Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aither di Straiti lowered the dart gun and looked down at the unconscious man on the floor, shaken to her core.

With all the changes to her life in this insane, inconceivable copy of her own world, finding out that the man who was her brother in all but blood didn’t recognize her had hurt the most.

Even finding out that her beloved Lilya and Dayesi didn’t exist here or finding Sparks’ obituary hadn’t been this visceral a pain.

Her shoulders slumped. Jon — Matthew Foreman as he was known here — had been her best hope for figuring out what had happened to her. Now, she truly was all alone among strangers. The strangest of all were the people who claimed her as theirs — their sister, their daughter — and she had no idea who they were. They barely matched faded memories of her lost childhood.

Still, any version of Jon should be helpful. This one didn’t seem all that different to her all-but-brother. She’d just have to convince him to help.

She eyed him and heaved a sigh. She wasn’t looking forward to what would come next.

~~~~

Q woke, his head pounding and mouth dry, and tried to get his bearings. He was sitting on what felt like a wooden chair with his hands secured behind his back. Fuck. He tried to move his legs, but they felt like they were secured at his ankles to the legs of the chair. Double fuck. He’d been kidnapped. Probably by the woman who had confronted him on his way to MI6. Or had it been when he’d been leaving MI6? His memory was a bit fuzzy. What time was it, anyway?

He growled, setting his questions aside. He needed to figure out where he was and try to escape. He attempted to pull his wrists apart, testing his bonds. It felt like something encircling each wrist, but they didn’t feel like metal; more like stiff cloth. He’d need something sharp to cut the material.  

He lifted his head to look around. Where were his glasses? He squinted, causing everything to swim in and out of focus. It was a poorly lit basement, probably of a warehouse. He was sitting beside a metal table and two other chairs. He couldn't make out any windows or shelves, just the blurs of various sized pipes and conduits running overhead and along the walls. There didn’t appear to be anything he might be able to use to get free. Now he needed his captor to put in an appearance. Information was his only hope of rescuing the situation, and if he wanted to try to talk his way free, he needed her there to talk to. Otherwise, he’d have to wait to be rescued. And if that happened, he’d end up with M forcing an escort on him at all times, and James and Alec would no doubt back that idea.

He considered yelling to get attention when the door opened, and the woman came in. She flashed him a pleased smile. “I thought you’d be waking up around now.”

“Who are you? Why did you kidnap me?”

The woman ignored him and went to the table where she picked up a dark object. He squinted at it. His glasses? She did something with her hands, and then without a word, she carefully set the glasses on his face. She studied him for a moment, then pulled over one of the other chairs. When she sat down, she settled into the seat almost like a Double O. His stomach sank. Was she another abandoned agent gone bad, like Silva?

“I want to tell you a story, one I doubt you will believe.” The woman leaned forward in her chair, her grey eyes locking on his, allowing him to read the sincerity there as she began to speak. “Five days ago, I woke up in the house of a living room I’d never been in before, playing a card game with three other women…”

~*~*~*~

“Aither? Aither! Are you falling asleep on us?” It was a woman’s voice, older, one she didn’t recognize.

She pried open heavy eyelids and frowned at the sight before her. Three women, two apparently older than her, one younger than her, were seated around her, watching her with concern in their faces, in an unfamiliar living room. One of the older women tugged at her memory. She tried to chase it down but it vanished like smoke. She was certain she’d never seen the other two women before.

Where was she? How did she get there? The last thing she remembered was feeling suddenly drowsy as she watched Sparks dancing with Nazreen and Sitara at their wedding. Now she was sitting on a couch, holding playing cards, and feeling like she was going to be sick.

The woman she almost recognized leaned over and placed her hand of cards on the coffee table before sitting back up. “You really don’t look well, sweetie. We can finish playing gin later. Why don’t you go up to your room and lay down for a bit?”

“Yeah, Aith. You look horrible,” the youngest woman chirped, somehow managing to sound cheerful and sympathetic at the same time.

The other older woman frowned quellingly at the youngest before facing Aither. “Your sister promises to not look at our hands while you nap, right, Melly?”

“Mo-om! Don’t call me Melly! I’m not a child! Mama, tell her!” Melly appealed to the almost familiar woman.

Aither gasped in sudden, impossible, recognition. Her head felt like it was fracturing, but the woman was her mother, who had died when she was eleven.

The slight noise caused the three women to focus on her.

“Right. That’s it. Melly, take your sister upstairs and make sure she lays down. I’ll get you some tea, Aither. Love,” the woman addressed her mother, “would you dig out the old heating pad? Aither is shivering and it’s got to be 80 degrees in here.”

Aither realized with a jolt that she was, in fact, freezing, but she felt like she was sweating, too. Maybe this was all some crazy fever dream? Had she collapsed at the reception? Dae and Lilya were probably trying to wake her up. Jon had probably sent for his father to assist them. She’d have to apologise to Sparks and his brides for disrupting their reception when she became aware of her true surroundings again. Nazreen would worry whether something from the reception had caused her to collapse into delirium. Sitara, on the other hand, would enjoy the tale. She believed in the supernatural, and would no doubt find meaning in all this.

“Yes, mom,” Melly said obediently, taking her arm. “C’mon, Aither, you heard her.”

She shook her head and went with Melly. She’d take the reprieve being banished to ‘her’ room offered. She needed more information, and she needed to feel less like she would collapse any minute.

~~*~~

She allowed the younger woman — Melly-who-hated-her-name — to take her up to a room that couldn’t make up its mind whether to be a guest room or a craft room. A day bed was pushed against the outside wall under the window, and plastic bins full of material stood, stacked neatly, next to the closet. A sewing machine rested on a table, which stood next to a dresser that held a large, ornately framed mirror. A pair of bookshelves held some books she recognized from when she was much younger, and there were some knick knacks that she’d lost long ago.

She feigned feeling worse than she really did — not as much of a stretch as she’d have liked — and before long the three women stopped fussing over her. She heaved a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them, leaving her alone.

It took a few minutes for the room to stop spinning, but as soon as it did, she got out of bed. She stood unsteadily, hand on the headboard, listening carefully. Silence. Good. It was time.

She headed straight for the mirror over the dresser. A familiar sight greeted her. Her face and her grey eyes, but her hair? She stared. Her once-long hair was trimmed into a neat, chin-length bob and dyed a vibrant, glossy red. She tilted her head, watching the way her hair moved. Not half bad looking, really.

Her eyes fell on the photo tucked into the mirror’s frame. She plucked it from its spot and studied it. The picture was clearly a few years old, worn and creased a bit. “You’ve been through the wars too, hmmm?” she murmured to it. A younger Aither, her hair at its accustomed length and color, and a still-younger Melly, perhaps 16 years old, stood there, looking back at her, both grinning like maniacs and each holding up tiny fish as if proud of what they had caught. She turned the photo over. There, written in her own, messy handwriting was the inscription, ‘Aither and Lissa at the lake.’

She nodded to herself. She’d need to take care to call the girl Lissa instead of Melly from now on. She replaced the photo and moved on to the bookshelf. A large framed graduation photo stood in pride of place on the center shelf. It was her again, a bit older than the photo with Lissa, wearing graduation robes. A group of people crowded around her, smiling at the camera. Her mom and the other woman, Lissa, her dad and her second mom Shara, a teen girl a little older than Lissa, and a young boy. Why wasn’t her mom with her dad and Shara?

Aither turned the frame over and carefully bent back the metal pegs holding the back of the frame in place. Once it was removed she saw her own handwriting again. ‘Mom and Courtney, Lissa, Dad and Shara, Hailey, and Teddy.’ At least now she had names to go with the faces, even if she had no other answers. She fixed the frame and left it in its place on the shelf. A photo album caught her attention next. She picked it up and carried it to the bed where she thumbed through it, staring at a life that had never been hers. Pictures of her and her… family. Pictures of her, and her mom and dad when she was younger, then her mom and dad separate. It was only then that Shara and Hailey appeared in photos with her dad, and after that, the other woman and Lissa crept into pictures with her mom. Teddy was there, too. Appearing first as Shara’s baby bump, then as a boy growing through the years.

Finally she closed the album and set it on the bed beside her. Enough. She had things to do that had nothing to do with wallowing in self-pity like a fool and she’d best get on. She had no idea if this was real, or if she was sitting in a padded room somewhere, raving, while her loves watched her, unable to help. She couldn’t do anything about that; all she could do was act as though this was real. She needed to find out what had happened to her.

She stood and checked the pockets of her jeans. Empty. She should have a wallet, so where was it? She turned, surveying the room once more. A brightly coloured handbag, carelessly tossed into the armchair next to the bed, caught her eye. She groaned. There was no way she had a handbag.

Surrendering to the inevitable, she leaned over, picking it up gingerly. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she let it dangle from two fingers. It was a quilted cloth handbag — designer — and completely hideous.

She wasn’t about to go digging through the thing, so she upended it, spilling its contents over the bed. Phone, wallet, keys — check, check, check. She ignored the rest of the… stuff. She froze. Shitfuck. There, sitting among the detritus of another life were a handful of tampons.

She’d made sure to get implants as soon as she could and kept them up to date so she’d never have to worry about… She swallowed down bile. Ugh. She’d have to keep them close, just in case, but hopefully she wouldn’t have to worry about that any time soon.

Ignoring the keys and phone for the moment, she picked up the wallet. It wasn’t her normal billfold. It was fake leather, large and bulky, and had a compartment for coins. Really? Who used coins any more? She opened the main compartment. Money, more photos, three credit cards, and a driver’s license. She pulled the license from its slot and studied the face on the front. Once more, it was her but not. This time, her hair was its normal length and color, but it was liberally streaked with blue. She cocked her head, considering. Actually, it didn’t look half bad. She’d need to do that with own hair sometime, or have a wig made.  

She put the license back into its slot, then eyed the wallet. There was no way it would fit into one of her pockets, so she reluctantly tucked it back into the monstrosity. Hmmm… The phone next. It looked like an older model iPhone. After being spoiled with Jon’s phones, this one looked positively archaic. She cursed silently. It didn’t have a fingerprint scanner to allow her access. What passcode would her alternate self use?

1-8-2-4 didn’t work, neither did a few of her other favorite combinations. Fortunately, the multiple failures didn’t result in the phone locking her out or wiping itself. With the sixth combination she tried, she finally hit the jackpot and the phone unlocked. First things first, she thought, ignoring the music files. She checked the contact list. Other than the relatives she had just found out about, she recognized none of the names.

With an annoyed huff of breath, the phone joined her wallet in the handbag, and she picked up the keyring. It held several keys that were undoubtedly for the home address and mailbox, probably for an office, too. And if the key fob was right, the car key was for a car from some company that she’d never heard of. Well, it was an alarm fob, so if all else failed, she could set off the alarm and find the vehicle that way.

The keyring fit — barely — into her front pocket. She considered the remaining items on the bed. Nothing that she wanted or needed. She scooped up the tampons and dropped them into the bag, then put everything else in one of the dresser drawers.

Now she needed a knife. She missed the comforting weight of her katar blades on her forearms. Surely there would be something sharp among the sewing supplies, right? She carefully went through the boxes, wary of making too much noise, until she found a utility knife. She immediately felt better. And of course it wouldn’t fit into her pockets, so into the handbag it went.

Right. Time to sneak out of the house and find her car.

~~*~~

Sneaking out of the house hadn’t been a problem. She’d simply opened the window, removed the screen, and shinned down the tree next to the porch. Finding her car had been just as easy. The car parked at the curb had the same company symbol as her keyfob. The car itself, though, was an odd design. It was a four-seater rather than a normal six-seater. It looked oddly… slender. Fortunately, it drove the same as cars she was used to.

An hour later, after a few false turns, she found the apartment building that matched the address on her driver’s license. Parking was in a convenient underground garage that had her instincts screaming danger. Was her counterpart an idiot?

She kept the knife concealed in her hand as she walked to the elevator. At least it looked in good condition. Shiny, clean, no disgusting smells… a good sign for the building.

The elevator took her to the floor she needed with no interuptions. It let her out onto a wide hallway stretching the length of the building, with the apartment doors opening off of it staggered instead of directly opposite each other. She had no desire to meet any of the neighbors, so she checked the door numbers and walked quickly to the apartment she needed.

Once at the right door, she tried the likely keys. The second one unlocked the door and she slipped inside, wondering why her other self didn’t seem to have taken any security precautions.

The apartment was much like the rest of the building — nice, clean, upscale without being ostentatious. What did her alternate self do for a living? She liked the furniture, although the style wasn’t one she was familiar with. The dining table, like the car, seemed oddly proportioned, and looked to be sized to seat four rather than the normal six.

As incredible as it seemed, this world was based on dyad pairs rather than triads, so the norm would be two parents and two children rather than three and three. How did they raise children properly with only two parents? She hadn’t seen any signs of soulmarks on anyone either. Even the bondmarks she shared with Dayesi and Lidiya were gone.

The phone shrilled again. It had gone off three times during her drive; the last call had been only fifteen minutes earlier. This time she turned the phone off and tossed it onto the coffee table. She regretted the necessity of leaving — of sneaking away — but she had to find out what was going on. Hopefully her other self would be able to smooth things over with her moms and sister.

She snooped through the apartment long enough to discover her other self’s employer and to ascertain that her other self wasn’t currently dating. Good. She wouldn’t have to worry about anyone unexpected showing up at her door.

She shot a glance at the phone with a pang of guilt. She ought to tell them something, some reason, for leaving the way she did. Somehow she doubted that, ‘I’m sorry I snuck out, but my consciousness is from an alternate world,’ would be a reasonable explanation. In fact, it would guarantee her a stay in a psych ward, and that was incompatible with finding a way home.

She sat down at the computer and studied it. The setup wasn’t too different to what she was used to, and the power button was where she expected it to be. It booted up, and she began exploring, pleased to find the software similar enough to work with. Finally the flashing email icon drove her to check on it. She bit back a groan at the sight of the first five emails — all from her alternate self’s family, sent within the last two hours.

She opened one of them and hit reply, making sure that it was cc’d to all three of the other women. Then she jotted a quick explanation about helping a friend in need get back home. After all, it was even mostly true. Hopefully that would satisfy them.

The next order of business was to break into the computers for her alternate’s work. It was entirely too easy. Once in, she made it look like her alternate was on an extended vacation. After that, she began her search. She wanted to learn about this new world she found herself in, and track down anyone who could help her find a way home.

Hours later she pushed back from the computer, dull pain pounding through her skull. She rubbed her eyes, willing the pain and grief away. Loss clawed at her. She’d found no trace of her ladies, but she had found Sparks. His obituary, at least. He’d died in Russia, years ago, in a car accident. Had it truly been an accident? Sparks hadn’t gotten on with his family, or with his family’s choice of underworld activities.

There’d been no sign of Jon, using any of his names. She’d tried Markov, Williams, Pond, and even Smith. That one had been a disaster of an idea. Still, there had been nothing.

She got up and stretched, listening to her joints and tendons popping. Her alt-self clearly wasn’t into keeping up with a fitness routine.

She needed a break. Food, something to drink, and some rest.

~~*~~

Aither rolled over in bed, cracking open an eye to check the clock — that wasn’t in its accustomed place. Of course it wasn’t. Hadn’t she been visiting Russia? Then the events of the day before rushed through her and she sat up, flipping on the lamp to look around the unfamiliar bedroom. No changes. She was still in the other world. She needed to get back to the computer and resume her search for a way home.

She took a few minutes for a quick shower and some more food, and settled in front of the computer once more. She hoped to find some trace of Jon. She hadn’t been able to find him using the names she knew him by, but if she could find his code she could track him down. Maybe even their AI, Vic. She refused to contemplate the idea that he might be dead, like Sparks, or not exist, like her Dae and Lilya.

Dawn was peeking through the curtains when she felt a slender strand of hope coiling through her. There was no sign of Vic, but she’d found some code that looked damned similar to code she knew Jon used. Somehow she wasn’t surprised when she traced the code back to MI6’s firewall. “Got you.”

It didn’t take her too long to break into the MI6’s computers. She would think more highly of her skill, but she’d simply remembered the back door Jon had left in place in case of emergency. The thin strand of hope grew with that sign her brother was alive and working for MI6.

She hacked into the Human Resources files, looking for the section on Q-Branch. If Jon was anywhere at Six, he’d be there. She frowned as she kept coming up blank as she went through the files. Jon had to be there! She’d found his code!

In desperation, she clicked on the Quartermaster’s file again. Matthew Foreman. None of his details matched Jon. There was a link at the top of the file to a photograph, though. She clicked it. Who was the man who was taking her brother’s place as Quartermaster? She inhaled in surprise as the photo came up. It was Jon.

Why was he calling himself Matthew Foreman? She needed to talk to him. She closed the window to MI6 and opened another, typing in a query for the next available flight to London.

~*~*~*~

“You’re saying that you believe that I’m your brother?” Q focused on the more sane part of the tale that the woman had told him. The other part — that she was from another world — was something to think about later. He’d need to talk to Alec and James about the elements of her story that were similar to their experience with Alec becoming Aleksei for six months.

“Yes.” Her gray eyes were serious. “We’ve been brother and sister since we met, when we were teenagers.”

He nodded, mulling the information over. How could he — well, other-him, apparently — form a bond so quickly with a stranger? He mentally filed that question away for later. He had more pressing ones, only some of which he could ask his captor, friendly though she seemed. Where were James and Alec? Surely he’d been wherever he was long enough to alert them something was wrong.

“Tell me more about your world? Triad relationships and soul marks sound…” he hesitated, trying to find a politic way to put it. “Well, difficult to believe. How would soul marks even work?” He truly was curious. They sounded like the tattoos Aleksei had gotten — the ones Alec couldn’t explain, but refused to have removed.

Her head cocked to the side as she studied him. “You’re stalling for time. I know you, know your tells, remember? Your Alec and James don’t know you’re missing. I left them emails from you saying you would be working late on a project.”

He schooled his face into one of alarm. He’d let her believe that his lovers would be fooled — they’d know he had no intention of working late, project or no. He was supposed to spend the evening watching Aiden so James and Alec could have a date night. She obviously didn’t know about their son — that email would just send them searching for him that much earlier. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to go home. My brother is the smartest man I know, and if you’re anything like him, you’re brilliant. I need your brain to help me figure out what happened to bring me here, and most importantly, figure out a way for me to go back home.”

Q studied her. By the growling of his stomach, he figured it was long past lunch time. James and Alec would have been searching for him since early that morning, after Aither had sent that email. He was sure they had enlisted help to find him, and if their help was who he thought it would be, he could be confident they would be showing up any minute. “And in order to enlist my help, you kidnap me? If your brother is as like me as you say, I doubt such a tactic would work on him. Why would you think it would work on me?”

~~~~

Aither almost laughed. This Q was just as stubborn as Jon. “My brother —”

She broke off as the door burst open, allowing two men to charge into the basement room. She spun out of the chair and onto her feet, ready to defend herself. How had they found her so quickly? She wasn’t surprised that it was Alec and James, but she had thought she’d have more time to convince Q to help her before they showed up.

“Back away from Q and put your hands up. Now!” Alec aimed a Browning at her while James shot her an evil glare as he went to Q.

“All right, don’t get twitchy, Trevelyan. I wasn’t going to hurt Matty.” Aither kept her face blank, not allowing her confusion to show. Why was it James going to Q and not Alec?

“Are you all right?” James demanded, bending over to check Q.

“Yes, just get me loose, please.”

While James freed Q, she studied the man holding a gun on her. Alec was different. He seemed more grim than her brother’s soulmate, and his face looked oddly smooth without his scars. He stared back, keeping his focus on her rather than on the men she knew were his lovers.

“Is he all right?” Alec asked James, never taking his attention from her.

“Just wait, I’m checking for injuries.”

Aither huffed a laugh as Q brushed James’ hands away, saying acerbically, “Don’t fuss, I’m fine.” Matthew reminded her so much of Jon.

“Find this amusing, do you? You won’t be in such good humour when we get you back to MI6 for interrogation,” Alec told her with a cruel smile.

She was about to respond when a change came over him. He swayed, like he had suddenly lost his balance but caught himself.

A look of confusion crossed his face as he looked down at his Browning, then up at her. His jade green eyes grew shadowed with fear and anger, and he snarled, “Who are you? Where am I?”

Chapter Text

Alec crouched, balancing on his toes, ready to move in any direction. He concentrated on his opponent's deep blue eyes, alert for any change that could telegraph the other man's next move. His pulse sped up as they circled each other cautiously, their naked bodies covered in sweat.

“Ready to concede, my dear?”

The other's low voice sent shivers down his spine. He smirked, eyeing his opponent's crotch with satisfaction. “Are you?”

Rather than respond, James flashed him a bright grin and feinted left.

Alec was prepared. He countered, catching James under the shoulder and knocking him to the mat. He straddled his fallen opponent, triumphant, and leaned down for a kiss — and alert for any further attempts to continue their bout. A wave of dizziness hit him. He shook his head to clear it, putting out a hand in an effort to keep his balance.

The dizziness faded to just a ringing in his ears, but he was still disoriented. He found himself standing, fully clothed, in what appeared to be a warehouse basement. How had he gotten there? At least he had the comforting weight of a Browning in his hand. The abrupt shift from wrestling with James to someplace new felt as though he’d been dunked with a bucket of water, and he was left mentally scrambling, trying to figure out what was going on. He held the Browning loosely aimed at a strange woman, so he shifted, aiming at her center mass. Where was James? “Who are you? Where am I?”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. Her voice sounded almost hopeful as she asked in Russian, “Sansha, is that you?”

Who was this woman to use that diminutive for him? He didn’t allow anyone, not even James, to use Russian diminutives of his name. He ignored her question and said, “You haven’t answered me.”

The two men in the room swung around, staring at him with near identical looks of horror.  The taller one, a blond, stepped protectively in front of the dark haired one and asked, “Alec?”

Who were these two? He shifted to keep all three in sight, covering them with the Browning. “Don’t move! Stay where you are!”

The blond took a cautious step forward and asked, “Alec? Are you all right?”

“Stand where you are! Did you bring me here? Why?” Could this be some sort of THRUSH trap? He and James had only just learned about the threat that organization posed to the world from Illya and Napoleon.

“Alec, it’s me, James. Don’t you remember? We’re here to rescue our Q from this woman who kidnapped him.”

What the hell was going on? He wasn’t ruling out THRUSH just yet. “James who? What do you mean, ‘our Q’?”

Dismay flashed across the blond’s face before it was replaced by an agent’s blank mask. “My name is Bond, James Bond. You know me, Alec. And this is our Q, our Quartermaster.”

Fury ripped through him. This man wasn’t his James. “You’re no more James Bond than I am. And that’s not the Quartermaster. Even I know that it’s still old Boothroyd.” The elderly Quartermaster was the mainstay of TSS, the Technical Services Section of MI6, and the thought of a different quartermaster was… unsettling, even though Alec hadn’t seen the old man or set foot in the section for almost ten years.

The two men exchanged glances. A silent conversation passed between them with the arch of a pale brow and a twitch of facial muscles. It was so like the communication he  might share with his James that he could almost read the blond’s intent — what do we tell him? The way the two kept their focus on him even as they traded glances with each other was equally familiar. They had an agent’s training. He’d still keep watch for signs of a THRUSH operation, but the possibility seemed increasingly unlikely.

“Those two know more than they’re letting on. You’re like me. You traded places unwillingly.”

It was the woman he had been holding his gun on when he… woke up? Arrived? “What do you mean?”

“I mean that this world is not my own.” Her hands moved as she spoke, emphasizing her words. “I woke up surrounded by strangers, in a place I’d never been before, five days ago. I brought Q here to talk to him. I want to go home, and I hoped he might be able to help me, given how smart the version of him in my world is.”

Again the two men exchanged glances. This time the dark haired one, Q, raised an eyebrow as the blond tipped his chin down a fraction. Q turned with an ‘on your own head be it,’ sort of sigh. “This has happened once before. That time you became Aleksei Sokolov and disappeared for six months in the depths of the London underworld.”

What the hell were they talking about? They were trying to trick him somehow, but why?

“Oh, fucking hell!” The woman shot Q a look of horror, her fists clenching. “This could last six months?”

All three of them focused on her. Wariness and suspicion filled Q’s face, and not-James, no longer silently communicating with his partner, again wore an agent’s blank mask.

Alec shook his head. She was a puzzle, but one that would wait for a few minutes. He said to Q, “You're lying. That has never been my name.”

“Interesting.”

Alec turned at the comment from the woman. She was visibly regaining her poise after her outburst. His own frustration bubbled up, and he snarled, “Just who in the hell are you?”

She raised an elegant brow at him. “Aither di Straiti. It seems that you’re from even farther afield than I am. The man I know as Sansha was Aleksei prior to meeting my brother.” She made an abortive motion towards Q. “His James was a jackass. Taller than this one, dark blue eyes and wavy black hair. Time changed him, to something more like this one. All three of you are together there — more or less, anyway, just like here, evidently. But you don’t know Q?”

That sounded more like his James, at least in part, but he couldn’t imagine his James changing so much. What the hell was going on? “The only Q I know is an old man, nothing like this one.”

The present Q, and his mind stumbled at the name for the dark haired man, nodded once, sharply. “I think we all need to go relocate to our flat so we can compare notes. There must be more going on here than we realize.”

“Q! Not our flat!”

“Why not? We’ll be in an ideal place for me to do any research necessary, and we’ll be more comfortable.” Q shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like they’ll agree to a meeting at Six.”

“What about Aiden?” James’ protest, even though his voice was angry, sounded weak to Alec, as though Q had already won.

“He’ll be fine. I know you two. Before coming after me, you would have have left him with my brother or Mrs. Hudson.”

Aiden? Before he could ask, the woman did.

“Who is Aiden?”

Q turned to her. “Aiden is our son.”

A son? If the other him was with these three, did that mean Aiden was his son, too? How the hell could he have a son?

“Damnit, Q.” James grabbed Q’s arm and stepped close, whispering fiercely, “You know better than to talk like this to a stranger.”

Q shook him off. “If we can find a solution to this world-jumping madness, then it’s worth it.”

Bond huffed, looking put out.

Alec shook his head. These two certainly acted like a couple, and he missed his James. He groaned and shoved down a sudden flare of lust at the sense memory of their recent wrestling match as he thought of his James.

When he had himself under control, he eyed the other three. None of them were paying the least attention to his browning. He lowered it, mentally throwing his hands up. “Fine, I’ll go with you to your flat. I want to know how to get home just as much as she does, and you two seem to be the only ones that know what’s going on.”

~~~~

Aither watched as Alec processed what she had said. She found it difficult to believe that he — whoever this Alec was — didn’t know her brother, whether he was Jon or Matthew. How could that even be possible? Those two had always been drawn together, like moths to a flame or blood to the heart. It took all her control not to body-check him into the wall to see if the shock woke him up.

No. She mentally shook her head. That wouldn’t help at all. She was seriously under-armed, and her experience as a fighter told her it would be a bad idea to start a confrontation. She was sure that Matthew or James would help Alec against her if she attacked him, even if this wasn’t exactly their Alec.

Her mind circled back to Alec and Q. Did his world even have a version of Q? Jon, or Matthew, not the old man he spoke of. There had to be one. She couldn’t imagine a world with Alec in it but not her brother. Of course, she didn’t like being in a world without her lovers, Dayesi and Lidiya, one where her friend and former lover, Sparks, was dead.

The whole situation was disturbing. How could this version of her brother be closer to James than Alec? The only thing she could come up with was that perhaps this James wasn’t as idiotic as her brother’s second soulmate. Although… she turned her attention to the almost familiar blond. That probably wasn’t the case. It was difficult to believe that any version of James Bond wasn’t an arrogant idiot, so why would this version of her brother be closer to him?

She swore to herself. None of this speculation brought her any closer to a solution. Why had she been brought here, and how could she get home? She still felt that Matthew, for all that he wasn’t truly her closest friend and brother, was her best bet. His tells weren’t quite the same, but they were similar enough that she could read them. Should she try working with these three, particularly now that this Alec has changed into a different one?

If her brother were here, he’d tell her to treat this problem like a code to solve it, by breaking it down to its component parts. First, the four of them that were affected by this… situation, or whatever it was. Then came their motivation: home for this Alec and her, their Alec back for Matthew and James. Last had to be the solution. That was the tricky one. There had to be a key, some reason — some commonality — between the exchanges. So far it seemed that only the two of them that had ended up in other worlds, something that had happened to this Alec before. Was there something they had in common? But what?

“Q! Not our flat!”

The rather frustrated protest from James drew her attention from her thoughts. That sounded like it was more than the territoriality of an agent. She frowned at the mention of ‘Aiden.’ It sounded like it was someone living with them. Or a pet, maybe? “Who is Aiden?”

Hazel eyes regarded her, assessing her, before Matthew said, “Aiden is our son.”

Huh. She had a nephew. All thoughts of meeting her nephew flew out the window when the idiot grabbed Matthew. She gritted her teeth to restrain herself from removing him bodily. No one grabbed her brother like that and got away with it. The only thing that allowed her to relax was that he freed himself from James quickly. Good. James didn’t know how close he’d come to dying.

Matthew followed his action up with, “If we can find a solution to this world-jumping madness, then it’s worth it.”

Then Alec sighed and holstered his Browning. “Fine, I’ll go with you to your flat. I want to know how to get home just as much as she does, and you two seem to be the only ones that know what’s going on.”

Excellent. “I’m in, too. I just need to grab my laptop from upstairs. I’ll even let you check it first, if you need to. Although, if you have something more powerful laying around, I can be more help researching. My other self apparently doesn’t know much about hacking. This laptop is barely a toy.”

Chapter Text

They went up to the main floor of the warehouse, then out the side entrance. Motion drew Alec’s eye as Bond tapped his phone several times, then looked around, scanning the alley.

A woman, dressed in dark fatigues, melted out of the shadows. Her deadly air reminded him of Dayesi, although this woman appeared slightly taller. Her skin was the same dark shade as Dayesi’s, too.

“What’s the story?” she asked, looking from him to Bond.

“Alec and I are taking Q home. The kidnapping was a misunderstanding. Tell 009 and 0011 to stand down.”

“A misunderstanding, hmm?” A look of skepticism crossed her face. “Right. We’ll play it your way, but you’re gonna owe us.”

Bond gave a long suffering sigh, then nodded in agreement. “Of course, 008.”

Two men entered the alley. One from above, jumping down from the fire escape on the next building, while the other sauntered towards them from behind the building.

Alec frowned. He recognized the dark haired man coming from the back of the building. Simon Latimer. But… Bond hadn’t mentioned Latimer’s number. He tensed, ready for a fight. The last time he’d seen Latimer, he and his James had drugged the man and shipped him back to M, unconscious, in a specially prepared coffin. A trifle dramatic, to be sure, but his James was sentimental and had been reluctant to kill another Double O.

Latimer noticed his stance and quirked a questioning eyebrow at him before turning to Bond. “Why did you call us in? I thought we were doing a hostage rescue.”

“He claims,” 008 said, suspicion filling her dark eyes, “that the kidnapping was all a ‘misunderstanding’ and that we can go.”

“Really?” That was the man who had jumped from the fire escape. He shoved light brown hair back from his forehead with a cheerful smile. “James and Alec overreacting again, Q?”

The Quartermaster stepped forward, edging in front of Aither. “This is my… cousin, Aither. She didn’t realize her practical joke would have such… consequences.”

If Alec hadn’t known the truth, he still wouldn’t have bought Q’s story.

“Aither,” Q continued, “These are my colleagues. Penda Stone, Simon Latimer, and Oliver Arbuthnot.”

Alec noted that the Quartermaster left off the number designations that Bond had used. He hid a smile. He had spotted the sharp glance Aither gave Q. He suspected she already knew the identities of the three Double O’s. Stone was 008, which meant that Latimer and Arbuthnot were either 009 or 0011. He wasn’t sure — in his own world, Latimer was 002.

The three other Double Os communicated silently. Then Arbuthnot nodded and stepped away, heading back to the fire escape and clambering up. Latimer went toward the mouth of the alley, then turned, waiting, for Stone. She had apparently been elected the group’s spokesperson.

“You should take a bit more care in your ‘practical jokes,’” she said, looking sternly at Aither before glancing at him and Bond. “Gentlemen. Joke or not, you owe us.”

She headed towards Latimer, but then paused, looking back. “Oh, Matthew. My wife wants your espresso fudge recipe.”

Q swore, drawing a look of shocked surprise from Bond, and a laugh from Aither.

Stone smirked, and turned to Latimer, tilting her head toward the street. “Let’s go.”

Alec watched the two leave, then slanted a glance at Q. “Espresso fudge recipe?”

Bond answered for Q. “It’s really good.”

“I make it from time to time.” Q shrugged. “Everyone wants the recipe.”

Alec nodded as he realized. The Q-branch techs he remembered lived on caffeine, chocolate, and complete lack of sleep. Something that combined caffeine and chocolate would definitely be popular.

Bond looked around, meeting their eyes. “The cars… car, is this way.” He led the way to the street.

By the time they got there, Stone and Latimer were already gone. Two cars, an Aston Martin and an older model Jaguar, were parked in front of the building. Bond glanced at the Aston with a pinched look, then, with a sigh, led the way to the Jag.

Alec admired the Jag’s lines and colour while Bond juggled his keys to find the correct one. He’d be willing to bet that the Jag belonged to his alternate. After a glance at the Jag’s cramped back seat, he said, “I don’t mind not driving, but I’m not sitting in that back seat.”

Q swiped the keys from Bond and smirked. “Fine. I’ll drive. James and Aither can sit in the back.”

Alec couldn’t help sharing the smirk Q aimed his way. He felt almost guilty when the other man’s face fell, as if Q had just remembered that he was the wrong Alec. He shifted his attention to Bond and Aither. They stiffly got into the back of the Jag, not quite glaring at each other.

He wasn’t sure what that was about. It was as though there were bad blood between them, but, if he was right, Bond had never met her before. Perhaps there was something between Aither and the Bond of her world.

The Jag rumbled to life as he got in and snapped the seatbelt into place. He hated being driven around by a driver of unknown skill, but he truly didn’t mind not driving. He hadn't been to his London in ten years , and this world was twenty five years past that. Navigating the busy streets here would be nerve-wracking enough as a passenger.

~~~~

Aither sat on the couch, feeling James’ eyes on her. Two cats, briefly introduced as Fort and Pax, curled up together on top of some papers and magazines on the coffee table. She reached out to stroke Fort’s inky black head and was rewarded with a purr. She’d been looking forward to meeting her nephew, but just as Matthew had surmised, James and Alec had left Aiden in a safe place, watched over by one of their friends. She’d have to remember to tell Jon and Alec they had a son.

Alec had stepped into the bathroom, and Matthew was clearing information off a laptop for her to use. She hid a smile. Nothing was ever truly erased on a computer. Although… she was sure that he knew that. This Q seemed to be as good with computers as her brother. Perhaps he’d come up with a program to make it seem that the information really was gone. She had no intention of poking around the laptop though. She planned to confine her research to the internet. All she wanted was to get home.

The ride to the flat had been… odd. Of the four people in the Jaguar, only Matthew hadn’t been tense. Alec had spent the drive looking around, taking in the city. It probably had changed since he’d last seen it, if he was anything like the Sansha she knew. She and James had spent the whole time watching each other. She didn’t trust him, and was certain he didn’t trust her, either.

Alec came out of the bathroom, looking troubled. Aither noticed that James immediately focused on him. She had the impression that she’d been forgotten — for the moment, at least.

“What’s wrong?” Ice blue eyes scanned Alec, as if looking for an injury.

Alec met James’ eyes. “He… I have no scars from… an accident that nearly killed me some years ago, and I have two large tattoos.”

Arkhangelsk, Aither thought. This Alec might be more like Sansha than she thought. What were the tattoos? Normally agents wouldn’t want something that could so readily identify them. In her world, agents with soulmarks disguised them by using an ingenious paste that could mimic skin. No one had yet figured out how to accurately mimic soulmarks, though. They had a vibrant, mutable quality that was difficult to fake.

James shifted uncomfortably, shooting a glance at one of the bookshelves lining the wall of the flat. “During the time Alec spent as Aleksei, he got a pair of tattoos. We don’t know their significance.”

That sounded like — could they be copies of soulmarks? People sometimes got tattoos if their soulmarks faded. Aither’s eyes narrowed. “What are they?”

“One looks like a cloud,” Alec answered, touching his side. Then his hand moved to his hip, “and some kind of tree.”

“Those sound like Sansha’s soulmarks.” She felt hopeful for the first time in days. If her brother’s soulmate had been there and been able to get home, that meant that she might be able to get home too.

“Soulmarks? You recognize them? What does that mean?” Alec asked. James and Matthew appeared to be interested, too.

“In my world, soulmarks commonly appear around puberty. Some receive their soulmarks earlier, later, or not all. People find their soulmates when their soulmarks match. Normally there are two soulmarks; each representing one relationship of the triad. Sometimes each member of the triad has only one soulmark. People without soulmarks sometimes get bondmarks after they get into a relationship. That’s what happened with me and my bondmates.”

James and Matthew shared a look, while Alec frowned. “Three people in a relationship? That’s… unusual.”

“And yet, they happen. Where I come from it’s the norm. Even here, where everything is based around dyad pairs instead of triads, there’s Q, James, and the other Alec, all happy in a relationship.”

“Yes.” Matthew tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in thought. “You and your… bondmates, got your soulmarks, but only after you became a triad?”

“No,” she corrected. “They’re bondmarks. But yes, they appeared after our triad formed.”

Matthew nodded thoughtfully. “Are you familiar with asexuality, and the asexual spectrum?”

She nodded cautiously. Where was he going with this? “Why?”

“Because, what you’re describing with your bondmates sounds like someone who is  demisexual. Just as someone who is demi doesn’t feel sexual attraction until after an emotional connection has been formed, your soulmarks don’t appear until after you’ve formed an emotional connection — a bond — with the other members of your triad.”

“I…” She stopped, thinking it through. It did make a certain amount of sense when put that way. “I don’t think anyone has ever put it quite like that before.”

Matthew grinned, his hazel eyes lighting up. “Maybe I’m correct, and it needed someone on the outside, as it were, to see it. Oh! See it. Just a moment.” He closed the laptop he’d been working on and went to the bookshelf James had looked at earlier. There, he pulled out a notebook from an upper shelf and brought it over to Alec.

“Aleksei was an artist. He drew the tattoos, as well as people we don’t recognize, in his notebook. Perhaps one of you might be able to shed some light on them.” He handed the notebook to Alec and went back to his seat. “We’re not sure any of them are even real. I tried running facial recognition after extrapolating the faces into 3D models, but I didn’t get any hits.”

Alec absently sat next to her as he opened the notebook and stared, transfixed, at the first page. “James,” he murmured, almost too softly for Aither to hear.

She leaned over. There, drawn on the page with coloured pencils, was the young James she had first started guiding through missions. His wavy dark hair almost reminded her of Jon’s, and the artist — Aleksei — had managed to draw James’ piercing blue eyes in such a way they seem to look out of the page at her. They were a darker shade of blue than she remembered, though, seeming almost blue-black.

An active agent’s life had been hard on James, transforming him over the years to look more like the James she knew now, who more resembled this current James. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the drawing. This James only had one soulmark, the stormcloud he shared with Alec. It looked oddly… peaceful. Had she ever seen it that calm?

She watched over Alec’s shoulder as he turned the page and nodded in recognition of his youthful, scarred, post-Arkhangelsk face. He must be from a world were events happened similarly to her own world, even if they didn’t have triad relationships.

He turned the page, bringing sketches of the stormcloud and tree into view.

“The cloud is James and Alec, while the tree is Jon and Alec,” she said softly.

Alec nodded. Aither gasped as he turned the page, revealing several figures drawn in various poses and aspects. People important to Aleksei — and to her. Alec turned to her. “Do you know them?”

“Oh yes,” she answered, not taking her eyes from her beloveds. Dayesi laughed merrily, wearing a gorgeous pewter blue gown that almost shimmered on the page, while Lidiya seemed to lean against a wall, her arms folded, as she contemplated something in the distance with her serious brown eyes. Aither snorted when she recognized Pyotr. Only his head and torso were visible, but Aleksei had obviously paid a great deal of attention to Petya’s broad shoulders and the fit of his suitcoat.

“Dayesi and Lidiya are my bondmates, and Pyotr is a friend. I know his triadmates, Nadiya and Marie.” She shifted closer for a better look. “I don’t think I’ve seen Dae wearing a dress like that before.”

Alec shot her a sly glance. “She wore it the day we met.”

Understanding dawned. “Ahhh. Yes. I remember her telling me about it.” It had, essentially, been a honey trap mission targeting Alec. The KGB wanted influence over Aleksei. Dae had managed to turn the tables on her handlers and make an alliance with Aleksei that carried her through the breakup of the Soviet Union. And if that had happened — “You recognized your scars,” she pointed out gently. “I take it Arkhangelsk happened for you, too?”

James and Matthew, quiet while watching them look through the notebook, stiffened, becoming more intent at her question, and Alec sighed. “It was a mission gone wrong. James and I received separate briefings that ended up being quite different. James watched Ourumov shoot me, and thought I’d been killed. He took his revenge by blowing up the factory during his escape. He didn’t know it had been a ruse to get me embedded into Ourumov’s organization so I could report back to MI6. Unfortunately… The explosion he set off caused… this.” His fingers reached up to touch his right cheek, his eyes shadowed with the pain of the past. “I thought he had betrayed me.”

“He did.” Aither was almost startled by her own outburst. “Not then, but after. During the GoldenEye incident. He ignored your recognition code and dropped you to your death. It was sheer luck Jon’s father was able to keep you alive long enough to recover.”

“No, he did respond to my code. I had Dayushka drug him and I took him to my safehouse.” His lips curled up at the memory. “After we figured out what happened, we went after Ourumov. We’re trying to identify just who it was at MI6 who betrayed us. If Arkhangelsk happened in your world, do you know who the betrayer was?”

Aither ignored the startled, ‘Betrayed?!’ from James. “In my world, it ended up being James’ step-brother. He’s quite dead now.” She smirked in satisfaction. It had been her Dae who had killed him, using poison their Lilya had created.

Alec shook his head, disappointed. “It’s unlikely to be the same person then. My James never had a brother.”

“I don’t,” James muttered, flinching when Matthew drove a sharp elbow into his ribs.

“We had a version of Arkhangelsk, too. It came about very differently,” Matthew said, motioning to James to speak.

“I was injured,” James said, shooting an annoyed glance at Matthew. “Alec went undercover to find my attacker. It involved him appearing to get blown up there. I thought he was dead. Turns out, M had volunteered him for an experimental CIA procedure. Project MNEMOSYNE. They suppressed their subject’s self with drugs, and replaced memories to build an entire new individual. It was meant for long undercover missions where any misstep or deviation from cover could be deadly. While Alec was undergoing the procedure, there was an… incident, and he was reported dead. M closed his file and never told me the truth. If I hadn’t come across him in L.A. last year, we’d never have known he had survived.”

Matthew squeezed James’ arm in support. “We think the drugs they used in Mnemosyne to suppress Alec’s memory are somehow behind these transfers. But I’m afraid that doesn’t explain your transfer, Aither.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’ve never taken any kind of drugs that would impair my thinking like that. Do you —” She broke off as Alec closed the notebook and placed it on the coffee table, startling the cats into racing from the room. One of the magazines revealed at the cats’ departure caught her eye. She picked it up with a feeling of disbelief. “What?”

On the cover were two familiar people. Here, though, they were actors, playing the people she knew. How could that be? She paged through the magazine, feeling increasingly out of her depth. This was why she hadn’t found any trace of the Machine on the internet.

Alec leaned closer to her and murmured, “What’s wrong?”

“These men… Michael Emerson and Jim Caviezel… They… But… A television show?” She shook her head sharply. “I know them, at least the characters they play on this show, Harold Finch and John Reese. But in my world, it’s real. They’re real.”

“That’s a magazine that Declan left when he was babysitting Aiden.” Matthew gnawed his lip. “How can they be real people in your world but a television show here?”

“Because it isn’t real. If she watched the show, maybe she’s imagining that she knows them.” James looked at Alec. “A psychosis of some kind, do you think?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“You’re the one with the psychology degree.”

Alec shook his head. “My degrees are in history. I —”

“No.” She cut him off, glaring icily at James. “I assure you I am quite sane. Why do you believe he’s a person from another world but doubt me?”

James flushed and looked away, mumbling something she couldn’t hear.

Matthew frowned at him, then turned back to Aither. “We do believe you. I do, at any rate. It’s just… difficult to believe when you haven’t been affected by the MNEMOSYNE drug. What about your counterpart? What do you know of her past?”

“She hasn’t either.” Aither’s voice was flat. “I looked into her past, and I didn’t see anything that could tie into a government project of that kind. She’s a forensic geneticist. DNA. Nothing to do with the mind.”

“Hmmm. Perhaps there’s more connection between the worlds than we realize,” Matthew said slowly, as if thinking through a puzzle. “Just enough of one to allow ideas or memories through, and that’s how the people you know became a television show here.”

“And in some cases, like mine or Alec, the memories passing through are actually complete consciousnesses?” The idea was intriguing. Could Matthew be right? Motion drew her eye as Alec pinched the bridge of his nose, as if trying to ward off a headache.

“Alec?” James stood, a note of alarm in his voice. Blood began trickling steadily from Alec’s nose, and James stepped closer to him. He tried to catch Alec as he collapsed off the couch. “Q! Call the ambulance!”

“What’s going on?” Aither stood and backed away, giving them room.

Matthew brushed past her to crouch next to his lovers and push a wad of tissues into James’ hand. Then he put his hand on Alec’s neck, feeling for a pulse. “This has happened before. He’s probably fine.”

“‘Probably,’” James spat, glaring. “The last time this happened he almost died.”

What the hell? She hadn’t been worried before, but that didn’t sound good at all. “Tell me what’s going on, now.”

Matthew glanced up at her before turning his attention back to Alec. “He’s usually asleep or unconscious when he… trades places. A few times when he’s been awake he’s gotten a migraine before hand.”

James pulled Alec into his lap, wiping at the sluggishly trickling blood, smearing it. “Last time he was in a coma for a day.”

“What?” Aither stared at them in horror.

Matthew shot her a glance and then focused back on James. “That was when he’d been gone for six months. It’s only been a few hours.”

James shot back, “You —“

The bickering cut off as Alec moaned, turning his head from side to side and blinking, unfocused. James shifted, trying to get a better look at his partner. “Alec? Are you all right?”

“Fuck, that was bright,” Alec slurred, his voice weak, as he looked up from his position on James’ lap. “We’re back at the flat? I was only gone for a few minutes. What happened? Is Q all right?”

“Time differential? We suspected…” Matthew shifted forward to help Alec sit up. “I’m fine, but you’ve been gone for hours. Aither’s been helping us figure out what’s been happening. We have a theory. She’s — well, her consciousness, I mean — is from another world. A transference of some kind, like yours. There was another Alec here, in your body.”

“Yeah.” Alec swiped clumsily at the dried blood on his face. “I was somewhere else. It was… quite an experience.”

“What happened to you?” James asked.

“I was in the warehouse, covering her, Aither? When I started to feel dizzy…”

~*~*~*~

He was abruptly somewhere else, straddling a naked man, and naked himself. He barely had time to wonder what the hell was going on, when he was in a fight for his life. The naked man surged up off the floor and flipped them both. Alec attempted to get a grip on the other man, but failed as his hands slipped on sweat slick skin. Then the man kissed him. Alec stiffened in surprise. What the hell? He bit down hard, drawing blood, and threw himself back when the man let go with a cry of pain.

The man put a hand to his lip, wiping away the blood. “Alec, what’s gotten into you? That hurt.”

He rolled to his feet and crouched, back against the wall, prepared for another attack. “Who are you, how did I get here?”

The man looked confused, then concerned. “Are you feeling all right?”

Alec scanned the room. It was a set up as a home gym, with weights against the wall and a mat covering the floor. What the hell had happened to him? One of his breaks with reality? His hand shook as he tried to wipe the sweat trickling down his face and froze. The skin under his fingers felt strange; a hodgepodge of ridges and too smooth. His eyes went to the mirrored wall opposite. It was him, but younger. Long-healed scars dripped from the right side of his face down his side and onto his thigh. “What’s going on?”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the image in the mirror. He was barely aware of the thump when his ass met the mat as his legs gave out, and he seemed to hear the man’s voice over the roaring in his ears.

“Alec, breathe. What’s wrong? Shit. I need Raskova.”

A comforting hand squeezed his shoulder, and then the other man was gone, but Alec still couldn’t look away from the mirror. He knew, distantly, that he needed to get up, to move, find out what was going on, but all he could do was stare at the impossible image in the mirror.

Some interminable time later, people came into the room. He needed to get up, demand answers…

“Alec?” It was a woman’s voice. Someone knelt next to him, putting gentle fingers on his cheek, trying to turn his face from the mirror. She swore, and snapped something in Russian.

A large man, not the one who had been in the room when he’d realized he was in another place, blocked his view of the mirror. He looked up, startled, into a worried face. Who was this man? The other man, the one who had been there, knelt on his other side and spoke. A worried question in Russian, directed at the woman next to him. Alec licked his lips. Russian. He tried to remember… Something about wrestling?

“...obvious what you were doing, James. Did he hit his head?” The translation came to him, slowly, after the woman spoke.

“Who are you people?” His question was in English. Russian had slipped away from him again.

The woman said something that sounded harsh and guttural. Swearing? She grasped his chin firmly. He was puzzled at first, but understood a moment later when a bright light pierced his eyes into his brain. He tried to jerk away, but she had a good grip, and there was nowhere for him to go.

~*~*~*~

“Then I was back here.” Alec’s voice had strengthened as he spoke, and he looked as though he had recovered completely. The relatively fast recovery time reassured Aither as much as James had alarmed her earlier.

“Why were you confused? According to these two,” Aither waved a hand at James and Matthew, “you’ve had this happen before.”

Alec shook his head. “I don’t remember a lot when this happens. I know it’s happened before, but this is the first time I’ve remembered even this much when I’ve returned.”

That was an unpleasant thought. Would she have the same amnesia when she got home?

“Hey.”

Startled, she looked up, into brilliant green eyes filled with understanding. She nodded. No matter if she remembered or not, she’d survive.

Alec quirked a smile, then looked away from her to ask Matthew, “What’s this theory you’ve come up with?”

Sudden dizziness hit Aither, and she shook her head to clear it, letting the sound of Matthew's explanation wash over her. His voice broke off in alarm, and everything went dark.

~~~~

“ — she doing?”

Aither ignored the distorted voice. She had a blazing headache, although it was easing up. What was going on? Where was she? Her head rested on something soft and warm, and a woman's voice hummed something soothing somewhere above her.

“Dae?” Was that really her voice? It sounded strange, croaking. She was so thirsty.

The humming cut off as Dayesi exclaimed, “Aithyusha! Lilya, come quick! I think she's waking up.”

She looked up into Dayesi’s concerned face, then over to Lilya. “What happened?”

~~~~

In a London flat, worlds away, Aither woke up with three strange men watching her. She attempted to gather her wits. “Who are you? What have you done to me?”

The three men drew back, as if to appear unthreatening. She eyed the two taller men. That was a massive fail.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” The shorter man smiled at her, attempting to appear unassuming. It didn’t work — there was an air of danger around him, too.

“I was visiting my moms and fell asleep — No,” she shook her head. There was something else. She’d been somewhere else. Images shifted and moved in her memory, and she looked at the man in fear. “What happened to me?”

He sighed. “That’s a long story…”