Work Text:
His eyes, against all odds, find Lewis’s.
They always do.
They will always find Lewis’s -- whether in a cabin in the Alps, or in the afterglow of sunrise at Great Ocean Road.
Shoot me.
The words are unmistakable.
Valtteri hears them in his head. He sees every syllabus carve itself out onto Lewis’s lips.
Shoot me.
“Valtteri, you promised.” Lewis’s voice is barely a whisper, but it amplifies itself even against the background noise of gunshots and screams. The man presses against Lewis’s windpipe, and Valtteri knows that the man has effectively cut off the air circulating to his brain. His voice is strained against the thick arm wrapped around his neck, and Valtteri knows he doesn’t have much time left to make a decision.
With a gun to his head, Lewis looks so small.
So small, fragile, and delicate.
Like a wildflower.
Sleek, pretty, lacking any threat.
(Like those cars all those fucking years ago.)
There’s no fight in his voice anymore. It’s over.
In his final breath of life, he has given Valtteri the permission to pull the trigger.
Yet, with his permission, he has also told Valtteri to forgive himself for doing it.
For finally, letting Lewis go.
The audacity of Lewis to have himself tilting on the edge of death, only to always put Valtteri first.
Others before self.
Valtteri feels the hot tears at the corners of his eyes. He feels them burning even more as they streak down his face, the silent sobs now tearing through his throat.
Valtteri focuses his attention on Lewis, and Lewis only.
Even in a slow, burning room, their last moment is theirs.
“It’s okay.”
Lewis’s final words come out choked, strained against the assailant’s arm.
I love you.
Valtteri’s final words come out equally choked, but carry the same weight as they’ve always had.
Lewis smiles that same, crooked smile that he did all those years ago in Australia.
Valtteri’s fingers find the trigger.
The bullet strikes Lewis right between the ribs.
-
Everything happens quickly after that.
Agents burst into the room, shooting the man clean in the head. An announcement comes over the PA system that the threat has been neutralised, and for the injured to please make their way to the medical station set up. Help is on the way.
It takes the strength of both Max and Daniel to move Valteri away from Lewis, still kicking and screaming at Lewis to please, please wake up.
-
The funeral is held in Lewis’s hometown, a quaint part of England.
Valtteri recognises most of the landmarks. The little pub located at the entrance of the town, where Lewis told Valtteri (albeit rather sheepishly) about his first kiss. The library, where he-
Valtteri stops himself right there.
Don’t.
Lewis’s voice comes on in his head again. It’s soft, firm, and if Valtteri is being honest, it’s the only thing keeping him rooted to the ground and not leaping out of the car to make a run for it.
Valtteri can almost see him now.
A hand placed on a shoulder that’s weary and weak from nights crying and days spent accepting empty condolences from other people who never knew who Lewis was and what he stood for.
As the car pulls up nearer to the venue, Valtteri can see the white casket and the flowers that adorn the sides.
(He wonders how people in this town remember Lewis.)
He wonders how he remembers Lewis.
-
“He was M to most of you. For the most part, he managed that PR pretty well.”
There’s a murmur of laughter throughout the audience.
“When we were in the Academy, Lewis has always told me that if I would just be more forthcoming on most stances, most people would gravitate to my dry sense of humour. I always gave him the ugliest look after that, but maybe he was right. Lewis was always right about many things.”
Valtteri can’t bring himself to look up from his cue cards into the audience. He knows that if he does that, all he’ll see is Lewis’s face looking right back at him, smirking that signature look.
I told you so.
“When Lewis was made M, there was so much- so much controversy surrounding the decision.”
“People filed complaints to the department about his lack of experience. People talked down about him in the break rooms, placing bets on his resignation. Some of you seated here today believed that he would never be as good as Kimi.”
“Lewis read every single one of those complaints, by the way.”
“Lewis didn’t have the most faith in himself. Every mission that failed, even if it had nothing to do with his ability, he blamed it on himself. Bad equipment? It was his poor handling of the gun that caused it to malfunction. Saved 10 out of 11 hostages? The one face kept him up at night.”
“Yet, even in his darkest days, it was his ability to bring life, kindness, and joy everywhere he went. Beyond his immense talent in the field, was Lewis’s extraordinary ability to be selfless in offering his positivity, even when it seemed like the entire office was on the verge of tearing him down with their spite.”
“Lewis rises. He always does. He does it with or without you.”
“That’s what made him so special. And that is how I will remember him to be: a lover of the light. The boy who laughed too loudly on undercover missions or every time someone made an innuendo. The boy who would take a bullet for any one of you sitting here today. The boy who made stupid faces just to get me to lighten up in boring government meetings.”
“Lewis loved the world. He saw everything in colour, even in the days where MI6 was nothing but a patch of grey suits and killing machines. If he were here-”
Valtteri stops speaking for a while.
He looks at the audience.
In his mind’s eye, seated there, right in the middle, is Lewis.
Lewis gives him a smile.
“If he were here, he wouldn’t want us to mourn. He would want us to celebrate the life of someone who has lived. Because that’s how Lewis saw the world. In shades of love that coloured his vision at times, but made him and those around him all the better for it.”
Charles and Pierre are seated together in the sea of black suits. Charles has his head on Pierre’s shoulder, and Pierre gives Valtteri a thumbs up.
Valtteri doesn’t miss the way that Charles’s fingers tighten every so slightly around Pierre’s hand, pulling him closer.
“Lewis liked to think of himself as a scrappy little nobody. Can you imagine? The head of MI6, the most powerful organisation in the world, a scrappy little nobody.”
“Yet, for all his bad days, I would rather think of him as the Little Prince.”
“Lewis, wherever you are-”
Valtteri doesn’t need to look up to know in that moment, Lewis is standing right beside him.
A hand placed on a shoulder that’s weary and weak from nights crying and days spent accepting empty condolences from other people who never knew who Lewis was and what he stood for. But a shoulder that’s stronger than ever before.
“Your legacy lives in me where everyday, I aspire to give others the same level of kindness and love that you have always given me.”
“Your legacy lives in MI6. It lives in the seeds of a garden you planted, but never got to see. It lives in the recruits who will come in and hear your story of sacrifice, and what it means to be an agent.”
“Today, we remember a man who rises. And will continue to rise, wherever he goes. Today, we remember Lewis Hamilton.”