Archive of Our Own

Tanner paused, looked at the last entry and spent a moment considering what, precisely, would be involved in putting down on paper what he had over heard whilst on the comms for this particular mission. He had already done his utmost to put most of it out of his mind, and didn’t really want to contemplate revisiting that particular auditory assault any time soon, so he tapped backspace a few times.

No, that wasn’t a cop-out, honestly. He had it somewhere, or had at least seen it, but that didn’t mean it held any resemblance to what exactly Bond had meant to be doing in France. And it definitely didn’t relate to what Q had been doing there.

What Tanner wanted right at that moment was a hot bath, a cold pint of Guinness and maybe something involving both pastry and gravy. Proper pie, he thought. With twice-cooked, hand cut chips.

Instead, he had Bond’s bloody field report to complete because if he didn’t do it, no other bugger would.

Yeah, right. Someone had a particularly warped sense of humour when it came to naming missions that Bond was involved in. Tanner frowned at the screen and rubbed his eyes.

He knew these reports were important. On many occasions during his tenure at MI-6, he had had cause to refer back to something that had been said or done a decade or a year or a month before, and it had been essential to the success of what they had been doing in that moment.

Filling in a field report about one of his agents who had a death wish, a drinking problem and an apparent soft spot for their Quartermaster, however, had not been on Tanner’s radar when he’d woken up that morning.

“Are you still attempting to file that field report?” an amused voice asked from the doorway.

“If you would like to take over the job, then please, sir, feel free.” He pushed himself back away from the desk and waved at the keyboard. Mallory strolled in, as perfectly put together as ever. He didn’t look even remotely like he had just spent the previous six hours wrangling with the PM, over something that one of the tech bods had managed to do to the general communications systems within Whitehall, and the four hours before that playing nice with a trio of soon-to-be retired diplomats from Russia who were, in fact, thinly disguised spies of the Cold War era who were on a nostalgia trip around the capital. He may not have been wearing his jacket, but his tie was still perfectly knotted at his throat, every polished horn button of his waistcoat was firmly fastened, and his only concession to the late hour was the way he had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

Sodding fucking hell, Tanner thought, eyes drawn to Mallory’s lean, muscular forearms. This was so far past unfair, it was bloody criminal.

“I am sorry, Tanner, I really shouldn’t be distracting you, now, should I?”

Tanner’s tired eyes flicked up to Mallory’s amused green ones and blast the man, he thought. He knew exactly what he was doing, coming in there dressed like that.

“In case you’ve forgotten, sir,” he said, with emphasis. “I am trying to put down, for posterity, how Bond and Q very nearly managed to cause an international incident in Paris last week, because one of them thought it was a good idea to pause during a very sensitive observational operation to have their own little Valentine’s day celebration.”

One day, he thought darkly, as Mallory laughed, Bond would learn to turn his comms off at appropriate times, instead of only when he wasn’t supposed to. Because no one should have had to listen to that. Least of all Tanner.

“Leave it for now,” Mallory said. “It’s gone eight o’clock, and I, for one, am in dire need of some supper.”

Tanner looked at his screen, then back up at Mallory.

“It shouldn’t take me much more than another hour,” he said.

“No.” Mallory shook his head, and Tanned decided he really should make a point of informing M that the use of that tone of voice in public was not ideal. “We were here way before oh-eight-thirty, and I’m buggered if I’m going to end up eating toast again. Come on.” He tipped his head towards the doorway. “Shut your station down, Major and get your arse in gear so we can get to the Black Bull before they stop serving food.”

Ah, yes, well, that put an entirely different slant on the request. Tanner tapped a few keys, swiped his keycard and hit the button on the front of the screen. He was on his feet, shoving his arms into his jacket before the system had powered down and was out of the door ere it had whirred into silence.

“And there I was, afraid I would have to order you from your office today.”

“I have had an incredibly trying fortnight,” Tanner grumbled, following Mallory down the corridor towards his office. “And this report has been hanging over my head for a solid week.”

“So what changed your mind?”

“You mentioned the Bull. And I am bloody starving.”

Mallory nodded, stepping into his office to retrieve his jacket. Tanner waited, openly watching Mallory shrug into the impeccably tailored, dark grey, Yorkshire wool, appreciating the way the low light caught highlights in the green silk lining.

“You’re staring,” Mallory pointed out, pocketing his wallet and slipping his custom made Walther into its discreet, underarm holster. They all carried them now, since the incident at the hearing, and Q had taken great delight in ensuring everyone had their own weapons, complete with palm print recognition.

“I’m allowed to stare. There’s no one else here to see.”

Mallory’s indulgent smile only confirmed Tanner’s statement. They were the last two living souls on that floor, and as such, it was torture having to remind himself that he couldn’t touch. Not yet. Tanner glanced up at the little black glass bulb in the corner of the room and resisted sticking his tongue out at it in childish irritation.

There was enough incriminating evidence on various other employees of MI-6, it was probably better than M and his Chief-of-Staff weren’t added to that number.

They made it down out of the building and into their car without compromising themselves and M’s driver delivered them smoothly to the front door of the Black Bull some twelve minutes later.

“Of course I’ve booked,” Mallory said to the harried waitress. “Table fourteen, as always.”

“One day you’re going to forget to do that,” Tanner said, once the waitress had given them menus and hurried off to fetch their drinks. “And then where will we be?”

Mallory shrugged.

“Ordering takeaway from Pho Ta.” He skimmed the menu, although they both knew it off by heart by now. “I’m thinking, the sea bass.”

“Pie. All the pie and chips and gravy.” Tanner shed his jacket and removed his tie, rolling it up and shoving it into the pocket. With a sigh, he undid his top button and rolled his head in a complete circle until his neck cracked most satisfyingly. “I don’t suppose I could call pull a sickie tomorrow, could I? Reckon my boss would fall for it?”

“Hardly.” Mallory looked up as the waitress returned with their drinks. “Thank you, Jagna. You seem a little busier than normal tonight.”

“It’s mental, honestly.” She put Tanner’s pint of Guinness down in front of him and Mallory’s gin and tonic on its little cardboard mat. “Someone wrote us a review, and now everyone wishes to try the stacked burger.”

“Good job I’m having the steak and ale pie then,” Tanner told her. “With chips, please.”

“The sea bass, thank you.” Mallory smiled and Tanner watched as some of the stress in Jagna’s expression eased. “And we’ll have another round when you get a moment, because I think by the time you’ve made it back to the bar, we’ll need them.”

She nodded with a smile and hurried off.

“I don’t even think I had lunch,” Tanner began, then his phone rang. He stared at it for a long moment. “Really?” he asked the thing. It buzzed again, a single letter on the screen.

Mallory leaned over and pushed it towards him.

“Just in case they’ve blown something up.”

Rolling his eyes, Tanner picked up the phone and swiped his finger over the screen.

“It better be good, Q, because I have a steak and ale pie arriving in ten minutes or so, and if I can’t fix whatever it is before then, you’ll have to wait until afterwards.”

The nervous giggle on the other end of the phone was not a good sign.

“It’s good,” Q promised him. “Only, it’s a little complicated.”

“You have ten minutes.” Tanner pulled his eyes from Mallory who was quite plainly trying not to laugh. “On a scale of ‘major international incident’ to ‘Bond just trashed another Aston’, via ‘someone kidnapped all the crows from the Tower’, where exactly do we stand on damage control?”

~

At least he got to eat his pie.

The helicopter that picked them up twenty minutes later from the roof of the office block over the road from the pub was sleek and discreet. Nothing like Bond, who had somehow managed to get himself roofied at a diplomatic function in the Chinese quarter. Truth serum, Q told them later, but either way, it took all of Mallory’s considerable tact and military organisational abilities, coupled with Tanner’s connections and Q’s tech skills to extract him without causing an uproar.

They adopted a divide and conquer tactic. Mallory straightened his tie, checked the clip in his gun, and strolled into the party as if he’d had the invite on his mantlepiece for weeks.

Tanner slipped in the kitchen door, accompanied by 003. She'd been lurking around London whilst waiting for her broken wrist to finish mending enough to be cleared for duty again, and was more than happy to come along to make up the numbers. Between them, with Q’s help over the comms, they found Bond being held in the personal study of the Aksu Prefecture consul.

“Why, it’s Tanner,” Bond looked up with lopsided smile, eyes not quite focused. He was half sprawled on a fat leather chesterfield, looking completely pissed. “I didn’t think you were allowed out after nine. And Carys Williams, not seen you since Manaus.”

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” the guard asked in Mandarin.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong man,” 003 replied in the same language. Tanner understood it well enough but his accent would never be much more than ‘Brit trying his hardest’. Williams sounded as if she’d been born there, as opposed to in Cardiff.

“We are never wrong,” the guard said, standing and reaching inside his jacket. “We do not take kindly to spies amongst us.”

“I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to put that in the field report.” Tanner looked at the abruptly unconscious guard. Between one breath and the next, 003 had somehow managed to do her own patented version of the Vulcan neck pinch on the man, who was now out cold on the floor.

“You’re inventive,” she said with a shrug. “You’ll cope.”

Tanner turned to Bond.

“No one ever teach you how to keep an eye on your drink?” he asked. Bond blinked at him owlishly.

“Is he okay?” Q’s voice in Tanner’s ear was a study in calm disinterest. Tanner had to give him points for that.

“He’ll be fine,” he replied, crossing the room to put his hand on Bond’s forehead. Bond made a grab for his wrist which Tanner easily evaded. “Yeah, no, you are in no condition to even try that.” He leaned in and looked closely at Bond’s eyes. “He’ll have a hell of a hangover, probably won’t even remember this but he’s not vomiting or looking like he’s about to pass out. They can’t have given him that much - maybe they were going to question him under its effect.”

“I’m right here,” Bond said with a pout.

“Not for lack of trying.” 003 rolled her eyes and looked around the room. “Mind if I poke around?” she asked, pulling the closest drawer open.

“You’ve probably got about three or four minutes,” Q said. Tanner could hear keys tapping through the ear piece. “Yeah, M is having a little chat with the prefecture consul, who apparently hasn’t seen or heard a thing all night. Tanner, get Bond out through the kitchen and down the alley to the main road where Baxter will be waiting. Williams, follow the corridor down to your left and it’ll take you to the function room. Extract M through the front door - peacefully! - and liaise with Baxter there.”

“You make it sound like I’m going to shoot everyone in the room,” Williams grumbled. She adjusted her wrist support, then glared at Bond as he went to open his mouth. “You, not a word.”

“Yes ma’am.” He beamed at her, then up at Tanner who shoved his shoulder. “What?”

“Up. Let’s go. Before he’s missed.” Tanner pointed to the guard on the floor.

He managed to steer Bond safely out of the kitchen door and down the alleyway. Bond only bounced off the walls a couple of times, and Tanner had never been more relieved to see the sleek grey Jaguar, engine idling as it waited.

“Everything all right, sir?” Baxter asked, getting out of the car to open the rear door. “Had one too many?”

“You could say that.” Tanner tipped Bond into the car, just narrowly missing banging his head against the roof. “Sit, stay,” he said. “Do not move until we get you back to HQ.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” Bond said with a sleepy smile.

By the time Mallory strolled out some six minutes later, arm in arm with 003 and laughing over something she’d just said, Bond was out cold and snoring on the back seat.

“Maybe I should start carrying whatever it is they gave him,” Williams said, looking thoughtfully at the somnolent 007.

“Go home,” Mallory said. “Rest that wrist, and we will see you soon enough. And Carys?”

“Yes sir?”

“Thank you for your assistance this evening.”

She looked at Bond and grinned, shark-like.

“It was worth it to witness that,” she told him. With a snappy salute, she nodded at them and turned away, to vanish into the sparse evening crowd.

Tanner went to say something to Mallory, but found him looking thoughtfully at Bond.

"Are you alright, sir?"

“What say we walk home?” Mallory suggested.

“You want to walk to Chelsea from here?” Tanner asked.

“It’s ten minutes from the tube,” Mallory pointed out. “And there is little point in dragging Baxter all the way back there from HQ.” He regarded Bond with his head on one side. “Plus if 007 decides to heave whilst en route, I really don’t want to be in the Jag.”

Baxter shuddered with a ‘ugh’ and Tanner snorted.

“Fair point.” He clapped Baxter on the back. “He’s all yours. Go drop him on Q’s doorstep. I’m sure he’ll have something to get that out of Bond’s system pronto. If nothing else, just make sure he drinks plenty of water.”

They strolled down Shaftesbury Avenue together, shoulders not quite touching, and caught the Tube at Piccadilly. A little over twenty minutes later, Mallory unlocked the front door of his elegant Georgian terrace and they stepped inside, into a world of warm oak and white furnishings. The smell of beeswax polish greeted them, interwoven with the scent of freesias and roses from the vase on the hall table.

“That,” Bill said, watching him shut the door and turn the key on the outside world. “Was the best thing I’ve seen all week.”

Gareth shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the newl post.

“Really?” he asked, slowly undoing his tie before sliding it out from beneath his collar. Bill stared. “I’m obviously not trying hard enough.”

His fingers went to his collar, flicking open the top button, and then he rolled his sleeves up again.

“You,” Bill told him. “Are a bloody menace.” He pushed Gareth’s arms down and stepped up into his space until their faces were inches away. Gareth’s green eyes were laughing at him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Gareth began, but it was muffled by Bill’s lips, as was his laugh. His arms wrapped around Bill and the day’s tension and stress just melted away. This, Bill thought as they kissed, slow and soft and easy, was what he had been waiting for. The gentle intimacy, the warm familiarity.

“You’re going to have to stop wandering around with your jacket off and sleeves rolled up,” Bill grumbled as they parted and moved into the kitchen. “Unless you make a point of finding out how to blank the cctv in your office.”

“I’m sure I could persuade Q to cut the feed for me, if I asked.” Gareth filled the kettle as Bill took down two cups and the teapot.

“I can just imagine his face at that request.” Bill grinned.

Gareth flicked the kettle on and turned to catch hold of Bill’s hand. He tugged him until they were nose to nose again.

“Or I could always just shut my office door and ignore that little black eye in the corner.” Gareth’s voice dipped low and velvety as his hands smoothed down Bill’s back to curve around his backside. “Payback for Paris, perhaps.”

“We are not doing that in your office!”