Title: Deja Vu
Parts: 1/2
Rating: R. For Bond violence, some drinking, and insenuations.
Pairings: Bond/Weaver
Fandom: ER/Bond crossover
Notes: I know the title isn't very Bondish, but deal with it. *G*
Thanks to Scotty Welles who's been so patient with Beta Reading for me.
Disclaimer: Bond belongs to Ian Fleming, and ER belongs to Warner Bros. I'm only
borrowing them for entertainment purposes such as it is.
The caged elevator opened onto the steel jungle high-rise, an
unfinished structure that stood quietly under the darkened soviet sky.
The construction workers had left their tools scattered carelessly
along the steel-beamed puzzle that comprised the only floor, twenty
stories of air surrounding each of them.
The short, slim shadow covered in skintight black fatigues stepped out
onto the beam, quickly making her way from beam to beam, leaping across
the three feet to the wood that had been set up by the workers.
A soft thump echoed through the structure, and she drew her compact
Heckler & Koch automatic, staring into the dark recesses for the cause
of sound. The minute seemed to tick on forever, until she finally
reholstered her weapon and moved through the plastic curtains
surrounding the half-finished room.
The moon's rays beamed directly onto the crates of weapons and the long
box containing the missing KGB computer.
Dropping her backpack to the planking, she attached the round mine to
the box before starting on the crates. Each mine snapped on easily,
blinking an angry red. Picking up the last mine, she prepared to arm
it…
…and froze as the terrorist camp below came alive with hoots and
whistles. The sound of a gunshot rang out, followed by laughter.
She slammed the mine into place, running across the platform and beams
to the waiting elevator. The elevator started to descend as she stared
out at the camp numbly, her thoughts racing. If the camp was alerted,
then 002 must have failed, which meant the experimental flash missiles
were still ready to launch.
The elevator creaked to a halt on the ground, letting her out into the
cold winter night. She paused in the shadows as she set the remote for
the mines on a thirty-second countdown. Then, slipping out of the
building, she made a run for the large command center.
Glancing into the window, she could see Greg's bloodied body laying
broken next to the spot where the two crates had been. She cursed
silently as she saw the large military truck that they had just
finished loading with the two missiles. Two of the men climbed into the
front of it as it roared to life.
A spray of bullets flew by as she sprinted for the back of the truck.
Sentries had spotted her, dammit! Her shoulder jerked painfully as she
dived up on the covered back, and she was barely able to hoist herself
up.
Ignoring the flow of blood, she forced herself to stand up…and found
herself staring into the eyes of Brodsky, Feral's personal bodyguard.
The brick-built man lunged at her with deadly speed as she dropped into
a leg sweep and slammed her commando knife into the back of his right
lung. He let out a surprised gurgle and died.
Behind her, the half-built structure lit the sky up as the mines went
off. The entire thing crumbed in on itself with a colossal roar, and
the truck jerked under the sudden bombardment of shrapnel.
She wiped the blade off on Brodsky's shirt with satisfaction, then
turned to the first crate. The lid was already pried open, 002's
favorite knife laid on the missile. He'd come so close to completing
the mission. How had Brodsky gotten the drop on him?
The missiles' abort button stared up at her with dark barring. Pressing
it would destroy the missiles and most likely spare thousands of
innocent lives. But it was meant to be pressed while the missiles were
in flight, not sitting in a crate right next to the console.
If she pushed the button, her life would be over, but if she didn't...
No, she knew she had no choice. The thought of mission failure was
unacceptable, thousands of innocent lives could be at stake. And she
was sworn to die in the line of duty, if it came to that.
Reaching in decisively, she pushed the abort button, then spun and
leaped desperately out the rear of the truck.
The fiery blast caught her in midair, wrapping around her and twisting
her for its own deadly purpose. Her singed, twisted, unconscious body
hit the ground, rolling down the steep embankment.
Coming to a stop against an ice-covered log, the black cap she was
wearing fell from her head, exposing the short shock of red hair...
The dark man with the cruel features stepped out of the shadows,
staring with satisfaction at the distant hill where the truck had
exploded.
The blood-covered agent walking up beside him. "She's dead..."
Jared Feral turned to Greg with pride. "Take the spare missile to the
pad." Then, as Greg started for the truck, Jared added, "Greg…good
job."
Greg smiled darkly at him. "I'll see you in Moscow…father."
James walked into the hospital briskly. All he wanted to do was to get
his fiancee home. She was back from her mission in Russia, and despite
the urgent phone call, he was sure that her injuries were minor. He'd
seen her through too many missions not to know how this worked.
Besides, M had promised them a few days off with no interruptions, and
she wouldn't do anything that might cost them that time together.
He winced slightly at the soreness of his body. His own mission to
Germany had prevented him accompanying the woman he loved to Russia,
but she'd had a perfectly competent partner in 002. At any rate, a
couple of days in bed together was just what the doctor ordered.
Still, there was this small twinge of doubt that had been bothering him
since he received the phone call. He'd never had this problem before,
not when she had nearly died after being caught inside that Vietnamese
nuclear sub, or when she'd been trapped inside enemy lines for almost a
month. She'd been through nearly as many scrapes as he had, kindred
spirits that they were.
He paused inside the door as he saw Moneypenny's red eyes and M's
solemn face. His doubt turning to full-fledged worry and rage. "No..."
12 Years Later
Kerry gripped her crutch in frustration. Days like this were when she
most strongly missed the ability to walk without it. When everyone
seemed to be against her, even the people who were supposedly her
friends.
Not when she was being forced to attend the Triaxe banquet made up of
every doctor in Chicago. The last thing she wanted was to spend the
night listening to boring speeches with a table of her colleagues. Of
course she could always call up and say that her leg wasn't able to
handle it. Then again, Romano would call her on it.
Kerry pushed her door open, her sixth sense going off like an alarm.
Something was wrong; the kitchen light was on inside her darkened
house, and she could hear someone moving around.
She quietly shut her door, lowering her files and shoulder bag to the
floor, and made her way silently toward the kitchen doorway.
A lean man was standing in the doorway, his face covered by shadows.
"Ker..."
Kerry didn't give the lean man a chance to finish speaking; her body
acted on instinct alone. She jerked her right forearm upward sharply,
bringing the crutch up between his legs. He doubled over, and she
seized his collar in her left hand and spun him around to drive him
into the wall. The groaning man tried to turn around, but she chopped
her hand on the back of his neck, sending him to the floor.
"Well at least...you're...still in shape."
Kerry froze, recognizing the gasping voice. Snapping on the living room
light, she glanced down in shock at the man who was struggling to his
feet.
He collapsed into a nearby chair, grimacing at the pain. "You know,
there are more pleasurable, and less painful, ways of hitting on me."
James straightened his tie with effort, trying not to show how badly
she'd hurt him.
"Oh? And here I thought you liked it rough." She shook her head,
marvelling that the last person in the world she wanted to see right
now had just re-entered her life. Turning her stony gaze on him, she
demanded, "You mind telling me what you're doing in my house?"
"Simple," he replied, regaining a measure of his characteristic
composure, "M sent me. She wants to see you immediately."
"You're kidding! After all these years out of the life, she expects me
to just…?" Kerry broke off, at a loss for words.
James stood up on unsteady legs, meeting her scowl head on. "Kerry, all
you have to do is listen. If you won't help after you've been briefed
than you can walk out and you'll never have to see me again."
There was no use in arguing with a summons, Kerry realized. Even now.
"Fine, let's get this over with." She spun, acting like she didn't
notice the hurt look on his face. 'Will this day never end?' she
thought with despair.
Kerry sat quietly in the deep leather chair, trying to hide her
excitement. She had forgotten how much she missed this. The missions,
the danger...James.
He took a seat next to her, reaching for her hand. Kerry stared at him
in surprise as he stammered slightly and let go. "Sorry, old habits die
hard."
"If you two don't mind I'd like to get started," came the cold,
familiar voice.
Kerry glared at M's sarcasm, but said nothing.
"What do you know about Dr. Matthew Lawson?"
Aha. Kerry began to see why they wanted her help. "He's the head of
Triaxe, a privately owned research center. It's said that the guy is a
genius, but he gets bored easily." Kerry took the file Moneypenny
offered her and scanned it as M started to talk.
"The CIA has had him under surveillance for the last six months. They
think he's been working on a smart virus, one that can be programmed to
target people based on race, DNA markers, hair color, whatever he feels
like. They believe he's going to have a auction for the world's
terrorist community."
"What aren't you saying?" Kerry knew M well enough to recognize that
dull glint in her eyes. The one that meant there was serious trouble
but she didn't want to tell what it was.
"About a month ago, the blueprints for an American missile were
stolen." M smiled slightly, glad that Kerry's instincts hadn't dulled
over the years.
"What's so important about this missile?" Kerry glanced over at Q
expectantly as the older man leaned against the desk to speak.
"Do you remember the Soviet flash?" He winced inwardly at his own
insensitivity as everyone seemed to become deathly solemn. "Ah, yes, of
course you would. Well, anyhow, it's the American version with some
slight improvements. Including the ability to store chemical weapons."
Kerry snapped her eyes around to James, questioningly. "He's going to
bid it off with the virus?"
The slight nod from James confirmed her guess.
Slumping back, she faced the fact that she had no choice but to help
them. "What do you need from me?"
"Dr. Lawson will be hosting the Triaxe banquet tonight. You'll take
James as your date so that he can get upstairs to his office, and
reclaim the blue prints," M said quietly. "I trust I needn't remind you
that, despite the last twelve years, you are still on our payroll…?"
Kerry eyed her for a long minute, then nodded consent.
M laid a hand on her arm as she stood to leave. "Kerry…I was hoping we
could have dinner tomorrow."
"All right," she replied quietly. "Why don't you come over around
6:00?" It had been over a year since the last time she'd seen her
adoptive mother, and despite the memories, she'd missed her.
M relaxed, smiling at her with relief. The last 12 years had been
stressful for both of them.
Kerry followed James out of the old warehouse that they'd turned into a
makeshift office. She paused next to the sleek black BMW convertible.
"Is this the new model?"
"All the standard options, plus stealth mode." James smirked at the
look in Kerry's eyes. Like a child on Christmas morning. He dangled the
keys in front of her face teasingly, "Want to drive?"
Kerry grinned happily as she speed up and spun into the Triaxe parking
lot. The dashboard read fifty as she sped through the lines of cars,
approaching the parking section designated for County General. She
spotted a parking space beside Mark's Jeep Cherokee and spun the car
into the space, screeching to a halt while the engine roared loudly
before cutting off.
"They say you can tell what a woman's like in bed by how she drives,"
her passenger commented idly.
Kerry slammed the door closed and took James' arm. She felt a small
amount of pleasure as his eyes roamed her body. "Well, this old car is
parked and off limits," she said softly as they entered the building
and headed for the lecture hall.
"Too bad. The vintage cars are the most reliable and definitely the
most fun."
Kerry met his sad eyes. After the accident he had protested her calling
off the engagement. He had gone into a rage over her stony refusal to
budge, but she had believed that she needed to recover alone, and not
just physically.
"Hey chief, over here!" a cocky, familiar voice called.
Kerry started for the table where everyone was already sitting. Carter
and Malucci had already started drinking, but Carol hadn't touched her
white wine yet. Jing-Mei and Cleo appeared to be drinking iced tea.
Dave eyed her date with obvious disapproval as the women around him
started to take notice of the lean, handsome man. He couldn't help
resenting the way the world seemed to reform around the new arrival.
"Who's the guy?" he asked, his tone bordering on the rude.
James held Kerry's chair out for her before sitting possessively next
to her, taking her hand. "My name is Bond, James Bond," he replied
suavely, then paused before adding, "Kerry's fiancee." He ignored the
silent challenge in Dave's stare, aware the younger man's need to be in
the spotlight, but refusing to acknowledge it.
"EX-fiancee." Kerry stared levelly at him, daring him to contradict
her.
"That's right, but I asked you again last night," James said sweetly,
flashing her a smile to show that he wasn't about to give up this
opportunity.
"And I said that I needed to think about it." Kerry felt him caress the
inside of her hand tenderly, and was tempted to just give in. But she
had a feeling that if she did that he would take that as a sign that
she wanted to get back together. Not that she wasn't tempted...very
tempted.
Carter cut into whatever James was about to say. "You were engaged
before?" He was surprised that he'd never heard her mention this while
he lived in her house.
"12 years ago," James said truthfully before turning to Kerry, "I'll be
right back." He kissed her hand and left with only a quick nod to the
others at the table.
"Why did you two call it off?" Carol asked. Her unspoken meaning, of
course, was 'why in the world did you let HIM get away?!'
Kerry glared at his retreating back, considering what forms of torture
would be the most painful.
He slid his hands under the bookshelf until he felt the small bump.
Chuckling at the ease of it, he pressed it watching the small square of
floor by the desk open. The keypad of the black iron safe blinked up
at him tauntingly.
James placed the small penlight between his teeth, taking a small card
from his pocket and reading it as he punched in the sequence. The red
light stayed on with a soft hum, then turned green as the door of the
safe popped open.
James flashed the small light into the safe, his ego deflating rapidly.
The only thing in the safe was a small piece of paper. He picked it up,
"Mr. MacAlister, I've moved everything until the auction."
James threw the paper into the safe with disgust. There was only one
other safe that they knew about, and the blueprints could be anywhere
by now.
"Girl, you must have been crazy to break it off with that man," Cleo
said with the slightest tilt of her brow.
"Now wait," Carol replied, "how do we know she broke it off? Maybe he
left her. It's been known to happen." It had happened to her, after
all.
"Ahh, he's probably gay," Dave added with a sneer. "The fancy-dressed
english types always are."
Jing-Mei scowled at him. "That is the worst case of sour grapes I've
ever heard."
Kerry sat back, watching the group talk enthusiastically about her like
she wasn't even there. They kept throwing theories about her life at
each other not even bothering to acknowledge her. The only one who
seemed to remember her was Carter, who smiled at her with apologetic
amusement. She knew he wanted to know about her former engagement as
much as any of them, but he had the courtesy to respect her privacy.
She'd always appreciated that about him.
"I need to talk to you."
Kerry glanced up at James wearily, frowning slightly at the solemn
expression in his eyes. She followed him over to the wall as he began
to speak softly.
"He moved them, and the only other safe we know about is in his house."
"You going to try to get in?" Kerry asked.
"No. We've already had two other agents try to get in without success.
He's got more security than the President, and we don't even know where
in the house the safe is." James glared over at Dr. Lawson with subtle
resentment.
"I guess there's only one option left then..." Kerry told him softly.
Then, without warning, she punched James in the face hard enough to
rock him back into the wall, and raised her voice. "WHY DON'T YOU JUST
GO BACK TO ENGLAND WHERE YOU BELONG?!" she yelled, gaining everyone's
attention – she could see Dr. Lawson staring at her – and stormed out
of the lecture hall.
"Dr....Weaver?"
Kerry slowed, allowing Dr. Lawson to catch up with her. "What?" she
snapped angrily, balling her fist threateningly.
He held up his hands in surrender. "I just wanted to make sure you were
all right."
"Fine." Kerry started to walk out of the building.
Dr. Lawson fell into step beside her.
"Then why did you punch that guy?" He was struggling against the urge
to laugh. Dr. Weaver was famous for her temper, in fact that's the one
of the first things he'd been warned about after coming to Chicago.
"Bastard wanted me to give up my job. For him…?" Kerry threw her
crutch scornfully into the BMW before acknowledging the tanned, dusty
haired mans presence, her eyes pausing on the muscles that seemed to cause
his armani to pull taunt across his chest. "Is here something you wanted?"
"Not really..." He hadn't been so amused in a long time and hated to
see her leave. "Listen, would you like to go get a drink?"
"Aren't you the host of this..." Kerry struggled to find a word that
wouldn't insult him too much. "... funeral?"
"Yes, but they can survive without me for a couple of hours." He
grinned widely at her. He liked women who spoke their mind no matter
what the consequences were.
"In that case, get in." Kerry started the car with a small smirk. She
hadn't lost her touch after all.
James ran out of the hotel at a sprint in time to see Kerry drive off
with Dr. Lawson. "M's going to kill me..." Damn the woman, she was
improvising again.
"Where's Kerry?" said a voice beside him.
James glanced over at Carter with a flash of jealousy. He was the guy
that had been living with Kerry a few months back, and as far as James
was concerned, the guy was an immature boy. "She decided to go for a
ride."
James clenched his jaw and walked back into the hotel. He needed to get
hold of M before Kerry got herself killed.
Kerry cracked her eyes open with some effort. She liked to think that
she could drink almost anybody under the table, but the last few hours
had proven to be a bit much. Vodka, whiskey, wine, tequila... not to
mention the sleeping pills she'd slipped into Matthew's drink, only to
get a mouthful of it herself.
She swung her legs over the bed, letting the arm around her waist fall
away. Kerry got dressed quickly under the blanket of her hangover.
Struggling to keep herself in an upright position as she yanked the
straps of her evening gown up.
Scanning the room she tried to remember what he'd said before falling
into a dreamless sleep. Something about hiding things in their normal
place. Kerry went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet
only to find it bare.
She gripped one of the shelves and pulled on it until it swung open
revealing an old-fashioned wall safe. Kerry opened the cabinet drawers,
searching for the stethoscope that she was sure had to be here. Every
doctor she knew kept one close at hand, out of habit. She shoved her
hand into the back of the second drawer, pausing as her fingers closed
around the familiar rubber tubing.
Kerry took a deep breath and started to work on the safe, trying to
control the underlying excitement of being back in the game.
James sat on the bed in loose slacks and an unbuttoned shirt nursing
the glass of whiskey. It wasn't his traditional vodka martini (shaken,
not stirred), but being involved with Kerry again, he felt the need for
something harder.
He couldn't get the memory of Kerry laying in the hospital looking so
pale and deathly out of his mind. He could still remember when he'd
received the phone call telling him that she had injured.
He'd been in Germany, preparing to raid an army camp. The disk
containing blue prints for one of England's nonexistent subs had been
stolen by them. He had been on his way out of his hotel room when
Moneypenny had called.
When he'd finally arrived, the doctors had told him she would lose her
leg. Kerry had been stony about it, refusing to let them amputate with
a firm quietness that had left James scared. Something he'd never admit
to anyone except Kerry.
The last time he'd seen her before they'd taken her in would stay with
him for the rest of his life. Her face normally full of life was drawn
with pain and barely-contained fear. A body that was always overflowing
with endless energy was lying helpless. He'd never, in his entire
life, seen her like that. His partner, the woman he loved so deeply,
never showed weakness or pain. He'd watched her take a gunshot wound to
the stomach and still finish a mission with a brisk ease that had left
him astonished.
He'd paced the waiting room for hours, tense for news of her. M had
tried to reassure him, but he was too angry to listen. Blaming himself
for letting her go on the mission, blaming M for splitting them up for
the so-called brief operation.
He had realized at that moment that she had known that Russia had been
a suicide mission. That's why she'd sent him on the recovery mission,
to keep him alive. Kerry was a more acceptable loss in M's opinion.
"How could you?!!"
"It's the job." The same response, it was always the same response, the
standard response. M stared at him with uncovered eyes. Letting him see
the tortured haunted eyes underneath her placid cold mask. The same
mask that he'd seen Kerry wear on so many occasions.
"I don't care if it's the job. You sent her to her death and now she
may lose her leg..." James had known that his anger was irrational, but
he couldn't help it. All his emotions were running wild. Anger,
sadness, worry...If he lost her he wasn't sure what he'd do.
James hadn't been aware that he'd punched the wall until the sudden
sharp pain shot through his arm and hand. Moneypenny had rested a
comforting hand on his shoulder and guided him into a chair. The tears
had come as he stared at his friend.
James drained his glass and refilled it. Even after all these years,
that day haunted him.
The soft foot steps approaching door cut into his thoughts. Picking up
his Walther, he carefully opened the door, already knowing who it was.
Kerry entered the room with only a passing glance at the gun in his
hand.
James sat the gun on the dresser, and poured her a glass of vodka. "How
was your field trip?" His fingers brushed Kerry's as he handed her the
glass. James sat on the bed next to her, trying to hide how much that
little contact had effected him.
Kerry drained the glass in a single gulp, the night's stress finally
getting to her. Grabbing the gym bag that she'd set out in the car
earlier, she laid the blueprints and the vial of the virus on the
nightstand.
He pressed his lips together trying to hide his smile. She could've
been killed.
Kerry leaned into him, chuckling softly. "The safe was behind the
medicine cabinet."
"You had no business trying something like this, not when..." He
stopped, feeling the tension run into his ex-lovers body.
"When I'm a cripple?" Kerry asked bitterly.
"When you've been retired for 12 years." James stared hard at her,
trying to convince her that he was telling the truth. "Do you ever miss
it...me?" James stared at her, needing to know. To put himself at ease,
to finally let go of her and the past.
"I miss...the nights...the nights in our flat. Our own little world
where only we existed." Kerry leaned into him, needing to feel his
presence.
He was one of her deepest regrets. How she had ever walked away from
him, she didn't know. James leaned over, brushing their lips together
in question.
Kerry stood up, trying to break all contact with him, and he grabbed
her hand desperately. " Kerry, please...Don't push me away anymore."
"Why?" Kerry asked quietly. All her fear and her hopes in that single
question.
"Because I still love you." James gently pulled Kerry to him, ready for
some resistance.
Her body seemed to crumble into his arms with years of emotional
exhaustion, unable to keep fighting him or her feelings anymore.