Disclaimer: This is slash fanfiction, and features male/male sexual activity, repeated more than once. If you don't like that sort of stuff, may I suggest you go back to learning how to use the mouse properly so that you won't click on links like this anymore.
I don't own any of the people you recognize, and unlike Sony, I won't even pretend to. They belong to MGM, and you can find more info from their website and also at the Ian Fleming Foundation website. I'm just writing stuff for free, because I like getting email about it - hint, hint. And frankly, even if I did own them, I'd probably still write fan fiction because it's so much damn fun!
And respectful worship on bended knee to the writings and stylings of Len Deighton, author of many fabulous novels on the intriguing art of espionage.
All quotes in Gaeilge (unless otherwise noted) are seanfhocal (proverbs) taken from the Daltaí na Gaeilge Daltaí Seanfhocal Archive. Daltaí na Gaeilge, meaning "Students of the Irish Language," is a non-profit organization dedicated to promoting and teaching the Irish language.
So James Bond had to sit in the ostensibly comfortable airport lounge and wait for his mission confirmation in the crowded, busy, loud Kai Tak airport. He didn’t want to be here. His mind was torn between trying to make sense of the conversations around him, and endlessly replaying the conversation that he had overheard earlier....
“What?” Even through the speakerphone, the other agent’s disgust was evident.
“007 has all the skills and contacts necessary for this assignment,” said M stiffly.
“Dammit, I asked for an agent, not an overeducated guttersnipe! This is a delicate operation, and if that little playboy ruins it – ”
“I assure you,” said M coldly, “I am aware of the importance of this operation. 007 is more than capable of handling the intricacies of this assignment. The only risk now is your attitude compromising your working relationship.”
At this point, James had started trying to find a way out of M’s study without being seen. He had known that it was useless; Moneypenny would have to let M know that he’d been there, and it would be painfully clear that James had overheard the entire humiliating discussion.
Instead, he had stayed, and both he and M had pretended, in their best British fashion, that nothing had happened. And now, James was stuck in the busiest airport in the world, waiting to see if the new 006 still needed help for this mission. James hadn’t met the agent yet; James had been on a mission when the previous 006 had met his unfortunate demise. All he knew of the man was that he was an orphan, like James, who had been passed over for promotion once before. He had almost been 007 at one point, but his experience and skill had finally won him the coveted 006.
He half hoped that 006 would cancel the mission. James liked Hong Kong, and he would have a least a day to himself if the mission were cancelled. He could go to a decent Australian pub, and watch a good game of football where he didn’t have to cheer for the English. He could go to Lantau and get in some fishing. And of course, the nightclubs of Lan Kwai Fong - the gwailo ghetto of Hong Kong. He could hear it calling to him even now. He sighed. Escapism was a bad habit that he’d never been able to break himself of.
And of course, if 006 didn’t cancel the mission, James would have to outdo himself to impress the unknown agent with his skill. James downed a shot of vodka, trying to drown the sting of being thought ‘an overeducated guttersnipe’ by a man he had hoped to be friends with. James frowned as his primary contact left to make yet another phone call. He hated waiting.
James scanned the lounge once more, ever alert for potential trouble – or opportunities. Someone new had entered the lounge since the last time James had checked the room. He was tall, blonde, and solidly built. His face was ruggedly handsome. James admired his cool aura of masculinity and self-confidence. The man noticed James’ appraisal, and returned the favor, raking James with piercing green eyes. His eyes flicked over James’ impeccable suit without interest, to linger on the planes of James’ face. He smiled, meeting James’ eyes and holding them with his own gaze.
James flushed a little under his frank interest. It had a disconcerting effect on James, and he wasn’t sure what to do next.
His contact returned, frustration evident on his face, only to turn to surprise on seeing the blonde man standing there. James turned away for a moment, trying to compose himself, then rose and turned to meet them.
“You must be Alec Trevelyan,” said James shortly, and extended his hand in greeting. They shook hands easily.
“Tell me,” said Trevelyan with amusement, “do you play that game with everyone you meet?”
James set his jaw tightly, and didn’t answer.
“Well,” said the contact, “we should be going. We can discuss the mission parameters en route. Unless there’s a problem?”
Trevelyan shook his head. “No, that will be fine. After you.” He let James precede him as they left the lounge, and James could feel Trevelyan’s eyes still looking him over.
“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing at, Trevelyan,” snarled James as quietly as he could.
Trevelyan’s only reply was a short laugh.
James tried not to grit his teeth in anger. He shouldn’t let the man get to him this way. But, he consoled himself, at least he was finally leaving the airport.
Bíonn gach tosach lag.
Every beginning is weak.
James sat in the back, next to Trevelyan, without touching him. The contact drove. He didn’t bother to give a name, and raised the safety glass so that James and Trevelyan could talk in private.
“So, tell me about the job,” said James, trying to project an aura of confidence to match Trevelyan’s.
Trevelyan smiled back, easily. “Very well.” His demeanor changed subtly, and his smile slipped away to reveal that he was suddenly all business. “There’s a chemical plant in Shenzhen. Stripping away multiple corporate layers reveals ownership to be ultimately in the hands of the Chinese Army. This would not be of immediate concern except for the fact that their primary business partners are a splinter group of Soviet Army officers with an appalling disregard for human life.”
“Chemical warfare?”
Trevelyan nodded. “Most likely. I’ve made contact with a mole who wants to sell definitive information, but he will only accept American currency.”
“How much?”
“A lot.”
“And how do you expect to get it?”
“So, why do you think I asked for an operative with your particular skill set?” asked Trevelyan mockingly.