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January 2011
It was a few weeks after the New Year, three months after the funeral, that James received a text message from a blocked number on his mobile. The agent was deployed on a mission in southeast Africa and was rather bored out of his mind.
Your number was disturbingly easy to find given your occupation. – AH
AH. James only knew one person with those initials. He felt his lips quirk into a smile, casting on last glance at the empty hotel room across the street before shifting the rifle so he could juggle it more easily with his mobile.
Good evening, Mr. Mansfield.
He was somehow incredibly unsurprised that Alcott had found his number, especially given his career. James didn’t even try to deny the thrill of self-satisfied pleasure at the thought that Alcott had sought out his attention. There was no denying that the Omega had been in his thoughts more than once since the funeral. He angled the mobile under the ledge so that he could see it easily from the corner of his eye, while the brick kept the light from spreading and protected the electronic from the warm drizzle.
A few moments later the mobile lit up. Really, James? – AH
Holmes is a better fit.
Indeed. Is the rain bothering you? – AH
James rolled his eyes at the blatant display. He could practically feel the Omega’s smugness despite being miles away.
I’m almost certain you finding this line is considered treason, Al.
Never mind the amount of security he must have broken through to get it. There was movement inside the building and blue eyes snapped back to the scope. The target was finally arriving – two hours late. The Alpha adjusted his stance, settling in a little bit more onto his haunches.
Don’t call me Al. – AH
The agent chuckled at the text before taking a deep breath.
In.
Then out.
Then in and hold –
The target dropped. A clean kill. James quickly dismantled his gun, slipping it into a briefcase before strolling to the rooftop entryway and made his way down the stairs. It was only when the double-O was striding casually away from the building that he brought the mobile out once more.
I think you’d be more concerned about what would happen if Mummy sees and thinks we’re flirting. – AH
The Alpha’s grin became downright predatorily and the teenage beta who’d been approaching crossed the street at the sight of it.
Aren’t we flirting, Al?
It was almost ten minutes before James received a response and the agent had just begun to wonder if he’d push too far when the mobile hummed in his pocket.
If we are I am most unimpressed with your talents. – AH
Then barely a second later: And don’t call me Al, Jimmy. – AH
James laughed, making the receptionist at the hotel he’d been assigned stare at him oddly. He gave her a sharp smile, accepting his room key. He thumbed a message as the elevator trudged upwards.
I’ll just have to do better.
The hotel room was one of the more mediocre ones he’d ever been in. The Alpha shucked off his suit jacket, slipping off his tie and shoes before stepping into the bathroom and starting the shower. The mobile went off again while he was waiting for the water to heat and the agent smirked, feeling pleased with himself as he read it.
See that you do. – AH
James let the hot water roll over his body, let it wash away the stick of the rain and the feel of murder from his skin. When he got out he found a text message waiting for him and the agent grinned as he read it, settling atop the lumpy hotel bed.
I’m bored. Entertain me. – AH
He flipped open his laptop and signed into the MI6 network, opening the file he’d have to fill out for his report. James stared at the blank document before dismissing it completely and reaching for his mobile instead.
I suppose I could be bothered.
A glance at the clock and some quick mental math revealed the time in London to be almost four in the morning. Almost immediately his mind conjured the image of Alcott as he’d first met him; bare chested and footed, sleepy and beautiful in the dark of M’s apartment. James wondered if the Omega always slept shirtless, wondered what color his sheets were, how they’d looked against that pale skin, wondered what the brunet would look like stretched against the pale gold of the hotel’s sheets. A wall of arousal overtook the agent and James shifted, struck with indecision even as his half hard cock filled out his sleep pants.
The time for denying attraction had come and gone, but the Alpha knew there was a large difference between acknowledging it and letting it grow even further. And so James rolled onto his back and kept his hands above his waist, not yet ready to cross that line.
Do I bother you, James? – AH
If the agent was smart he’d let this go.
He should let this go.
But James knew he wouldn’t.
Never.
Though James knew it wasn’t a wise idea, he and Alcott kept talking. Their communications were sporadic at first, falling into hour long conversations after days of nothing. Yet somehow it had evolved to the point where they were talking every day, to where James found himself looking forward to it. But still, it wasn’t until he was lounging in a MI6 flat in Athens that the Alpha realized how far the whole thing had gone.
It started off with a picture attachment.
The Alpha had been sunning on the flat’s balcony, smoking and watching the market below, when he’d received it. Alcott had never sent him an image before and James had opened it with no small amount of curiosity. It was a picture of a baby, all the pink skin and the ugliness that newborns held. Its eyes were scrunched, bow lips parted slightly, with a tiny tuff of blond hair sticking out of a blue knit cap. The caption underneath it read Rishley Elwood Holmes.
It had to be Sherrinford’s, born almost a month late if James remembered Annabeth’s months correctly. Alcott had sent him a picture of his nephew, a picture of M’s grandson, as if he deserved to see the pup. As if James was family.
Something warm and indescribable bloomed in his chest and the agent found himself grinning stupidly as he typed out a response.
He’s beautiful.
When James returned to his flat, he found a package being held by the building’s receptionist. It had been dropped off by an Omega who the receptionist had described as ‘cute, dark haired with glasses, swimming in an oversized raincoat.’ The agent didn’t need to look at the tag to know it was from Alcott. He sent the Omega a text message to confirm it anyway.
A gift, Alcott? You’re making me blush.
The reply was almost instant.
You got it! Brilliant. Let me know when you’ve got it powered up. – AH
James raised eyebrow but quickly figured that it was a laptop he was holding, it was the right size and weight. The double-O made a quick trip to his bedroom, not bothering to unpack his small carry on before changing into a pair of Navy issue sweats and sweat shirt and heading back out to his living room and opening his gift.
The laptop was sleek and of a newer generation then James’ own, and when he plugged it in and powered it up, the boot screen showed a symbol he’d never seen before. He was instructed to rock his forefinger over the finger print pad and momentarily wondered just how Alcott had managed to get his finger print profile. Whatever the OS was, James had never encountered it before but it was fast and had an amazingly easy user-interface. It was preloaded with a browser and several Microsoft programs that the Alpha (with his admittedly limited computer knowledge) hadn’t thought were capable of running via a third party.
Do you like it? The design’s a friend’s but the OS is all mine. – AH
The double-O shook his head, letting out a low whistle. He was impressed and told the younger man so. James received a pleased response and directions to open a communications program. The program had barely loaded before a window popped up informing him he had a call from ‘A.H.’
At the sight of the Omega a knot that James didn’t even know he had in his chest eased. After two months of talking from text messages, the sight and sound of the younger man was more of a relief then he’d thought possible. They exchanged pleasantries, both wearing mirrored expressions – James’ admittedly more than a bit wider than the Omega’s.
“Alcott.”
“James.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Perhaps I missed that smug voice of yours.” The Omega shrugged, the smile muting but not disappearing. “However, if you keep looking so pleased with yourself I’m afraid I’ll have to hang up on you.”
His quipped response was derailed at the sound of muffled French being thrown about behind Alcott. James frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Are you in France?”
“Mm.” The younger man answered with a nod as he sipped from a teal cup. “I’m on loan to French COS.” The agent felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. Seeing his doubt, Alcott explained further. “It’s a product exchange.”
That made sense, but that didn’t mean James had to like it. The Alpha also knew better to ask what the government had received from France in return for Alcott’s services. “Do you have a detail?”
“Joint English and French. I’m here for three months, give or take, and I’ve already been here for two weeks.” Alcott shrugged. “It’s not too terrible. The flat’s nice, but their systems are a mess. I mean, I could fix the problem in a few hours but I’m only cleared to offer so much so I keep having to find creative ways to fix it.”
“That must be frustrating.” James imagined to someone as smart as Alcott, working at anything other than his prime must be infuriating. The Omega went on, describing the problems in a language the agent only half understood. As a double-O he was more than proficient at computers, but it was obvious that the brunet was on a completely different level.
The younger man was also exhausted. It rang clear in both his strained voice and his drained appearance. Alcott had deep circles under his eyes, looking paler than ever before – though that could be a trick of the dark flat and the glow of the computer – and was resting his face heavily on his hand. The brunet was already in his pajamas, stretched out on his stomach, and James could just make out a cheap looking headboard down by Alcott’s feet.
The sight of such exhaustion filled James with annoyance.
“- not that bad, but I mean, really, and -”
“Are they having you run obstacle courses or something, Alcott? You look ready to fall over. Hell of a way to treat a foreign asset.” It came out a little bit more forceful then he had meant, the words rolling out with the edge of a growl. The Omega stiffened at the sound, green eyes snapping up to look at the screen.
“I’m alright, James.” He soothed, “Just a little tired. I get like this when I’m working, sometimes I don’t sleep for days.”
The Alpha nodded, forcing the irritation to leave his features. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“It’s alright.” Alcott said quietly, giving him a small, soft half-smile. “I must look terrible.”
“You look fine.” James corrected, ignoring the gruffness of his voice. He fidgeted slightly, uncomfortable with the suddenness of his own emotion. Out of habit more than anything else the double-O reached for his gun cleaning kit and started to service his personal sidearm.
“Tell me about your last mission. It was somewhere in southern Asia, wasn’t it?”
The brunet had a bizarre fascination with James’ work. He loved to hear stories of what he’d dubbed ‘Double-O’s Alpha Antics.’ But he was supposed to be a spy. Secrecy and all that.
“I don’t think that’s really wise, Alcott.”
“I doubt many of the things you and I have shared would be counted as ‘very wise’ by either one of our employers.” The Omega countered with a laugh and James sent the laptop a wan smile in acknowledgement. “Besides,” Alcott looked down and the reach of the camera could just make out the way long fingers traced the outline of the keyboard keys, “I miss speaking in English.”
I’m lonely, is what that translated to and with a sigh the older man gave in, scarred hands moving methodically over his weapon as he talked. He skimmed over the sensitive information but tried to keep the most entertaining parts in. It was only when he’d finished did James realized he hadn’t heard anything from the other man in some time. A glance at the screen revealed why.
Alcott had fallen asleep.
James’ hands stilled around his gun, his entire attention caught by the image on screen, by the soft breathes that were transmitted across the line. In sleep, Alcott looked young and vulnerable, curled around the laptop like a kitten. His glasses rode low on his nose, sitting at an angle from where they were pushed up against the forearm the Omega was using as a pillow. Blue eyes scanned the features hungrily, tracing and memorizing how Alcott Holmes looked stripped of his defenses.
The Alpha found his fingers twitching with the need to pull the thick frames off, to tuck the Omega underneath the covers and keep him there until the tired lines on his face had melted off. Instead he took a deep breath through his nose, holding it for a few moments before exhaling almost silently. James allowed himself to reach out, finger tips brushing the still image for just a moment before returning to his gun.
He kept the feed on.
The video chats fell into a routine, just like the texting, and James came to expect to see Alcott at least twice a week, and he wasn't willing to examine that too closely. They were always around the same time, so James was slightly surprised when he heard the distinctive ring tone of the video program from where he was heating up left over take out close to three in the morning. He’d only just gotten home, still suited and slightly bloody. Pleased nonetheless, the agent quickly settled in front of the laptop with his food, yanking his jacket closed to hide the mess that was his shirt and accepted the call.
He was greeted with the sight of a thoroughly smashed red head, his mind easily translating the babbled French.
»Oh! Hello, sweetheart! Alcott, you did not tell me you had such a gorgeous man at your beck and call!«
James smirked, tilting his scotch in a salute. The red head giggled loudly.
»What? What did you – James! Away from there you!« Alcott’s French was flawless as he shooed the drunk girl away from the laptop. “I’m so sorry, James. I hope she didn’t wake you.”
“Not at all,” the Alpha assured, still smirking, “having a bit of a get together?”
“Sophie’s an old friend. I went to boarding school out here. We, uh, drank a little bit more than I meant to.” Alcott blushed easier under the alcohol. The Alpha found it incredibly endearing.
The laptop was in the small living room and James could just make out the red head swaying her hips as she made herself another drink, a sloppy hand waving off towards the left in question. »Matheo, darling! Do you want to another drink?«
James’ eyes narrowed as a deep voice answered affirmative. A sandy blond stepped into the image and accepted a glass, the leather of a dual back holster easily visible.
“Who’s that?”
“Huh?” The Omega glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s Matheo. He’s my detail tonight.” There was a loud crash from the kitchen and the brunet sprung from his seat. »Sophie! What did you do?«
The blond – Matheo – walked lazily in the background, glancing at the laptop once before dismissing it and taking a deep inhale of his drink. He held himself with the easy confidence that was usually only found in young Alphas. James felt his eyebrow twitch.
»Hey, you.« The French agent looked up in surprise at the sound of his language and the double-O crooked a finger at the camera, gesturing him closer. »Come here.«
He obliged and James took in everything he needed to know in one glance. Young, maybe only twenty-seven, twenty-eight, new to the agency, thus the babysitting job. Two years om the job, to be generous, but no more than three.
»Uh, hello.«
»That’s a nice gun.«
Matheo was visibly confused. »…thanks?«
»How’d you like me to shoot you with it?«
»Excuse me?« The younger Alpha growled, indignant.
»Keep your voice down.« James warned, leaning forward and letting his suit jacket fall open to show the ragged and bloody shirt and his much, much nicer sidearm. »Because if anything happens to my friend under your watch, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Or maybe I’ll just go and talk to your superior – is Thomas Carré still in charge over there? – and mention how unsafe I felt with one of my country’s assets being guarded by a drunk.«
The blond had gone white under his tan at the name, then even paler at the promised destruction of his job. The double-O gave the younger Alpha a vicious sneer, blue eyes blazing. When he spoke next, his voice was a low rumble.
»So this is what you’re going to go. You’re going to go to the bathroom and either stick your finger down your throat or drink some salt water. Your choice. Then you’re going to excuse yourself – nicely – and go guard the goddamn outer door like you’re supposed to.« He waited a moment to see if he would dare object. Matheo gave a slow, almost stunned nod, and James felt like he could smell the other man’s nervousness from England. “Good. Now go away.”
Alcott returned moments later, a strange look on his face.
“Something wrong?”
The brunet shrugged, leaning in before speaking in a low secretive, yet distinctly flabbergasted tone. “Matheo’s in the bathroom right now, vomiting.”
“Imagine that,” the Alpha gave him a fierce smile, “a Frenchman who can’t hold his liquor.”
James went on a mission the next day and found he didn’t have time for another video chat – or even text messages after his mobile was lost in the Red Sea – so when he finally returned to England almost two weeks later the first thing the Alpha did was power up the laptop and send out a text message from his new mobile. He received a relieved sounding response a few minutes later and a time for that night for when they could chat.
The agent couldn’t deny the slight anxiety he felt as he waited for Alcott to contact him. He gave the Omega a wide grin when he finally did call around 2000. The grin slipped off his face almost immediately. The brunet looked terrible. He was sitting on his bed, both legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, chewing nervously on his bottom lip.
“Alcott?” James leaned forward, every muscle tense, both hands reaching out to grasp the coffee table in his concern. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did something happen?”
“James,” the Omega gave a short, stressed laugh, “James, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” The Alpha was already playing with the idea of flying out there; M had given five days of leave, that was more than enough time - looks like he might get to punch that little French jerk after all. “Talk to me, Alcott. What’s going on?”
The brunet looked torn before sighing. “I’m not sure. It’s probably nothing…”
“But?” James prompted, eyes narrowing, hands tightening on the wood. Come on, he urged silently, let me help you. I want to help you.
“I don’t know everything, so I can’t say for sure, but I think something’s going on back home. With my brothers, I mean.”
Sherlock had been in the news a lot lately and James frowned, trying to remember if he’d heard anything that could evoke this sort of stress in the younger man.
“Sherlock won’t tell me anything. Neither will Mycroft or Sherrinford, but I know my brothers. I can tell when something’s happening.” Alcott’s voice grew softer and softer, hiding his face against his knees. “They’ve been acting off ever since Papa died.”
James stiffened, his mind flashing back to his and Jack’s initial discussion about Siger Holmes’ death.
“He’s holding something back.” 006 announced casually as they walked away from the MI6 building and towards their favorite lunch spot.
“What gave it away? When he almost bit his own tongue off by saying it was a natural death?” James asked sarcastically, huffing a laugh around the filter in his mouth.
“So either they don’t have the finding yet or they can’t get the proof, but they think this is a murder. I can think of a couple of poisons that are supposed to be ‘untraceable.’” Jack mused as they paused outside the bistro to finish their cigarettes. “But Holmes was out of the game for a long time. Why pick him off now?”
“Who knows? The people in our business have long memories.”
That had been the end of it. MI6 hadn’t ordered an investigation and with Holmes being M’s husband, James hadn’t pressed the question. Suddenly he wished he had.
“Do you remember when some madman was blowing people up all around London?” Alcott asked, voice quiet and serious, “Sherlock worked on the case. After that everything changed, suddenly Sherlock managed to overcome a lifetime of commitment issues to finally bond with John – which is more of a big deal then you can understand, James. And suddenly I’m loaned to France? Does my mother seem the sharing type to you? And just now I got a call from Sherrinford telling me that he and Annabeth have decided to take a last minute extended holiday about Europe, supposedly to bring the baby to visit me. We don’t visit each other!”
By the end of the rant the Omega was clutching at his knees with a death grip, pale eyes wide and unfocused as they stared off at something over the laptop.
“Alcott.” James said carefully, keeping his voice calm and level. “Alcott, look at me.” The brunet did and the agent gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Your brothers are very smart men and very well protected ones at that. Sherrinford’s got MI5 and Mycroft’s got his very own double-O. And I know Watson may not look like much, but trust me, he’s more than equipped to protect your berk of a brother. That’s without even addressing the fact that your mother is one of the most terrifying people in existence.”
The Omega let out a shaky laugh at that, barely more than a harsh exhale of air, giving the Alpha a weak smile. He did relax slightly, allowing his knees fall open and flat, tucking one leg under the other until he was sitting Indian-style. Both his hands drifted down, resting between his legs as he gripped the quilt with a white knuckled grip. The double-O took in the still tense lines and sighed.
“I can try and keep an eye out for them myself, if you like.”
Alcott jerked, staring at the screen in open shock. “Would you really?”
“I’m out of the country more often than not,” the agent warned, “but I’ll do what I can if I can.”
“James,” he breathed, his voice thick and green eyes bright with emotion. “James, thank you.”
The Alpha felt his own eyes widen as the brunet shifted forward, hips dragging slightly across the bed and pressing against his forearms. James’ mouth went dry, throat tightening as blue eyes swept over Alcott, lingering over the slight budge the movement had all but framed between two pale arms. It was an instinctual move, the agent didn’t even know if the Omega was aware of what he was doing.
Posturing. Displaying.
James had to force himself to look away; to stare in (what he hoped) was a casual manner at his clasped hands. But there was no denying the strength of his reaction; the way his heart raced, the way his hands itched to touch skin…or the dark stain growing on the front of his sweats.
Alcott wanted him.
And James wanted him back.
Christ.