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October 2010
James was more than slightly surprised to walk into the briefing room that was not only void of Tanner, but full of three other double-Os. While it wasn’t unheard of for them to be sent off in pairs, four was a bit unusual. The Alpha pulled out a chair next to 006, Jack Giddings. He and Jack had known each other for years. They’d also met a few times back when James had been in Special Forces and Jack was running around in the Special Reconnaissance Regiment. 006 had been recruited from the SRR about the same time as James and the two had grown old and bitter together, that kind of thing built a special kind of bond. They were the top two ranked double-Os, so they rarely worked together, but he was one of the few people James called friend.
An exhausted looking 008 (Bill Fairbanks) was sitting across from them, looking for all the world as if he hadn’t slept in days, and knowing their lifestyles, he probably hadn’t. 001 (Ed Donne) was trying unsuccessfully to ply the older man into eating what looked like Thai from a take-out box labeled ‘Pam’s! Don’t touch!’ in bright orange Sharpe.
“Hello, James. Any idea what this is about then?” Donne asked around a mouthful of food.
James raised an eyebrow at the other man’s display before shrugging. “I suppose Tanner’s going to tell us.”
The four agents turned as one to stare at the door a split second before their chief of staff entered the room. The man froze before narrowing his eyes and pointing a folder edge at them threateningly; “I hate it when you all do that.”
“So, who’s starting WWIII?” Jack asked, glancing at the vanilla folder with unashamed interest.
“No one.” Tanner answered flatly. “Yet what I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room. In fact, this briefing and anything that happens this weekend is leveled above For Her Eyes Only.” All four agents straightened as if they’d been struck. Tanner nodded, satisfied he got their attention before flicking on the overhead and slid a sheet in place. “This is-”
“Siger Holmes.” Donne interrupted. James nodded, even more interested than before. Siger Holmes was a legend in the MI6 community, hell, in the entire world of espionage. James had made it his life-long mission to try and overtake the Alpha’s many, many records and so far he’d only succeeded in a handful. Siger Holmes was half the reason why James had wanted to join MI6. The word 'legend' didn’t even properly explain the shadow this man had left behind.
“Right. Or rather, he was. He passed away of a heart attack this morning. It was very sudden, he was in great health.”
“Foul play?” 008 asked, suddenly looking much more awake.
“Still being investigated but at the moment it’s just looking like old age.” Tanner said and there was something – a flash of emotion hidden just as quickly as it had come up. But the man was standing in a room full of Britain’s finest and it was definitely noted. Under the table, 006 nudged him with his foot. James tapped back once to acknowledge he’d seen it too. “Anyway, his funeral’s being held in two days. In accordance with his will, it’s being followed by a large party to celebrate his life. As in at least a hundred guests.” Tanner slid a piece of paper across the table. “Here’s the guest list.”
James felt his eyes widen slightly as he read it over before exchanging a look with his fellow agents. The list was packed with more important names then should be allowed to gather in one place.
“MI5 is in charge of internal security.” Donne said after a moment, looking vaguely offended.
“And they’ll be there, as well as additional private security forces.”
“So, why are we needed?” 001 prompted.
Still a prick, James thought with a snort of annoyance. “M will be there.” He announced, as if it should have been obvious, which it should have been. M was the head of MI6, she was a contemporary of Siger Holmes, the chances she’d be invited where high.
“Yes, she will. But she’ll also have her own bodyguards. No, these are the payloads.”
Tanner brought out a series of photos, placing each one after he introduced them.
“Holmes’ sons.” A pen tip pointed to the leftmost photo. “The eldest, Sherrinford Holmes, Alpha, 45. Lives with his third wife, Dr. Annabeth Holmes, 38, who is pregnant with their first child. The party will be held at the family’s country estate where they currently reside. Sherrinford is serving as de facto head of MI5 since Andrew Bleaks' liver transplant.
Next we have Mycroft Holmes, 41, also an Alpha. Personal aid to the Prime Minister. He may not look like much, but this man has his hands in more pockets then you can imagine. You may recognize the woman standing next to him as 004, Scarlett Papava. She was transferred out of the double-O program and was placed as Mycroft’s PA on a whim, to give you an idea of what I’m talking about. She now goes by the name ‘Anthea.’
You may know this one from the papers; Sherlock Holmes, 34, Alpha, works as a 'consulting' detective with the Yard. He’s a past addict, though apparently he’s been on the straight and narrow for the last several years. The gentleman standing next to him is John Watson-”
If James hadn’t been leaning in to better see the photo, he would have missed the way Jack Giddings twitched slightly at the name.
“-37, ex-SRR-”
That probably explained it then.
“-the doctor was invalided home after taking a shot in the shoulder. He’s an Omega and seems to be exclusive with Holmes, but neither have filled out any bonding registration.”
A familiar face appeared on screen.
“Finally we have Boothroyd Holmes-”
James went very still in his seat.
“-30, and apparently the only Omega in the lot-”
Oh shit.
“-he goes by his middle name, Alcott,-”
Oh shit.
“- and is currently heading a task force for the GCHQ-”
M’s husband was –
“- as the head programmer for the new communication systems being developed for the military.”
There was a long, startled silence after the chief of staff finished. After a moment Donne broke it with his usual grace. “Fucking Christ.”
“Yeah,” Tanner agreed with a nod, “I know; the most powerful family you’ve never heard of.”
A thought made James pale. He was suddenly very glad that ‘Papa’ hadn’t been home that night all those years ago.
M and Siger Holmes. Jesus. What a pairing.
A pen tip tapped on each photo. “Now we’re not expecting any problems. Not with combined MI and private security forces, but Siger Holmes made a lot of enemies in his time and each one of these men know enough about the British government to cause serious problems if they were ever taken. And that’s without even adding in the additional guests.”
“So, we’re just there as a failsafe, then.” Jack observed, brown eyes watching James with barely hidden curiosity. With some effort 007 pushed whatever tell must have made it through his iron-like control and forced himself to focus back on the briefing.
“Exactly. One of you will have an eye on a prize at all the times. The party is only going to last for six or so hours. Here is a blue print of the estate. Note the hidden outer servant entrances here, and here. Next-”
The service was a veritable who’s who of European elite; politicians, nobility and spies (retired and not) mingled in a grand ballroom. James understood all the more why there had been such a need for security. And the Holmes family stood at the center of it all. Well, Sherrinford and Mycroft Holmes to be honest, with M never far behind. Sherlock and Alcott seemed to stay closer to the edges of the horde and James found himself gravitating towards the Omega without thought.
He spared Scarlett Papava – Anthea – one glance as he passed, somewhat pleased to find his once colleague alive and in one piece. The two had never really worked together, but running into old co-workers was a luxury James rarely had.
Alcott looked gorgeous in a Fioravanti Bespoke, sipping around a glass of bourbon as he chatted with Sherlock Holmes. Pale green eyes locked with his own for only a few seconds before sliding off of the agent, but that didn’t mean that James had missed the spark of interest there. He gestured to the bar tender, keeping his back to the brothers as they talked.
“Go over there and comfort your brother.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Sherlock.” Alcott warned, tone low. “Can’t we just pretend once to be a normal family?”
“What makes you think he wants to see me?”
Out of the corner of his eye, James watched as Alcott knocked his frames up as he brought a hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Papa’s death hit Mycroft the hardest. Now, go over there and comfort your grieving brother.”
“That agent is ease dropping.”
“You can’t swing a bat without hitting an undercover. They’re all ease dropping. It doesn’t matter. Go speak to Mycroft.”
“No.”
“If you don’t, I’ll tell Mummy about the body in your fridge.”
James’ glass froze against his lips. What?
There was a very loud, very put upon sigh. “Fine.”
Sherlock stalked across the ballroom, predatory strides cutting through the group with ease. The agent turned to casually face the shorter man.
“So. Boothroyd, huh?”
“Shut up, Bond.” Alcott snapped, eyes narrowing before following the path his brother took.
“You do have a knack for making friends.” A gruff voice said from his left. James tilted his glass in salute as Jack Giddings rested next to him. 006 was looking fairly annoyed as he gestured for another drink from the bar tender. “I was supposed to be on vacation, you know.” Jack announced darkly before turning, “And yet-”
“For England, Jack.”
“Shut up, James.”
Eventually the music quieted and M took the podium.
“Siger Holmes was a great man. A great man who bore a love for this country that was unrivaled.” M looked beautiful, glorious and intimating as hell in all black, her eyes tight and controlled. She never faltered in her eulogy, though James knew it must be horribly difficult for her not to do so. The Omega paused in her speech only once, glancing at the oversized photo, her face softening slightly. “Towards the end, Siger told me that when the time came he did not want to be mourned. So tonight, we are here to celebrate my husband’s life.”
Next to him, Jack let out a choked sound. 006 took one look at James’ smirking face before sending him an evil glare. “Damn’t, James, you knew.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just as shocked as you.”
“You bloody-”
“Come now, Jack,” the agent interrupted, gesturing to the still speaking M, “have some respect.”
“Wanker.”
It was a beautiful service, all and all, and afterwards the group dispersed. The lights dimmed and the atmosphere shifted into one of a cocktail hour. And while it probably should have been terribly bizarre and awkward, somehow it wasn’t. The food was good, the bar was well-stocked, and it was one of the more comfortable funerals James had ever been to.
Two hours later found Alcott storming away from the other Holmes brothers, the expression on his face murderous. Catching 008’s eye, James jerked his head minutely towards the Omega’s direction. He waited for an affirmative before following the furious young man outside. It had rained earlier and the night air was damp and fairly cold. James paused in the entryway of the veranda, lighting a cigarette as he observed the Omega’s tense frame.
Alcott’s entire body screamed tension; his shoulders hiked high and forward, arms crossed with both hands gripping with enough force to dig into the thin fabric of his shirt. He was almost quivering from it, or perhaps it was from the chill. Alcott’s blazer was resting inside on a chair at the family table. It was the first real act of emotion he’d seen from any of the Holmes the entire night.
James found he was somehow relieved by it.
The agent made his way across the rain slicked marble, setting his drink down on the railing before turning to observe the frustrated Omega. And then he waited. It didn’t take long, he’d only identified half the ‘hidden’ security on the east lawn before Alcott shifted towards him.
“My father is dead.” The younger man said tonelessly, eyes still locked on the carved shrubbery that decorated the lawn. “My father is dead and none of my brothers can get their heads out their arses to even act civil to each other. Mycroft and Sherlock are too busy trying to bite each other’s head off to realize that Mummy’s two seconds from knee-capping them and all Sherrinford cares about is that he looks properly bereaved for the press.”
The Omega shook his head, digging his nails into his arms.
“And naturally, we had to invite a hundred of our closest friends and family to watch the explosions. We’re not a close family, at least none of us boys are. We can all barely stand to be in the same room together most of the time. Too many personalities, Papa used to say. But I…I guess I just thought…”
James hummed in understanding, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the lawn before them. He knew instinctively that the Omega wouldn’t appreciate the extra attention. “Everyone deals with death differently.”
The grip on his arms tightened even further, Alcott’s face hardening in anger. But the young man didn’t say anything else, just glared hatefully out into the distance. Frowning, the double-O flicked his cigarette away and stepped in until he could feel the Omega’s body heat. He brought a hand up to cup a smooth jaw, giving the grieving man a small smile when he jerked to look up at him in surprise.
“All you have to do is get through tonight, Alcott, and it’s already almost over.” He brushed a calloused thumb over a dark circle, lips twitching just a bit wider at the rosy blush that spread across the brunet’s cheeks. James felt his breath catch as the Omega nuzzled into the touch, the affectionate move causing his heart to stutter almost painfully in his chest. “You should go back inside, it’s freezing out here.”
It wasn’t, but Alcott nodded anyway. He gave the agent one last, almost shy smile, before turning to head back inside. Blue eyes flickered from the lithe frame to glance back out over the lawn, troubled.
What the hell am I doing?
“You should be careful, Mr. Bond.” A soft, feminine voice warned gently from his left. James turned to find a very pregnant Annabeth Holmes smiling warmly down at him from the garden stairway, a well-manicured hand resting atop the swell of her stomach. She was stunning standing there like that, despite being dressed for mourning. She had large hazel eyes that twinkled and perfectly curled blond hair that was tinted pink by the party backlighting.
The agent gave her a winning smile. “Oh?”
“Holmes' men have a way of getting under your skin,” she explained, her smile growing even wider, “and they never leave.”
“Is that what happened to you, ma’am?” James teased as he offered a hand to help her down the wet marble.
“Oh, yes. Sherrinford is the most selfish, narcissistic man you’ll ever meet. Histrionic, really. It took me almost a year to figure out if I hated him or loved him,” Annabeth answered honestly, “and even then it wasn’t until I shot him.”
James choked on his scotch.
“Don’t look like that, dear,” the woman patted him on the arm kindly, “it was only in the foot. And I assure you he quite deserved it.”
“And he married you?” He asked, tone incredulous.
“Begged me to in fact.” Annabeth chuckled. “Though I wouldn’t do it until he agreed no press-shots on our honeymoon. Sheer vanity, but I’d still take him over Sherlock.”
The agent followed her glance over to where the tall Alpha was in the middle of making some older gentleman look incredibly uncomfortable while Watson seemed intent on downing his gin. “I’ve heard he’s a bit of a character.”
“Try a sociopath, a ‘high functioning one,’” the blond made bunny ears in the air around her orange juice, “as he likes to say. And Mycroft is much in the same vein. And Alcott-” James shifted and tried to pretend that she hadn’t captured his full attention with that one name, “- is pretty much a walking definition of anti-social personality disorder. Manipulative little minx, that one.”
“Anyone I know?” John Watson asked cheerfully as he bounded down the stairs. Sherlock Holmes was following at a more sedate pace, looking thoroughly bored. “Sherrinford’s looking for you.”
Annabeth sighed. “Duty calls, I fear. Do try to keep Sherlock from scaring this one off, he’s the only decent conversationalist in this place.”
Watson made a hurt face. “Ouch, Beth.”
“Never you, dear.” Annabeth chuckled, planting a kiss on man’s cheek. She gave Sherlock a short nod. “Sherlock.”
“Third Wife.”
The doctor waited until the pregnant woman had disappeared back inside before rounding on the tall Alpha. “Really?”
A slender eyebrow rose. “What? He’ll have another one in a year or three. He always does.”
“She’s pregnant, Sherlock. With your nephew. Mrs. Holmes the Third is probably sticking around this time.”
The detective actually looked vaguely horrified. “Do you think so?”
Watson threw his hands up in defeat before turning to the highly amused double-O and offering a hand. “Dr. John Watson.”
"James Bond." The agent offered as he took it. A single, powerful shake. Once up, once down. The doctor was military through and through. It was in the way he walked, the way he held himself. He’d probably still be career if hadn’t been for his injuries. James could respect that. He gave the Omega a sharp grin, "a military man.”
“Captain, retired, Royal Northumberland Fusiliers.”
James smirked. The Northumberland Fusiliers had been dismissed in the late sixties, though they still existed on paper. It was a false regiment given out to SRR members when they retired.
“And yourself?”
“Navy, O-4, before I switched careers. You wouldn’t happen to know Jack Giddings, do you?”
Watson looked delighted. “Jackie-boy’s still kicking is he? He retired a few years before me. Haven’t heard from him since.”
“Retired is a word for it, he’s wandering around here somewhere.”
“Is he really now?” Watson asked excitedly, the smile turning genuine. Behind him, Sherlock Holmes was glowering where he stood. James winked at the furious Holmes; it wasn’t his fault if the Omega was interested in another man. Seriously, the Alpha should have claimed Watson if he wanted the blond to himself.
“Any stories I should know about?” James probed. 006 was still holding the Egyptian dump truck thing over his head. “Anything juicy?”
The good doctor’s smile took a devilish tilt and James was stuck by how roguishly attractive he suddenly looked. Lord, how had he ever thought him plain? “You should ask him about Ethiopia sometime.”
“I’ll have to do that.” The double-O promised with a grin.
“John. We’re leaving.”
“What?” The Omega’s eyes were owlish in their confusion as the detective all but dragged him up the stairs by the arm. “Wha – Wait! Sherlock!”
James just shook his head. What an odd family.
The night was wearing down and the Alpha had relocated to a rooftop balcony, watching Sherrinford and his wife saying goodbye to a long line of grievers, M had retired to one of the bedrooms hours ago. He smoked as he watched, partially hidden from sight by a wing of the house, blue eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. There was the sound of footsteps on the wood planking behind him and suddenly there was a warm body pressed against his back.
Thin arms wrapped around his chest, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as a face pressed against his back. Alcott’s scent hit him only seconds later and James let the tension bleed out of his form. The agent tried to turn around, but the grip on his front only tightened. Instead he craned his head back to stare over his shoulder at the crown of curly hair.
“Alcott?”
He didn’t answer. James frowned, reaching down to gently force the arms loose. He turned so they were chest to chest, using the back of his thumb to tilt Alcott's face up so he could see him properly. The Alpha was greeted with a clear face - no glasses - and a pair of glossy green eyes.
James could feel himself softening at the sight, and he let the Omega pull his face free and hide it against his shoulder. Finite shudders were racking Alcott’s frame, some so small that the agent barely felt them, and long arms wrapped around the brunet with the realization. Alcott tucked in even closer, trying to make himself as small as possible against the Alpha’s broad chest - trying to hide.
But death was not something one could hide from, James knew that better than most. Still, he allowed the younger man his illusion and tightened his hold, resting his face in dark locks, breathing deep Alcott’s scent.
“Does it get any better?”
James paused for a minute, thinking of his own childhood, before sighing.
“…not really.” The Omega let out a low, muffled whine at the answer that James swore he could feel in his very bones. The agent pressed his cheek firmer against the soft curls, wishing he could ease this for the brunet somehow. “We’ll have to get back soon.”
Alcott nodded, "Soon. But not yet."
"No," James agreed quietly, "not yet."