Archive of Our Own

Felix wakes up to a pounding headache. He jerks upright, and finds himself restrained by cold metal around his wrists. “James - ?”

“Ah, the vampire-lover’s awake,” says an unfamiliar voice. Felix scowls at the insult, and blinks his eyes open. There’s a man standing over him, a rough-faced man with badly-dyed blond hair, clad in a white suit over a loudly-patterned shirt. He’s toying with a wooden stake in his hand. Felix is chained to the wall, slumped on the cold concrete floor of a small cell.

“He’s not a vampire-lover,” James’s voice replies, and Felix looks over to see his friend chained up next to him. “He’s a hunter, like you. He’s the enemy, Silva. If you hurt him, you know, you’ll only be playing into our hands.”

Felix immediately understands what James is trying to do - get Felix out by avoiding the implication that he and James are friends. It’s a smart strategy - if Felix gets out, he can call in reinforcements. Not HNT, that wouldn’t be safe, but he can get into contact with MI6. He knows they’ll back James up. He’s too valuable to leave out to dry. 

“He’s telling the truth,” Felix says. “Let me go. I’m no vampire-lover - hell, look at me.” He gestures with his hook hand at his prosthetic leg. “Look at what they did to me. I don’t give a damn what you do to the bloodsucker, but I’m not part of this.”

“‘A hunter, like me,’” Silva mimics. “Do you think I’m a fool? I know what HNT is. They’ve gone soft. They call themselves hunters, but they don’t even bother with the vampires these days unless they challenge the goals of the US government.” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “So much for vampire hunting! Back in the old days, hunters really stood for something.”

Felix groans, and rubs his eyes with his left hand. “Goddamnit, not this again.” When James looks over at him, puzzled, Felix explains, “It’s politics. We’re just as full of backstabbing politicking factional bullshit as you guys are. Except you guys are always fighting over territory, and with us it’s always ideological BS. Hunting too many vampires? Not hunting enough vampires? Hunting the wrong vampires? Hunting vampires for the wrong reasons? It never ends.” There were a hundred different vampire hunting organizations, and they were all constantly squabbling. 

James laughs. “Guess it’s good to know that we’re not that different after all. United by petty bullshit.”

Silva looks bored by his prisoners’ discussion. “You can’t hide from the eyes of a camera,” he says. “This is the 21st century. Everything is recorded . . . and a man who can access the right files has the world at his fingertips. I know the two of you are friends. Mmm, or maybe more, eh?” He shakes his head, sadly. “Disgusting. It’s really necrophilia, don’t you think? Well, well, well . . . I hope you like him, because his is going to be the last face you ever see.”

“You don’t have to kill him,” James says, urgently. “He isn’t part of this. You’re a vampire hunter - so hunt the vampire, damnit, and let Felix go.”

“Oh, I’m not going to be the one killing him,” Silva says, smirking. “You are.” He tilts his head, his horrible little smirk spreading. “How long has it been since you’ve fed, James? It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? The hunger will kick in soon. But don’t worry . . . I won’t leave you without sustenance.” His eyes flicker to Felix. “I hope you like American food.”

“Fuck you,” James says, immediately. “I’m not going to feed on Felix.”

Silva shrugs. “Then you starve to death.” He turns to Felix. “As for you, I would never want to deprive a fellow hunter.” He steps out of the cell for a moment, and returns with two big grocery bags. “Here. This should hold you for awhile . . . longer than he’ll be able to hold out, anyway.” He laughs, unpleasantly, and tosses the bags at Felix’s feet. “Have fun, boys.”

And he steps out and slams the cell door, locking them in.

Silence stretches in the solitude of the cell. 

“We’ve gotten out of worse jams, haven’t we?” James says.

“Yeah, of course we have,” Felix says, feigning confidence. “We’re gonna be fine. Both of us.” He opens up one of the grocery bags, and finds it full of pemmican, dried fruit, and bottled water. “Well, at least he’s a good host,” he jokes. He glances over at James. “I know you eat - I mean, eat food. Will any of this help stave off the hunger?”

James shakes his head. “No - I eat because I enjoy it. It doesn’t - well, sustain me. Not the way blood does.” He looks over at Felix. “I meant what I said, Felix. You don’t have anything to fear from me, I swear. I won’t attack you. It took me a long time to get my self-control back . . . but I’ve got it now. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“It’s not going to come down to that,” Felix says, determined. He believes that James will try his best. He’s not sure he believes that James will succeed. 

They empty their pockets and look at what they’ve got. They were searched, but not very thoroughly. James produces a combat knife hidden in his boot, and Felix extracts a long, thin wire sewn into the edge of his coat, suitable for garrotting an enemy or for picking certain locks.

“That any good against vampires?” James asks, and then reaches out to touch the wire. His hand stops, as if blocked by an invisible barrier. “Ah. Silver.”

“It won’t kill ’em,” Felix says, “But it heals slower than any other material. It won’t burn you, though.” He’s seen vampires handle silver weapons before.

James shakes his head. “It’s not that it burns. I can’t touch it - it’s one of my, er, compulsions. ‘Tells,’ you’d call them.”

Felix gives this due consideration. “Must’ve made the days of the silver standard a bit rough.”

James laughs. “Luckily they eliminated all the silver from the pound only a few years after I was turned. All I had to worry about were women’s necklaces.”

Felix takes charge of the wire, then, and gets as close to the door as he can, stretching against the chains that connect his wrists to the back wall. He gets about a foot away from the door, but the wire is long, and he’s able to get it through the grating in the door. But he can’t seem to reach the lock on the other side, and it’d be a hell of a challenge to pick the lock at this distance anyway. Nevertheless, he works at it for a full hour before he gives up.

“There’s gotta be another way out of this cell,” he says. James doesn’t reply.

As imprisonments go, it’s not so bad. No one’s hurting them, and the usual boredom of long confinement is easier when Felix has his best friend with him. They play word games and scrape tic-tac-toe boards into the walls of the cell. The food Silva gave Felix is flavorless, but sustaining. At night, Felix sleeps with James’s jacket as a pillow, and his own jacket as a blanket. James, who doesn’t feel the cold, takes off his shirt and uses it as his own pillow. Felix tries to keep his eyes to himself, and doesn’t always succeed. 

James is in good spirits for the first two days, but as time passes, he becomes withdrawn and pale. Felix is on edge. Every time he looks at James, he expects to see James looking back at him like he’s his next meal. It never happens. James simply looks miserable.

On the fifth day, James’s skin is bone-white, and there are dark shadows under his eyes, and there’s something skeletal and deadly about him. He looks less human than usual. He’s pacing a tight, obsessive circle from one end of the cell to the other, his face locked in a grim mask.

“James, you’re driving me crazy,” Felix complains. “Stop pacing.”

James stops, and looks at Felix. His eyes narrow, consideringly, and then he squares his jaw, seemingly coming to some conclusion. “Felix,” he says, and draws in a breath, steeling himself. “Felix, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Felix thinks, This is it. He wants to tell James that he doesn’t blame him, that it’s not his fault if he loses control. Instead, he says, “What is it?”

James steps closer to Felix, and reaches out, awkward and hesitant, to put a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “Felix, I - I’m not so good at this sort of thing. I suppose I was better at it when I was human. But I - if I’m going to die here, I want you to know. I don’t want to die with everything unsaid.”

This conversation doesn’t seem to be going the way Felix expected. “You can tell me anything, James. You know that.”

James searches his eyes. “It’s not the sort of thing that was talked about, back in the day. Perhaps that’s my problem. Or perhaps I’m just - I’m just bad with my words.”

“Say it, James,” Felix says, putting a hand on James’s shoulder, mirroring his position. “Whatever it is.”

James takes a deep breath, and opens his mouth, and then words seem to fail him. He swears, and glances away, visibly annoyed with himself. “Hell.” And then he turns back, and he’s lunging for Felix, and - 

And their lips are pressed together and they’re kissing. Felix’s mind goes blank, and he reaches up to cup James’s skeletal, sunken face. 

When they break the kiss, they’re both breathless.

“There’s benefits to being immortal,” James says. “When I was alive, that was illegal.”

“That’s what you wanted to tell me?” Felix says.

“No,” James says, and goes in for another kiss, quick and hungry. “No. I wanted to tell you I - I’m in love with you, Felix, damn it. And you don’t have to say it back, or even believe me, but I wanted to say it if I’m going to die here.”

“Shut up, James, you’re not going to die,” Felix says, and he grabs James by the collar of his shirt and pulls him back in to kiss him again, firmly. “I’ve been chasing after you since the Le Chiffre case,” he said. “How the hell didn’t you notice?”

“I was a little busy worrying you’d figure out I was an undead monster!” James protests. 

“It came out eventually, didn’t it?” Felix says. He pulls James into another kiss - making up for lost time. “As soon as we get out of here, we’re going on a real date - to one of those fancy restaurants you can’t get enough of. None of this kissing in cells.”

The joy and relief vanishes from James’s face, and he turns his face away. “Felix,” he says, softly. “Felix. I’m not going to get out of here.”

Felix swallows. “I’m not going to let you die here,” he snaps. 

“You might get out,” James says. “You’ve got enough food for a few more days, maybe even a full week if you stretch it. And from there, at least another week without food. But I’ve only got a couple of days left. It’s not like real hunger, you know. Vampirism. It’s a sort of curse. And if I don’t get something - someone - to eat soon, it’ll kill me.”

Felix looks at James. The other man looks pale and ill and resigned. But there’s nothing but regret and affection in his eyes when he looks back at Felix. He isn’t looking at Felix like he’s food. Even on the edge of starvation, James hasn’t transformed into a ravening monster. He’s just James: Felix’s friend, sitting there resigned to starvation. 

Felix draws in a breath, and squares his shoulders. “Then you should do it,” he says, flatly. “Feed on me. That way, we’ve both got a chance of getting out of here.”

James stiffens. He clearly understands what Felix is suggesting. “I’m not going to do that,” he bites out. “Not to you - not to anyone.”

“It’s the only way, isn’t it?” Felix asks. “You feed on me, you leave me alive, and then hopefully by the time you need more blood, I’ll be recovered enough to do it again. Our agencies have got to find us eventually.”

“And then what?” James asks. “If we do get out, and I’ve - I’ve fed on you. For the rest of your life, you’d be my -  my - ”

He can’t bring himself to say the word thrall . 

Felix looks away. He’s thought of this. “That won’t matter,” he says, “If you’re not around. It’ll - it’ll hurt. Staying away from you. But it’ll fade with time, as long as I don’t see you. We’ve had to do it, with humans we’ve rescued from vampire dens . . . and I won’t have to worry about you coming back to use the blood bond against me, because I know you’re on my side.” He swallows. “I  - I’m sorry. But if - hell, James. If I’m never going to see you again, I’d rather it be because you’re on the other side of the world than because you’re dead.” 

“No,” James snaps. “I’ve lived a good long life. I’m not going to do that to my best friend. I want to live, but I don’t want to live that badly.”

Felix reaches out, and takes James’s hand. “Then do it for me. Because I don’t want to sit here and watch my best friend slowly starve to death when there’s something I can do. And I trust you not to use the blood bond against me. Maybe you’re the only person I’d trust with something like this.” He squeezes James’s hand. “Come on, James. It’s the only way.”

“God,” James whispers, and pulls Felix into another kiss, desperate and needing. “Felix, I’m sorry. For all of this - for getting you involved in all this in the first place.” His hand tightens around Felix’s, and he says, “I wish I could still feel sorry. It’s all gone distant . . .”

Felix thinks he understands the distinction James is making, between being sorry and feeling it. He wonders, not for the first time, what it feels like to become a vampire. What it does to your mind, feeling your soul die inside of you and remaining alive. 

“Will you do it?” he asks James, as if James is doing him a favor. And maybe he is. Maybe Felix wants James to live more than James wants to live himself. 

James swallows. “I - all right. All right. I’ll do it.” His eyes harden with decision. “But you have to promise me you’ll - you’ll let me return the favor.” He holds out a hand and taps his fingers on his wrist. “Take my blood too. It won’t make it any easier to get away from me . . . but at least we’ll be equals still. You’ll be mine - but I’ll be yours. If this has to happen, that’s the way I want it to be. And afterwards, you can still leave, if you want. I won’t stop you.”

Felix blinks at James. He’s never heard of a vampire offering his own blood to a human before. He knows there are depraved humans who will drink the blood of vampires - to gain a fraction of a vampire’s power without taking on the curse of vampirism, or to control a vampire, or to get their freedom back after a vampire has fed on them. But he’s always heard of it as an act of force or trickery. 

A vampire who drinks a human’s blood dominates and enthralls the human - whether or not either party wants that. The human’s thoughts and memories are an open book to his vampire master, and his free will is sapped by the vampire’s gaze. A human who drinks a vampire’s blood gains a measure of protection from that vampire, and a fraction of their powers - speed, strength, healing, long life. But if the exchange is mutual - well, Felix has heard of it. They say the result is something like telepathy, a joining of minds. It’s something that’s only spoken of in whispers by hunters. 

It’s very, very difficult to kill a vampire. An enthralled human who can subdue a vampire, but doesn’t have the resources or the know-how to kill it, might succumb to the urge to get a tiny scrap of their freedom back by drinking its blood. 

Felix heard a story once about a hunter who was fed on by a vampire lord, and subsequently fed on him in desperation. Their feud was legendary, raging around the world for nearly a century. In the end, the hunter killed the vampire. Then he killed himself, unable to live without his enemy. 

People who drink vampire blood become a little bit monsters themselves, Agent Beam’s voice whispers in his memory.

Is James a monster? Well, he said he was. But it’s hard to believe that, not with James sitting here practically in his arms, pale and ill and miserable. Felix wants to protect him. He thinks James wants to protect him, too, or he wouldn’t be offering something like this. 

“You’d let me do that?” Felix asks. “You know what’ll happen, right?” 

Felix has never heard of a vampire who was willing to give a human power over himself. More than that, though, it’s James. James has always been fiercely private. It’s hard to imagine that he would want someone else in his very mind. Felix isn’t sure he’s too keen on the idea, either. But it’s better than being enthralled. 

“Of course I do,” James says. He squares his shoulders. “It’s the only way I’ll go through with this. I’m not going to enthrall you, and I’m not going to kill you. I - Felix, you’re my friend. And that’s not - it’s not that easy to make friends, when you’re like me. And I can’t think of a worse way to betray that than making you into my thrall. This way, whatever happens next, we’ll be on an even footing.”

Felix studies James’s face. “Are you afraid?” he asks, gently. 

James meets his eyes. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I am. But I didn’t get this far by running away from anything I’m afraid of. And neither did you. Promise me, Felix.”

Felix swallows. “All right. I promise you. I’ll take your blood.”

Felix can see the relief wash over James’s face. He leans back against the wall of the cell, and brushes that one strand of hair back off of his forehead. “Thanks, Felix,” he mutters. “You know, as much of a mess as this all is - if I had to - if I had to be stuck in this mess with anyone, I’m glad it’s you. I don’t know if I could go through it with anyone else.”

Felix leans against the wall next to James.  “I’m sure as hell glad it’s you here, and not some other vampire.” He looks up at James, his cold blue-grey eyes, his pale, sunken, barely-human face, and kisses him. “I love you, James. Now - how do we do this?” 

James draws in a breath, and starts to get up. Felix moves to follow him, and James holds up a hand. “No, stay there. It’ll be easier if you’re lying down. You’ll sort of go limp.” He gets to his knees in front of Felix, and Felix pushes himself up the wall so that his throat is level with James’s mouth, swallowing.

James straddles Felix, and puts his hands on Felix’s shoulders. A shiver runs through Felix’s body, and he’s not sure if it’s fear or something else. Even like this, James is still handsome, in an inhuman sort of way, and it’s hard not to think of all the other things they could be doing in this position. Felix sits up, and pulls James into his arms. He wants him close, wants to feel like this is something it’s not.

James wraps his arms around Felix, supporting him. He looks down at him, and Felix looks up into his blue-grey eyes. 

“It won’t hurt,” James assures him. “Your body will go into shock when your veins are pierced, and then my venom will take effect, and you’ll feel rather sleepy and warm, as if you were on morphine. I’ll have access to your memories then - sort of a slideshow, sort of thing. I don’t have control over what I see.”

Felix swallows, and glances down to the scarred stump of his wrist. “Last time,” he says, “I wouldn’t exactly describe the experience as painless.”

James’s arms tighten around Felix. “This won’t be like that,” he says, firmly. “This won’t be anything like that.”

“I trust you,” Felix says, softly, and pulls James into a hug, made awkward by their position. James clings to him, like he needs support more than Felix does.

When they pull away, James takes Felix’s chin in his hand and tilts his head back, baring his neck. Felix feels his heart rate speed up. When James’s lips brush against his neck, he jerks back, trying to get away, and is stopped by the wall behind him.

James pulls away immediately, and Felix holds up his hands, panting, and trying to get the panic response under control. “S-sorry,” he manages.

“It’s okay,” James says. He takes Felix’s hand. “Take all the time you need.”

Felix squeezes his hand, and shuts his eyes, and steadies himself. It’s James, he reminds himself. Not Red Grant. He won’t hurt you. 

“Okay,” he says, his eyes still shut. “Go ahead.”

James leans in, and Felix tenses, but doesn’t pull away as he feels James’ lips brush against his neck. “It’s okay,” James murmurs. “It’s okay.”

And then James’s mouth is open, and there’s a flash of sharpness, and then - 

A rush of light-headedness, a sense of artificial calm. Felix isn’t afraid anymore. James is here, and he’s safe. He puts his arms back around James’s shoulders, and relaxes into his arms. The memories come like a wave.

Late nights under a full moon in Texas, hiking with his father, the air as hot as a sauna even at night, stepping carefully for fear of rattlesnakes - 

Boot camp on Parris Island, the drill instructor shouting while Felix forced his aching body into yet another push-up - 

Afghanistan, people screaming and gunfire tearing through the air until you forget what you’re fighting for and who you are, and did he ever know in the first place - 

Civilian life, trying to make it as a journalist, nothing quite adding up, wondering if he’s one of those guys who just can’t make it as a civilian - 

Red Grant’s teeth slicing into his flesh, Felix’s voice screaming in terror, begging for mercy, anything, anything, but this time to memory doesn’t frighten him, nothing can frighten him now, not with James here - 

James pulls back, and Felix simply lies there. The cell seems hazy and dark, but he can still see James clearly. He looks better now, his cheeks filled out, the shadows gone from under his eyes. More human. More alive. 

“It’s all right,” James is saying. “Just hold on a moment, Felix, it’ll be all right . . .” He picks up the combat knife, and in one decisive move slices his wrist open, wincing only slightly at the pain. Black blood flows sluggishly from the wound.

“Drink,” James says, holding his wrist to Felix’s mouth, and something deep inside Felix compels him to obey. The first mouthful of black blood is vile, and he almost chokes on it, everything human inside him rebelling at the taste of dead, drying blood from the flesh of a corpse, but James told him to drink, so he forces himself to swallow. Then it gets easier, a kind of hunger seizing him, swallowing down the black blood eagerly. 

Standing at the funeral of both his parents, eleven years old, uncomfortable in his stiff black suit, miserable and alone - 

His dismissal from Eton, standing in front of the headmaster’s desk in that big office that always somehow smelled of mildew and old paper, angry and ashamed -

Judo at Fettes, the excitement of bodies pressed together, fighting, striving, and the realization of a secret that he must never tell anyone - 

Waking up to hear the word ‘war’ on every tongue, we’re going to war, we’re fighting the Germans, excitement thrumming through his veins and knowing that he will, he has to, play some part - 

Trapped behind enemy lines, burned and beaten but he refuses to talk, refuses to scream, and he knows he will die here, in a Gestapo cell, alone - 

The taste of blood in his mouth as he feels his body and his soul die, worse than any torture the Gestapo could invent, his heartbeat slowing to a stop in his ears, and he screams, doesn’t know what’s happening to him or why - 

Digging a grave after his first feeding, knowing that no one will investigate the disappearance of the young British soldier, because this is war and people vanish every day, wondering why he doesn’t feel anything, wondering what he’s become - 

The blood runs dry under Felix’s lips, and he becomes aware that he’s still sitting on the cold stone floor of the cell, with his mouth pressed to James’s wrist and James’s other hand in his hair. The flood of memories is gone. 

“How do you feel?” James says, weakly. 

Felix starts to talk, and then coughs, putting a hand to his throat. The wound there has healed. He coughs again, manages to clear his throat, and says, “Tired.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” James clambers off of Felix, and collapses against the wall next to him, leaning his shoulder against Felix’s. Felix closes his eyes. He can feel the cold weight of James’s shoulder against his, but he can also feel what James feels: his warmth against James’s cold skin. He can feel the connection between them. Tentatively, he reaches out along it, and brushes James’s mind.

James’s eyes flick open in response, and he smiles. “Not as bad as I expected it to be,” he says. 

“Never felt anything like it,” Felix says. Experimentally, he puts a hand over James’s, and feels the touch from both sides. 

“It’s a bit like feeding on someone,” James says. “The flood of memories and emotions that aren’t yours . . . but this is different. Mutual. It’s almost like . . .” Felix can feel James considering how best to explain himself. “When you’re human,” he says. “You sort of feel what everyone around you feels. As if you knew, although really you don’t. And when you die - that stops.” His lips thin, and he squeezes Felix’s hand. “This is almost like that.”

Felix looks over at James. “It’s hard to think of you as dead,” he says. “Or undead. You’re so alive.”

James smiles, sadly. “Sometimes I wish you could’ve met the man I was before. Then again, I suppose you wouldn’t have liked him.” Impulsively, he turns to the side, and throws his arms around Felix, burying his face in Felix’s shoulder. “I’m tired, Felix.”

“Me too,” Felix says, running his fingers through James’s hair. “Let’s sleep. Not as if we’ve got anything better to do, stuck in here.”

“You’re right,” James says. He pulls Felix down to lie with him on the cold stone floor. Felix shifts around so that his head is on James’s chest, and shuts his eyes.

Despite everything he’s given up today, despite everything, he feels content.

It takes another week before MI6 rescues them, by which time the food has run out, and they’re very grateful of the chance to see the world outside their cell. They stand there, in the blue light of dusk, watching policemen swarm over the scene.

“So,” Bond says, almost tentatively. “Is this . . . is this goodbye?”

“What?” Felix says, blinking. He’s tired, and hungry, and he wants to go home and have a shower and a square meal.

“It’s like you said,” James explains. “You won’t feel the connection if I’m not here.”

“Oh - hell, James.” Felix turns to him, and frowns. “That was - that was when - James, I don’t want to be your - your thrall. But if it’s going to be like this - equals, even if we’re bonded together - that’s different. We’ll make it work somehow. Friends or lovers or - whatever.” He smiles. “It’s gonna wreck my security clearance, though. Being blood-bonded to a vampire is definitely a security risk in HNT.”

“You can come work for MI6,” James offers. “I’m sure I can swing you an offer.” He smiles. “I’ve been here longer than most of my bosses, after all.”

“I might have to take you up on that,” Felix says. He reaches out, and takes James’s hand. “Never saw myself as a Brit, personally.”

“You’ll get used to it,” James says. “The food isn’t nearly as bad as you Yanks claim.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, on that one.”

And as the sun sets, the two of them walk off together, hand in hand.