Title: Metamorphosis

Parings: James Bond & Q; Sherlock Holmes & John Watson

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Disclaimer: All characters, situations and concepts borrowed belong to their respective owners. If you recognize it, its not mine. I claim no rights. I make no profit.


Chapter 9 – Werewolves Are Political Animals (Reprise)

Striding through the halls of MI6 James hoped that the current summons to M's office meant that something had surfaced regarding the potential arms deal. He'd spent several weeks backstopping his Brandon James cover only to have 003 go semi-dark, no contact other than long range camera footage, for the last month and a half throwing the entire mission into waiting mode. It wasn't unusual for a potential mission like this to stall out so to speak. In fact 90% of an agent's time was spent waiting for something; waiting for a source, waiting on a stakeout, waiting to take the shot. Of course the other 10% was an adrenaline junkie's wet dream. It took a rather strange psychological make up to make the switch from waiting to action in a heart-beat or two. It was also the reason that the 00's and many of the A-list agents were considered volatile at best and unstable at the worst. It was, however, exactly the type of mindset that most werewolves lived with 24/7 which meant that James was unusually well matched to the job.

When he arrived in the executive suite Moneypenny's half-hearted response to his outrageous flirting didn't bode well. She merely sighed and waived him into M's office. M's face was even more telling. Mallory looked like he had been chewing on a lemon.

"007," he said without preamble, "your services have been requested by the Home Office."

"What about 003's arms sale? When it goes active it will require a very quick turnaround. Wouldn't it be better to assign whatever it is to another agent?"

"They requested you specifically. Insisted. I couldn't talk them out of it. However, they are aware of the limitations on your participation and they understand that if the other operation breaks open you'll be pulled. I was able to get that much of a concession."

"Mission parameters?" James didn't see the usual folder with the relevant background information on M's desk.

"I don't know. It's apparently above my clearance." M grimaced. "They did say it should only take four days or so at the maximum. Q is preparing your gear at their direction and he will be sent information regarding your briefing location. Good luck 007."

James gave a short nod in acknowledgement and left. No wonder M was sour. There should be little if anything that was above his security clearance. To be left out of the loop when the mission was assigned to one of his own agents was especially galling. James wondered how much additional information Q would have. He'd need a certain amount of detail to determine exactly what equipment was required. James lengthened his stride as he headed to Q branch.

When he walked into the branch he noticed that Q was in his glassed in office rather than out in the bullpen as was his normal custom for equipping an agent. Q spotted him and gave half waive that indicated his presence in the office was requested.

"You are going as yourself for this one," Q started as soon as he entered and handed him a passport along with an envelope presumably containing plane tickets. "For the first leg you'll be carrying the diplomatic pouch to the San Francisco Consulate. You are picking it up at the briefing. You'll bypass security and customs on both ends." Q handed him a personalized Walther, "No smuggling needed this time 007."

"Are you going to provide me with anything special? Exploding pen perhaps?" James used their standing joke in an attempt to get Q to divulge more information.

"Yes, I have a pen for you. It doesn't explode. Sorry."

"I'm disappointed. I thought I was your favorite!"

Q snorted and displayed the pen. "It takes high resolution pictures," he proceeded to demonstrate "and stores them on this mini-usb drive. As an added benefit if you plug the drive into a computer it will install a backdoor that I or one of the other programmers can exploit."

"Nice."

"The latest upgraded mobile is also in order," Q said handing it over along with a standard covert earpiece. "I've been informed that I'll be your sole point of contact with MI6 on this one. The appropriate numbers are programmed in and your com set is slaved to my computer."

"No wonder M was upset," James mused aloud.

"I'm not too pleased either," Q admitted. "I'm going to be living in my office for the duration. The Home Office is playing this very close to the vest. I don't even have the briefing location…" he was interrupted by his computer indicating an incoming message, "…yet."

Q glanced at the computer then opened the message. His face went completely blank and James felt a surge of something that felt like a combination of anxiety and concern. It seemed to be radiating from Q. Q took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose before putting them on again.

"Q?" James was slightly worried. It was clear something about that incoming message had upset him.

Q grabbed a pen and scribbled down an address. "Your briefing is at this address in two hours. Do me a favor and pop the battery out of your phone before you enter the building and don't activate your communication gear."

"Why?"

"You are going to be walking into one of the most electronically secure venues in London with some of the most technologically advanced spying devices ever made. I'm afraid that the protections will interact badly with the equipment."

"You know this how?"

"I designed the protections 007," Q admitted.

"Since you obviously recognize the address do you have any other tips?"

"Don't underestimate the man you are going to meet," Q stated blandly. "He's incredibly powerful behind the scenes. Regardless of what he looks like he's one of the most ruthless people you will ever encounter. He will sacrifice most anything or anyone in a heartbeat for the good of the nation."

"You've had dealings with him before I take it?"

"Extensively in the past, not so much lately. He's incredibly subtle and any operation he's involved in will be labyrinthine in its complexity. His machinations loose me over 60% of the time."

Now wasn't that interesting. Q rarely if ever indicated that he lost out to someone or something. To hear him do so casually was almost beyond belief. "Anything else?" James' asked.

"Just be careful James."

A little over 24 hours later Bond found himself in a rather utilitarian Seattle Police station looking over reports involving the death of Sir Arthur Madden and his wife Eleanor also known as Sunny. Sunny Madden had been tortured until she bled out and her body had been dumped at the fence line of an industrial park. The fenced complex was a high end corporate retreat center with a specialized area for large area group activities such as paint ball, laser tag and scavenger hunts. She'd been found rather quickly due to the fact that there had been an activity going on the in the complex at the time. An activity in which her husband had been one of the participants. Sir Arthur had been found less than 24 hours later dead in his condo from multiple stab wounds. Several of the antique weapons from his collection were missing.

The investigator's hypothesis was that Mrs. Madden had been tortured to give up information regarding the collection. There was also speculation in the report that her body had been dumped intentionally at the site as a message to her husband. This meant, the investigator had written, that Mr. Madden had lost his life in a fight over some of the more valuable items with the thieves. It was a plausible theory but for the fact that Sir Arthur was a werewolf. In fact he had been the Master of the Isles, the leader of all the werewolves in the U.K. That position required a strong dominant with quite a bit of political savvy and intelligence. He would have not been an easy man to take out even for another werewolf. No, something was not right with this and it was James' mission to figure out what had actually happened.

His briefing had indicated that Arthur had been in Seattle to attend a summit between the Marrok and representatives of a variety of the European wolves. The subject allegedly was the timing and logistics regarding going public. It wasn't supposed to be a discussion so much of if they were coming out but more so of when and how to manage it. Since the meeting was in their territory the Emerald City Pack had been playing host so James figured his first line of investigation would be to contact them and find out if they knew what had happened. He had a couple of ideas regarding where to look for the pack but he knew within a minute or so of walking into the police station that he wouldn't need to use them. His nose told him quite clearly that there was at least one werewolf in the building. Judging from the scent the wolf was most likely one of the detectives rather than a beat cop. James could tell from the intensity of the scent he was not currently in the room. He made sure before he left to leave his scent in the places where he smelled werewolf the strongest. That should be enough to entice someone to make contact.

James was not terribly surprised when his mobile buzzed around 18:20. He had used his name and rank as well as left his mobile number with the police in case they had additional information. The call was from an blocked number.

"Bond."

"Hello Commander Bond," said a voice with a Scottish burr so faint that it was barely noticeable. "I'm making the assumption that you are in town investigating a certain incident which occurred last week."

"Yes, that would be a valid assumption."

"We expected someone would be in contact but not quite so fast. I find that I need to know who exactly you are."

James had expected this request for his bona fides. Given the slight accent he decided to start with one of his older connections first. "You can ask the Kincaid's of Aberdeen about me." Johnathan Kincaid was the Alpha of the largest pack in the Scottish Highlands and his middle son just happened to be the caretaker of Bond's now ruined ancestral home. "Shaun McKellan of London would also speak for me," he added. The next one Bond knew, if they could contact him, would almost ensure that he would get not only a meeting but also quite likely be passed up the chain of command. "But you know," James continued without a pause, "if you can get a hold of David Christianson remind him that he still owes me a bottle of scotch for that time in Caracas."

"Thank you very much we'll be in touch" said the voice on the other end of the line and rang off.

Bond wondered how long it would take them to research his credentials. Less than ten minutes later his mobile rang again. This time it was Q.

"Someone has accessed your military records and Universal Exports cover," Q started in without preamble. "They spoofed their IP address and used a Starbuck's Wi-Fi connection. It's on 25th Ave NE in the University District if you are interested."

"Not worth it. They'll be long gone by the time I could get there. Can you access cameras and get anything for me about the last number that called my mobile?"

The clicking of keys went on for a few minutes and eventually stopped followed by a breathy humph sound. "Cameras are set up on the drive through. The one in the store is not registering. Mobile was a new purchased from a kiosk in Tacoma this afternoon. Cash transaction. No decent camera coverage there either. Call was initiated from somewhere in Washington Park and the number is not currently showing as active anywhere in the local system. Someone was smart and turned the phone off. I've put a flag in to alert me when it accesses the cell network again."

"By the way what are you doing up at 02 hundred Q?"

"Well I was asleep for once until the alarm I placed on your semi-public data went off. I'm a bit surprised that they didn't go after the breadcrumbs I left. Given what I had to do to back trace they were good enough to have noticed."

"I suspect they were just confirming what I told the Seattle Police and are going to rely on their other sources for the rest. Most likely I'll be contacted again tomorrow."

"Keep me informed."

"Roger." Bond rang off. Now that his mission seemed to be in hurry up and wait mode he'd have time to investigate the micro-brew pub he'd overheard the gorgeous receptionist at the police department raving to her girlfriend about.

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

The previous night had gone well. James found the beer quite palatable, unlike the slop that most Americans seemed to think passed for a decent beverage, and the food first rate. He'd spotted several of the officers he'd seen at the station in the crowd. That was to be expected given the receptionist's glowing recommendation of the place. James watched them for a while but they generally seemed to be unwinding from the work day. He hadn't had a tail on the way in and he made damn sure he didn't have one on the way out. While there had been a number of interesting prospects he had refrained from pursuing any of them. It wasn't' worth the chance of missing a phone call to set up a meeting due to engaging in amorous activities.

As it was he received two texts, one right after each other, at 10:00 the next morning. The first was from the same number that had contacted him yesterday. It merely had an address and a time. The second was from Q and noted that the phone had sent the text from somewhere near the Chittenden Locks and then had been turned off again. A bit of minor research regarding the address revealed that it was Bubba's BBQ purporting to be the best BBQ in the greater Seattle area. Less than 30 minutes later he had the floor plan of not only the restaurant's building but also the entire block courtesy of Q and the City of Seattle who had digitized most of their building permit database. The place was in the basement of an older building with a separate banquet room that could seat about 60. In addition to that room and the main dining room there was also a smaller private room which could take 12 or so diners easily and up to 20 at a pinch. James spent a little over an hour going over the plans as well as satellite imagery and every picture of the place he could scrounge from the internet. While it wasn't as good as scoping the place out in person it was the best he was going to get.

Recon complete he stared at the goldfish that had been inexplicably present in his room when he'd checked in. He'd seen stranger things in hotel rooms but none of those had been placed there by the management. Try as he might James could think of no good reason for including a fish as part of the room's décor. After a few minutes he gave up on the goldfish puzzle and set to cleaning his weapon. It was a good mindless task that left him free to think about his approach. He'd need to go in unarmed of course. Werewolf etiquette dictated that most altercations be settled with tooth and claw. Going armed into the presence of a higher ranked wolf on his own turf without permission could be construed as an insult. He'd have to assume they'd contacted Christianson. That meant they would know he was connected to Britain's intelligence community. So how to reassure them of his intentions regarding their security? James thought for a bit and came up with a plan. Q was definitely not going to like it.

As he walked to the restaurant Bond activated his com. "Q?" he asked once the connection was established.

"Yes, what can I do for you?"

"I'm most likely going to go silent after I get to the meeting.

"I suspected as much. If you leave not of your own will or if you are out of touch for more than two hours I'll take action."

James chuckled at that, "Still sacrificing your promising career in espionage for me?"

"Damn right," was Q's reply.

Bond had made it to the restaurant by that point and gave the hostess his name. She informed him that his party was in the smaller private room, as he had expected, and gestured for him to follow. James took the opportunity to scope out the lay of the land. It was the tail end of the lunch rush. There was a brown haired girl playing something on a battered upright piano in one corner. He could smell werewolf faintly under the pungent BBQ sauce but didn't see anyone in the main room that looked like a wolf. When he was about halfway across the room the piano player finished her tune to a smattering of applause. She looked around somewhat vaguely, presumably for inspiration then suddenly focused on him. She smiled brightly and started in playing, oh no Bond thought, the theme from Mission Impossible.

He heard Q's chuckle over the coms, "Now that's apropos."

James made a noncommittal half-cough in acknowledgement.

The hostess tapped politely on a door in the back wall then held it open for him. Bond squared his shoulders and entered. The room was, as advertised, set up to hold 12 to 15 diners comfortably. It was currently occupied by only two. One of the two was standing against the far wall arms folded across his chest. He was tall, a little over 6 foot, and broad across the shoulders with long black hair braided neatly in a single plait. The ambient lighting flashed off hint of gold in one ear as he shifted his head to look at Bond. Native American in features and coloring his face was schooled in that bored flat expression of bodyguards everywhere. James was not fooled by his relaxed posture. This man was alert and ready for action. He recognized him from both description and having seen him once at a distance. This was Charles Cornick, the Marrok's chief enforcer. James gave a polite nod in his direction and let his suit coat gap enough to show he wasn't armed. Charles shifted slightly, no longer on a hair trigger. Bond acknowledged the stand down then turned his attention to the other man in the room.

The seated gentleman was wearing jeans, a t-shirt and boots. A well-worn leather jacket was draped over the back of the chair he was sitting in. He looked like a stereotypical college student but James could tell it was just a facade. Put that man in a tailored suit and he'd look like a CEO, in fatigues he'd be pegged as Special Forces of some sort. The aura he gave off was one of power with a little bit of something old and dangerous but carefully leashed. Clearly this was the Marrok himself.

James walked purposefully up to the opposite side of the table then stood in a civilian equivalent of parade rest and waited to see what would happen. The Marrok looked him over then drew breath as if to speak. James reacted by raising a finger in warning.

The Marrok cocked his head, curious, and remained silent.

James pulled his earpiece out of his ear and dropped it into one of the glasses sitting on the table. He faintly heard Q say "Oh no, not again" after it hit the bottom of the glass and just before he poured water from the handy pitcher submerging it. James then carefully extracted his phone from a pocket, popped the battery out and laid both pieces on the table.

The Marrok smiled at him as if he had just done something quite clever and said "Please do sit down Mr. Bond."

James pulled out a chair and sat.

After a pause the Marrok started to speak. He had a soft calming voice. "David said that if he still owes you the scotch you need to pay up on that bottle of vodka from Minsk."

"I've not been back there since '83 but I suppose I could get a friend of mine to snag him some."

"That's what he said you'd say," the Marrok smiled again. "So what exactly is a lone wolf with ties to British intelligence doing sniffing about the Master of the Isles death?" he asked conversationally.

As he had so many times before James relied on gut instinct. He could skirt around the issue but that seemed to be the wrong approach. Instead he decided to go with the unadorned truth. "Sir Arthur was working with a contact in the British government on how best to deal with the aftermath of your pending announcement. I was dispatched to determine what happened as well as if and how it was involved in bringing the wolves out of the closet."

"Your governmental official have a name?"

"Mycroft Holmes."

The Marrok looked thoughtful, "Now that's a name I've not heard for a while. Named for his Grandfather I suppose. So what does Mr. Holmes want?"

"Information primarily," James replied. "A bit of advance warning would also be appreciated. He suspects that the situation on the home front will remain unsettled for a while." James fished out a card from his pocket and passed it across the table. "If you wish to speak with him directly his personal mobile is the top number. If he doesn't answer the second number is his PA."

"Hmm," the Marrok picked up the card and looked at it. "You are awfully trusting for a spy Mr. Bond."

"Experience and instinct," James replied calmly while secretly wondering if he'd read the situation wrong.

The Marrok glanced at his companion who simply closed his eyes momentarily. It was in that instant the Bond realized that Charles Cornick was indeed the Marrok's son.

"It was an utter mess," the Marrok started in. "Sunny Madden was killed by a hit team. Arthur died as a result and Jean Chastel was slaughtered in an attempt to frame one of my own and cover their tracks."

James could tell it was the truth. Of course it was clearly not the whole truth but it was the truth none the less. "What kind of team could take out Chastel?" James wondered aloud. Bond had seen the Beast of Gevaudin fight once during the war. He was strong, fast and utterly ruthless.

"Vampires," the Marrok said shortly then added almost as an afterthought, "hired by a Fae and given an artifact to assist them."

"Which Fae?" Bond asked. If they hadn't been dealt with already it was something he was perfectly ready and willing to volunteer to take care of. He had the skills after all.

"Dana, La Bella Dame Sans Merci. She's dead and the artifact has been destroyed."

Bond let the surprise show on his face. It wasn't easy to kill a Fae. Even more difficult to kill one of the Fae with power and any Fae with a sobriquet like that would have been very powerful indeed. "And the vampires?"

"They were independent contractors. The local seethe dealt with them."

That was also the truth and clearly everything the Marrok was going to tell him for now. The rest would most likely be up to Mr. Holmes. James was just about to start making polite excuses when the door to the room suddenly was pushed open. The brown haired piano player stood in the doorway expertly balancing a huge platter of ribs on one arm and carrying a pile of serviettes and packages of wet wipes in her other hand. She walked into the room ignoring the glares both the Marrok and Charles were sending her way.

"Bran," she started in, "It's impolite in the extreme to haul anyone to a meeting at Bubba's and fail to feed them! Now be nice and eat." She placed the platter on the table between the two of them as she spoke. The girl, no female werewolf, then proceeded to walk over to Charles and grab his arm towing him out of the room while saying "and you, my dear, are eating lunch with me!"

James was absolutely stunned at her audacity. Who was this wolf and where did she get off telling the Marrok what to do? To top that why did she remind him strongly of Q? As the door shut behind them he looked at Bran for an explanation.

The Marrok had his face firmly planted in one hand, "Omega wolves," he muttered then looked up at Bond. "Wonderful creatures and a royal pain in the ass. They manage the pack to make everyone and everything happier regardless of whether you want them to do so or not." He raised his head and met James' eyes directly. "A piece of advice when dealing with one, whatever you do, don't ever threaten what an Omega views as theirs. They will destroy you utterly."

James didn't know how he knew but he was suddenly sure that the brown haired girl had a direct hand in the events of the last week and most likely was the cause of the Fae's demise. He couldn't help it. He glanced at the door to make sure it had closed completely behind her.

The Marrok, who had clearly read quite a bit from his reaction, chuckled and grabbed a rib off the platter. "You better help me eat this otherwise we are both going to be in trouble!"


Author's Note: So here are the cameos. Let me know how I did with them.