Sorry for the wait in the new part. I had a medium sized writer's block. I had the story lined out, but I just didn't find a way into writing the words. M second set of eyes concerning grammar and plot is currently on vacation and only got the beginning done, so please be patient with us :)

Series List:

1. High Voltage

2. Live Wire

3. Sometimes the Words are Hidden

4. Seasonal Currents

5. Redeemed

6. Not All the Facts

7. Under Pressure

8. Circuit Breaker

9. That Which Is Home

10. Lunatic

11. Mostly Business As Usual

12. Phoenix Rising

x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX

TITLE: All the Way from the Dark

Small crossover with Person of Interest

SERIES: Firewall

AUTHOR: Macx

RATING: NC-17

DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belongs to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)

FEEDBACK: Loved

James Bond stood in the underground shower room with brick walls around him, no sunlight, just bulbs that lit up the small room. He pulled his sweaty shirt off, flinging it into a corner.

He ached. His whole body was radiating pain, but a sharp pull came from his left side where a scarring injury was bright and red against the tanned skin. He looked down at his injuries, grimacing. Blunt fingertips ran over the marks. One of the healing cuts had broken open throughout the weights training.

Bond cursed softly under his breath.

The shower room was not frequented by other agents or personnel. At least not at this late hour. It still stemmed from the time the underground bunker had only been an emergency control room. Now that MI6 was permanently underground, everything had been renovated and additions had been made, like a shiny, new shower section.

James Bond sometimes sought out the old facilities, especially when he was injured during a mission, failed or successful. It didn't matter. He used the Spartan exercise room and took his showers in the older areas.

Of course the area was under surveillance, like all of the bunker and the maze of tunnels.

Stepping in front of the cracked mirror, Bond examined the scars and the reopened cut. He knew what had ripped into him and it had been agony at the time, until he had blacked out.

It had been his third international mission after the events in Kazakhstan. M had tested the waters, so to speak, giving him only national missions first. It had been almost like a vacation and Q had only raised his eyebrows when the Double-Oh had remarked on it. Nothing too straining, nothing too bad, nothing really exciting.

Then he had been back in the pool of available, certified agents for everything a Double-Oh could get.

There had been no problems.

Until now.

Bond grimaced.

Because of an overly eager junior agent who had functioned as his contact. Fresh from basic training, an even worse shot than Moneypenny, and a lot less reliable in a fight. At least Moneypenny had known where to point the weapon; this guy…

Bond growled softly.

They had lost the mark. He had lost the junior agent. He had almost lost himself. He was sure he hadn't died. The sensation had been different when he had opened his eyes. He had crawled back out of this abyss and he had made it back, but it had been hell. There had been no contact with home, with MI6, with Q. He had lost his ear piece, his phone, everything.

In the middle of nowhere, critically injured, bleeding, in agony.

Bond had been in such situations before and he had been trained to survive.

He had survived.

The mission had gone to hell and he had survived. He didn't actively mourn the passing of a young agent, but he regretted his death. It had been a human life and Bond knew he had been indirectly responsible for him.

He let his fingers brush over the long scar and bared his teeth in a snarl. The cut had bled sluggishly and it would be closing again. He had quite some experience with this. Unfortunately.

Bond turned on the water and splashed some into his face. It dripped off his face, down his chest, tracking over defined muscles and skin.

The darkness was roiling through him, a vicious, sharp-edged thing that had been with him all his life. With the death of his parents the phoenix had been born. Kincade had once remarked that it had made a man out of a boy; in reality it had broken through the shield that surrounded his darker nature and had let it crawl out of the darkness.

Bond hadn't known what he was until after his first death. That had been through poison. He had survived. He had died and he had come back. The phoenix had snarled and hissed and spat and fought, and he had been alive again.

Right now that feral edge was back. It was snarling at everything and no amount of physical exercise had been able to dampen it. He had run himself close to exhaustion to control the energy inside him, but it wasn't working.

Not this time.

The phoenix wasn't satisfied.

He hadn't died, but the energy was there, like after a normal resurrection, and it was frightening and empowering in one. It raised his senses to a level that was both painful and exhilarating. He was this creature, had become one with the darkness because of his fiery death in Kazakhstan, and because Q had pulled him back.

With power came something else.

The hunger.

It was exhausting and terrible, sharp and angry, and it pushed against his sanity.

Bond curled his fingers like claws around the sink. Blue eyes, pale like ice and hard as granite, stared back at him from the mirror.

The phoenix.

Savage, primal, a predator.

And jealous. Burning with jealousy.

The Double-Oh hissed angrily.

The emotions were unfounded. They weren't real; weren't his. They were borne out of an instinctive, primordial thing that didn't rely on human logic, didn't analyze facts like James Bond would. It simply regarded the world from a predator's view, saw its mate, saw the others around its mate, saw the attention its mate gave those who weren't its bonded.

It seethed, furious, and Bond was fighting against the instinct and the darkness that threatened to rise.

This had never happened before.

This was… frightening.

He pushed away from the sink and walked into the shower room. There were five shower heads, five stalls, and he switched on one. Bond stripped off his sweat pants and stepped under the spray of water.

The burn was still there, getting worse instead of better, and he closed his eyes. Damnit! Hands resting against the cool tiles, head hanging between his shoulder, he tried to let it run its course.

It didn't.

The darkness hissed through him, ferocious, hot, unstoppable. The energy inside him wasn't getting any less, even after the long work-out session, even after swimming lane after lane, he hadn't exhausted himself to a point where the phoenix was manageable.

Pale blue eyes opened and stared at the floor. Bond was breathing hard, trying to fight his instinctive reaction to the latest events, to the failed mission.

Jealousy.

Water pounded against his neck and back. Muscles flexed and the ache from the injuries pierced through the fog.

This was bad.

Really, really bad.

tbc...