Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

-National Gallery 2012-

"They say, I can do more damage in my pyjamas, before my first cup of Earl Grey, than you could do in a year in the field."

-Monaco 4 Years Later-

James walked along the harbour front. Shifting the paper bag of groceries as he did so. The Monaco sun felt wonderful against his face.  He came to the pale pink coloured set of apartments that overlooked the yacht haven.

Juggling the bag, James fished out his key for the large and heavy wooden door. The main door to the complex opened and he stepped onto the tiled foyer. James headed up the stairs and turned left. Shifting the bag more carefully, James unlocked the door to the flat.

“I'm back!” James called, hearing the sound of the shower coming from behind the bedroom door. He sat the bag down on the counter that separated the kitchen from the open plan living room.

Starting to pull items out, James noticed a ceramic figurine sitting on the counter.  He picked up the ceramic bird and examined it. It was grey in colouring with a long speckled tail. Absently he wondered when Madeleine got it. By the time James had finished putting away the shopping, his instincts were starting to tingle. There was no sound accompanying the shower.

James headed to the rear of the large room and pushed open the door. There was a fresh cream coloured dress ready to be put on, laying on the large bed. Steam was coming from the slightly open bathroom door. James pushed the door open, hating he didn't have a gun. The white tiled bathroom was full of steam. It was clear no one was behind the curtain surrounding the claw footed bath.

Looking around, James noticed writing on the mirror above the sink. He brushed his fingers through the red marks on the mirror, as his heart sank, feeling the thick a wet substance. Touching the substance to his tongue, he tasted copper. Blood. In blood, was written,
Coo Coo
   Coo Coo

-London-

“How could a dead man appear on every screen in the country?” The man at the head of the table demanded. The Prime Minister.

Mallory sat back a bit. This was not an issue for MI6. The domestic and international intelligence services, were two separate branches again. MI6 being represented by Mallory as M. MI5 being championed by the older blond woman who was now Control.

Mallory listened as Control discussed her in depth investigation.

Then a man, who was sitting by himself, spoke up. “We still have no idea how the message got onto every screen in the country. We must issue a pardon to gain freelance help.”

Mallory barely looked at the tall waif like man. He was known to some, and mentioned by few, he was a man without title or official posting.
 
Mallory, thankful for the spur of the moment talk with his quartermaster. The young man had not investigated the media hack but he did have a theory. It allowed Mallory to one-up his colleague, during this regular meeting between the intelligence branches and the Prime Minister. Clearing his throat, Mallory looked at Control. “Are you sure you don't know?”

“M, you have information?” the Prime Minister said, jumping on M's words.
 
“Not information, more of a theory for the course of the investigation. Given the modus operandi, the investigation should be along the ethos of unmasking a magician's illusion. For the most part, a legal course of action was probably taken. I would recommend looking at the major advertising companies. The billboard space and commercial slots may have simply been bought and paid for,”

“The BBC does not air commercials.” The waif like man snapped, in growing annoyed embarrassment.

“Patience, I was coming to that.” Mallory answered the man, then continued. “With the BBC we might find a criminal act. More likely a disgruntled employee who could change what was being transmitted, rather than hacking or something else. Always look for the simple explanation.”

“WELL?” the Prime Minster blasted to the domestic intelligence personnel. Getting a stony faced look from the waif like man and the woman who ran MI5. “Get to it, NOW!”

The meeting quickly ended by the leader of the country. The grey haired man stormed out.

Mallory stood, more sedately than the Prime Minister. He looked to the others, “Good day, Ladies, Gentlemen.”

Mallory headed out, further driving a wedge between domestic and external security services. Trying with all his might to make sure nothing like the Joint Security Service ever happened again.

On Downing Street, Mallory had to pass the permanent contingent of press with cameras to get to his car. The moment he was inside, he could see the look on Tanner's face.

“What?”

“Bond is here. Madeleine Swann has been kidnapped. A message, written in her blood on a mirror said, 'Coo-Coo'. An ornament was also found, a cuckoo. Whereabouts of Miss Swann are unknown. Bond wants to see Blofeld.”

“No!”

“Is that wise, M? Bond could go off on his own.” Tanner warned. “We could do a supervised visit. Or have Bond in an observation room while Blofeld is questioned.”

“The observation room idea has merit. I don't want those two in the same room. I'd prefer if Blofeld didn't even know Bond was there.”

“I'll leave you to break the news to Bond, M.”

Mallory answered with forced smile.

The car pulled up alongside the tower of class. The Joint Security Services Building, now known as the Vauxhall Tower, was the new home for MI6. The two men stepped out of the car.

The lift ride to the top of the tower was done in silence. Both men were able to see through the building and out the glass front of the tower, to where the old MI6 stood. Now a building site for luxury apartments. Mallory turned away from the view as they neared the floor for the Executive Branch.

Arriving at the top most floor they exited the lift. Mallory was not overly keen on his office. But nearly being killed there and killing someone else wasn't a good enough excuse to refuse to use it. At least for the pen-pushers who truly decided such things.

James paced irritable inside the office. Moneypenny watched the man through the glass wall. She was so distracted Mallory walking pass her made her jump. Pushing the door open, Mallory headed the irate man off.

“Tanner is making the arrangements. There will be restrictions, Mr. Bond. The Inquisitor will conduct the interview with Blofeld. You will watch from an observation room.”

James nodded, without saying a word. His anger held in check by years of experience. Tanner called him. Following the man out, James looked back giving a respectful, “M.”

James was very quiet through the lift ride down to the lobby. Then through getting into the Land Rover beside Tanner, and through the entire journey. Even the on-the-go briefing Tanner gave was just a wash of noise to James.

Showing the skill that kept him as the old M's Chief of Staff, Tanner had everything arranged well before he even mentioned something to Mallory. So there was no waiting around.

HMP: Slade was an ominous Victorian style building made with large soot blacken slabs of stone. Despite its classical architecture, it was one of the most secure buildings in the country. Large iron gates led into a secure courtyard that was covered with wire mesh to prevent helicopter aided escape attempts.

James hid his displeasure as he was led into the room with a large television mounted on the wall. The room was within the administration portion of the prison and not near the interrogation room.

James wanted to rage. He was stuck far from Blofeld and not in an adjacent room with just a thin one way glass separating him from the man he wanted to turn into a pile of minced flesh.

The TV switched from the solid blue image to showing the grey haired man with scared eye. 'I' an old whip like man, with a hooked nose started asking questions. Blofeld gave the man the run around, and played dumb. Yet his still seeing eye flicked to the camera and he smirked. James knew it was aimed at him.

Blofeld mused, “Why should I talk to the mouthpiece, when I can hear the distant...coo-coo, coo-coo?”

“Bloody useless!” James roared and stormed out. Tanner following him. James was lost for the first time. He had one lead and was now thinking how to get to Blofeld.

Tanner said, “We could have Blofeld transferred to MI6 for a more in-depth interrogation.”

James smiled, a barely perceived twitch of his cheek muscle. He could work with that.

“Good idea, Tanner.” James said a little too calmly to be believable. Possibilities beginning to run through his head.

“Well, we had better get back to MI6, to make the arrangements.” Tanner said. He formally thanked  the Prison Governor, and gave a warning the prison should expect a request to transfer Blofeld to MI6's custody.

--

While the arrangements were being made, James decided to get the lay of the land, of the new MI6 building. With his prominent visitor badge attached to the breast pocket of his suit. James explored one level after another. Not sure what all the people were doing. Forming his plan.

Grasping the arm of a passing woman he asked. “I'm looking for Q-Branch.”

“Q-Branch Administration and operation support are on floor five.”

James thanked the woman, and headed for the lift. Stabbing the button for the fifth floor, it was several moment before the glass doors opened. Despite his worry and anger, James smiled a bit. The floor was inhabited by oddballs. A woman, in white make up, with dark lipsticks and eye liner. She plodded passed James, like a petulant teenager.

The pristine glass and stylish interior of the rest of the building had been given way to quirks of individuality in this department. From the big sign staying, 'This is just a clock!' with an arrow pointing to a bundle of dynamite with a digital clock, to someone who was using a mouse pad of a cartoon woman with the wrist cushion in the shape of large breasts.

In the centre of this domain, the queen bee controlled his minions around him from a curved standing desk. Q. The boffin pulled a folder from his standing desk, then turned sharply and collided with James.

Steadying the man, James looked into the hazel eyes behind the heavy framed glasses. “Careful Quartermaster.”

“Oh, James?”

James noticed the folder in the younger man's hands. 'Blofeld, E. S.' emblazoned amongst the 'Top Secret.' and other warnings. James cupped Q's hand and flicked open the folder.

“You're . . . not . . . meant to see... this.” Q tripped over his words.

James couldn't make head nor tails of the large columns of numbers at first glance.

“Found anything interesting?” James purred, and sent a flirtatious smile to the younger man. He watched the pale cheeks turn rosy and the hazel eyes bashfully dart about.

“No.”

A waver in the man's voice told James Q was lying through his teeth. “Come now, Q.” James purred, leaning closer to the man. “A life is at stake.”

Q's shoulders slumped. He closed the file and opened it again, showing a different page. Subtly he put a thumb against one of the table rows.

James felt a weight lifted from him, for the first time since Madeleine vanished. He had a lead coming from someone he trusted enough to follow it blindly. Nor would he have to assault MI6 to get to Blofeld now.

Q gulped as James looked back at him. He knew what James was going to ask next. He nodded to a table in the distance, with several items ready to be assigned. James looked at the table and back to Q.

“An operative was to be deployed to Istanbul to help a Double O. Helmsley shouldn't miss his back up. Not your preferred firearm but...” Q whispered and closed the folder. “I should get this to M.”

As Q pulled away, James kept a lingering hand on the boffin. “Thanks, Q.”

The younger man blushed again and ducked his head to hide the gesture. He then walked quickly out of the room. James waited and watched him go.

Casually, James headed for the table Q had indicated. He found the small gun safe. Opening the box, he found a two-toned Vektor CP1. Despite the passing similarity in shape to his preferred Walther, James was not impressed. The gun had a bad reputation. James took it, along with the silencer and the other gear meant for the other operative.


-Istanbul-

James looked across the bay, to the circular building seeming to just come out of the water.  The home of one Russian exile, Kronsteen.

Jumping into a boat, when the owner wasn't looking, James stood behind the wheel and pushed the throttle open. The enraged voice of the owner just a fading noise.

James pulled out the gun as he approached the old building. He saw the guards patrolling the dock and the roof. He picked them off from a distance. Pulling alongside the dock, James didn't bother to tie up the boat. He jumped off and headed into the circular building. The boat slowly pulled away without him.

James was a machine. He swept the building with the surgical perfection. Even the leader, Kronsteen, James didn't spend time on. A bullet to the head ended Kronsteen, while he sat with his back to the door ended him. James didn't know if these people weren't expecting an assault or if it was a set up, but they were woefully unprepared.

The last room, on the top floor was locked. The moment James tried the door, Madeleine started shouting and swearing. He kicked the door in. James burst in, and found the blond woman tied to a chair. He was at her side in an instant. Blood seeping through a basic dressing on her forearm.

“I'm here. I'll get us out,” he babbled to the terrified woman. He couldn't lift Madeleine, in case someone had survived. James got her up and with a firm hand on her uninjured arm pulled her behind him.

Outside, the boat James had stolen was sailing in circles out in the bay. So he stole one of the boats tied up.

Once back on the harbour side, James helped Madeleine out of the boat and was promptly slapped. The blond woman started screaming.

“I'M OUT! I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS. NEVER LOOK FOR ME AGAIN!” Madeleine then walked off. James followed her and she slapped him again.

“Please.” James called, keeping pace with the fleeing woman.

“Never come near me again!” Madeleine spun on her heels. Their eyes met. James saw the utter hate she held for him. In that moment he knew there was no word or action that would ever be enough. She blamed him for destroying her peaceful life and in a way she was right. If he never went to that clinic, Blofeld wouldn't have had any reason to go for her.

James just stood there, and watched the blond woman vanish into the crowd. Not noticing the black man coming up behind him.

“Always a bitch, when you get your heart ripped out,” the stranger said.

James had every intention of ignoring the guy and walking off when a hand landed on his shoulder. He swung for the stranger and missed by a mile. The stranger easily dodged and delivered a left jab to James' chin. The hit making him woozy and light headed. Another punch, this time to the gut and James couldn't breathe. A final punch to the cheek and James went down.

--

With a groan James started to come to. Testing his arms and legs, he found they were immobile. It felt like he was tied to a chair.

Soft and slightly purring, “Back with us, Mr Bond?”

James moaned and opened his eyes. The light and heat meaning he was still in Turkey. The pacing blur slowly focused into Mallory.

“Think so.” James said, finally answering the man. Grateful it wasn't Spectre he as waking up to.

“I have no idea how you learned of this place, or how you got here. BUT A SHOOT OUT IN THE MIDDLE IF ISTANBUL IS UNACCEPTABLE. You are not a Double O, Mister Bond.”

“That could be altered.” James said without emotion.

Mallory frowned as he looked at the man secured to the chair. Seeing something very wrong, he asked what happened and James told him about Madeleine leaving.

With a bit more sympathy, Mallory pulled out another chair to sit in front of James. “You are prepared to come back?”

James nodded, solemnly. “It appears some are not suited for retirement.”

“Very well, Mr. Bond. Assuming you pass your assessments, you'll be welcomed back. I may even have an assignment for you.”

“Oh goody, M.”