Agent Grant Ward is the best her majesty's secret service has to offer. So when M sends him out to investigate the suspicious Daniel Whitehall, he expects nothing more than a lukewarm leftover from the cold war and the chance to kick a few criminals in the face. But Whitehall hasn't just been making himself a castle fortress—he's been recruiting scientists. And one of them might be even grumpier than Ward.

Feat 007!Ward, Melinda May as M, Skye as the charming Moneypenny, Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons as scientists who most certainly did not sign up for this, Whitehall as the same psychopath he's always been but with some Bondian twists, and more!

A/N: Have you ever wondered what happens if you spend your entire Christmas break watching Bond movies? Worry no more, this fic is the answer.

"Did you ever think our lives would turn out this way?"

"Fitz…"

"No, really." Fitz put his chin in his hand and stared out the windows. The rain lashed against the laboratory windows. If he pressed his nose to the cool glass, he could see the torrent crashing into the gully below them. The rocks were black and shone in the fluorescent lights, the only illumination on the whole of the mountain. "When we were at Cambridge together, getting our graduate degrees, did you think we'd end up here?"

"Well, no." Simmons put her test tube down. "I must admit, being captives in South Ossetia was not what I anticipated."

"Research opportunity." Fitz said gloomily. "Go to the private sector, the info session said. No longer will you be reliant on precarious government funds. Pick your own working hours. Make millions, contribute to the world."

"Fitz." Simmons said. She glanced across the laboratory. They were the only two there. "Be careful."

"What's he going to do to me, lock me in a castle?"

"Don't be so maudlin." Simmons scolded. She held out a test tube. "Here, put this under a microscope, I extracted it from one of the samples Bakshi brought in. I think it might be explosive."

"More bombs. Great." Fitz muttered.

"Fitz." Simmons hissed. She grabbed his arm. They could hear footsteps outside the laboratory door. Both waiting. Simmons' hands were tight fists where she'd shoved them in her lab coat pockets. The footsteps came to a sharp halt, then retreated. It was no more than the standard late night patrol.

"Typical." Fitz said. "Bloody typical."

"Just look at the sample." Simmons said wearily. "We need to show him something for the month's work, and it's not as though building bombs is inflicting any new horrors on the world."

Fitz glared at the microscope, and the innocuous spread of black rock on the slide beneath it. "We could tell him to sod off."

"We would die." Simmons took a deep breath. "Fitz, please. I don't know who he'd kill first and I really don't want to see you shot, and I'd like to think you feel the same way."

"Of course I don't want to see anyone shoot you." Fitz pulled his stool over to the sample. "Where's my pen, I want to write down notes."

"Right here." Simmons was already pushing it across the counter.

"I'd kill him, for the record." Fitz added. "If he tried to kill you. I don't care if he's got"

"a complex full of guards, machine guns, resources and rich friends?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Fitz began to scribble down notes.

Simmons leaned her chin on his shoulder. "Who knows, Fitz. Maybe today is the day that a knight in shining armor comes around to sweep us up and get us out of here."

Fitz snorted. "Jemma, please."

"Maybe he'll be tall, dark, and handsome."

"Maybe Mr. Whitehall will win the Nobel Peace Prize."

Simmons shoved his shoulder. Fitz snickered and kept jotting down notes.

It was pouring rain in London, and that was enough to put 007 in a bad mood. He hurried up the narrow steps to the office with a scowl on his face and water dripping off the hem of his coat, well aware that he was tramping mud on the carpet.

"Morning Ward." Skye leaned across the desk when she saw him, putting her chin in her hands.

Ward grunted at her as he hung up his coat and hat. Skye giggled. "What?"

"Did you have a nice night on Saturday?" Skye asked. She kicked back her chair and put her feet on the desk. Skye was supposed to be a temporary secretary, and she'd held onto the job by no means Ward could understand. He suspected it had something to do with her either her clinging sweaters or the fact that she could withstand even their top agent's most deadly stare.

That stare, for the record, belonged to Ward, and it had once made a Russian general cry.

"It was great." Ward said. He leaned a hip against the desk. "I blew up a plane."

"I thought you weren't supposed to be working Saturdays anymore?" Skye asked. She tapped her toes together. Skye was wearing pink heels, in flagrant disrespect to the M16 dress code. "After that time you went out to that one bar and got into that fight with the officer who totally deserved it."

"He did deserve it."

"Ward you threatened to sell him to a Chinese triad."

"Did I sell a police officer to a Chinese triad?"

"Not yet." Skye tossed her hair back. "Aren't you going to ask what I did on Saturday night?"

"No."

"I went out and had way too many shots, woke up with a new tattoo, and still no one proposed to me." Skye crossed her legs, so her skirt slid up her thigh. "Want to see the tattoo?"

Ward's eyebrow rose. "Is it in a place that needs double-o clearance to investigate?"

"It's in a place that needs a double-o salary for discreet removal." Skye replied. "And have I mentioned that you've always been my favorite agent?"

"I bet you say that too all the guys in suits."

"Only the ones with empty lives." The phone at Skye's elbow rang. She leaned over and picked it up. "M will see you now."

"Thanks." Ward nodded to her. "Think it'll be good news?"

"You and I have different definitions of good, but I bet you'll end up getting to shoot somebody."

"That's all I ever ask." Ward stepped past Skye, dodging her attempt to whack his calf with a heel. It was also possible that M kept Skye around as a way to test agent reflexes. If so, Ward had a few bruises that might relegate him to a desk job in Q-branch.

He pushed open the door and went into M's office. It was a room more conservative than the power of the operative who worked there. The walls were smooth wood, and the tall windows looked out over London. Every panel of glass was bulletproof, and every panel of wood concealed some sort of switch.

Like the room, the woman who sat behind the desk was full of secrets. She indicated for Ward to sit. He did so, in a leather chair discreetly bolted to the floor. M had a single file on her desk, her hands folded across it. It was plain manila, marked only with TOP SECRET in bright red and 007 in conservative blue.

"I have your next assignment." M said. M could convey more doom in those five words than most agents could in a manifesto. It was rumored that every file on her tenure as a field agent was entirely redacted, and that she was single handedly responsible for the elimination of no less than forty two former UN officials. Ward thought she was a handsome woman, and was very glad she was on their side. "What do you know about archeology?"

That was what he loved about his job. Always the surprises. "Nothing, ma'am."

"Wonderful." M pushed the file across the desk. Ward opened it, half expecting to see a jewel thief. It was a middle aged man with hair that was pale blonde fading to white, and round glasses. "Daniel Whitehall."

"I don't know him." Ward said.

"You shouldn't. He's one of the Eastern restorationist crowd. Very rich, hobbies in buying medieval properties to restore them and funding digs in random but unnervingly fruitful sites. Famous for his private collection and his generous hand in donations."

Ward's brow furrowed. "And…we care?"

M stared at him. Ward began to read the file. "Pay attention. Some of this was too sensitive to write down."

"Yes ma'am."

"Whitehall just restored a fortress on Mount Khalatsa. Reports say it cost over a billion pounds sterling." M said the words flatly.

This time, Ward restrained his question about why they cared.

"The British Museum finds this figure grossly inflated." M said.

"You asked?" Ward inquired.

"Whitehall is American. The CIA won't release his record to us." M's lips tightened. So much for international cooperation. "I suspect equally generous contributions to Congress. And that's off-record, 007."

"Yes ma'am." Ward nodded. "What the Americans do is none of our business."

"Precisely." M's eyes narrowed. "But in the last five years, Whitehall has bought half the Greater Caucus Mountains." Ward's eyebrows raised. "You don't need to buy a mountain range to fix up a few castles."

"Do I take him out?"

"Generous contributions to Congress say that would be received poorly across the waters." M said.

"Am I arranging an accident?"

"We can't kill a man on suspicion." M said. Ward's eyebrows rose just a tad. "But our agent in South Ossetia says that Whitehall is dangerous."

"I didn't think we had someone in South Ossetia." Ward commented.

"We have W."

"Who's W?" That wasn't even a section, so far as Ward knew.

M stared at him. Ward mentally redacted the question. "Anyway. The agent is sure that Whitehall has secrets, and suggests the potential for outright lunacy. I don't plan to wait around until this deranged billionaire snaps." Ward could certainly concur with that logic. He was less sure of what M wanted him to do about Whitehall's potential insanity. "Whitehall is throwing a gala one week from today in his fortress on Mount Khalatsa, purportedly to celebrate his successful restoration."

"He spent a billion pounds on this and decides to party afterward?"

"W also found it strange." M nodded to his file. "You'll be posing as a representative from the British Museum."

Ward blinked. "A what?"

"A curator. Interested in purchasing from the collection. I assure you, no one there will look twice at you, especially as they're all aware that the museum can't afford Whitehall's prices." M's lips twisted up.

It looked like he was going to spend the next week memorizing obscure facts about the British Museum. Wonderful. "If I judge him dangerous—"

"You will report back to me." M cut him off.

"Ma'am, I'm a double-o." Ward said. "Why am I on this mission, if we don't want Whitehall dead?"

"Because you're the only agent we have with decent South Ossetian contacts." M said grimly. "And you haven't seen the guest list. This party has metal detectors." Ward's ears pricked up. "These are dangerous people on hostile ground, we damn well have to send a double-o."

That sounded more interesting. Ward bent in head in silent apology.

"Q branch will outfit you. And one last thing, 007—the whole region is still teeming with unstable separatist groups. Neither the Russian nor Georgian governments would appreciate M16 meddling."

Ward paused. "Isn't that exactly what we're doing, ma'am?"

"They don't need to know that." M said. She waved him out. Ward left. Skye had the phone to ear, and looked to be actually working. She stopped when she saw Ward.

"Looks like I might get to shoot someone." Ward said. He tipped his hat to her and went back out into the rain.

Q Branch was several floors beneath M's office, far enough down that any explosions wouldn't rattle her teacups. Ward rode down in an elevator, watching through the glass as each floor started to look more and more like a clinic. When he finally stepped into the subterranean chambers, even the air felt sterile.

"Welcome, 007." There was an agent waiting to meet him at the door.

"Agent Coulson." Ward bowed his head respectfully. M preferred to use Coulson mostly for internal matters these days, but he had a certain reputation. He'd been 008 since probably before Ward was born. "I didn't know you were part of Q, sir."

"I'm not. This is a special occasion." Coulson began to walk. Ward fell into step beside him. They passed one agent fiddling with dials for a test chamber. There was another agent inside wearing a test suit. Ward watched with idle curiosity as the interior of the chamber burst into flames. When they burned out, the agent in the suit took off her headgear and shook her head, saying something into a mike that made the other agent swear. There was also an agent staring down the barrel of a gun talking to themselves, and another hunched over a bunch of test tubes sniffing differently colored vapors.

Ward deeply disliked coming down to Q branch. He would rather have had a knife, a gun, and a cyanide pill.

"Standard Beretta. No ballistics, no numbers." Coulson handed him the gun. Ward took it and weighed it in his hand. It was a bit lighter than his personal handgun, but still beautifully balanced, and perfectly untraceable.

"Thank you sir."

"You also get these." Coulson walked over to a table and held up a pair of glasses. They were wide rimmed, dark brown. Not the usual raptor sunglasses, which were equipped with night-vision and heat vision. They were much nerdier. Ward mentally sighed. "They have X-ray and photo capability. The knob on the top right does X-ray, the left takes a picture. Adjust them for resolution."

"I have excellent vision, sir." And I know how to break into a safe.

"I'm sure M told you that we're not technically supposed to be in South Ossetia." Coulson said. "With these glasses you can simply photograph the contents of safes, crates, whatever you feel you need. They can't see through walls, but they can get damn close. You take nothing, you leave no fingerprints, and you don't break, damage, blow up, or injure anything or anyone." Coulson smiled blandly, as if they specified that for every agent.

"Yes sir." Ward said.

"Oh, and not that you'll need it, but here. Standard transmitter for tracking and rescue purposes. Q now recommends fitting into the toe of your shoe, as certain agencies now search the heel." Coulson passed him a tiny circular disk.

"If it's in the toe, how am I supposed to discreetly activate it for a rescue?"

"That's what I said." Coulson shook his head. "Terrible, terrible, idea. I want them to make one shaped like a cufflink."

"But then we'd have to make two, and people find two." Ward turned to the new voice. It was Agent Alphonso Mackenzie, who actually worked in Q. Ward was rather glad to see that someone who knew how these gadgets worked was there. Agent Mackenzie nodded to him. "My qualified recommendation was that agents pack mobiles."

"Where's the fun in that?" Coulson asked.

"The fun comes next." Agent Mackenzie replied. He pressed a button in the wall. "007, may I present to you the crowning glory of the current collection."

Ward watched as the panel slid up. It was a car.

"She's a cherry-red 1962 Chevrolet Corvette." Coulson said. His voice was reverential.

"She has revolving plates outfitted for ten different countries, including Britain, Russia, and the former block. Bullet proof outer shell, and bullet proof glass. Properly bullet proof, not the kind that cracks and sets you up to crash." Mack added. "Buttons on the dashboard will give you access to two machine guns we wired into the headlights, a flamethrower in the undercarriage, and the best satellite gps money can buy."

"And she can fly." Coulson said. Ward honestly couldn't tell if he was joking.

"Cherry red, sir?" He asked instead. "I thought MI6 cars were built for discretion."

"You're going to a fancy party." Coulson said. "You need a beautiful girl with you. Her name is Lola."

"…okay."

"Agent Ward, you should know." Coulson smiled. "If you so much as scratch her paint job, I will kill you."

Ward was absolutely sure he wasn't joking. "Yes sir."

"Goodbye now." Coulson backed away, still smiling.

"He and the car have some sentimental attachments." Agent Mackenzie said. "I had to go right over his head to get permission to work on her." Ward quietly noticed that Agent Mackenzie also thought the car had a gender. "Be careful with her, and not just for Coulson. The driver-seat ejection packs a punch."

"I'll be careful." Ward said. "Anything else?"

"Your tux is being dropped at your flat. It's a Brioni. Solid black, beautiful bow tie, please wear it well. Your passport and invitation will be in the jacket pocket." Agent Mackenzie grinned. "We tailored it specifically to disguise the shoulder holster, so if you wouldn't mind keeping it clean…"

"I'll do my best." Ward said. He nodded to the agent. "Be seeing you."

"Good luck. Think of us in the lab while you're eating caviar and drinking champagne." Agent Mackenzie waved him away. He was a tall man, even taller than Ward, and he had muscles that could probably lift Lola. It made him stick out in a crowd. That, plus his genius intellect, had stuck him in Q branch. Ward sometimes wondered if he would rather have been in the field. If so, he didn't express his discontent to Ward, who only saw him a few times a year anyway.

"Will do." Ward left the lab, glasses in one hand and Beretta in the other.

A/N: My first foray into writing for Agents of SHIELD, so commentary always appreciated.