardboard hit his nose through the bag over his head, and he was somewhere — someone — else.

***

Alec paused, listening carefully after entering the darkened stairwell. James went past, silent as a ghost, to take a position by the stairs. After a moment James looked back at him, and he nodded. At the prearranged signal they separated. James climbed the stairs to the next floor while he descended to the basement.

He and James had already killed several guards, making sure to use silencers. They didn’t want to give their presence away. They were rescuing the idiot witness that managed to get himself kidnapped on their watch.

Alec took a deep breath as he reached the door to the basement, reining in his flaring temper. Anger wouldn’t be any help now. The witness had deliberately left the safe house where they were protecting him, and he was paying the price for his idiocy. Hopefully the idiot was still alive.

Stepping silently into the hallway he listened carefully, straining to catch the slightest indication of his quarry’s location. A male scream shattered the silence and he was moving before the echoes died. Alec crashed through the door, hitting it with his shoulder before crouching low to throw off his opponents’ aim. He targeted and shot the three men in the middle of the room in quick succession, a feral smile of satisfaction on his face.  

He moved to the witness’s side, frowning.

Martin’s breathing changed. He was panting, unable to wake up. The man. Who was it? He couldn’t see the man’s face. Couldn’t remember. A low moan escaped him.

The man was struggling to get up. He shouldn’t move until Alec could assess him for injuries.

“Are you all right?” Alec asked, knowing that the man was at least emotionally traumatized along with whatever injuries he had. Fuck. There was blood covering the man. “Don’t try to move, you might have internal injuries.” Alec swore silently as the man tried to get up again, fresh blood appearing from his wounds. “Don’t move!” Alec insisted.

A noise at the door to the room had him turning and aiming in one fluid motion.  He found himself staring down his gunsight at James, who was aiming back at him.  Alec watched as James’ eyes swept the room, checking for threats before lowering his gun and approaching.  

With a nod, James took up a position to the side, where he could see Alec and still keep an eye on the doorway. His weapon was pointed at the floor, but Alec knew James could have it up and aimed in a heartbeat.

***

Martin snatched at the fading remnants of the dream — of the memory — and the feeling of irritation and determination he had felt as Alec while rescuing the kidnapped witness.

Martin — or was he Alec? — Christ, his head hurt. Regaining consciousness in enemy hands. A-fucking-gain. A sudden sharp noise caused him to flinch in pain as the sound tore through his skull. Alec — or was he Martin? — hoped that the nausea he felt was a reaction from being drugged instead of the concussion that the pain in his head might indicate.

~~~~

The hood was abruptly yanked off his head, causing him to blink in the sudden light as he peered up at his captor. “What do you want?”

He wasn’t sure who he was now. Martin? Alec? But he didn’t have time for the panic that uncertainty caused. He tried to rotate his wrists, feeling the zipties bite into his skin. There was a sharp pain in his right forearm, too. He thought he felt blood oozing from the wound. They had found his tracking chip.

The kidnapper, Bashir, strutted in front of him. There were guards standing alertly off to either side. “We have some questions for you.”

He smirked, “I take it you didn’t like my story. You —” he was cut off by a fist across his face.

The beating went on, interspersed by questions. Bashir wanted to know who he’d given the information about Prince Fayeen to.

He kept refusing.

Finally, Bashir stopped hitting him. Leaned over him, looking into his eyes. “You will cooperate. You will see.”

He spat blood, tried for a cocky grin. “Will I?”

“There are worse things than physical pain. Worse than death. Do you know what they are?”

He was distracted by Bashir’s conversational tone; the sudden blow to his stomach caught him off guard. He cursed himself. He was slipping. He’d been interrogated before. He knew how the game was played.

Bashir just kept circling him, the bastard, still talking. “All these years, you thought you could hide behind a mask. You thought you were protecting yourself, covering your tracks. Invisible to your enemies. Nobody can hide forever. We know your name, Special Agent Martin Odum of the FBI. Isn't that right?”

He fought not to react. How the hell did Bashir know his real name? He was supposed to be Sebastian Egan. Damnit. He must have given something away because Bashir chuckled.

“Yes, you see now. We know your name... Special Agent Martin Odum of the FBI. You have no idea who you've angered. We removed your microchip. Your associates won't be able to find you. You're on your own, Special Agent Martin Odum of the FBI.”

He tried to bluff. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh come, now. Stop this ridiculous pretence. We know who you are. We know all about the FBI's investigations into the Arcadia Council and Prince Fayeen. Your investigation is over.”

“I’m Sebastian Egan. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

Bashir ignored him. “I must admit, I was quite impressed by your undercover persona. I know you have many identities, Agent Odum. Tell me, when you're in it that deep, is it hard to keep track of the real Martin?”

He froze. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t react. He just stared, wide-eyed, at Bashir.

Bashir bent over to look into his face again. “Do you even know who Martin Odum is anymore? Hmm?” Bashir shook his head. “I admire that death is not your first concern. But it makes me wonder what is. Your country? Your God? No, I don't think so. It is... your family.”

His simmering anger flared, clearing away the last of the haze that was confusing him. His chuckle held a feral edge. “Something you should know.”

Bashir looked at him, somewhat uncertain. Not understanding why he was suddenly confident. “What's that?”

“I'm going to kill you.” Alec Trevelyan smiled coldly at his captor.

~~~~

A phone’s ring pulled Bashir’s attention away from him. “Ha. Good. Now you will see, Agent Odum of the FBI, that I am right.”

Bashir pulled the phone from his jacket and snapped, “You have them? Good.” Bashir held the phone out to Alec. “Talk to them. Your wife and son. Tell them what a careless and selfish husband and father you are, to put them in this danger.”

He ignored Bashir and focused on the phone. Bashir had turned it to a video chat “Sonya? Aiden?” He could see them on the screen, in their home, on their couch. At least they hadn’t been taken somewhere else.

Aiden leaned forward, his hands bound behind him. “Dad!”

He dredged up a smile from somewhere. “It’s all right, kid. Don’t be scared. Sonya?”

Sonya looked off camera for a moment before turning back. “We’re okay.”

“Now do you understand what I can do?” It was Bashir, smug and gloating.

He bared his teeth at the man in a silent snarl.

Bashir started to pull the phone away, and he could hear Aiden yelling, panicked, “Dad! Don’t hurt my dad!” Then Aiden’s voice turned terrified. “Mom! Mom!”

“Aiden! Sonya!” He could hear the fear in his voice.

Bashir turned the phone back so he could see. But instead of Bashir’s men hurting his family, it was Sonya. Sonya, her hands bound behind her back, fighting the kidnappers.

He blinked. What the hell? Sonya was a housewife. How was she using savate, of all things? Those were the moves of a trained agent. He gasped as one of the kidnappers slugged Sonya, and she landed with a crash somewhere out of shot. He could hear Aiden pleading, “Mom? Are you all right? Please, Mom, answer me!”

“You bastard.” He snarled into Bashir’s smirking face. “I’ll kill you.”

“Do you understand now?” Bashir ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket. “If Prince Fayeen suffers any negative consequences, your family will be killed.”

He slumped, his head hanging, the picture of defeat. “Yeah, okay. Okay. You win. Just let them go. Please.”

He heard Bashir laugh. “Good. You can see reason. Untie him and clean him up. Let’s see what he has to say.”

He heard Bashir’s footsteps heading away from him. He waited until he could no longer hear them.

The two guards came closer, holstering their weapons. One of them stepped behind him. He felt hands on his, and a knife cutting away the ziptie.

He pulled his arms apart and launched himself to his feet, surprising the guards. He took them out in seconds. Once he had his hands on a pistol, he made sure they stayed out.

Bashir came running in, his face shocked. Alec cold-cocked him.

~~~~

The DCO was quiet. Too quiet. Maggie wanted to gnaw on her fingernails, but she’d given up on that habit long ago. It had been 9 hours since Martin had been kidnapped. She had attempted to track his kidnappers, with no luck. She kept at it, though. There had to be something to help find Martin. Some trace that she could track or follow.

Less than an hour ago Gates got a text from Sonya Odum that said, Foxtrot Echo Zulu 911. Gates had immediately sent Crystal and Rice to her place.

Now they were waiting to hear from their agents. Gates stood behind her, hovering, and she wished that she dared to tell her boss to sit down.

She couldn’t conceal her start when Gates’ phone rang. She shot him an embarrassed look as he answered the call.

“Go, Crystal. You’re on speaker.”

Crystal’s voice came clearly over the phone. “We're too late. There are definite signs of a struggle, sir. They were taken.”

“Damn.” Gates straightened with a huff of frustration. “Any sense of how long?”

“Coffee's still warm. We just missed 'em.”

A beep signalling an incoming call distracted Maggie from the rest of the conversation. “Sir, I have an incoming call on our secure line.” She picked up the receiver and almost dropped it in shock when she heard Martin’s voice coming over the line.

“Oh, my God. Sir,” she turned, waving frantically to get Gates’ attention. “I have Martin. You’re on speaker,” She said as she pressed the button.

Gates hung up the call with Crystal and bent over to the other line. “Martin, where are you?”

Martin’s voice came through, rushed and panicked. “Nelson, listen to me. Sonya and Aiden are in trouble. Get someone over there.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she watched the regret on Gates’ face.

“Rice and Crystal are already on the scene.” Gates paused, his eyes flicking to meet hers before saying heavily, “Martin, your wife and son are missing.”

Maggie bit her lip at the shocked indrawn breath that sounded from the speaker, and the gut-wrenching pain in Martin’s single denial.

“No…”

Chapter Text

Maggie was just coming out of the office when she saw Martin. She couldn’t help the shocked, “Oh, shit!” that slipped from her lips. He looked awful. Battered and bloody, and the prisoner he was escorting looked even worse. She stepped back against the wall, out of the way, and watched wide-eyed as he went past.

He flashed a bloody grin at her. “Hi, Maggie!”

Her mouth dropped open at the cheerful tone. She turned to watch in disbelief as Martin kept going, taking his prisoner into one of the interrogation rooms. She shook her head to clear it, then dashed back the way she came, looking for Crystal or Gates.

~~~~

He bent over the sink in the men’s room, gingerly rinsing the blood from his face.

“Are you sure you don’t need a hospital?” Gates sounded concerned.

Martin — was he Martin again? Maybe? He didn’t feel as much like Alec now — met the the other man’s eyes in the mirror before reaching for a towel to carefully pat his face dry. “No hospital.”

“Uh huh.” The concern in Gates’ voice turned skeptical, but he continued on to a new subject. “Crystal's going to do the interrogation.”

Surprise had him spinning around to face Gates, the towel gripped tightly in his fist. “I get first crack at him. No one else.”

“That's a bad idea, Martin. The rules —”

“Screw the damn rules,” he snarled, “It's my family. My prisoner, my interrogation.”

Gates studied him for a beat, before shaking his head and giving in. “All right. But Crystal will be in there, too.”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. He didn’t care who was in there as long as he was able to do the interrogation. “As long as she doesn't get in my way.”

~~~~

Bashir was handcuffed to the table in the interrogation room, yet sneered at them as if he held the upper hand.

Martin glared, anger churning in his gut. He’d wipe that look off of Bashir’s face. The bastard was refusing to tell him where Sonya and Aiden had been taken.

He reached over, grabbing a fistful of Bashir’s hair. He twisted and pulled, grinning at the pained grunt from his prisoner.

His eyes flicked over to Crystal. She stood in the corner, her arms folded and her lips pursed in disapproval. Whatever. She wasn’t stopping him. He slammed Bashir’s head into the table.

He leaned over to whisper into Bashir’s ear, “Anything happens to my family, and I'll kill you, if it takes me the rest of my life. Where are they?!”

The only sound Bashir made was a pained groan, and Crystal stepped forward.

“Martin, enough.”

He glared at her as he yanked Bashir’s head back, intending to slam it to the table once more.

“I said, enough. Stop it, Martin.” Crystal grabbed his wrist, and he glared at her. She met his eyes steadily. Them with a quick tilt of her head, she ordered, “Go over there.”

Adrenaline and anger were still surging through him. He was about to refuse when her eyes dropped down to Bashir. He followed her gaze.

Blood flowed from Bashir’s temple into dazed and blinking eyes.

Damn. Crystal was right. If he battered the man into unconsciousness, they’d never get any answers. He reluctantly let go of Bashir and stepped back to the corner Crystal where had been watching.

She gave him a stiff smile, then sat down opposite Bashir, and waited for him to look at her.

He had to admit, Crystal’s smile was as cold as arctic frost. He gave his head an annoyed shake to get rid of the icy, arctic blue eyes that suddenly filled his mind. James. Not now. He couldn’t be Alec right now. He had to concentrate on Sonya and Aiden. He looked up as he realized Crystal had started speaking.

“What’s the desert code? Is it an eye for an eye? A child for a child? You have a daughter. Samara. She lives with her mother in Washington, isn't that right?” Crystal paused as horror dawned on Bashir’s face. “Yeah. That’s right. We know about your family. You threatened to kill all of us and our families. Why the hell wouldn't I kill your daughter?”

Bashir’s mouth worked soundlessly before he found his voice. “You can't. You're FBI.”

He couldn’t keep quiet, and hoped he wasn’t jogging Crystal’s elbow. “Do you really think that matters to me right now?”

Bashir turned to stare at him, and then slammed back around to look wide-eyed at Crystal as her voice lashed out.

“Who do you work for?”

“No.” Bashir’s protest was soft. “I can’t. They'll kill me.”

Crystal ignored him and continued relentlessly, standing up as she fired question after question at him. “Who told you Martin was FBI? Who was it? We can find your daughter anytime we want. Who leaked Martin's identity?”

“Arcadia,” Bashir whispered. “Please, don’t hurt my daughter.”

Crystal sat with a satisfied smile. “Testify. Tell the court  and your daughter will get to sleep through the night.”

“No.” His protest was automatic. He stepped forward and banged his fist on the table, making Bashir jump. “No deal unless you tell me where my wife and son are.”

Bashir swallowed, looking at him in terror. “I don't know. I promise you, I don't.”

The disappointed look in Crystal’s eyes confirmed what the sinking feeling in his gut told him. Bashir was telling the truth.

~~~~

They regrouped in one of the conference rooms. Maggie listened as Crystal finished her report.

“I think Bashir's telling the truth.” Crystal turned to Martin, “We're doing everything we can to find Sonya and Aiden.”

Martin, his arms folded across his chest, just glowered and turned away.

Maggie watched as he erected walls around himself, and wished that she knew how to comfort him. She hoped that Sonya and Aiden would be okay. She couldn’t imagine how awful this must be for him. Then something Crystal said drew her attention.

“It's all about Arcadia.” Crystal shook her head in frustration. “Who are these guys? Some type of think tank? How'd they know Martin was FBI?”

Maggie smiled and leaned forward eagerly. She knew this. “Arcadia is controlled by a management group headed by a guy named Jason Shaw.”

She looked around the table and gulped. She had everyone’s attention now.  “Apparently, he spent seven years with the Green Berets, and then the Deltas, before he went into business.”

She held her hand up before Crystal could interrupt her. “No, hold on, there's more. Jason Shaw is also the CEO of Verax. Arcadia was acquired by Verax three years ago.”

“Verax. Them again.” Martin turned on Gates with a frown. “Did I work for Verax? When I was in Iraq?”

Maggie’s eyes widened. There was nothing about Iraq in Martin’s file. He had asked her about it, but she’d found nothing.

Gates shook his head, looking at Martin with pity. “We have been over this —”

Martin stood, knocking his chair back, as he demanded, “Is that how they found me? Is that how they found my son?”

“How many times do I have to say it, Martin? You. Were. Not. In. Iraq.”

Maggie tore her eyes away from the scene in front of her to check her coworkers. Crystal was leaning forward, eyes narrowed. Trying to analyze what was going on between Martin and Gates, no doubt. Rice was sitting back, observing them calmly. Martin’s voice caught her attention again. He was standing over Gates now, biting off each word angrily as he leaned over the other man.

“You were the one who was telling me to drop it. McCombs, Evans, Dobson. You said it was all in my head, but it's not, is it? Did I work for Verax? This is my family, Nelson. I want the truth, damn it.”

There was no expression on Gates’ face as Martin ranted. When Martin stopped, pausing for a breath before continuing, Gates snapped, “My office. Now.”

Maggie gulped. That sounded terrifying.

~~~~

Martin followed Gates into the office. He paced, fuming, as Gates calmly took a seat behind the desk.

“Sit down, Martin.”

He whirled on the other man. “No, damn it. Tell me the truth. Did I work for Verax? Is that why they targeted me? Is that how Bashir knew I was FBI?”

Gates steepled his hands in front of him. “Yes. You worked for Verax. And yes, you were in Iraq.”

He staggered back, reeling. He had expected that answer, but — “Eight years.” He fought to remember that James said it was only four. Would Gates admit that? Or would he keep to the lie? “Eight years we've been friends. You've been lying to me!”

“Sit down.”

“You knew all along!”

“Please.”

He couldn’t help repeating himself. “You knew!”

“Sit down. I ran WITSEC operations before DCO. I was an eraser, helping people disappear. In 2004, the Director of the Bureau handed me your case. They said that you'd been in an accident. Head injury. You looked like you'd been through hell.”

Gates was keeping to the lie. Martin almost collapsed into the chair in front of the desk. The betrayal stung. “Because I'd been in Iraq.”

“I assumed,” Gates continued calmly. “They didn't give me details. I didn't know your name. They just said that I had to protect you. And that your life was in danger.”

“So.” He looked into the lying face of the man he once thought was his friend. “Martin Odum is a legend.”

“Yes.”

~~~~

Aiden felt relieved when all four of the kidnappers finally left the room. He had to take the chance now. Dad would have. Dad would be so proud of him!

“Mom, look.” He shifted around to look at his mom as he slowly pulled the cell phone from his pocket.

He watched as his mom’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

She looked around, making sure they were alone, before whispering, “How did you get that?”

He smiled. Mom was impressed, he could tell. “You dropped it in the bathroom, I was able to pick it up.”

“Good boy.”

The praise felt good, but — “I don't know your passcode.”

“Seven, two, zero, five. Your birthday.”

That was it? His birthday? If he’d known that he could have — now is not the time, Aiden, he told himself. He looked into his mom’s eyes and tried to be confident to reassure her. “Dad's gonna save us, Mom. I know he will.”

~~~~

Martin wondered what it would take to force Gates to tell him the truth. That would have to wait until he had Sonya and Aiden back. He had to play this out, now. Acting like he believed Gates.

He knew that he had been in Basra — but nothing that Gates was about to tell him would be true. He felt frustrated. He had to know what the connection was between Gates, Verax, and Basra. He couldn’t go back to James until he knew it was safe. “Why go through all that trouble to hide the truth?”

“To protect you.”

“Protect me from who?”

“I don't know. It's classified at the highest levels. I suspect the answers are in here.” Gates pushed a thick file across the desk.

“Operation Raining Fire.” He picked the file up and opened it. Heavily redacted, of course. It was next to useless. Was it possible that Gates really didn’t know? He looked up. “I keep remembering pieces of it. In my dreams. When I get headaches. What about Sonya? Is she a part of it? I have to know.”

For the first time, Gates looked uncomfortable. “Let's just find her and Aiden. Then you can ask her yourself.”

The text alert on his phone chimed, startling him. He pulled out his phone. He read the message, shocked. It was from Sonya.

~~~~

Martin was in the car with Crystal and Rice, Maggie a reassuring presence in their ears, guiding them to the house where the kidnappers held Sonya and Aiden.

He smiled at her excited yelp, listening as she babbled the exact address to Crystal without taking  a breath.

Gates broke in, instructing Maggie to alert tactical backup. Then he said, “Crystal? Put 'em to sleep.”

Martin glanced over.

Crystal had a smile as feral as any he or James had worn. “Copy that.”

~~~~

He was opening the door before the car pulled to a stop. He vaulted out and ran towards the house where his wife and son were being held. He was dimly aware of Crystal and Rice getting out of the car behind him, Crystal ordering Rice to cover him while she took the back. Good. He could trust Crystal to be ruthless.

He crashed through the front door without pausing, Rice at his back. His pistol was up and he was firing, taking the kidnappers down. “Sonya! Aiden!”

Rice spun, aiming and firing to take down another kidnapper.

He could hear more shots from the rear of the house. Crystal was joining the party.

“Sonya! Aiden!” he bellowed again, straining his ears for a response. Crystal came into the room, her pistol loosely aimed up at the ceiling — yet all too ready to aim and fire if it should become necessary.

“Dad! In here!”

“Martin! We’re here!”

He sagged in relief. Both Sonya and Aiden sounded all right. He tucked his pistol back into its holster, and went to find them. He left securing the rest of the house to his teammates.

~~~~

Martin waited in the yard with Sonya and Aiden, being silently supportive after their ordeal. The two were huddled beneath shock blankets as they waited to be cleared before they could leave. Crystal was in charge of the scene, and was coordinating with the other responders.

He still hadn’t asked Sonya all the things he wanted to know. It just didn’t seem to be the right time. Especially now, with the scene swarming with police and EMTs.

Rice was standing nearby, a casual guard against the intrusion of any of those police or EMTs.

Crystal walked over to them, and began speaking as soon as she was close enough. “Sonya, we want to move you and Aiden to a safe house until this is over.”

Sonya looked surprised, then turned to him, her voice taking on the habitual whine she had when she complained. “Why can't we stay with you?”

How had he never noticed how annoying that whine was?

“That's not secure enough,” Crystal interjected sharply.

He shot her a grateful look for the support. “You'd be better off in the safe house, Sonya.”

Aiden’s dark brown eyes widened anxiously. “You're gonna come with us, right, Dad?”

He hated to disappoint the kid. He tried to sound reassuring, “I can't right now, but I'll be there as soon as I can. I promise you that.”

“I'm gonna have Balasco drive Sonya and Aiden.”

“No, Crystal. I want someone I can trust. Tony.”

Rice turned around, shocked. He still gave his immediate support, “You got it.”

He smiled at Rice, giving the man a nod of thanks. He saw Sonya frowning at him out of the corner of his eye, as if she were trying to solve a puzzle. When he turned to her, she looked away, as if uncomfortable.

He had known that she was in on whatever had him here, working with DCO, instead of back at MI6 with James, but that knowledge hadn’t quite sunk in. Until now.

Chapter Text

Later that afternoon, Crystal stopped him as they were heading to the State Department briefing that would wrap up the Hani Jabril/Prince Fayeen case.

She cleared her throat, looking away momentarily, before asking, “How are Sonya and Aiden?”

He was puzzled. Why was she so uncomfortable talking to him? “They're doing all right. I just spoke to Rice on the phone. Nothing to report.”

“Uh huh. That’s good.” She bit her lip, then, “Hey, before we go in there, I need to know what's going on.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean someone leaked that you're FBI. Your connection to Verax. Operation Raining Fire. What is it? Maggie said you were looking into it.”

Shit. He started to push past her. “I don't know what it's about.”

Crystal grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. “Don't bullshit me, Martin.”

She wasn’t going to believe him, but he tried. “I'm serious.”

Crystal looked frustrated. “They went after your family. You need to tell us.”

He sighed. “Look, I really don’t know. I promise I'll fill you in when I know more. All right?”

She pursed her lips and gave him a tight nod. Her expression warned, this isn’t over.

He sighed. He guessed that was the best he would get. “Come on, let’s go in.”

~~~~

He sat down heavily at his desk, still feeling shocked and angry. Crystal — Crystal! — had stormed out of the briefing. She’d probably be lucky not to be suspended for that little show of temper, not that he blamed her.

The State Department representative, Serena Milloy, had told them that they were prosecuting Bashir for killing Prince Abboud, and letting Hani Jabril go free.

That had stunned them all. Yes, Hani was innocent, but Bashir had been given immunity for naming those truly responsible for Abboud’s death — and that blame led directly to Prince Fayeen.

Milloy had ignored them when they called it a cover up, simply saying that the case was closed, and they were all to move on to whatever case was next on their docket.

He shook his head. Crystal was right. It was a disgrace.

At least now he had time to consider what the next step in unraveling his own mystery should be.

~~~~

That next step led him here, waiting for Deputy Director Spiller. He was seated behind Spiller’s desk, waiting, with his pistol lying on the desk. Loaded. Ready to fire.

Spiller entered the office reading a file. He stopped, startled, when he noticed Martin. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

He bared his teeth. “That'd be unfortunate. I haven't asked you a single question yet.”

Spiller blinked at him in contrived confusion. “What's with the piece?”

“This?” he waved his hand at his pistol. “It’s to make sure you answer. Sit down.” He watched as Spiller sat down in the guest chair opposite him.

Spiller spread his arms, as if to say, “Here I am.”

He frowned. Spiller was too calm. “Saudi Agents knew I was undercover FBI. How'd they find that out?”

Spiller shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

“The leak didn't come from DCO. That puts you and Milloy at the top of the list.”

“Just Milloy. Not me.” Spiller was still unnaturally calm.

“I don't see much light between you two. Like when you're whitewashing a case.”

Spiller sighed. “Martin, you’re smart. You’re experienced. See it for what it is. At this level, if you don't play the game, you're dead.” Satisfied that he’d made his point, Spiller sat back in the chair, folding his hands in  his lap. “I'm not working for Verax. For the past five years, I've been tracking their covert activities and their operations.”

He paused, emphasizing his next words. “Their domestic assassinations. Check up in that cabinet. There's a black accordion file. See for yourself. I'm on your side, Agent.”

If there was one thing he could be sure of, it was that Spiller was on no one’s side but his own. Still, he had to keep playing the game, just as Spiller said. Peeling away layers of falsehood like an onion, until he arrived at the truth. He just wanted to go home. To James. “I'm not sure I'm on yours yet.”

His opponent took on a distinctly avuncular air that made Martin even more wary. “Now, listen. I know you’re aware that ‘Martin Odum’ is a legend. It’s completely understandable that you want to know who you are.” Spiller paused, looking at him with profound regret. “If I knew, I would tell you.”

Spiller watched him carefully, waiting to see if he bought that story.

He swallowed, allowing his disappointment to show.

“But there is hope for you, Martin. Verax does know. They were in Iraq, in 2004. Does that ring a bell? I want to bring Verax down. You want answers. Maybe we could help each other.”

He listened, carefully hiding his disbelief as Spiller spun the story. It all sounded plausible, and no doubt some of it was true, but he had no way of separating the truth from the lies.

Whole directorates of the State Department had been corrupted by Verax. They controlled votes in Congress, making sure that they had their say in any military appropriation. They subcontracted to the NSA under a firm called Ensign, and controlled their own private military. Arcadia was their policy group.

Martin could only shake his head. If Spiller was right, Verax was trying to shift the balance of power in the country — into their own control.

Then Spiller said something that made him sit up and take notice. After telling him that Verax was trying to engineer a terrorist attack against the United States in order to get funding for a spy satellite through Congress, Spiller said a name. John Cameron. And then told him that Cameron was there in Iraq, in 2004. That Cameron would know about Raining Fire, and who he really was. Spiller ordered him to stop Cameron. No matter what it took.

That was one order he would gladly take from this man.

~~~~

As he drove to the safe house, he thought over recent events, trying to sort things out.

He wasn’t sure if he was Martin or Alec at this point. He didn’t quite feel like Alec yet, but he knew that he was no longer Martin. His usual skill at pulling on new identities had deserted him.

Only fair, he supposed. Alec wasn’t just another legend. That was who he truly was. The Martin Odum legend was slipping away, and it felt like he had nothing — or no one — to replace it.

It had been happening for a while. It had to be the reason he had been having trouble coming out of legend lately. He must have subconsciously known that Martin Odum was another legend. Switching from one legend to another was difficult — not to mention ill-advised.

He had felt more like Alec when he was fighting the kidnappers. But his worry about Sonya and Aiden kept bringing Martin bubbling to the surface. What did he really feel for Sonya? Did he love her? Was that just Martin’s programing?

What about Aiden? He still loved the boy. No matter what, Aiden was his. He’d protect his son no matter what it took.

~~~~

He checked with Tony when he arrived at the safehouse. Everything seemed to be fine, and he thanked Tony for watching his family.

Tony smiled, and told him he had a great kid while Aiden beamed up at him.

He grinned, thanked Tony again, and tousled Aiden’s hair.

“Aw, Dad!”

“Go on and get ready for bed, all right?”

“Can’t I stay up?”

Sonya stepped out onto the deck. “You heard your father. Go on.” She smiled at him and Tony while they watched Aiden march dejectedly into the house.

“Well, on that note, I guess it’s my cue to leave. Martin. Sonya.” Tony nodded at each of them, and walked down the path to his car.

Sonya came up next to him, leaning against him. He automatically put his arm around her.

“It's nice being a family again. Even playing gin rummy under armed guard. You should quit your job and come home again.”

He looked down at her. “What?”

She stepped back, looking at him earnestly. “Let's go away. The three of us. Together, we'll be fine.”

He shook his head. She knew he was going to ask her about what had happened. He wasn’t going to let her deflect the coming conversation into another subject. He faced her directly. “Where'd you learn how to handle yourself?”

Sonya affected a confused expression that did nothing to cover the sudden wariness in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

He advanced on her. “That move you did earlier. You smashed that guy's ribs. Never seen you do anything like that before.”

“Oh. I…” Her eyes darted around before answering. “I reacted to protect Aiden.”

He said nothing, just raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“While you were gone,” she said in a rush. “It was while you were gone. I took a self-defense class.”

He laughed, mocking her. “Right. One self-defense class, you knock out a trained killer, yeah?”

She huffed at him, annoyed. “You're being paranoid.”

It felt like a switch had been thrown. He was coldly furious. “I'm not being paranoid. In 2004, I wasn't in a car accident. I was in Iraq. You’ve been lying to me, Sonya, and I want to know why.”

She gaped at him. “I’m not listening to this.” She turned and stormed into the house.

He followed her into the kitchen and grabbed her arm, pulling her around to face him. “Tell me the truth, Sonya!”

“Listen to yourself, Martin,” she snapped. “You're confused. You're sick.”

“I’m not sick! I’m being  lied to!” His roar startled them both. “You told me that I woke up in hospital ten years ago, that I’d been in a car accident. I had no memory of my life before. You and Gates helped me to put my past back together — as Martin Odum. But the pieces don’t make sense. I’m starting to remember things, Sonya. Real things. I’m not Martin Odum.”

She looked at him with pity. “You’ve been undercover too long, Martin. You’re imagining things.”

His fury overwhelmed him and he shook her. “You tell me the truth, damn it! Who was I? Huh? Who was I before?”

Sonya shook her head, tears coming to her eyes. “No, Martin, you were in a coma in 2004. I’ve told you —”

“I know that’s not true. Stop. Lying. To me!”

Her voice took on that irritating whine that he hated so much. “Of course it’s true, I promise it’s true, you’re sick Martin, you need to believe me!”

He dropped his arms and turned away, struggling to regain control. Certain that if he didn’t he’d hit her.  

She repeated the story about the car crash and his coma. Why? Did she think he was an idiot? He knew that wasn’t true.

He turned and faced her again. “You’re lying again. I know I was in Basra in 2004 — and that I was still in MI6 in 2010. What I don’t know is how I ended up here, as Martin Odum.” He got right in her face and shouted, “Tell me the truth!”

Sonya’s tears shut off as she looked at him in shock. “You remember? You can’t remember! You’re not supposed to remember!”

He backed off. He’d broken through her shell, and she’d tell him the truth, now. “I’m beginning to remember. You need to tell me what happened.”

Sonya slumped, defeated. “I was CIA. I worked in an office where we created legends and cover stories. One branch of the office was experimenting with memory creation, to strengthen a legend. It was called Project Mnemosyne.” She bit her lip, looking up through her eyelashes to see how he was taking the information.

He just nodded, waving his hand. “Go on.”

She tightened her lips. “You were brought to us needing a legend to go undercover in the FBI. Gates was your FBI contact and controller. He didn’t know your true identity though.” She shrugged helplessly, “He said he didn’t want to know. It was an off book operation.”

He felt a muscle jump in his cheek as he tried to maintain control of his temper. She was telling him what he needed to know.

“I was pulled in to help the technician, Porter. I built the legend while he was going to implant the memories. I created you, Martin. I made you who you are. Your background, your quirks. You really were badly injured in 2004, but I don’t know how. Maybe you really were in Iraq,” she shrugged. “We used that as a natural insert point for the memory alterations. The process is supposed to take about a week. We had to get it done in two days. We were working on the final stage of the process when someone came in.”

She took a breath. From her clenched hands it was apparent that this was a memory that she upset her. “He was an agent I’d seen around. I don’t know his name. Sawyer, maybe? He was raving about recognizing you, and he was holding Kessler hostage. He worked on Mnemosyne too, but I didn’t know him well.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I would never get the chance to know him better — that agent started shooting. First Kessler, then Porter. I was sure we’d be next.”

She folded her arms, trying to protect herself from the memories. “You were groggy from the drugs, so I got you under some cover. Then the room was on fire. I don’t know what happened. I got you out of there, contacted Gates. He said to keep going with your mission. We didn’t know who you were — we had no records. You were the target of that madman, and the best way to protect you was to keep you undercover. I set myself up as your wife, and Aiden as our son.”

He leaned back against the table. It sounded impossible to believe, but it had the ring of truth. “How? How did this whole thing work?”

“I told you. It was my job was to build the legends. The technician’s job was to administer the drugs and put the memories in place. Some sort of deep hypnosis, I don’t know. The drugs suppressed your memories and allowed the new ones to take hold. The subject needed to take the drugs regularly, once a week, until they were no longer needed. Then the subject would be allowed to regain his old memories. I’m not sure exactly how. I wasn’t involved in that part.”

“You drugged me.” He stared at her, narrowing his eyes. “You kept drugging me, didn’t you? Are you still drugging me?”

Her eyes darted around again before she answered. “Yes. But I had to! I had to keep your memory suppressed!” She looked at him, pleading for understanding. “I ran out. I couldn’t get more.”

“You couldn’t get more,” he sneered at her. “Is that when I started having problems with coming out of legend?”

She nodded meekly.

He let that go for the time being. He needed answers and he wouldn’t get them if he killed her the way his instincts demanded. “Why did you make yourself my wife? Why was it needed for the legend? Why did you bring in Aiden? He’s not my son. Is he even yours?”

Sonya gasped and surged forward, furious, to slap him. “That wasn't called for, Martin! He’s my nephew. I never expected to have to raise a kid, but my sister died in a car crash. He may not be my son, but I love him.”

She stood straight, proud, as she told him what she’d done. “Adam kept having nightmares after the crash. He couldn’t sleep, he wouldn’t eat. I stole some of the Mnemosyne drugs to suppress his memories of the crash. After the fire I was afraid, I thought someone might come after me to kill me. Gates said I should go into hiding with you. I brought my nephew to be our son. To protect him too.”

Sonya took a deep breath. “He was in the car when my sister died. He survived the crash. He had to sit there, strapped into his baby seat, and watch his mom die. He was trapped with her body. He was only 4. He couldn’t deal with the memories. Yes, I drugged him. I changed his name to Aiden and made him our son.” She raised her chin proudly. “I saved his life.”

A shocked gasp drew their attention to the hallway. Aiden was there, pale and staring. “Mom? Dad? What’s going on? Why are you fighting? Why are you saying you drugged me, Mom?”

Sonya started to go to Aiden, speaking soothingly, “It’s okay, baby. It’s fine. You’re all right —”

“It’s not all right, Sonya!” Martin’s voice was nearly a yell. “You drugged me, you drugged Aiden. He was a baby! He’s just a little boy, Sonya. You drugged him. He’s an innocent, we protect innocents!”

Sonya stopped, looking shocked when Aiden backed away from her.

Aiden’s dark eyes were wide with fright as he stared at her.

“You have to know that. You do know that, don’t you? I did it to save you!” Sonya begged for understanding, “I did it to save you both!”

Sudden uneasiness pricked at Martin. Something was wrong. It was too quiet. He glanced around. Someone should have come in to investigate the yelling. Why hadn’t they? He looked out the window. “Where are the guards?”

“What?” Sonya turned around to look.

“Get down,” he snapped. “Get Aiden and get down!”

Sonya dived for their son and pulled him down underneath her.

Martin crouched low, holding his pistol, ears straining for any noise.

The windows shattered inward in a burst of machine gun fire. Aiden began screaming in fright.

Sonya looked at him over Aiden’s head, her eyes wide.

He shook  his head at her and waved for her to stay down.

She jumped when a man’s voice came booming from the darkness outside.

“Martin Odum, you are surrounded.”

He hissed at Sonya, “Get Aiden out of here, into the back.”

She nodded and urged Aiden to go with her in a crouch.

He pulled out his pistol and checked it.

The man outside continued, “Throw out your weapon and give yourself up. Let your family live.”

Martin ground his teeth in frustration. When would this be over? He wanted to find whoever was behind this, Cameron or Shaw or whoever they worked for, and put a bullet in them.

“I’m coming up behind you, Martin.”

Sonya was back. She looked at him with determination. “Give me a gun.”

He blinked at her, having a hard time believing that she could use one, despite what he had just learned.

“Give me a gun!” she insisted.

He nodded, giving in. He handed her his backup piece. “Here. Call Rice first. Tell him to send backup.”

She nodded. “What are you going to do?”

He bared his teeth. “I’m going to destroy them.”

~~~~

And he had. Their attackers were all dead — and not one of them had any identifying marks on their bodies or on their clothes. He had no idea who sent them or why. Verax, of course. But there was no proof.

He looked out the waiting room window into the darkness. It was still night, although the sky was just beginning to brighten with the dawn.

“Dad!”

He turned. Aiden raced toward him, Rice and Crystal walking behind.

He crouched down, ready to hug his son when Aiden suddenly stopped, wide-eyed. Why? Oh. He looked down. His front was still covered in Sonya’s blood.

“Dad?”

He looked up at Crystal and Rice. They looked apologetic. He waved them off, suddenly exhausted. He needed to get out of here. He needed — he didn’t know what he needed.

He dredged up a smile for his son. “Aiden. Your mom is in surgery, all right? She’ll be fine. I’m going to leave you here with Crystal and Tony, and they’ll protect you until I get back.”

Aiden’s eyes were huge in his pale face as he nodded.

“C’mere, kiddo.” Crystal knelt pulling him into her arms. She nodded at Martin over Aiden’s head. “We’ll stand guard. Go get cleaned up.”

“Yeah.” Rice looked a bit awkward standing by the door. “I’ll come get you if anything — well, I mean, if —”  

He nodded. “Thanks, Crystal. Tony. You be a good boy, Aiden. I’ll be back.”

“Promise?” His son’s voice was barely a whisper.

“I promise, son.”

Fighting back his dizziness and nausea, he left without looking back. He was losing his grip on who he was. Who would keep that promise? Martin? Or Alec?

Chapter Text

The phone’s ringing woke him. James groaned, forcing himself up, when what he wanted to do was roll over and go back to sleep. Why the hell couldn’t whoever was calling just hang up? He peered blearily at the clock. 12:30. At least he’d gotten a few hours sleep. He didn’t like admitting that it was getting harder for him to readjust his sleep schedule after a mission in another time zone.

He frowned when he saw the unfamiliar number on the caller ID. It was from America — maybe Felix was calling back from a different phone? He picked up the handset and growled, “What?”

Harsh breathing was the only response.

“Who is this?” he demanded, irritation wiping away the fuzziness of sleep.

“James. James?” It was Alec’s voice, strained and pleading.

He was suddenly alert and focused on the call. “Alec? What’s wrong?”

“I don't… I don't know. I don't know who I am, James.”

He swallowed. Alec’s voice was broken, sounding lost and confused. He gripped the handset, wishing he could crawl through the phone to the other side. He wanted to hold Alec and find out what was wrong. He murmured, “Alec….”

“Sometimes? I think? And then I’m Martin.” Alec’s breaths came quick and light, edging toward panic. “James? Who am I?”

He swallowed. What the hell had happened? Alec had been confused a few days ago, but not like this. “Where are you? Are you safe?”

“I’m at the hospital —”

Christ. He shifted the phone to his other hand and rooted through his bedside table, trying to find his mobile. He would text Q at MI6 and demand a flight back to America. “Are you injured?”

“No. It’s Sonya.”

His hand had started to fall away from the mobile when he heard Alec’s ‘no,’ but he reached for it again when he heard ‘Sonya.’ Jealous anger churned in his gut. What had that bitch done? “I’ll catch a flight out. I can be there tonight.”

“No, I’ll be all right. I just…” Alec took a deep breath. “I just need you to help me remember who I am.”

Against his instincts, he gave in and reluctantly let go of the mobile. Alec needed his support, not an argument. “You’re Alec Trevelyan. My best friend, my love. You were a Marine in the SBS, seconded to MI6. A Double O. 006”

Still shaky breathing was the only response.

“Alec?”

There was an exhale. “I don’t remember. Just bits and pieces. They drugged me, making me into Martin Odum.”

“What?!” He had to keep tight rein on his temper as Alec haltingly told him what had happened in the few days since their meeting in LA.

Alec had been kidnapped and interrogated before he escaped. Sonya and Aiden had been kidnapped and rescued. Then there had been an attack on their safehouse that left Sonya fighting for her life.

He had no sympathy for her.

Then Alec told him what he’d learned about Mnemosyne.

Sonya had drugged Alec. She had even drugged Aiden, the poor kid. If he ever met her, she’d better watch her back. And Gates. He’d had a hand in keeping Alec drugged, too. Why did that name seem familiar? It wasn’t an uncommon name, but there was something about it that kept demanding his attention. He shoved that aside to look into later. Alec was the important one now.

At least Alec sounded steadier, more sure of himself, the longer they talked. They had fallen into the familiar routine of a post-mission debrief. By the time he’d finished telling James all the details he’d learned, Alec had sounded almost like his old self.

A jumbled surge of emotion, love and fear and missing the other man like a lost limb, prompted him to beg, “Come home, Alec.” He listened to Alec’s breathing over the phone. Please, he urged mentally, please.

“James…”

He closed his eyes at the apologetic tone. He knew that Alec would refuse. There was still so much they needed to find out before they could be sure it was safe. Maybe he was being selfish, but he wanted Alec with him. He couldn’t protect Alec in another country.

For a moment they just listened to each other breathing over the phone.

Then Alec said, “I have to go…”

“Wait!” He sought desperately for something to add, reluctant to let Alec go so soon. He snorted at himself. Soon. They’d been talking for over an hour. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, so he settled for, “Just be careful. Call when you can.”

“I’ll call again, don’t worry.” He could hear the warmth in Alec’s voice — as well as the exhaustion.

He found himself listening to the buzz of a disconnected call.  

~~~~

Alec took a deep breath, feeling better than he had in a long time, and tucked the phone into a pocket. He let his head fall onto the back of the park bench and closed his eyes. The sun had finally risen, and its light felt warm on his face.

He had found the small park tucked in close to the hospital. It was designed to be a pleasant, relaxing space for patients and visitors. This early in the morning it was practically deserted.

The phone call with James had helped to settle him. There was a link between them, still tenuous, but the connection was just strong enough to ground him and quiet the clamoring voices in his head. The knowledge that he wasn’t alone in the whirl of chaos his life had become gave him something solid to hold on to.

He still couldn't remember much of his life from before. Being Alec still felt distant, like a half-remembered legend from long ago, a shard of glass in a room full of broken mirrors slowly fitting back together after too long left apart.

He hadn’t felt quite right for a long time. Six months, at least. Maybe a year? He couldn’t remember when he had realized there was something wrong. After the events of the last few days, he was much more aware that he was no longer quite Martin. At least after speaking with James, he wasn’t so torn by confusion and doubt.

~~~~

He didn’t know how long he sat on the bench after the phone call. When he felt ready to tackle the next challenge he faced, he called Crystal, and arranged to meet her at the entrance to the hospital. He wanted to talk to her before going in to see Sonya.

She passed him as she walked out of the hospital, and kept going. He pushed off from the wall and caught up to her. They walked side-by-side until they came to the bench where he had called James. He had chosen it because it was far enough away from others that he had been fairly confident that he wouldn’t be overheard.

As they sat, Crystal gave him an update. “Tony took Aiden home, to his wife. Poor kid is exhausted. Gates assigned a couple agents to guard them. We have Sonya checked in under an assumed name. She came through the surgery fine, but officially Sonya Odum is fighting for her life in ICU. Megan Greene is recovering in a regular room, with chest injuries from a car accident.”

He snorted. Car accident.

Crystal frowned at him in puzzlement, but he waved her question aside. “Don’t worry about it. I appreciate all you’ve done for me — for us.”

“Sure.” She was still frowning at him. “Martin, I went to see my dad.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You went to see the Vice Admiral? Did Hell freeze over?”

She glared at him, exasperated. “Do you want to hear what he told me about Raining Fire or not?”

He gestured for her to go on.

Crystal quickly relayed the high points of the story she’d gotten from her father. It was a cover up of the worst friendly fire incident of the war, with over 400 dead, and more wounded. Most of them were from Verax.

Martin started to ask her about Verax when she cut him off.

“I’m not done. I couldn’t get any names. Dad said that the cover up goes as high as the upper echelons of the Pentagon. No one — including Verax — wants anyone to know what happened.” She stared at him intently. “Now it’s your turn. What the hell is going on, Martin? I want the truth this time.”

He hesitated. How much should he tell her? All of it? Or the lie that Gates and Sonya had concocted? She looked like she was going to snap at him when he decided. All or nothing.

“I was in Basra. I was injured by Raining Fire in 2004.” He shook his head at the questioning look she gave him, “No, there was no car accident. I don’t remember much. Just bits and pieces, mostly in nightmares. I don’t know why Verax is after me — I don’t remember who I am. Martin Odum is a legend. No one has been able to tell me who I really am.”

“My God, Martin,” Crystal breathed, horrified. “You’ve been living in legend for ten years? No wonder you’re so fucked up.” She shrugged, looking only slightly apologetic. “Sorry.”

He huffed a bitter laugh. “No, you’re right. I am fucked up. I’m the man who knows too much — except I forgot.” He watched her absorb the information, then got her attention. “Crystal. I’m going to tell you the rest, but you need to be careful. Don’t trust Gates. Don’t trust Spiller, either.”

“Martin, how can you say that? Spiller is a Deputy Director of the FBI, and you’ve been friends with Gates for years.”

“Ten years, Crystal?” At her nod he continued, “No. I found out that Gates — and Sonya — have been lying to me. I’ve been here with DCO for only four years. Before that I was in MI6.”

Crystal shook her head, “Oh, Martin, no, you know that’s not true. Are you losing your mind now? How can you accuse your wife of lying to you like that? Or Gates? What about Aiden? Are you saying that he’s not yours?” She started to stand, “Come on, I need to get you into the secure ward for observation. You’re beginning to worry me.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her back down to the bench. “Sit down, Crystal. I’m telling you the truth. Haven’t you wondered about me? All the little things that never added up? And Sonya or Gates would just explain it all away?” He could see the disbelief in her eyes fade to uncertainty.

“Sonya admitted it last night, right before we were attacked. I almost got the whole story out of her. I’m going in to see her to find out more; come along if you want to know the truth.”

Crystal nodded. “All right. But if I don’t hear confirmation of your story, I’m taking you to psych.”

“Yeah,” he snorted, thinking of James. “I wouldn’t be in there very long. Let’s go.” He got up, leading the way back to the hospital.

~~~~

Crystal had told him that Aiden was safe, looked after by Tony and his wife, and surrounded by several agency guards. But Gates had assigned them, and that made Martin uneasy. What if the guards were in on the plot? How could he know? He squashed that thought — he wasn’t sure if it was paranoia or sensible caution. He told himself that it didn’t make sense for anyone to threaten Aiden at this point. His son should be safe, for now at least.

Sonya was drowsing when he and Crystal walked in. She was looking better, although still weak and in obvious pain from the gunshot. Her breathing tube had been removed already, although the chest drain was still in place. It wouldn’t be removed for a few days, until her lung had healed a bit.

She woke up as they approached the bed, and smiled tremulously at him before her expression turned guarded.

He watched her coldly. “We need to talk.”

“Martin —” Sonya pleaded. Her voice was weak and yet it still held a faint trace of that irritating whine.

“No. Not unless the rest of that sentence is a full explanation.” He stood over the bed, looking down at the woman who had made herself his wife. “There are things that you left out last night.”

Sonya gave a tiny nod of her head, defeated. “I’ll tell you what I know.”

“My God,” Crystal breathed, looking from him to Sonya with horror. “You were telling the truth, Martin.”

Sonya shot a puzzled glance at the other woman as Crystal came closer to the bed.

“Look at me, Sonya,” he snapped. “Tell me about the Mnemosyne process. How did you use it to replace memories?”

Crystal’s eyes widened, but she kept still.

“I told you, Martin. I don’t know the whole process. I wasn’t part of it.”

He was about to snap at her again when she went on.

She took a shallow, unsteady breath. “The technician — Porter — implanted the memories, after he gave you a drug. It was supposed to take at least a week, building layers of memories, to give the new personality depth. Porter only had two nights to work on you.”

Hearing her talk about it — and knowing it had happened to him — made his skin crawl. He didn’t remember any of it. He deflected, trying to minimize the discomfort he felt. He snorted and nudged Crystal. “She’s calling me shallow.”

Crystal sent him a withering look, all but rolling her eyes at him.

Sonya continued speaking, her voice fading as she went on. “I was building your backstory on the fly because it was a rush job. I don’t know who authorised it. Porter pulled me in to help. Gates wasn’t there, although he was the one I was supposed to contact when the process was complete.”

Martin felt Crystal stirring at his side at the mention of their boss. He put his hand up, signaling her to wait.

“You called him after the fire, and he told you to continue with the mission I was supposed to take.” He watched Sonya move her head against the pillow in a slight nod.

“I don’t know what the mission was, only that a few months later Gates told me that we were going to keep you undercover. That it would be best for all of us. We didn’t know who you really were or who was trying to kill you. As Martin Odum, you were safe.”

“And you didn’t question that? You decided to use me?” He watched her nod again and wrestled down his anger. He still needed answers. “Tell me more about the drug. What was it? How often did you give me the drug? How often did you drug Aiden?”

That last question brought Crystal out of her silence, “What? You drugged your son, too? Sonya, he’s just a kid, what the hell did you do?”

Martin faded back a little, watching Crystal work. She was a damn good interrogator, and he had the urge to kill Sonya, which wouldn’t get him the information he needed.

Sonya closed her eyes and took another breath. “I did what I had to. When I got you out of the lab I was able to steal —” she caught herself, “to take as much of the drug as I could. I don’t know what it was, or what they called it. I gave it to you once a week at first. When I started to run out, it was every other week. I only needed to give it to Aiden a few times. His memory suggestions took hold quickly.”

“That was when Martin started having problems, wasn’t it? You were letting up on the drugs.” Crystal’s eyes were hard as she watched Sonya.

Sonya’s eyes opened, and she focused on Crystal. “Yes. That’s when Martin’s memory alterations became unstable. He was going through withdrawal from the drug, too. That’s why he was erratic. It frightened me. Each time, I’d give him some of the drug to ease the symptoms, but I was running out.”

Martin wrestled down his anger again. Withdrawal? Was he still undergoing withdrawal? Was that why it was so hard to become Alec again?

Crystal glanced back at him sympathetically before she asked Sonya, “Why were you able to stop giving the drug to Aiden but not to Martin? Did Aiden go through withdrawal too?”

“Aiden was sick for a while, but not really withdrawal. His alterations were just suggestions. He needed to forget his mother, and he needed to believe that Martin was his father. His own mind took care of reinforcing that belief. He didn’t need the drug after a couple of months.”

Crystal leaned forward, “What do you mean, Aiden needed to forget his mother?”

Sonya’s voice was getting weaker. “My name is Sarah MacDonald. My sister Sonya was Aiden’s mother. I took her name when I went undercover with Martin. I had to drug Aiden, because he wasn’t coping with his mother’s death. I thought he would hurt himself. I did this to save his life. I saved your life, too, Martin. We still don’t know who was after you. Taking the drug kept your original memories suppressed, and you were safe.”

A glimmer of hope threaded through his anger, and he stepped closer to the bed, interrupting Crystal. “Without the drug, my memory will come back?”

“Yes. But I don’t know how long that will take.” Sonya looked uneasily around the room before she met his eyes, “I don’t know what the long term affects of taking the drug or stopping it are.”

Fury surged through him as he realized what that meant. He might never regain all of his memories, and he might never have a stable personality again.

Crystal grabbed him as he lunged for Sonya, wanting nothing more than to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze.

She dragged him back from the bed and shoved him toward the door. “Out, Martin. Now.”

He stood there, panting for breath, trying to control his anger. He nodded jerkily and walked out of the room to lean against the the wall opposite.

Crystal followed him. “We need to talk.”

~~~~

He and Crystal were back on their bench, discussing what Sonya had told them. He felt calmer than he had in the hospital room. The little bench reminded him of his recent conversation with James.

“I still can’t believe all this, Martin. It’s insane. But it does explain your issues.”

“Issues. More like an entire subscription.” He snorted, bitter. “Try living it, Crystal.”

She eyed him. “You’re doing better now, at least.”

He shrugged. “It helps to know why this is happening. It’s some sort of withdrawal from the drug.”

“Does Aiden know?”

“Yeah, he overheard us talking at the safehouse right before the attack.”

“Poor kid.”

“Yeah. Crystal — you can’t tell anyone about this. Not until I’ve figured out who is trying to kill me.”

She pursed her lips and nodded reluctantly.

“And we can’t trust anyone.”

“I’d say something about your obvious paranoia, but you’re right,” Crystal said dryly.

~~~~

They returned to the DCO, only to be called into a meeting with the deputy Director. They were all there, including Gates, Rice, and Maggie. He’d thanked Tony again for taking care of Aiden.

He and Crystal exchanged glances as Spiller said that there were Verax agents inside the FBI. It sounded far-fetched, but it would explain some of the odd coincidences. He still didn’t trust Spiller or Gates. Were they Verax? Or was Spiller telling the truth, and they were fighting the rot that Verax brought in?

Then the deputy director began talking about the same man he had blamed before — John Cameron. Since the man was high up in Verax, and was no doubt responsible for everything, including the attacks on him and his family.

Maggie stirred at that, looking like she wanted to make a protest. She probably wanted to mention Shaw again.

It didn’t matter. This John Cameron would be a dead man if was the one responsible. Martin would make sure of that.

When the meeting came to a close, Gates gave them their orders: get John Cameron.

~~~~

The phone was ringing again, but this time he was awake, preparing dinner for himself and Q. He wiped his hands on a cloth and grabbed for the phone, hoping it was Alec calling back.

“James old boy! It’s good to hear your voice again.”

“Felix,” he growled, disappointed. “It’s about time. I spoke to you three days ago. What have you discovered?”

“Now, now. Patience old bean. Don’t jump the gun.”

James heard background noise change, as if Felix was going into a different room and shutting the door.

“There, that’s better. James, what the hell have you gotten yourself  — and me — involved in? I’ve been fielding phone calls and deflecting questions since I started doing this ‘little favor’ for you!”

James went on alert, worried. “Are you in danger?”

Felix snorted. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve managed to make it sound like something that came up in conjunction with another mission. But you owe me a big one, brother.”

“What have you found out?”

“Not as much as I should have. And not enough to justify all this attention.” Felix exhaled noisily.  “This project Mnemosyne is bad juju. No one is talking about it. A couple members of the team were working late one night and a fire broke out in the building the lab was in. Destroyed it, and killed four people. Some of them were people that had no business being in that lab.”

“That fellow Kessler you were interested in was one of them. I’ll tell you about him later. The others were a secretary named Sarah MacDonald, a janitor named Isaac Sawyer, and Jeremy Porter, who was the only one that should have been in the lab.”

James frowned. M’s report said five people died, not four, and none of those had been a woman. He’d discuss the names with Q. The discrepancy made him itch.

Felix continued, “The few records I’ve found are heavily redacted. The servers the information was stored on that weren’t destroyed by the fire were deliberately erased. No idea who or why. No one investigated. Or rather, there’s no record of that investigation. From what I’ve been able to figure out from talking to my contacts and the few physical records that remain, it looks like the project was just going into a field testing phase of the program’s viability, but had no listed successes.”

“Nothing about Alec?” James demanded.

“Alec? No, why?” Felix sounded puzzled. “You mentioned him before. What does he have to do with Mnemosyne?”

“Felix…” James wondered why he was hesitating. He trusted Felix, and it sounded as though investigating the coverup was putting his friend in danger.

It really wasn’t a choice. He began to tell Felix everything they had found out so far. He ended with, “I’m trusting you with Alec’s life. We don’t know why Verax is after him.”

“Christ, James, that sounds difficult to believe, even in our profession. Do you want me to manufacture an excuse to go to California? Give him some unofficial backup?”

“If you can safely, then yes. I’d appreciate it. Just stay out of Alec’s way if he doesn't need you.”

Felix laughed. “No problem, James. I’m not nearly the mother hen you are.”

“I’m not —” he growled into the phone, cut off when Felix laughed harder. He asked icily, “When you’re through, is there anything else?”

There were some more muffled snickers. Then Felix’s voice became serious again. “Your man Kessler — Nick Kessler — was attached to Mnemosyne, but without records, I don’t know what his job was. He was just a low-level agent. And James — he was the one who was working with Alec in Basra.”

“Are you sure he’s dead? The reports were doctored — M’s said 5 dead, including Alec, and none of them was a woman. Alec survived. What about Kessler?”

Felix was silent for a moment. “Damn. What are the names you have? I’ll check on them.”

He frowned, trying to remember the names. He had left the report with Q. “Alec, Sawyer, Kessler, Porter, and Frederick Dalton.”

“Hmm. OK. I’ll look into the extra name. I’ll get back to you with what I find out, then I’ll go out to give Alec some backup.”

“Thanks, Felix.”

“Don’t mention it. Just remember —”

“I owe you,” he let a little humor into his voice.

“Right.” Felix hung up.

That was strange. Someone doctored the reports that M received. Or had it been the FBI reports that had been doctored? Who had done it, and why? He picked up the towel off the counter and flung it into the sink, frustrated. Everything they learned only led to more questions. At this rate, Alec would never be able to come home.

Chapter Text

Martin had gone to the morgue with Tony, hoping they could discover something about their opponent by inspecting the bodies of the men he had killed at the safe house. There hadn't been much to learn. The men had no ID’s, and there had been no tags or other identifying marks on their clothing.

The bodies were as generic as their possessions. Their fingerprints had been removed, and they had had plastic surgery, making facial recognition was useless. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make the men utterly unidentifiable. The few tattoos that had been left untouched hadn’t been unique; others, that might have been identifiable, had been removed.

Maggie had been watching via camera. She spotted a shadow under one man’s Airborne Ranger tattoo, and had Tony use his phone’s infrared filter over the area. The phone’s camera revealed a string of numbers.

Maggie had been puzzled. The numbers seemed to be some sort of code, but no matter how she manipulated them, she couldn’t get anything recognizable out of them. Whatever the numbers meant, they weren’t phone numbers, Social Security numbers, or map coordinates.

Prompted by an impulse, Martin had asked for Tony’s phone. When he ran the phone’s camera over his arm, he had discovered the same hidden tattoo. A seemingly random string of numbers and letters that Maggie couldn’t identify and he that couldn’t remember.

Then they had returned to the DCO office, to regroup and plan their next step. Surprisingly — or not, considering he had no idea whose side Spiller was really on — the Deputy Director had the answer. They were Verax employee ID numbers.

Maggie used that information to track down one of their corpses, and found an address.

Then he, Crystal, and Tony headed for the dead man’s apartment. It felt good to get out some of his anger and frustration by kicking the door in. Crystal had smirked at him, while Tony shook his head.

They had discovered evidence of an assassination plot. There was a truly fine sniper rifle, one that had him itching to take possession of it. It was evidence, but he spent a few moments trying to figure out a way he could acquire it.

Then his phone rang. The man calling was using a voice changer, but he knew. It was Cameron. It had to be. He was vaguely aware of Crystal calling Maggie to trace the call.

Cameron taunted him, and he gave as good as he got. When Cameron hung up, they went outside. He tried to hide the screaming questions in his head that the conversation with his enemy had evoked.

Crystal didn’t notice; she was speaking to Maggie, trying to get their next destination.

He clung to the porch railing, looking out at the yard, trying to bring his rioting thoughts under some sort of control. A soft scuff of a shoe against concrete caught his attention, and he looked up.

Tony had walked up beside him. “I need to talk to you. The money’s been traced. It’s part of a shipment of pacification funds for Iraq that were stolen.”

He blinked at Tony, unable to respond for a moment. He was trying to process the words. His head ached and the voices screaming at him nearly drowned out whatever Tony had said. He still had shadows of memories vying for his attention.

Tony reached out, grabbed his arm. “Were you there, Martin? Were you part of the group that killed Americans when that money was stolen?”

All he could do was stare, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Before Tony could continue demanding answers, Crystal came out and announced they had a location for Cameron.

He was relieved. He wanted Cameron, with a thirst for the man’s blood that should have alarmed him. But he was just as eager to get away from Tony’s questions.

~~~~

The address was of an abandoned motel. Only one room was unlocked. He found a copy of the photograph of him and the others in Basra taped to a dusty mirror. Cameron had been there, and had been expecting him to find the place. He traded uneasy glances with Crystal. It was a trap. They headed for the door.

Tony reached it first, and looked out. He turned back to them, “Looks clear.”

They nodded and left the room, all of them on high alert. They got in the car.

Crystal put the car in gear and started driving.

“It’s too quiet —” the words were barely out of his mouth when a pair of  black SUVs appeared, accelerating towards them. “Drive!” He snapped at Crystal.

“Hang on!” She called back as bullets began whizzing past their car. One hit the windshield, causing cracks to spread out from the impact. Crystal spun the wheel, sending them skidding into a turn.

“Where the hell did you learn to drive, woman?” Tony’s voice was a combination of awe and alarm.

Crystal just smirked and accelerated.

The shock of another SUV crashing into the driver’s side jarred all of them, and sent the car flipping over, skidding on its roof until it came to a rest. They hung, suspended by their seat belts, stunned.

Martin’s door was yanked open, and hands reached for him. Again? he thought muzzily. He was pulled from the car and lost his battle to remain conscious.

~~~~

Maggie tried frantically to raise any of the three agents. “They’re not answering, sir. I’ve tried all of their cell phones, but…” She shrugged. She was worried. This wasn’t like Crystal at all. Even Tony would have responded by now — if he was able. That was her main fear, that something had happened to her friends.

Ignoring phone calls was completely normal for Martin, but she liked to think he would have responded to her.

“Get an armed response unit to their location.”

“Yes, sir.” Then her eyes flew wide as she heard police chatter over the comm. “Sir, there are reports of shots fired, and the police are on their way.”

“I want our people there as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gates stopped and reached for his phone as it vibrated. “Gates. Crystal? What happened?”

She relaxed. They had contact again! Then she felt the blood drain from her face as she heard her boss’ incredulous exclamation.

“Martin has been kidnapped? Again?”

~~~~

The scent of roasting meat and vegetables engulfed Q as he walked in the door. He almost moaned in pleasure. Dinner smelled wonderful, and he hadn’t had a chance to eat all day. He smiled. James didn’t often cook, but when he did whatever he made was always delicious.

Then he realized something was wrong.

James was playing with Fort, which was odd. James liked the cats well enough, but normally didn’t interact with them much. Just to give them an occasional pet or a treat. Well. He’d let the cats curl up next to him, too. James just seemed rather bemused whenever they did that, as if he didn’t expect anyone to trust him enough to sleep beside him.

Q closed the door and walked further into the room, watching curiously as James twitched a piece of string for the cat to stalk.

Pax sauntered in from the hall, ignoring his brother and the string in favor of leaping onto the counter for a treat.

He absently shook out a few treats from the container for the cat, still keeping his attention on James. He frowned slightly when it became apparent that James wasn’t going to say anything. “Is something wrong?”

James’ shoulders hunched a bit, and Fort took advantage of his distraction to leap agilely for the bit of string. “I’ve had two phone calls today. Felix reported in, and Alec…” James stopped, turning to face him with a bleak expression.

His stomach twisted as his mind went through a list of possibilities. What the hell had happened?

James shook his head, as if dismissing a thought. “No, that can wait. Go change, dinner is almost ready.”

“Whatever it is smells delicious.”

James blinked, surprised, and then smiled. Soft and warm, just for him. “Good. Go on, then. Go change. I’ll get the table set.”

He hesitated, then ducked his head a bit to look up through his eyelashes at James. “Come with me?”

James stood up, heading towards the kitchen. “If I do, we won’t have dinner at all. And we need to talk.”

Disappointment stabbed at him, and he sighed. He hadn’t wanted sex — he rarely did. He just wanted to have James to himself for a bit, without either of them worrying about whatever else was going on. He nodded reluctantly and headed for their bedroom, possible scenarios of what happened during those phone calls already running through his brain. He wanted to help Alec, but he still felt uncertain of what would happen when Alec regained his memory.

“Q?”

He turned around. “Yes?”

James stood in the doorway to the kitchen, that soft, warm smile back on his face. “We’ll get through this. Just be patient with me?”

He smiled back, “Yes, of course.”

James’ smile got bigger. “Good.”

He watched as James headed back into the kitchen, plans for the next little while slotting into his mind. Change into something comfortable, then dinner, then find out about those phone calls. Then research and plan their next steps.

He took a deep breath, and went to go change.

~~~~

The kidnappers dragged Martin out of the car when it came to a stop inside a warehouse.

He kept demanding answers, asking who they were. He knew they must have something to do with Verax.

One of the men swung at him, landing a blow on his temple that he couldn't block. His world grayed out as they tossed him into a makeshift cell, then faded into darkness as he landed on the cold floor.

~~~~

Q gingerly got out of bed, trying not to wake James. It was a mark of how much James trusted him that the Double O just shifted, spreading out to take advantage of all available space, when he left their bed.

He snorted. Double O’s were just like cats. Fiercely independent — until they wanted attention, and opportunists, ready to take advantage of any opening.

He shoved his feet into slippers and pulled on a robe before heading to the kitchen. Tea sounded just the thing right now.

Pax and Fort padded into the kitchen after him, opportunists looking for treats. He smiled as he filled the electric kettle and turned it on. “You two will get fat with all the treats you get.”

Two feline faces gave him a look that indicated they were unimpressed by his argument.

He chuckled and gave them each a few treats. Spoiled cats.

He took one of the mugs out of the cabinet and waited for the kettle to click off. Then he poured the hot water into the mug and set his tea to steep. He leaned against the counter and finally allowed his mind to begin chewing over what James had told him during dinner.

The phone call from Alec had been disturbing. He supposed that it could be argued that none of the Double O’s were the most mentally stable people in the world. Ever since Silva, he’d found it best to be cautious around Double O’s when they were more high strung than usual. Hmmm. Maybe instead of cats Double O’s were more like Thoroughbreds? He shook his head. His thoughts were all over the place tonight. At least James said that Alec had seemed stable by the end of the call.

He lifted out the tea infuser and put it in the sink, then carried the mug out to his desk. He sat and turned his computer on.

His hands hovered above the keyboard for a moment. What to check into first?

He considered hacking the CIA. Felix had said the servers that held the information on Mnemosyne had been destroyed and that there were only a few physical records left. He planned on double checking that, and seeing if he could find out anything about the discrepancy in the two lists of the dead. Maybe he could find a trace of Kessler, and verify the man’s death.

He also wanted to check into Alec’s boss, to see if the man had anything to do with the Gates that had taken the briefcase from James during the courier mission. He told himself that Gates wasn’t an uncommon name, and it was probably just a coincidence. It still made him uneasy, though. With as many inconsistencies with this situation, he wouldn’t bet on there being no connection.

He picked up his mug. The tea had cooled just enough, so he drank, savoring the flavor, before putting the mug down again.

Then there was Verax. There was definitely something shady about that corporation. He needed to hack their computers as well. He wanted to find proof they were behind the kidnappings. That still made him furious.

Alec had been kidnapped and tortured. Sonya and Aiden had been kidnapped, although thankfully they hadn’t been injured. Well. Sonya had been shot later, during the attack on their safe house, after being rescued. He couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for her. She had been the one drugging Alec.

He felt protective of Alec, even as he worried what Alec’s return would mean to his relationship with James. He shoved that thought away. He wasn’t ready to open that can of worms yet.

There was another reason he didn’t feel sorry for Sonya. She had been drugging her own son, too. What kind of mother did that?

A soft mraow beside his chair presaged the arrival of Fort, purring noisily, on his desk. He hurriedly pulled the keyboard out of the way so the cat didn’t hit any of the keys. At least Fort wasn’t near his tea. “You’re not helping,” he told the cat.

Fort just settled down in front of the monitor in the space the keyboard had been.

“I’d say he was helping a great deal. You should be in bed.”

He twisted around to see James leaning against the wall, watching him with an odd expression.

“I wanted to hack —”

“Come back to bed, Q. You can hack whoever you want in the morning.”

He frowned. “It’s morning now, James. And I’m drinking tea. I won’t be able to sleep if I go to bed.”

“It’s only just past midnight. Please, Q?”

Why was he resisting? He had wanted to spend time with James earlier, and let the two of them forget about all this for a while. He stared down at the keyboard in his hands, then he carefully set it on the desk next to the cat and reached for his mug. He gulped the rest of his tea and set the mug down.

He cast a longing look at the computer before turning it off and standing up. This mess had been going on for at least four years, ten if you counted from Basra. Leaving it be for another few hours wouldn’t hurt. “All right. Let’s go back to bed.”

James smiled, pushing himself off the wall to take Q in his arms.  

Q leaned into James’ solid warmth and put all thoughts of Alec and the need to find out just what was going on out of his mind.

Chapter Text

He was cold. Or was he hot? “James?” He stifled a moan as his whisper sent pain knifing through his head. Hadn’t James been with him? No, it had been Crystal — but that thought confused him. Who was Crystal?

He shivered in the darkness. Where was James? Would he come? He shouldn’t expect rescue. He was a Double O. If he died, another — would it be James? — would finish his mission. Pain stabbed through his body as rough hands pulled at him, and he cried out, struggling weakly.

“Shhh, Alec.” Warm breath puffed against his ear as a familiar voice hissed at him, “You have to be quiet. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

It was James? He sagged, collapsing against his best friend in relief. He vaguely realized that he was lying down, trying to curl himself around James. His lover had come for him.

No, that was wrong. His best friend. He was in love with James, but his best friend was straight, now. Then? They hadn’t become lovers until later. Wasn’t that right? After Venice.

But James had come for him. Hadn’t he? Didn’t he remember James coming for him, after he’d been tortured the first time? He’d shivered in the dark as they waited for an enemy patrol to go past, and James had held him, trying to warm him. And he’d wished that James loved him back.

A metallic screech knifed through his head, and Martin startled awake. His head pounded and swam, and he tried to swallow down nausea as he slowly rolled over. He blinked his eyes blearily as he saw the cell door had opened. A man was standing there, watching him. Jason Shaw.

“So you’re Martin Odum,” Shaw sneered. “The FBI hid you well. I’ve been looking for you for ten years.”

Shaw paced closer, peering closely at him with a smirk. “You look a little worse for wear, Martin. That won’t do at all. Here.” Shaw tossed a water bottle at him.

Martin fumbled the bottle as he caught it. It was a calculated risk. He needed the water; he felt shaky and dehydrated. Shaw seemed to want to talk, not poison him. Yet. He guzzled the water, turning the bottle up as he drained it.

“Go ahead, drink it all. I need you able to talk.” Shaw smiled coldly. “Come on in, boys.”

With those words, several men entered the cell and moved to take hold of him. He dropped the bottle and struggled, trying to fight back. “Stay the hell away from me!”

They dragged him out of the cell and forced him into a chair. One pulled his sleeve back to jab a needle into his arm, and then pressed the plunger.

He gasped at the burning sensation of the unknown drug surging through his veins. He shook his head as Shaw’s voice taunted him, an annoying sound that sounded further and further away.

He could feel the drug surging through his veins, followed by a flood of memories. Was it helping him to remember? He panted, trying to stay in control of the images threatening to pull him under.

“I remember,” he said weakly, “you stole the money, the pacification funds, killed all those American soldiers.”

Shaw nodded, “Yes. I did. I could make better use of that money than anyone else. Pacification funds my ass. It was funding insurgents.”

As Shaw spoke, the memories overwhelmed him. He could feel the chill of the desert night, feel his disgust at what was happening. He was helpless — then and now — to prevent the deaths of the American soldiers. Their murders.

He tried not to let his disgust show as the mercenaries shot the soldiers in front of him. A snapped command directed at him caused him to turn, looking out into the night, on guard.

He snorted. On guard. The animals that he should have been guarding against were behind him, having slaughtered the innocents, and were shifting the money into their own truck.

~~~

He had discovered that only some of the people in camp seemed to be aware of the criminal actions of the man in charge of Verax. He hadn’t been able to get anyone to agree to be a witness and testify against Shaw. He needed to get proof of the criminal activity.

It was late when he snuck into the tent where the money was being kept. He planned to take photos, intending to pass them on to his CIA contact. He hadn’t seen the man in a few days. Hopefully the other agent would show up at the rendezvous arranged for the next day.

He snapped a few pictures of the bundles of cash, then moved to his left to lift a heavy canvas cover off of another of the stacks. He stopped, shocked, as he realized that the tent held a cache of chemical weapons in addition to the money. He frowned, turning on his heel to survey the stacks. It looked like only part of the cash they had stolen earlier was there. He’d have to track it down when he was done.

He moved on from the money and concentrated on taking pictures of the weapons. There were people who would be very interested to learn of their existence.

A sound caught his attention, and he turned, only to be caught by be several guards grabbing him. He fought back, but there were too many.

As they wrestled him to the ground, he at least had the satisfaction of knowing he that he’d hurt them. Well, the ones that had survived, at any rate. He was sure that he’d managed to kill two of them.

They dragged him through the camp to another tent. He barely noticed the faces of the men that he’d worked with during this mission.

The guards tied his wrists, then hauled him up so that he was hanging like a side of beef, all of his weight on his shoulders. Then they began beating him. They asked no questions. Those would come later, after they had softened him up a little.

~~~

Finally the questions started. He held out, refusing to answer as pain from their blows blazed through him. Where was his contact? Surely the man realized that he wasn’t at their rendezvous. It was past time that he could expect a rescue. He spat blood and glared at the next man who punched him.

~~~

He had no choice. He had to seem to break, so that they would either kill him, or give him time to recover so that he could escape. At this point he didn’t care which it was. He just wanted the pain to stop. He gasped out a name. Satisfied that they’d broken him, the men cut him down. Then they left the tent to report to Shaw.

He had to get out, report what he’d found. But he’d overestimated his ability to tolerate the torture. He’d waited too long before appearing to give up. His arms ached and were nearly useless, although his shoulders weren’t — quite — dislocated. He forced himself to his feet, but only made it a few steps before he collapsed into the sandy floor of the tent.

He had no idea how long he lay there. The next thing he knew was that more hands were reaching for him. He tried to fight back.

“Hey, easy there, bud. It’s me.”

He recognized the voice. One of the other roughnecks. McCombs? No, it was Evans. He allowed himself to be helped up.

He was feeling more coherent as they left the tent. By the time they were a few feet away, he was walking more and more on his own. When they passed the communications tent, he had an idea. He told Evans to leave, and get as far away from the camp as he could.

Evans was a good man, and didn’t want to leave him, but he insisted. Then he went into the tent, and and fired up the radio, calling for any allied command. He ordered the one that responded to fire on his position.

They immediately protested. The coordinates he gave were for a friendly position, and they refused to fire on them. He insisted; it was a Broken Arrow, and they had to fire or risk more deaths.

He knew he wouldn’t survive. The only one that would miss him was James, his best friend. He loved James, but James was only interested in women, not him. Still, he was sure that James loved him back, just as a friend. James would be the only one that would mourn his passing.

The guards found him as he tried to leave the tent. This time he was taken to a hill just outside the camp. They thought they had caught him entering the tent, that he hadn’t had time to call anyone.

He watched as the men dug a trench that would be his grave. He said goodbye to his James, his best friend, and waited for Shaw to send a bullet into his brain and end his life.

Shaw was talking again. The asshole was in love with the sound of his own voice. Finally Shaw raised the gun and aimed.

Bright streaks of light cut through the night sky, striking the camp and setting the weapons hidden in the tents to go off, turning the night into day with the light of the blaze. The blast wave caught them all by surprise. He felt the burning pain of a bullet creasing his skull as he fell into darkness.

~~~~

That annoying voice was droning on again. “You killed a lot of my men that night with that air strike. I got blown off the hill. That was the only reason I survived. You, you were safe in the hole we dug for you.”

Hadn’t he left that voice behind in Iraq? His mouth was dry and his head ached, feeling like it was splitting in two. He was sitting, strapped into a chair. Even his head was restrained. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Get my revenge.”

A beam shot out from a computer in front of him, scanning over him. As it did, a monitor flared to life, showing a wireframe image of his face. Martin watched as it slowly filled in with his features.

Then his voice came from the speakers, repeating his earlier question, as the image of his face mouthed the words. “What are you going to do with me?”

“The future of war is psyops, outthinking the enemy, controlling what they know, what they believe to be true.” Shaw paused to answer his phone, “Yes? The mission is go.”

“What are you talking about?”

Shaw smirked at him. “Taking care of a problem with a problem. Two birds with one stone. John Cameron is about to assassinate the director of the FBI.”

He was puzzled. “But Cameron works for you.”

Shaw laughed, sharp and bitter. “No. You’re Cameron. At least you were in Iraq. You told us your identity when we broke you. You told me everything. Your real name. That you worked for MI6.”

“No.” He tried to shake his head in denial, but it was still held firm in the bindings. “No, I talked to Cameron.”

He didn’t dispute breaking — that happened, even with the most experienced agents. Maybe especially with the most experienced agents. Seeming to break and feeding your captor information was a good way to play for time.

“You’re Cameron, and I made sure that the FBI has the evidence that you killed the soldiers in Iraq. And now you will be blamed for assassinating the director of the FBI.”

The image of his face on the monitor began to come to life. “My name is Martin Odum. My name used to be John Cameron. I'm a covert operative in the FBI.”

He watched in disbelief as he saw his own face, heard his own voice, coming from the TV screen. If he didn’t know better, even he would believe that he spoke these words. He spat “You bastard!” at Shaw as he struggled against his bonds, listening helplessly to his own voice.

“Tonight I claim responsibility for the killing of FBI Director Dale Bennett. He was an enemy to his country. You'll call me crazy. You'll try to discredit me. But you'll not silence me. I pulled the trigger knowing what I was doing. I did it to stop us all from going over the cliff. Director Bennett was a traitor, a man bent on desecrating the Constitution. A man who ran a secret police, a political police, no different from the Stasi or the Cheka. A hypocrite who violated our liberty while hiding behind the flag and the Patriot Act. America must wake up. We now live... in a Fascist state.”

“Bastard!”

Shaw raised his phone, hit speed dial and waited a moment. Then, “Take the shot.”

Horror filled him. “No!”

Shaw just laughed as he stepped forward. “Revenge really is sweet.” He slugged Martin in the jaw.

Everything went fuzzy. How many times had he been knocked out recently? Coherent thought escaped him and everything faded to black.

~~~~

Q was in his office, running the searches that he had intended to do the night before. There had to be more information about Mnemosyne and Verax, and the people connected to them, than he’d been able to find so far.

He frowned at the alert that popped open on his monitor. He moused over to click on it. His eyes widened as he watched the video that started playing. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” He hit record, and then his fingers started flying as he backtraced the feed. He tagged the location, then dove into the signal, teasing out the code.

He discovered the video was created from a program, not filmed live. That was good. He could reverse engineer the program and have it show what he wanted instead of the original. Then he’d have to create a virus to locate the original video and all copies and either swap them with his version or delete them forever. That might take a while.

His eyes flicked back to the video. He bit his lip as he contemplated  it. The video ended, then began to replay as he reached for the phone and dialed. “James? Can you come down here? I have something you need to see.”

On his monitor, the video of the man identified as Martin Odum looped, confessing once again to murder.

~~~~

Martin woke, confused. He was sitting, slumped, in a chair in the middle of a room filled with empty desks. It looked like a large, open-plan office, taking up the floor of a building. A row of windows in front of him showed the lights of the building across the street.

One of the windows was open.

Why was that significant?

He stood up, clutching at the back of the chair for balance. He froze when he spotted the sniper rifle lying carelessly in front of the window.

He stumbled over and picked it up. It was still warm. He swung around, bringing it up and aiming it, as he heard noise behind him.

Crystal and Tony were there, pulling up short and aiming their guns at him as they saw the rifle raised in their direction.

He watched their eyes flick from him to the rifle, looking as sick as he felt.

“Martin, what the hell did you do?” Crystal breathed, horrified.

“It wasn’t me.” The protest was automatic. He knew what it looked like, had heard the confession. A confession that was in his own voice, that looked as though he had given it.

“That doesn’t matter,” Tony said. “Everyone will be convinced you did it.”

He could only swing around and look out the window towards the other building, where a man, the director of the FBI, if Shaw had been telling the truth, lay dead — the victim of this rifle.

Crystal shifted the muzzle of her gun to aim at the floor. “OK. Here’s what we do. Drop the rifle, Martin, and get out. Go to ground.”

“Wait,” Tony objected. “We’re just going to let him go?”

Crystal turned a basilisk glare on Tony. He huffed in annoyance and backed down. “All right, Martin. I guess we’re letting you go.”

He nodded, and handed the rifle to Tony. “Thanks, both of you.”

“Just get out of here,” Crystal ordered. “They’re right behind us.”

He nodded again, and headed for the stairwell.

He was halfway down when he heard the door above him hit the wall as it slammed open, followed by the sound of boots thundering down the steps.

It was too much to hope for Crystal and Tony to hold off the wolves indefinitely. He took off down the stairs, touching each set of steps only a few times, more a controlled fall than running. At the second set to the bottom, he reached out to the rail and vaulted over, hitting the ground running, heading to the door to the outside. He hit the door with his hip and burst out into the alley.

Chapter Text

James watched Q’s fingers dance over a pair of keyboards, his eyes darting between several monitors on the desk and a large screen on the wall.

They had taken over one of the video editing suites just off the main room of Q-Branch after he came down to watch the video. He was still coldly furious at what he’d seen. He’d thought that Alec had been coerced somehow, but Q had said that it wasn’t actually Martin, just a computer-generated avatar. But Verax — Shaw — still had to have some control over Martin to generate the image.

The only thing that had kept him from commandeering a plane to Los Angeles was the news that Martin Odum was on the run, a fugitive. That meant that Alec was no longer under Verax’s control.

Q had copied the original code and was using it to change the video ‘confession’ into an accusation of Jason Shaw and Verax instead. The altered version would appear to be the original by the time he was finished, and clear Martin’s name.

“There, that’s done it,” Q said, pressing a few final keys before turning towards him with a hint of a smirk.  “They’re not nearly as good at programming as I am at hacking.”

His lips twitched into an answering smile. Good. Alec could finally come home.

The quiet triumph in Q’s voice faded to calm detachment — his mission voice — as he continued. “I prepared new identity documents for Alec, Sonya, and Aiden, and sent them to Felix. It might be best for them to travel under other names.”

An odd note in Q’s voice caught James’ attention. His eyes narrowed as he tried to analyze what it meant.

“I know you told him not to make contact, but I thought it best that he backed Alec up a bit more… overtly.”

Then again, perhaps he was imagining things. “Thank you, Matthew,” he murmured, and stepped closer, intending to take Q in his arms. “Helping Alec — ”

Q sidestepped, keeping space between them. “I didn’t do it for him.”

“What?” He gave a his head a slight shake, not understanding what he’d heard.

“I did it for you.”

“But —” He frowned as he studied Q. The other man was holding himself stiffly, arms folded in front of his chest — as if Q was protecting himself. Why did Q need protection? From him? What the hell?

Q took a breath and lowered his arms deliberately to his side, shaking them out a bit. His eyes flickered to meet James’, then stared steadily into the distance. “I don’t know him. I know you.”

He hid his reaction behind his blank agent’s mask. “What do you mean?”

“What happened to Alec is wrong. I fixed it, because you want him to be able to come home. Now he can. But James,” hazel eyes turned to pierce him, sadness and uncertainty filling them, “what happens when he gets here? What will change between us?”

He stood there, staring back at Q, with no idea how to respond. Q was his, just like Alec was his. He didn't want to lose either of them, but couldn’t see any other outcome. He had been hoping that he could put off thinking about it for as long as he could ignore it. “Q —”

The door opened, interrupting him with the sound of furious voices coming from Q-Branch. One of the technicians entered, looking nervously from him to Q. “Sir, could you come and assist, please?”

“What’s going on?” Q frowned at the man, going to the door while the tech backed away into the other room. James followed, pulled along like a protective shadow.

“It’s 008 and 009, sir. They’re...” the tech’s eyes darted towards James. He gulped and rushed on, “They’re, uh, having a difference of opinion.”

Penda Stone and Oliver Arbuthnot, 008 and 009, were arguing in the main room, with several Q-Branch techs trying unsuccessfully to calm them down.

James stood at Q’s shoulder, assessing the threat to his Quartermaster and the Q-Branch techs. Penda and Oliver each kept a hand free, hovering near their holsters, although they hadn’t drawn weapons — yet.

They both were clearly just off-mission. Penda was dressed simply, jeans with a leather jacket, her wig styled in a bob, while Oliver was dressed as a harried mid-level businessman, in a wrinkled suit that was ill-fitted to his lean frame.

Pen’s hand darted out with blinding speed to grab Oliver’s tie. With a sharp tug, she pulled him down a few inches until they were face to face.

“Do you want to find out how I made Double O?” She smiled sweetly, her teeth a bright contrast against her dark bronze skin, the threat implicit in her voice.

Oliver grabbed her wrist to keep her from jerking his head around further.  He bared his teeth and snarled, “You really think you could take me?”

James growled low, and started to slide out from behind Q, only to stop when he felt a hand press into his chest. His focus snapped to his Quartermaster, and he waited, ready for instructions.

“These are the people we entrust the safety of our nation to. Double O children,” Q muttered under his breath. His voice became louder as he said, “James, our discussion will have to wait. I’ve got to deal with this.”

He eyed the other two Double O’s as they continued their argument. “Are you sure you don’t need my help, Q?”

“If I can’t handle things in my own branch, I shouldn’t have it.” Q looked back at him and smiled stiffly, “Thank you, but go on home. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“All right.” James hesitated, then offered a tentative, “Be careful. Those techs of yours can be vicious.” He stomach sank at the response; a tight, barely there smile that vanished as soon as Q turned away and headed towards the quarreling Double O’s.

His shoulders slumped as he watched Q easily take control of the situation. He wasn’t needed at all. Did that mean Q would leave him when Alec came home?

~~~~~

“Be careful, Martin.”

“Thanks, Crystal.” He pushed the call end button. He tucked the phone into his back pocket and turned towards the street. A sedan rolled to a stop, so blandly non-descript that its government origin was almost painfully obvious. After a moment its headlights flash twice. It was Gates.

Crystal had warned him. There was a group still out for his head, even though someone — Q? — had fixed the fake confession, and Gates was at the forefront of the charge.

She said that Gates had explained to her that he was just there looking out for Martin's interests.

Crystal hadn't believed that. Martin didn’t either.

He tugged the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and hunched his shoulders, hiding his face from view as he crossed the street. and approached the car. He opened the passenger side door and slid into the seat.

Gates turned, putting his arm across the seat back as he looked at Martin. “I wasn't sure if you would meet me.”

He shrugged. “I wasn't sure if I could trust you.”

“Martin. I'm hurt. We've been friends for 10 years. Of course you can trust me.”

“Right. Of course.” He kept his face blank.

Uncertainty flashed through Gates’ eyes. He frowned as he studied Martin for a moment. Then he shook his head and chuckled. Gates lifted his hand off the seat back and shook a finger at Martin. “You almost got me. I almost believed you didn’t really trust me. Go on, check the seat pocket.”

Martin nodded. He reached into the seat pocket and discovered a thick,  oversized envelope. He pulled it out and opened it, tipping it so the documents inside slid into his hand. He thumbed through them. Driver’s license, passport, credit cards, birth certificate, and social security card. A complete new identity. He looked up and met Gates’ eyes. “Tell Maggie she does good work. Did you reach out to MI6?”

“My contact told me that they have no official knowledge of an agent named John Cameron. Unofficially, he told me John Cameron was a legend and that you've been disavowed. Fear of being associated with a suspected terrorist. By now they've probably erased every trace of your time at MI6.”

He nodded. He'd expected something like this. Either Gates was lying, which was entirely possible, or MI6 was giving weight to the idea that Martin Odum had no safe place to go. That was all right. Alec Trevelyan did.

“Where will you go?”

He studied the other man. There was something oddly eager about Gates. It was time. “Give Crystal a call. Tell her you're done meeting with me.”

That was important. Crystal was suspicious about his motives in agreeing to the meet with Gates. He didn’t need her changing her mind about supporting him, something she was sure to do if she learned he was responsible for what he was about to do.

Gates frowned, not suspicious yet, but confused.

“I need to take you somewhere, so that I can give you some of the proof of Shaw’s involvement in Bennett's murder. I don’t want Crystal to know. There's a leak somewhere, Nelson.” He made a show of hesitating, darting a quick glance out the window, before he leaned forward a bit and lowered his voice. “I think it’s her.”

Gates’ eyes sharpened in interest. “Of course, Martin.”

He leaned back, listening as Gates spoke to Crystal. A small smile played on his lips. Was it really going to be that easy?

~~~~

Martin watched dispassionately as his prisoner stirred. He’d tied the other man to a chair — the same chair he’d been in when he woke to accusations of murder. It brought a certain… symmetry… to what he planned.

His prisoner’s eyes opened and peered blearily around, taking in their surroundings.

It was a dimly lit, open plan office, with a row of windows opposite them that let in light from the setting sun.

“Hello, Nelson.” He kept his voice soft, not threatening at all — except that it was.

“Martin?” Gates blinked in groggy confusion. “What the hell is this? What do you think you’re doing?”

He pushed his face close to Gates’. “I want answers, Nelson. And you’re going to give them to me.”

“You’re crazy. You’ve finally lost it.” Gates began to struggle against the ropes. “Let me go, Martin, and I’ll make sure you get treatment.”

That surprised a laugh out of him. “You’ve been shielding me from getting any kind of psychological treatment for years, Nelson, remember?” He had a mocking note in his voice. “Because you don’t want me to remember.”

Gates opened his mouth to say something, but it was too late.

He took hold of Gates’ arm and shoved the sleeve back. “This is the same stuff Shaw used on me, Nelson. It made me remember. Lots of things. I have no idea what I actually told him. Let’s see how well it works as a truth drug, hmm?”

He grinned, all bared teeth and no humor at all, as he watched Gates struggle harder against the ropes as the drug took hold.

~~~~

Martin — no, he thought perhaps he was Alec, now — finished his preparations across the room and returned, standing in front of Gates. His eyes narrowed as he studied his prisoner.

Gates was sweating. His head listed to one side, but his eyes were clear.

Alec smiled, pleased. Gates was feeling the effects of the serum. He began with a few simple questions, intending to ease Gates into talking. “What is your real name?”

He got a glare, but then the expected response came. “Nelson Gates.”

“What is my real name?”

“I don’t know.” There was a certain grim satisfaction in Gates’ eyes.

He blinked, taken aback. That was unexpected. He thought his boss knew who he was. He gave his head a slight shake and went on. “When did you meet me?”

Gates pressed his lips together tightly for a moment before blurting, “Four years ago.”

One corner of his mouth twitched up into a smirk. The serum was working. “What do you know about my mission?”

“I was brought in by Freddy Dalton.” Gates’ words were accompanied by a furious glare. “I was supposed to give you a cover so you could go after a mole we had in the FBI.”

He made a note of the name. He’d have to get it to James and Q. “What do you know about project Mnemosyne?”

Gates relaxed, his earlier anger lending a bite to his mocking tone as he answered. “Not much. Just what I needed to know — that they were going to manipulate your memories somehow to make you Martin Odum.”

He gritted his teeth, forcing his arm to remain at his side when his automatic reaction was to wipe the smug look off the other man’s face. Gates didn’t care that the process had essentially erased him. “Do you know what happened at the lab?”

“There was a fire.” Gates shrugged one shoulder dismissively. “Sarah called, panicking. I calmed her down.”

Something about that statement rang false. It was too pat, too practiced. He scanned Gates thoughtfully, taking in his prisoner’s tells. The pulse jumping in Gates’ temple, the stiffness in his shoulders, and the way his jaw was clenched a little too tight, as if he were holding back other words. Gates wasn’t telling him the whole story.

Should he use more of the serum, and risk Gates being too out of it to talk? Maybe he would later. He’d try to get as much out of his former boss as possible now. “Tell me what you know about that.”

“Just what Sarah told me,” Gates said, his words still sounding false to Alec. “Another agent came in raving and started shooting. People were killed. I got there, and everyone was dead already, all the agents, including the rogue. There wasn’t much I could do, so I set the lab on fire to cover up the deaths.”

He had to take a minute to absorb that. What the hell? There was something about Gates’ insistence that everyone was dead when he got there. But why would he lie about that? He forced some of his anger back, his mind going over what Gates had said, analyzing and searching for any hidden meaning. “Why set a fire?”

Gates’s shoulders lost some of their stiffness. His voice sounded almost gloating as he said, “When Sarah told me that you were still alive and programmed, I realized we could go ahead with the mission.”

He took a breath as his anger surged, trying to force down his temper. He needed to think, not react emotionally. Gates was still evading something, but — all those deaths, covered up, and for what? “Why?”

Gates’ face twisted in anger. “I wanted the son-of-a-bitch mole. He was responsible for my brother’s death.”

He almost nodded. Vengeance was a motive he understood. After all, that was why he had gone after the mole himself. For James. “We got him, why didn’t you send me back to MI6?”

Gates snorted. “Why should I? I didn’t know your name, and I made sure MI6 thought the agent they sent was dead. You thought you were Martin Odum. You were the perfect undercover agent. You could become any legend we gave you. My case closed numbers went through the roof with you on my team. I told Sarah to keep you drugged and compliant.”

Alec went still. Was Gates really that cold? “What about my friends, my family, back home?”

“Why would I care? They all thought you were dead, and you were useful.”

Fury ripped through him, nearly blinding in its intensity. This man. This greedy, grasping asshole was the man that had kept him from his James, from his home, for four years. For no other reason than career advancement.

He didn’t think, just reacted, bringing his pistol up and slamming it across the other man’s temple, knocking him out. Well. Given the location of the blow, it might have killed Gates. Not that that mattered.

He hauled Gates’ limp body over to the open window, the same window where the sniper had killed Bennett.

“Goodbye, Nelson.”

He leaned out a bit and watched the body hit the pavement. With a grim smile he ducked back inside and began cleaning up his mess. He didn’t want to leave any clues that this hadn’t been a suicide.

Chapter Text

Martin kept his pace to a relaxed stroll, just a man taking an evening stroll down the sidewalk of a residential street. He darted covert glances at one of the houses, noting the details. Front door, windows, porch. A couple of bushes and a tree in the yard. White picket fence. A perfectly typical suburban family home.

“You're a difficult man to track down.”

Where had the man come from? Martin controlled his reaction, ignoring the voice behind him, and kept walking. Maybe the man wasn't talking to him, although he conceded that the chance of that was slim.

“Are we really going to do this the hard way?” The man heaved a theatrical sigh. “Loyal terrier.”

The shock of recognition stopped him in his tracks.

“Ah, there you go.” The man came up next to him, grinning.

He forced himself to breathe again as he moved forward. “So?” He brushed past the man, trying to cover his reaction.

“Awww, you don't remember me, Alec?” The man asked, mock hurt in his voice. “I'm Felix. A mutual friend sent me to meet you.”

“And?” He kept going, all of his focus on the street corner. His motorcycle, stolen from the garage of the building where he’d killed his ex-boss, was parked nearby. It sat, away from curious eyes, in the driveway of a house with an air of disuse that proclaimed the owners were away for an extended period of time. If he could get to it, he could get away, and return later to find Sonya and Aiden.

Felix laughed. “I'm your exfil.”

What? He stopped again, turning to face the other man. “I can't leave yet.”

Felix nodded. “They said you'd say that.”

Suspicious, he demanded, “Who?”

“Your pals, Bond and Q.”

Martin eyed Felix. The other man’s stance was relaxed and open, signaling that he wasn’t hiding anything. And he had known their old recognition phrase.

“All right,” Alec nodded. He would act as though he trusted the other man — until Felix proved himself to be an enemy. “I need to see Sonya and Aiden.”

“Of course,” Felix nodded. “You can bring them along on your exfil or leave them behind.”

Stung at the idea that he’d abandon his wife or son, he snapped, “They're my responsibility.”

~~~~

Alec slipped through the shadows. Felix had gotten a message to Sonya and Aiden. Now they were waiting for his distraction so they could get away from the safe house where they were being held.

He bared his teeth in a predator’s grin and checked the device he held. It would start a fire at the front of the house, then he and Felix would get Sonya and Aiden away as the agents attempted to evacuate them from the burning building.

After placing the device and setting the timer, he made his way through the darkness to the back of the house. Felix waited there, another shadow beneath the trees. He moved closer to Felix, giving the other man a nod in acknowledgement.

He held his hand up, folding fingers down in a countdown to the explosion. When he got to zero, there was a crr-rump. He flinched away before controlling himself.

Felix ducked, coming up to turn a wide-eyed stare at the house. “What the hell was that, you crazy mother-fucker?”

At least, he assumed that was what Felix shouted. His ears were ringing a bit from the explosion. “I may have overdone the explosives a bit,” he shouted back.

“Ya think?” Felix glared at him.

“Later. Let’s get Sonya and Aiden.”

Felix scowled, and gestured for him to take the lead.

~~~~

Felix flicked a glance at the man sprawled in the seat next to him before returning his attention to the road. Alec was staring moodily out the window. Odd. Perhaps that was Martin’s personality? James had always been the drama queen of the pair, while Alec had more of a Devil-may-care attitude.

He checked the rearview mirror.  Sonya was still weak and pale from being shot in the chest only a few days before. She was leaning against their unexpected passenger, Bev. Sonya had refused to leave her behind at the safe house. She was apparently the Odom's neighbor — and Sonya’s longtime lover. Both Alec and Aiden had been stunned at that revelation. He tapped the turn indicator, then swung smoothly into a left turn.

He used the movement to cover checking the rearview again, this time angling his glance to take in the boy hunched against the passenger side door, doing an excellent imitation of his dad's moody stare. He could tell that the boy was covering his fear and uncertainty. Poor kid. His entire life had been turned upside down.

After the explosion — and wasn’t that pure Alec? — the agents inside the house had bundled Bev, Aiden, and Sonya outside and into the car. Unfortunately for them, he and Alec had been ready, waiting for the opportunity to take the agents out.

They had decided it would be best to let the agents get Sonya and her wheelchair settled in the car before they attacked.

He shook his head. When all this was said and done, he’d submit a report recommending those agents be sent for additional training. Allowing themselves to be so distracted by a mere fire that they lost their assets? Pathetic. If that had been any of his agents, he’d have their asses back on the street faster than they could blink.

Maybe it was time to consider switching careers. He had that job offer from a pair of gentlemen that seemed rather deadly despite their advanced age. They wanted him to go work for their uncle...

He put that thought aside. Maybe he’d look into the offer later. He pulled into a motel parking lot, driving around the building to the room he had rented.

~~~~

Alec leaned against the motel room door, watching Felix get the laptop ready for a video conference with Q. The Quartermaster. His James’ lover. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to see the other man, even if it was only on a computer screen.

His wife — Sonya — Sarah? What the hell was he supposed to call her? Spoke with Bev, their heads close together.

Sonya — he decided to stick with that until she indicated a preference — was sitting in the wheelchair. Bev was leaning over her, one hand on Sonya’s leg as they whispered together. How the hell had he not noticed that his wife was sleeping around? With their neighbor?

He shifted, glancing at his son. Aiden was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, arms wrapped around his knees. The boy was quiet, his dark eyes wide and staring, darting around the room, settling on his parents, then darting around again.

He’d already spoken to the boy, right after they arrived at the motel, while Felix helped Bev get Sonya and her wheelchair situated. He’d told Aiden that whatever happened, he still thought of Aiden as his son, and could come with him when he left.

Sonya had overheard that, and hadn’t been happy. Judging by the sharp looks she was sending his way, she was still bitching about it to Bev.

Sonya had already declared that she wasn’t leaving Bev. That was fine. He had learned all he could from her, and was more than ready to be rid of her. He wanted to kill her, but he didn’t want Aiden to see that. And Aiden hadn’t said if he wanted to stay with Sonya or leave with him. What would the boy choose to do?

~~~~

His dad had pulled him aside when they got to the motel and told him that he could choose whether to stay with his mom or go with him. Dad said he was still his son no matter what. His mom had heard, and she’d been angry.

After they got into the motel room, the man that was working with his dad, Felix, started working on a laptop that he’d brought. Aiden didn’t know what that was for.

So much had happened in the last few days. Some of it had been terrifying, and the rest had been confusing. His thoughts shied away from the memory of being kidnapped. He just wanted things to go back to normal again.

At least his dad was by the door, making sure no one could get in. He felt safer.

“I don’t care!”

He jerked his gaze from his dad to his mom. She’d been talking to Aunt Bev, but now she was glaring at his dad.

He shivered, pressing back into the headboard, trying to make himself invisible. His mom looked furious.

“What’s the matter, Sonya? The situation not to your  liking? Maybe you should drug everyone to make them forget themselves and do what you want.” His dad sneered at his mom.

“Damnit, Martin, that’s not called for!” His mom hissed back.

“Oh yeah? Why not?” Dad snorted, never taking his eyes off of Mom.

He watched wide-eyed as his parents faced off.

Felix looked over at them and quickly looked back down at the laptop.

Aunt Bev stepped forward to lay her hand on his mom’s shoulder. His mom reached up to cover Bev’s hand with her own.

His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t sure what to think of that. Aunt Bev was his mom’s girlfriend. He’d known her his entire life, she’d always been their neighbor as long as he could remember. Only, he couldn’t remember that far back. His mom — who was really his aunt — had drugged him, so that he’d forget his real mom.

“He’s my son, Martin,” his mom snapped at his dad. “Of course he’s going to stay with me.”

“It’s his decision, Sonya! If he wants to stay with you, fine, but it’s his decision to make, not yours.”

“It sure as hell isn’t yours! I’m his only blood relative. Not you!” His mom’s face twisted with anger as she spat the words at his dad.

His dad looked furious. His voice sounded dangerous and growly when he said, “Damnit, Sonya, I —”

Bev moved out from behind his mom’s wheelchair, and started yelling at his dad. “Stop yelling at her, you ass! She’s injured!”

Aiden swallowed. He’d been kidnapped and threatened by terrorists — but that didn't bother him anymore. He'd survived. But this was it. He pushed himself off the bed, standing between them with his fists clenched. “Stop it! Stop it, all of you!”

That shocked the adults, and they all turned to stare at him.

“Aiden, baby, I’m sorry. Come here, sweetie.” His mom held out her arms to him.

He backed away, shaking his head. “You’re not my mom. You drugged me! I forgot my real mom because of you!”

Her mouth dropped open like he’d hit her, and he tried to yell at her again but he let out a sob instead. His eyes felt like they were burning, and his throat went tight. Why? He wasn’t a little kid! He shouldn’t be crying.

He swallowed as his nose began to stuff up and the tears started. He was horrified and embarrassed, and they wouldn’t stop and he couldn’t breathe —

Strong arms embraced him and pulled him back against solid muscle. His dad was murmuring something in his ear, and he just turned and buried his face in his dad’s chest and sobbed helplessly.

~~~~

Alec held his son, trying to comfort the crying boy. He glared at Sonya over Aidan's head, while she glared back at him. When Aiden’s tears had stopped, he continued to hold on, holding the boy protectively in his arms.

As soon as Aiden calmed down, the laptop screen turned on. Felix grinned and greeted Q.

Alec craned his head. He could see the  screen from this angle, but he didn’t think he was in range of the camera. The man was framed in the monitor looked young, with wavy hair that probably curled when it was left untamed.

This was Q, his James’ — what? Boyfriend? Significant other?

“Hello, Felix. I want to speak with Ms. MacDonald. Now.”

He’s impressed despite himself. That’s a voice that’s used to being obeyed.

Bev started to object, her hand back possessively on Sonya’s shoulder, but subsided when Sonya laid a hand on hers.

“It’s all right. I’ll talk with him.”

Bev’s lips tightened, but she helped maneuver the wheelchair in front of the laptop.

Alec watched them, wondering what James’ Q had to say to Sonya.

The man on the screen ignored Bev, and snapped, “Felix, give her the headphones. Ms. MacDonald, you will listen, and you will say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ only. Do you understand?”

Sonya blinked a few times, drawing back from whatever she saw in the man’s face. “Yes.”

Well. They wouldn’t be listening in after all. Probably for the best. He tugged Aiden back towards the bed, out of the way.

~~~~

Q’s attention was fixed on his monitor. He had been ready to speak to them as a group when he’d heard the shouting. He made sure the camera at the other end appeared to still be off, and activated the microphone.

He muttered an instruction to Felix via an earwig to shift the laptop to a better angle. Then he watched the argument, and listened, growing steadily more furious.

He still wasn’t certain know how he felt about Alec or Aiden, but his dislike for Sonya Odum was increasing exponentially.

He almost interrupted the argument between Alec and Sonya when Aiden intervened. He waited awkwardly for Alec to calm the boy down.

As soon as he heard the boy’s crying subside, he pressed a combination of buttons, allowing his image to be seen on the laptop’s screen and unmuting the speaker.

“Q! How nice of you to join us.”

“Hello, Felix.” He refrained from rolling his eyes. “I want to speak with Ms. MacDonald. Now.”

At first he didn’t see Alec or his son in camera range, but then caught them at the far side of the room. Alec appeared to be studying him. He shoved down the mixed feelings he had about that. He’d think about it later. Now he had to concentrate on the headache that Sarah “Sonya” MacDonald had created for him.

When she was finally positioned in front of the screen, he snapped, “Felix, give her the headphones. Ms. MacDonald, you will listen, and you will say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ only. Do you understand?”

She blinked a few times, drawing back from whatever she saw in his face. “Yes.”

Good. He waited while she put on the headphones, then pressed another button. All the information he’d dug up on Sonya MacDonald, Sarah MacDonald, and Sonya Odum scrolled across the screen.

The woman seemed confused at first, then she realized what she was looking at, first looking alarmed, then her lips tightened in anger. She opened her mouth to say something when he interrupted.

“Yes or no only, Ms. MacDonald.”

She glared furiously at him.

“Now that I have your attention, these are my terms. You will let the boy select who he would rather be with. You will respect that choice. Felix has been given a burner phone that will connect with only one other phone. All of the documentation you will need to come here is included.”

Her eyes widened. “No.”

“No? Very well. You may speak. Politely.” He emphasized the last word. He didn’t want this to turn into another screaming match. How the hell had Alec tolerated her? He snorted to himself. Alec hadn’t exactly been given a choice.

“I can take care of my son, myself. I’m not leaving Beverly, and we’re not leaving America.” Her chin rose, challenging him.

“He is your nephew, and if he chooses to stay with you, then you will maintain contact with Martin for as long as he and Martin desire. If Aidan chooses to stay with Martin instead, then you will keep the phone in the off chance that Aidan desires to speak with you again.” He kept his voice soft, but didn’t disguise the edge of danger in it.

“Do not doubt, Ms. MacDonald, that I can and will find you if you make the mistake of pissing me off.” He smiled, watching her draw back from the screen at his predatory expression. “You will not enjoy the results if you do.”

She nodded slowly, glancing between the screen and where the others waited off camera. “Yes.”

~~~~

After that, it just a matter of Aiden deciding who he wanted to stay with.

Alec waited, holding his breath. He’d respect his son’s decision — but he hoped Aiden didn’t choose to stay with Sonya.

Aiden looked down, shuffling his feet. When he looked up, he reached his hand toward Alec’s. “I’ll stay with Dad.”

He felt a wave of relief. And terror. He didn’t want his son anywhere near Sonya — but he’d never been a single dad before, either.

Sonya immediately objected, of course. “No! Absolutely not. I won’t allow it. Aiden is my son. He’ll stay with me and Beverly.”

Aiden spun towards her, shouting, “No, I won’t! You drugged me! I’m never going to talk to you again!”

“Aiden, sweetie, you don’t understand, it was for your own —”

“Too late, Ms. MacDonald. The boy decided. Felix, give Mr. Odum their packet, and keep Ms. MacDonald and Ms. Green from following them.”

He took the packet that Felix handed him, ignoring the threats and promises that Sonya insisted on making. There were documents for both him and Aiden. He pulled out the set that had been for Sonya and tossed them to Felix. They wouldn’t be needing them.

Felix grinned and tucked them into his pocket. “Go on, you two. Get going. Your flight is waiting.”

“Thanks, Felix.” He turned to his son. “Are you ready?”

Aiden nodded, looking nervous but determined. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

He put his arm around the boy’s shoulders and they left the room, never looking back.

Chapter Text

They arrived at the airport nearly an hour before Alec’s plane was due. Q wanted to make sure that Alec and Aiden had no difficulties with customs, immigration, or security after they landed.

He impressed upon security that the two they were expecting were VIP’s, and needed to be escorted to the lounge that he commandeered as soon as they deplaned. He had no trouble getting what he wanted. He was in no mood for an argument, and having a Double O hovering at his shoulder, looking deadly, eased the way a bit more.

The lounge held a few comfortable chairs scattered around several small tables. He chose a chair and sat, trying to appear unconcerned.

James began pacing anxiously back and forth, weaving around the furniture. When he realized that Q was watching him, he sheepishly sat down, only to jump up and start pacing again a few minutes later.  “What’s taking so bloody long?”

Q was about to answer when the door finally opened. James froze, and Q watched him slowly turn towards the door.

Alec entered, keeping one hand behind him, and swept the room with his eyes, landing first on Q, then moving on to James — and stopping.

Never taking his gaze from James, Alec stepped aside and ushered a young boy into the room. Aiden.

The nine-year-old passed his father with an uncertain look as he stepped into the room. Then he froze, eyes going wide, when he realized the room wasn’t empty.

Q spared the boy a momentary glance as he got to his feet, then turned his attention back to James and Alec. He realized uneasily that they were still staring at each other.

“Alec…” James breathed, a look of wonder on his face.

Q watched in silent shock, stomach twisting, as the two men suddenly moved.

James and Alec came together in a tight embrace, clutching each other with the desperation of drowning men. Their lips met seconds later, sealing together as if they'd never be parted.

His world came crashing down.

He closed his eyes. Of course. Of fucking course this would happen. Why would James want him, when he could have Alec back? He opened his eyes, schooling his face into a blank mask.

He was peripherally aware that the boy, Alec’s son, was staring as if unable to believe his eyes.

When it didn’t appear that the two men would be separating any time soon, he cleared his throat. He had a moment’s satisfaction when they broke apart, startled, to look at him.

He stepped forward, determined to be professional. “Mr Trevelyan, I have your new IDs, and new identification for Aiden. It reads Aiden Odum right now, but he can choose a different name if he wishes.”

He waited a moment, and the boy nodded nervously at him. “Just  let me know what you’d like. There’s also a set of car keys, and keys for a flat near MI6. I believe M would like to speak with you, but you needn’t go in today. Miss Moneypenny or Mr Tanner will be in touch with you to make arrangements.” He handed over the packet and spun on his heel. He needed to get away from them.

He was at the door when he heard a confused, “Q?”  

It was James. What the hell did he have to be confused about? He ignored it and kept walking. He was at the door when he heard footsteps coming up behind him, and ignored that, too. He had nothing else to say.

James grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. What did he want?

“What’s wrong?”

He couldn’t help turning to stare in disbelief. Was he serious? He glanced at Alec, who was regarding them impassively, then back to James.

Intending to order James to let go, he blurted, “I love you,” instead. He slammed his mouth shut, eyes widening in horror. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that.

His heart felt like it was breaking. Oddly, James’ expression shifted, and it seemed as though his heart was breaking, too.

James released his arm, and ice blue eyes searched his face, seeking... what?

Whatever it was, James didn’t find it. His arm reached up, as if he wanted to touch Q’s face, before hesitating and dropping to his side. “Matthew. Are you leaving me?”

The pain in the rough whisper caught Q like a sucker punch. He hadn’t expected James to be so affected — he’d thought James was choosing Alec. Maybe he was wrong? “I thought you were leaving me.”

James slowly shook his head, his eyes flickering towards Alec and back. “No…”

That glance tore at him. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he say?

“Do you…” James paused, uncertainty clouding his face. “Can I still come home?”

He swallowed. “I thought you’d want to stay with... him.”

James’ gaze darted back to Alec. “I have to help him.”

Q’s stomach dropped. I’ve lost him. His eyes burned with unshed tears. He wouldn’t let them fall. Not now. He raised his chin. “All right. Help him. I’m going home.”

~~~~

Alec spent the trip on edge, constantly on alert for someone to attack them or try to arrest him. Aiden clung to his side, watching everything with huge eyes.

He was exhausted by the time they reached London, his nerves frayed.  Fortunately, someone had taken care of security. A very nervous customs and immigration official waved them through, giving the guard that had met them at the plane an oddly sympathetic glance.

The guard escorted them through the terminal, stopping in a corridor just off the main concourse, in front of an unmarked door. “If you’ll wait in here, sir, I’ll make sure your luggage reaches you as soon as the baggage has been unloaded.”

He inspected the door, trying to determine what lay behind it, absently telling the guard, “That’s all right, we don’t have any.”

The guard gulped. “Yes, sir. That’s fine sir. Your party is meeting you in here, if you’ll go on in.”

He stiffened, slowly turning his head to narrow his eyes at the visibly sweating guard. Who could be waiting behind the door to cause this sort of reaction? Suspicion set all of his Double O instincts on alert.

The guard shrank back and stammered, “H-he said his name was Q? A-and that you would be expecting to m-meet him?”

Q! Would James be with him? Alec dismissed the guard from his thoughts and opened the door. He kept Aiden back and swept the room, spotting Q first, and then James.

He caught his breath. Seeing James again, knowing who he was — remembering. He couldn't tear his eyes away. He stepped aside so that his son could enter the room, and just stared at his James.

Then his arms were full of another man and they were kissing and it was James and it had been too long and one of them moaned and it might have been him, and he was staring into ice blue eyes, feeling drunk, because someone had cleared their throat and he and James turned, equally startled, to see Q standing beside them.

Q’s eyes sparked furiously for a moment, puzzling him, before the emotions disappeared behind a mask. Then Q handed over a packet of documentation along with a few brief instructions, Before he could ask any questions, Q left, bristling with hurt and anger. Why?

He wasn’t ready when James let go and hurried after Q. He shivered, feeling a chill in the empty space that had just been warm for the first time in years. He followed James with his eyes, watching the confrontation with Q.

He frowned, puzzled, before he remembered. James and Q were lovers. This fight between them was his fault. He’d forgotten for a moment, in his excitement at seeing James again, that there was another man in his James’ life.

He gathered control, and set his face into a neutral mask. His heart was breaking. James loved Q, now. Whatever had been between them in the past was just that — past. There was no way that James would leave Q for someone as broken as he was.

Then Q left, and James came back to him, shoulders bowed in defeat.

He put his hand on James’ arm. “I'm sorry, it's my fault…” It was, right? He couldn't remember which one if them had been the first to move. It had to have been him, James wouldn’t cheat on his lover. On Q. He swallowed. It was so hard to remember that James was no longer his.

James’ ice blue eyes widened. “Alec, no, it’s not your fault. It's mine.”

“But… I kissed you. I should have remembered —”

“Shh, Alec, no.” James stepped close to him again, reaching up to caress his face. “It’s not your fault. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“James,” he took a ragged breath, staring at the lips bare inches away from him. He wanted to kiss away James’ pain. No. Stupid. That’s what started the trouble with Q in the first place.

He needed to let James go, as difficult as that would be. He closed his eyes briefly, mourning his loss. “Let’s get out of here.”

James glanced at Aiden. “Yeah. I’ll get you settled in your new flat.”

And from that he knew that James would leave him to go back to Q. “C’mon, Aiden.” He forced a smile onto his face and held his hand out.

Aiden took it, then they followed James out of the room.

~~~~

James stared at the door to the flat he shared with Q. Should he go in? How could he convince Q that he wouldn’t leave? His stomach twisted. But what about Alec? Could he really give up the chance to have Alec back?

He shook his head. He faced an impossible choice.

The door opened, and he stepped back in surprise.

“Are you coming in, or are you going to stand there all night?” Q wouldn’t meet his eyes, looking at a point just over his shoulder. “The cats were waiting at the door, wondering why you weren’t coming in.”

“Q, I —”

Hazel eyes pinned him as Q shifted focus. “Not in the hallway. Come in or not. It’s your choice.” With that, Q turned, leaving the door open as he walked back into the flat.

He cringed. There was that word again. What the hell was he going to do?  

~~~~

He’d spent an uncomfortable night on the couch.

Q had listened to his stumbling apologies and explanations, and said that he could stay — but that he needed to make up his mind.

Q was right. This wasn’t fair to any of them.

He sighed, earning a puzzled glance from Alec as they walked through the halls of MI6.

They’d just been through Alec’s medical screening, and hadn’t that been fun? Alec was no more fond of doctors than he was. He’d been tame enough for the nurses, but he’d terrorized the doctors. It hadn’t helped that during the psych evaluation, Alec had remembered his degree in psychology, and started playing with the examiner.

Alec had finally been dismissed. His test results wouldn't be available until later.

He worried about that. Alec had been on the unknown drug for years. What had it done to him? Was he still addicted? Was it still affecting his mind? The doctors wouldn’t give an opinion, equivocating with, “Just give it time.” He snorted. Time. It had been four years.

Alec paused, catching his arm. “James?”

He managed a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry, love, it’s nothing. Just thinking.”

Alec studied him for a moment. “Ah.”

He frowned. Why was there a strain around Alec’s eyes when he answered? He shook his head and started walking. “Come on, we’ll be late for your debriefing with M.”

After a moment, Alec caught up and bumped his shoulder. He looked over, meeting green eyes that were unusually serious.

“It will be all right.”

“Yeah.” He only wished he could believe that.

Chapter Text

Declan Connor strode through the halls of MI6 on a mission. A mission assigned to him by the Quartermaster himself. The Quartermaster had stopped him a few minutes earlier, and he still couldn’t believe that, he’d seen the Quartermaster but he’d never had a chance to actually speak with Q before, and the Quartermaster had given him a mission.

He’d assured the Quartermaster that he’d give the mission his utmost attention. Surely he’d imagined the baffled look the Quartermaster had given him. After all, the Quartermaster was a busy man, and had hurried off immediately after giving him his mission.

Shoulders back, chest puffed out, every inch of his body announced the importance of his mission. He ignored the others that he passed in the hall — except when he had to move out of their way. At the elevators, he managed to catch one that was empty, and jabbed his finger at the door close button, giving someone an apologetic shrug and a smile as the doors closed on the other’s face.

After exiting the elevator, he picked up his pace. He didn’t want to be late!

At last he rounded the corner to his final destination, the lobby. He stopped just on the inside of the secure area, and looked around. His height gave him an excellent vantage point. There weren’t that many people around, though. The morning rush of employees eager to get to their desks and officially start their day was long over.

One man, older and ruggedly handsome, was speaking with a guard next to the security desk. The man had a shadow of stubble and green eyes and Declan swallowed as butterflies took flight in his stomach.

Was that the important visitor that Q had sent him to escort to M? He hoped so. He surreptitiously rubbed his hands against his trousers and edged closer, trying to overhear the conversation. Maybe it wasn’t, but he could get the man’s name. Maybe ask him out, later? Isn’t that what a Double O like James Bond would do?

The man turned his head, his green eyes focusing sharply, and Declan froze — except he was still moving forward and his feet tangled each other and he had to catch himself on the counter next to the security guard. He quickly straightened up and adjusted his clothes, mortified. He could feel his cheeks flaming as the security guard tried not to laugh. He wanted to slink away, but he couldn’t. He still had to complete the mission the Quartermaster had given him. Now he hoped the handsome man wasn’t the visitor he was looking for.

~~~~

Alec looked at the young man on his left, puzzled. The kid had sidled up next to the guard that he was chatting with, waiting for an escort to Mallory. It should have been Q, but he had been called away on another matter, and left word with security that he was sending another escort.

He’d been thinking that he was glad that the guard wasn’t one that had known him before, because that would just be awkward since he was still having problems with his memory, when he’d noticed that someone was very obviously trying to eavesdrop on their conversation.

He had turned, intending to ask the kid what he was doing, when the kid tripped and fell against the security counter. He bit back a grin. He could recall being prickly at that age. No doubt the kid was embarrassed enough.

“Are you Declan Connor?” It was the guard, frowning at the boy.

The kid’s eyes went wide. “Uh, ye — uhm, I mean, uh, yes? I am?”

Alec bit his tongue to keep from laughing as the poor kid stuttered.

“Well, are you or aren’t you? Don’t you know who you are?”

The kid looked lost. “I —”

All right. That was enough. “C’mon, Roy. Give the poor kid a break.”

The kid — Declan — turned bright red.

~~~

The kid was his escort to see M.

James had taken a milk run the day before — something that still left him feeling apprehensive. He very carefully didn't dwell on the reason James had taken that mission. The need for time and space to think about the complicated relationship between the three of them.

He was sort of glad it wasn’t Q escorting him after all. They were both still wary around each other. They needed to find a way to be in the same room together for James’ sake.

“The Quartermaster said that Mr Tanner and Miss Moneypenny were unavailable.”

He almost jumped as the kid broke the silence in an overloud voice. He glanced sidelong at the kid, then had to check his stride and look back a bit. Apparently he was leading the way, not the kid. “Yeah?”

The kid nodded, doing a sort of hop-skip to catch up.

“The Quartermaster —”

He let the kid’s words wash over him, not really paying attention. There was something about his tone, as though Declan had a bad case of hero worship going for Q.

He shoved down the jealousy he felt when he thought of Q. It wasn’t Q’s fault, after all, that he’d been considered dead for years, and James had managed to move on to a new love. He had to admit, he might have been drawn to Q as well under those circumstances.

Declan apparently decided to put his embarrassment aside and appeared to be practicing his flirting techniques.

He indulged the boy. It was good distraction from his problems and would be good training for the lad — he needed it. Most of his attention was on his meeting with M. He’d already been debriefed the other day, with James, Q, Tanner, and Moneypenny in attendance.

They’d attempted to piece together everything they knew about his ending up as an agent for the FBI. They’d unraveled the links between Basra, Verax, Shaw, and Gates. There were still some details that weren’t clear, but M had deemed them unimportant, since Shaw was no longer a threat. The Verax CEO had been found dead at his home the day before, a gunshot to his head, his death ruled a suicide.

As far as M was concerned, it was case closed.

He, James, and even Q had protested, to no avail. Afterwards, the three had agreed to keep digging when they could, to ensure the threat truly was gone. Q was planning on destroying Verax.

Now, there was a puzzle. He knew that Q wasn’t happy with his reappearance and James’ inability to choose between them. Still, regardless of his feelings, Q had closed ranks with them during the meeting, all three presenting a united front to M. He hummed to himself. Something about that thought… He’d have to consider it, later.

This meeting would be about his future. What would M offer him? Hell, what did he want? James, of course. He snorted, then waved aside the confused look on Declan’s face. Did he want to be an agent — a Double O — again? He had Aiden to think of. Did he want another role in MI6? Maybe as a trainer? He didn’t see himself behind a desk. He’d die.

“Ah, there you are, Agent Trevelyan.”

He turned around to see Tanner walking rapidly toward them, trying to catch up.

“It’s all right, Connor, is it?” Tanner smiled mildly at the kid. “I’ll take him the rest of the way.”

Young Declan looked crushed. “Yes, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes. Tanner. There was something… He hadn’t been able to recall it the other day when he’d been debriefed… Ah. He gave a nod of acknowledgement. “008.”

Tanner looked surprised, then huffed a laugh. “Not for a very long time, 006.”

Declan’s jaw dropped as he stared at them, wide-eyed.

~~~~

“James!”

He turned, surprised at the relief in Alec’s voice.

Alec jogged up to him on the street outside the entrance to MI6 and grasped his arms, eyes raking him, checking for injuries. “You’re back. You’re all right?”

He frowned. “Of course, it was just a milk run.” He was confused when Alec drew back and looked away.

“Right,” Alec muttered, “just a milk run.”

What the hell? “What’s wrong?” He reached out, taking Alec’s shoulder, giving it a shake when there was no answer.

Alec kept looking away, his voice so quiet James had to strain to hear it. “The last time… The last time you went on a milk run…” There was a lost look in Alec’s eyes when he turned back.

Shit. He should have remembered that. “Alec, I’m sorry. I didn’t —”

“No, it’s all right,” Alec interrupted him, with a strained smile. “I, uh. I’d like to talk, if you have time?”

Worried now, James agreed quickly. “Of course. The pub?”

At Alec’s nod, they turned and headed back down the street.

~~~~

The pub was a nameless hole-in-the-wall, convenient to MI6, that was swept for bugs several times a day. The owners and staff had ties to both MI5 and MI6, and knew the value of a discreet meeting place.

They entered the pub, and made their way to their usual booth in the back, after a brief stop at the bar. At least, James thought ruefully, it had been their usual booth years ago. He’d avoided it since then, although he’d started using it again when he began dating Q.

They slid into their accustomed places, with a pint glass each.

“What did you want to talk about?”

Alec hesitated. “I met with Mallory. He gave me my choices.”

He winced. He hadn’t thought Mallory would do that so soon. He should have realized that M would jump at the opportunity as soon as his back was turned. “I’m sorry, I should have been there.”

“It… wasn’t as bad as all that," Alec shrugged, seemingly cavalier. “I can’t go back to work until medical and psych pass me.”

He caught the edge of fear in Alec’s voice. He understood the fear — that he’d never be able to pass.

He strove for a confident smile. “You’ll pass. It might take a little while. Have the test results come back?”

“Not yet.” Alec hesitated again.

He braced himself. This was the reason that Alec had wanted to talk. Not for whatever Mallory had said.

“While you were… away,” green eyes met his and darted away, “did you have time to think about us?”

The question caught him off guard. They never talked about their relationship before. They never needed to. They just were. “No. I tried, but I can’t — How can I choose between you? I love both of you.”

Alec nodded slowly as he stared into the depths of his glass. “What if…”

“What if what?” He couldn’t tell if he were suspicious or grasping at straws. Possibly both.

“What if,” Alec looked up again, meeting his eyes. “instead of you trying to choose between us, we try to work things out as a trio?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Q is smart. Loyal. Good looking. I know you. We have the same taste in men. If you fell in love with Q, so could I. We’ve shared lovers in the past —” Alec stopped abruptly, eyes widening.

He was taking deep breaths, gripping the table. Q was his, damnit, not to be passed around, shared, with anyone else.

“James…”

He held a hand up. He knew Alec didn't mean any offense. “Just… give me a moment, all right?”

Alec nodded somberly.

He knew what Alec was suggesting. All three of them, in a relationship together. He fought down his visceral objection to sharing Q, and thought about sharing Alec with Q. He braced himself for the instinctive anger — but it didn’t come.

Why?

Because no one could come between them, or take Alec away from him.

He thought about that some more. Alec wouldn’t try to take Q from him. Or try to take him away from Q. They’d all be equals, or it wouldn’t work. He met Alec’s gaze. There was understanding in his face, love and a fierce possessiveness of his own.

James smiled. Maybe, just maybe, this would work. It would all hinge on Q agreeing.

Chapter Text

Alec eyed the door. What would happen when he knocked? Q would answer, and he’d make his appeal, but what then?

He gave his head a shake, telling himself to get on with it. He had just raised his hand to knock when the door opened, and he found himself face to face with the man whose decision would make or break the future. For all three of them.

He bit back a laugh. His fist was hanging in the air, ready to knock on a door that was no longer there, and only an inch from Q’s nose. The other man jerked back, blinking owlishly at the fist in front of his face.

Alec let his hand fall to his side as the hazel eyes opposite him widened in surprise. This was the man that James was in a relationship with. Was sleeping with. He understood, he really did. He had been declared dead, and James had been able to move on.  It hurt now, but it was something he'd want for James, if he really had been dead.

He still felt a twinge of jealousy, though, as well as a stab of hatred for Gates and Sonya for tearing him away from James. From his life.

Apparently, Q was tired of waiting for him to get his head out of his ass. Q straightened, spine stiff and shoulders back, determination lighting his eyes, then his chin raised in challenge. “James isn't here.”

Alec hid a smile. He approved. “I know he isn't.” He waited, curious to see what the other man would make of that statement.

Q deflated a bit, the wind knocked out of his sails. He gave Alec an uncertain look, but then rallied.  “I won't give him up. I’ll fight for him.”

Alec nodded, a pleased smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. “I would fight for him too.” He paused as Q nodded, as if acknowledging the truth of that statement, and then continued, “But what if we didn't need to fight?”

Q’s brows drew together in a puzzled frown. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “We get to know each other. And then we see.”

“See what?” Q looked completely baffled now.

Alec brought out his most charming smile. “We see what James sees in each of us. If we can all be together.” He held his breath, waiting.

Hazel eyes widened in comprehension. “Dating?”

He nodded. Q had to agree. Had to. This was right. He knew it would work.

Q nodded slowly, hope dawning in his eyes. “Yes.”

Alec beamed. It felt like a weight had been removed from his shoulders. “Good.”

Then he froze. Wait. What should he say next? This meant they were dating, right? Had he and James ever dated? He'd dated others before he and James got together, right? He should know what to do. Why did he suddenly feel even more nervous?

He stared at Q, eyes going a wide. “Do you, uh…”

Q tilted his head, raising a brow curiously. “Do I what?”

He shrugged, not knowing quite how to phrase his question. “What do we do now? I don't… What do normal people do on a date?”

Q blinked at him, surprised, and burst into laughter. When he stopped, he wiped tears from his eyes, and said, “I’m not sure which is more amusing — that you think I’m normal, or that you have no idea how to ask someone out. Why don't we keep it simple. Maybe go for a coffee?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, relieved. He wasn’t offended by Q’s observation. It was the truth. And it seemed that at least one of them knew what they were doing. This just might work out after all.