Ummm... I really should be updating my other story, and not writing this one! And the Downton Abbey one. Meep! I will update those soon, don't worry! After all, nothing helps one to write like One Direction! So, I hope you enjoy, and please review and tell me what you thought! aussiegirl97 xxx
"Ready?" Came the tense whisper.
"Ready." Confirmed another voice.
"Lock and Load." Came another.
"For god's sake Owen, we've talked about this!" Hissed yet another voice.
"Whatever you may think, ..Bond." Finished the second voice.
"File out." Said the first voice, in a firmer tone. In the dimly lit warehouse, the four figures, filed past the first two, who waited until the others were gone, before turning to each other.
"I love you," the woman whispered, kissing him lightly on the lips.
"The feeling's mutual babe." Came the husky reply.
"Should bloody well hope so." She muttered, and he flashed her a charming smile.
"Let's go." He whispered in reply, and they silently followed the rest of the team.
"Where did they go?" He hissed in frustration, squinting to see in the darkness.
"Well maybe if you hadn't lost the torch, we'd know!" She hissed back. As they picked their way through shelves and storage crates, their handguns held aloft, a rising sense of panic worked its way through her body. Finally, they broke free of the jungle of obstacles, and into a wide open space, where they heard the clatter of a machine gun, the fire briefly lighting the space, long enough for her to see a team member struck down, bullets pumped into their body, jerking with every impact, and before any of them could so much as scream, the team member fell backwards on her, blood seeping into her coat.
Albert Longham found a pause in his book, and sipped his fine whisky, savouring the taste, and allowing it to sweep through his mouth. He sighed contentedly, and sipped at it again, feeling the liquid slip gracefully down his throat, and was about to finish off the glass, when the doorbell rang. Groaning in irritation, he placed the tumbler down fiercely on the small table, the book in his lap on the coffee table in front of him, and heaved himself out of the chair. The doorbell rang again, and he grumbled slightly, as he hobbled towards the door. Not that he minded company, that is, except when his reading was interrupted. The yanked the door open, and saw his daughter, Lizzy. The spitting image of his late wife, though with somewhat less modesty. He eyed his daughter's hem line distastefully, and then looked at her face.
"Lizzy, I did not fight the Chinese in Vietnam only to feed your rent and taste for alcohol my dear." She huffed impatiently. Lizzy's mother had died when Lizzy was young, leaving Albert to raise his daughter by himself. Albert lived in the residence which his Queen and Country had provided for him, an ex-serviceman, an apartment in the Powell Estate, and he lived there proudly too. The only problem had been raising a cultured and educated child in such a place, and as a result, Lizzy was un married, of twenty, and he was certain that she was not 'pure'. She had inherited her mother's blonde hair, blue eyes, and long legs, and she put them to good use. He was sure that she'd never paid for her own dinner before in her life.
"Honestly, Dad!" She protested in a thick cockney accent which made him flinch; he'd never heard one so un-becoming. "Look, you's plannin' on movin' soon?" She asked shortly.
"No," he said crisply, his dislike for his rebellious young daughter radiating from him. "I am not moving, and I never will. Why?" She rolled her eyes at his cold tone.
"I'm goin' to become an 'airdresser, and 'ave me own makeover show on the telly." She explained hurriedly.
"And you're telling me this, why?" She huffed, and reached next to her, and pulled something from in front of the wall beside the door, and wheeled it in roughly, pushing him out of the way.
"Meet ya grand'au'er." She said shortly, as he gazed in astonishment at the pram. "There's formula in the bo'om of the pram, in the thing un'er'neath." And with that, she began to walk away. It took Albert a moment to fully figure out what was happening, as he gazed down at the sleeping baby. Suddenly he lurched himself awkwardly around the pram, which took up most of the hallway, and followed his daughter onto the balcony.
"But you can't just abandon her!" He cried.
"Well, you screwed me up, wan'ed a secon' chance di'n' ya?" She asked, whirling about. "Well now ya go' it." And she continued walking. He glanced back to the open door of the flat, and then at the retreating back of his daughter.
"What's her name?" He asked. She didn't even turn around, just waved a hand over her shoulder.
"You'll fink 'o some'fing." And with that she left, heels clanking on the concrete flooring. He stood there a moment, when the door of the apartment next to him opened.
"Alfred?" Asked his neighbour, a recently widowed woman, Jackie Tyler. Quite nice, hatefull accent, though nowhere near as bad as Lizzy's, he was quite fond of this woman. "Wot's going on?" She asked worriedly.
"Jackie," he said after a moment, turning to the younger woman, "I think I need your help, you are good with children, are you not?"
The next morning, Eve May Longham waoke up in a crowded bassinet, with another baby. This child had blonde hair, not un-like her own, and grey eyes, which would later change to brown. She surveyed her future best friend briefly, before opening her tiny mouth, and crying for attention. A kind old face appeared over her, a face that would later become known to her as that for her grandfather.
"Shhh, my dear." He murmured, rubbing her stomach, and lulling her back into a sleep. Her grandfather, settled back into his place on the sofa in Jackie Tyler's apartment, and smiled fondly at his granddaughter.
"I won't fail you, I promise." He whispered into the early morning darkness. "You'll be brilliant."
But little did he know just how brilliant she would be.