Tangible Schizophrenia



Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: R, I suppose. No actual onstage sex.
Pairing: Alec/James.
Feedback: Just a thumbs-up or thumbs-down is fine, though I live for meaty comments.
Disclaimer: Not mine in the slightest.
Notes: In an earlier movie, Bond died and was given a burial at sea as a Royal Navy Commander. Am assuming that's standard procedure, and that MI6 has a wall of 'stars' for its fallen like the CIA keeps at Langley.
Summary: Three scenes. Same theme, different contexts.


"Champagne?" Rolling the bottle around in his hands, Alec arched an eyebrow. "How on earth…"

"There are always ways and means, Alec," James smirked, flopping down on the grass next to the other man. "In this case, let us say that my cultivation of the French teacher yielded fruitful results."

Whapping his friend upside the head, Alec popped the cork, then quickly swung the bottle over so it fizzed all over James. At the indignant yelp that provoked, he gave his own smug smile. "I see you've managed the difficult part nicely, as always, but tripped up on the details. Nothing even resembling a glass," Alec mock-sighed. "How you ever made it out of school is beyond me. Much less being accepted into the next step with me."

"Half of everything is luck," James replied, stripping off his soaked shirt. He didn't sound particularly angry about the soiled clothing.

Unable to stop his lips from quirking in amusement, Alec took a long drink from the bottle, enjoying the tingling burst of bubbles against the roof of his mouth. "And the other half?"

"Fate," James drawled, leaning over. Delicately licked up the traces of champagne from Alec's lips, then probed deeper till the other man moaned and succumbed, head lolling back and fingers loosening. James caught the bottle before it spilled out into the springy grass, then lifted it high in the air. "To England, our future."

Staring up at the champagne, Alec suddenly turned pensive, eyes momentarily opaque. "To England," he echoed, crawling over to kiss James soundly.


Tapping his empty glass on the table, James picked it up, watching with blank eyes as the dregs of the vodka swirled in the bottom. Footsteps approached, causing him to jolt sharply out of his trance.

Hands shaking almost imperceptibly, Alec sighed when he saw the raised gun. "It's over, James. We've done it."

"So we have," the other man muttered, putting down the gun and secreting it away. "Congratulations, 006."

"Likewise, 007." Alec stood still a second longer, regarding his friend, and then took that last step to set the present down on the table. Shooting a desultory glance over, James looked again.

"My God…" he chuckled, rasping and tired. "The same brand."

"It'd be easier on your throat than the vodka." Alec replied, getting down on his knees. He placed hands on James' knees, gently pushing them apart, then reached for the zipper. Three fingers came down to touch his scabbing knuckles, stopping him.

James wore the unreadable expression of the old stone statues, weary and blind-eyed. Swallowing, Alec breathed in silent relief. No perception here, no intuition. Only a surface still in the process of hardening, uncertain of its breaking points.

"What about your throat?" James asked, almost daring him.

"This is easier on it than the champagne," Alec answered quietly, nudging James' hand aside so he could lift out the rising cock and bring it to his lips.


They hadn't bothered removing the marker, which wasn't surprising. MI6 preferred to forget about that entire aspect of the 'Goldeneye' mission, and as far as the official records-and the monuments-were concerned, Alec Trevelyan remained listed under the fallen heroes. Tragically dead at Arkangel, while ensuring that the mission was carried out.

James checked his watch. While the main office was never completely empty, there were lulls in which one could walk around the building in relative solitude. Such as now.

Uncorking the champagne bottle, he splashed a bit on the wall, letting the froth temporarily obliterate the engraved name, then took a long swallow. "To…us," James murmured, lifting the bottle.