I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! I'm so sorry it's been so long since I updated. . .I didn't touch my computer for two weeks after I got back from Hawaii. The good news is, aside from my last day (which seems to have traumatized all of my muses), I had a glorious time, and another sequel has been added to my 006 series. More details on that later.
Before I get to the reviews (I apologize in advance. . .I don't like leaving anyone out), I have a question. A while back, I was asked a question. . .why are we so attracted to Alec Trevelyan? I've been having a hard time answering this question, so I thought I'd ask the rest of you. For me, I think it's a combination of the vulnerability we see in him several times during the film, his seeming reluctance to kill James, and a niggling doubt that he truly defected after Arkangel. So. Why is Alec Trevelyan so special to you?
Oh yes, and an addition to the disclaimer: James' musings about his uncle being brainwashed into attacking the previous M comes from the book, The Man With The Golden Gun. Which I have been trying to read. But given this story, I couldn't NOT include it.
Also, special thanks go to Iolana, for her help in making sure I didn't go too far with the torture, the love scenes. . .or turn our beloved Alec into a wimp.
Reviews:
Terreis: Okay, Mel, technically you didn't review this last chapter, but since you're always so great about serving as a sounding board. . .you deserved a mention. Besides, given how the last few weeks have been for you. . . Hugs to your family, and tell Elyse she has a package coming.
Rhivanna: Thank you, I'm so glad you love my story! I adore your quotes. . .another Steve MacDonald fan. YEA! Another Boromir/Alec/Ian fan! YEA! Yes, Sabrina is far more like her father than she realizes. Far more than anyone, including Alec himself, realizes. I love your story, and I can't wait to see what comes next.
Elenhin: Hi Starchild! I was wondering when you would make your way to this one. I haven't seen you around my LOTR fic lately (admittedly, I haven't updated for a while, but Boromir has been difficult). You'll get no argument from me. . .I adore Sean Bean and have for years. (Even if I hated his character in the first movie I saw). I will admit, I struggled with Bond's reaction to the tapes, far more than I did with Alec.
Daughter of Olorin (ch 1): Really, I'm not actually a James Bond fan myself. I loved Pierce Brosnan movies (although I hated The World is Not Enough), but like so many others, I just can't stay away from 006. Please, no apologies necessary for waiting so long to read it. I know people who don't go near a story 'til it's finished.
Daughter of Olorin (ch 2): While the theory that James Bond isn't one person isn't new, I think I'm the first one who has come up with the idea that the James Bond we see starting in GoldenEye is related in some way to the original. If anyone else has done that, I don't know about it. As for the ultimate reason why Alec was the target. . .I'm afraid you'll have to wait a while for that.
Daughter of Olorin (ch 3): Honestly, given what happened in GoldenEye and Alec's profession even before his capture, there's no way I could have made things all cotton candy and bunnies. He was a double-oh agent, with the license to kill. . .and he couldn't afford to be 'nice.' (giggles) And the water pistol has proven to be very popular. I just couldn't resist, not after imagining the look on Bond's face when he realized this child was holding a water pistol, of all things, on him.
Daughter of Olorin (ch 4): Yeah, Jack usually calls Alec 'Al' and Rowanne 'Ro.' (Personally, I think she got the better end of that deal). Given the way he regularly (and cheerfully) mutilated Bond's name, he would probably do the same to Alec and Rowanne. In truth, most of my recent stories have had couples starting under circumstances that either as dark as Alec and Rowanne's first meeting, or even darker. (Notable exceptions are Ian and Jocelyn, in my National Treasure fic Heart Bound in Chains, and Ardeth and Celia in my Mummy fics)
Daughter of Olorin (ch 5): Thank you for your comments regarding my grammar and spelling. My sophomore English teacher would kick my butt if I wasn't careful, given the amount of effort he put into making sure we could write proper grammar. I'm glad Alec's resurrection didn't come across as deux ex machina. I try to avoid that as much as possible And before I forget again. . .I LOVE your pen name! Gandalf rocks! (But then, so does Boromir)
Daughter of Olorin (ch 6): Sabrina and Rowanne are definitely growing closer, and they will continue to do so. So glad someone noticed Sabrina referring to Rowanne as 'mum.' Bond has been difficult for me to write in this story, but I wanted to make sure it was believable. He has believed for the last nine years that his best friend, his little brother, betrayed him and everything they believed in. It's not so easy to let that go, and let down his guard, even once he accepts the truth.
Daughter of Olorin (ch 7): I'm not sure if I mentioned it earlier, but yes. . .Alec's birth father was named 'Vesseney.' According to the research I did, it is the Cossack equivalent of 'Vincent.' I can't take credit for Wade, as I'm just going by the outlines laid down for him in GoldenEye and Tomorrow Never Dies. . .but Matthew is proving to be a lot of fun to write. And Natalya flat-out told me to include the scared children remark. I don't argue with Miss Natalya.
Daughter of Olorin (ch 8): You know, I loved that line in the movie as well. Yeah, I know exactly what you mean about Janus. Sure, I know that Bond villains routinely underestimate Our Hero, but for crying out loud! Alec was once a double-oh agent (and did you notice, he still wore his Q-invented watch?). . .not only that, but James was his best friend. He, of all people, knew what James could do. It makes no sense for him to keep putting James in situations that he knew James had a good chance of escaping. And the whole 'For England, James?' Helllo! You are hanging upside down, the only between you and a long drop and a sudden stop (thank you, Commodore James Norrington) is your former best friend's hand, and you deliberately say something guaranteed to tick him off? Uh. . .no. Nope, Alec said that so James would let him go, and put a stop to Janus once and for all. (giggles) Sebastian often writes his own dialogue and the 'take us to your leader?' was no different. There's actually more to the whole Orlov thing, but you'll find that out at the end of the story. No harm done. . .while I usually wait until I'm fully awake to post a story, sometimes, a mistake slips through, and I figured that was what happened in that case.
Daughter of Olorin (ch 9): Whew! And now I'm caught up! Things, of course, will not be easy for some time between James and Alec. I'm trying to decide just how bad things get before Janus decides to show up (oops. . .minor, itsy-bitsy spoiler there). And no, Alec's scars did not come from the factory explosion. . .full explanation in this section. Thank you so much for your in-depth reviews. Those are my favorite kind. I do apologize for not covering everything in my responses. To everyone else. . .thank you for waiting. I just didn't want to leave anyone out.
Caught in the Game Again
Part Nine
Seeing Isn't Always Believing
Alec left his wife kneeling on the floor, her head bowed. As he reached the door, he stopped and turned, looking at Rowanne. The ex-agent resisted the impulse to turn back, to kiss the nape of her neck. Resisted, but just barely. Instead, he quietly left the library and headed for the one section of the house that he generally avoided. The media room, where the tapes of his torture and interrogation could be found. He wished there was a way to prepare himself for what would come. Oh, he viewed interrogations in the past. But never his own.
I don't know if I'm strong enough to do this, he thought, able to admit the truth to himself, if not to anyone else. I don't know, but I have to do this. The ones who created Janus, they're coming, and I've got to be ready. I was unprepared the last time. I can't afford any more mistakes. I have to be ready. . .my wife saw those tapes, and the world of espionage was totally alien to her. I can't do any less. I have to take the chance that what I'll see on those tapes will bring back Janus. . .permanently.
Alec didn't want that to happen. He almost lost Rowanne and Sassy the first time Janus was freed. For that matter, he didn't want any of this. But the dark djinn was released from its bottle, and now they had to deal with it as best as they could. Besides, if he was truly honest with himself, he had to admit, he was looking forward to payback. Janus' creators put him through hell. . .him, and too many people who mattered to Alec. He sighed, turning his face up to the sun as it filtered into the house. Coming from the darkness into the light. He smiled in spite of himself. The light. Alec was continuously amazed how the senses could bring forth memories. He closed his eyes, inhaling a little as the sensations swamped over him. But he didn't fight these memories, for two reasons. One. . .he knew he needed the strength to watch what was ahead of him. And two. . .two, these were good memories. A faint smile teased the corners of his mouth. Yes, very good memories!
He was passing the sun room. Sitting just inside the door was a chaise lounge, currently covered in plastic. The fabric was starting to fall apart, and they kept forgetting to have it redone. That chaise lounge, and the smell of the air, took him back more than three years. His memory was still Swiss-cheese (term provided by Rowanne, who was fascinated by the television Quantum Leap), but in all truth, he didn't give a damn.
At this time, they were still at the old compound. Talk of rebuilding this house was still just that, talk. Sabrina wasn't with them. He knew very few facts about Rowanne or Sassy. And again, he didn't care. He concentrated only on healing and regaining his strength. At the old compound, that lounge was placed outside, in a space that was protected from the sun but still warmed by its rays. Alec enjoyed lying outside. By this time, he was walking more or less on his own. He still had dizzy spells, especially when he tried to do too much, but for the most part, Alec was independent. Many times, he would go outside during the afternoon and read a book he borrowed from Rowanne. . .even falling asleep on occasion.
That wasn't the case on this particular day. Alec managed to read three chapters before resting. He lay his book down on his chest and sighed quietly. The only sounds he could hear was the calls of the birds and the sound of the surf. Alec was drowsy, nearly asleep, when he sensed that he was no longer alone. The blond-haired man opened his eyes to see Rowanne leaning against the door, arms folded over her chest. She wore what was quickly becoming his favorite outfit. . .an emerald green skirt and white peasant blouse. Her hair was loose and damp. . .she either showered or went swimming. Each was an equal bet, for a quick glance from head to toe told him that she was also barefoot. He asked a bit hoarsely, "How long have you been standing there?"
"Not long. You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb you," Rowanne told him with a faint smile. Alec didn't really think about what he was doing. . .he just reached out his hand to her. She walked over to the chaise lounge, her body blocking out the sun momentarily, and took his hand, sitting down beside him. Rowanne looked at the book, her smile broadening as she cocked her head to one side, and requested in a teasing voice, "Please don't tell me that the book put you to sleep. . . it's one of my favorites!"
"It didn't," Alec defended. . .though he wasn't sure if he was defending himself or the book, "the sun did!" Rowanne grinned impishly and Alec added almost sheepishly, "I hope you don't mind." She told him many times in the past that unless he went into the book stash under her bed, he was free to borrow anything he liked. She just laughed, shaking her head. Alec relaxed, albeit briefly. Perhaps it was his own sleepy state, or the warmth of the sun, but he asked a question that long troubled him, "Rowanne? Were. . .were we lovers?"
Her smile faded a little, though none of the warmth in her expression did. It was an odd expression, actually. She looked. . .surprised. Not upset, as such. But surprised. And after a moment, she nodded. Alec felt something loosen in his chest. That explained so much. So many things didn't quite add up, with the information he had at his disposal. But now. . .yes, a lot more things made sense now. He went on, "Is that why you saved my life? Because we were lovers. . .before?"
"It had a bearing, yes. There were a lot of reasons, really. We were lovers, that was one reason," Rowanne told him. Alec nodded, accepting this. Seldom did Rowanne have just one reason for doing something. This, he learned in the time since his awakening. There was another question to be answered. . .if he and Rowanne were lovers, was he Sassy's father? However, Alec wasn't ready to hear the answer to that question. Sassy's mother continued, "And. . .well, and I know what was done to you. I couldn't have lived with myself if I let you die." That statement worried him a little. . . what did she mean, what was done to him? Before he could ask, however, Rowanne had one of her own for him, asking, "Do you remember?"
"Not. . .memories. More like. . .flashes. I see you under me. . .feel you," Alec answered honestly. More or less. He just didn't understand the emotions he felt. . .or rather, the emotions he remembered feeling. Rowanne shifted a little, picking up the book and marking his place, then set it aside. She turned her full attention back to him, and Alec was embarrassed to realize that his shirt was mostly open. Embarrassed and. . . He inhaled sharply as Rowanne touched his chest, her hand small and warm against his skin. One thumb began tracing his pectoral muscles, and Alec whispered, "Do you. . .do you think, then. . .that we. . .?"
Rowanne's touch was doing the strangest things to his body. It wasn't as if she never touched him before. He remembered, when he first woke up, feeling her fingers comb through his hair. Then, her touch comforted him. Told him that he wasn't alone, that someone would be strong for him when his own strength failed. But now. . .now, even though he wasn't entirely sure what he was saying, Rowanne seemed to understand. Her thumb stopped its gentle motion, and she asked quietly, "Do you want to?"
"Yes."
The word was out before he could stop. But it was true. During the last few weeks, his desire for her became steadily stronger. Alec kept quiet, because he feared that she didn't feel the same way. And he didn't think he had the right to ask such a thing of her. Until it occurred to him that perhaps they were lovers in the past. Now, he cursed himself for being five kinds of a fool. She wanted him, too. . .he could see it now in her eyes. A long-banked desire that set his heart racing and turned his blood to lava.
His free hand reached up and tentatively touched her face, the first time he could remember ever truly touching her. His fingers caressed the line of her jaw, the outline of her lips, the curve of her cheekbones. She smiled at him, a sweet, sexy smile that sent a fresh spasm of need through his nether regions. Swiss-cheese memory or not, Alec was sure he would remember if a woman's smile ever had that effect on him. He slid his wandering fingers up along her face, before running the suddenly sensitive digits through her hair. Alec gasped a little as she bent her head to kiss him.
Silk. . .he hadn't imagined that her hair would feel like silk. Of course he always thought she had beautiful hair, especially when it was loose about her shoulders, rather than pulled back into a ponytail, but. . . He. . . Alec stopped thinking. He didn't fight the waves of desire. Nor did he fight the small moan of need, of want, of. . .
Regret. Rowanne broke the kiss, breathing heavily, and rested her head on his chest. His heart was thundering now, racing. Why had she broken the kiss? Well, yes, Alec's own breathing was rather ragged, but. . . It didn't matter. He kept telling himself that as he slid his fingers through her hair. Rowanne pressed a kiss to his chest, a light brushing of her lips, and Alec inhaled sharply. If she planned to do that, breaking the kiss would not be a problem, because the rest of his body was aching for the same treatment!
Steady, old boy, he told himself, trying to believe in his words, there's plenty of time for this. And when he could finally breathe without hyperventilating (no mean feat, that), he whispered, "Was that. . .was that like it was before?" She shook her head, without ever changing position. He wondered how she did that, then decided it was probably one of those things about women that he would likely never understand. Which was, now that he thought about it, probably for the best.
"Do you want. . .you'll have to turn over. Rephrase. We'll have to turn over," Rowanne answered. Alec closed his eyes. Was that what he wanted? He really didn't know what he wanted, if he was to be truly honest. He had no idea how long it was since he was with a woman, even before the accident that stole his memory. Alec sighed a little as Rowanne trailed kisses along the side of his jaw, before finally brushing his lips again. She murmured, "Or, we could continue from where we left off a moment ago."
Alec decided he liked that idea a lot better. He remembered almost nothing of his previous life, but there was something seductive about this drowsy, languid mood. Something seductive. . .something erotic. Something sensual. Maybe it was the sun's rays, or maybe it was the young woman lying next to him on the lounge. But he trusted Rowanne implicitly. After five years in a coma, and one year of regaining his strength. . .not trusting her wasn't even an option. He whispered, "What about Sassy?"
"Sassy? Sassy has gone into town with Grandpa Jack. They will likely be there all day. And when they come back, she'll probably be asleep after conning Grandpa Jack into carrying her for the last hour," Rowanne said, her voice rich with laughter and affection. Alec smiled himself, easily imagining the big, bluff Texan wrapped around the tiny pinkie finger of the five year old. Rowanne continued, her voice dropping, "So. . .the house is ours. The guys know better than to disturb us out here."
It was on the tip of his tongue, to ask her why they knew better, but Rowanne pushed aside the edges of his shirt to explore. With the first touch, she promptly drove all thoughts of anything out of his head. . .anything aside from her. Alec sank into the lounge, his hands going to Rowanne's hips for support and stability. And through the thin fabric of her skirt, he could feel as well. He could feel the warmth of her skin, the shape of her legs. Even. . . He moaned a little as Rowanne unleashed a double-pronged attack against his sanity. Her fingers and lips were mapping his torso, but his mind went mercifully blank as he finally realized something very important. Rowanne was wearing only her blouse and skirt. . .nothing else. Nothing underneath.
Little made sense after that. Only color and sensation, breathy moans and soft sighs of pleasure. Caress matched for caress, kiss matched for kiss. And in spite of more than five years of inactivity, Alec forgot nothing. Or rather, his body forgot nothing. Then there was an explosion of red and gold, blue and green. With that fireworks display of sensation, for a moment of eternity, there was no Alec and no Rowanne. There was just one being, fused together with passion and yes, with tenderness.
When Alec came back to himself, when he was capable of rational thought once more, the sun was higher in the sky, and Rowanne was asleep in his arms. He didn't remember falling asleep. . .didn't remember much of anything after their joined bodies went supernova. And yet, here they were. The sun was higher, but there seemed to be a light breeze, chilling Alec's sweat-covered body. Rowanne's breath was soft against his damp skin, her body half on the chaise lounge, half lying on top of him. But Alec found he didn't mind at all. He stroked her hair lightly, and Rowanne mumbled something he couldn't understand and wasn't sure he should try.
Did it really matter, after all? Alec had no idea how long it was since he was with a woman, before the accident that almost claimed his life. His body protested a little at the soreness of his muscles, but this felt too good for him to mind. He closed his eyes, sighing quietly. The motion woke Rowanne, who murmured, "Alec? Are you all right?" Odd that she would ask that. Then again, his shorts were pushed to his ankles, and her body was conveniently covering his own. Which left him in a very interesting position, because what if one of the men who seemed to guard this place came back here? Either way, this could get embarrassing.
However, he only answered, "I'm fine. Are you all right? Did I hurt you?" She raised her head to look at him, her eyes barely open. Her sleepy expression sent another jolt of desire through him, and Alec swallowed hard. Rowanne smiled a little, though whether it was because she could feel his reaction to her or because of something else. . .well, that was anyone's guess. Alec would have never put it in such terms, but for all intents and purposes, with his memory gone, he was a virgin. This was all so new to him.
"I'm fine, sweetheart, but I really think we should take this inside. It's getting a little chilly out here," Rowanne answered. She shifted her body carefully, keeping her eyes focused on his. Alec found he now had enough room to pull his shorts back up. Now, if he could just keep his eyes focused on her face, instead of. . .elsewhere. Rowanne continued, distracting him from the sight of her legs through the gauzy skirt, "Would you like to take this to my bedroom? I think my bed can fit both of us."
"I think we would both be much more comfortable," he admitted with a shy smile. His shorts were back up, and Rowanne shifted once more, this time moving herself off him and off the chaise lounge. She held her hand out to him, and Alec took it. He paused long enough to draw her into his arms and kiss her. Still recovering from the wondrous experience she had just given him, it was the only way Alec knew to say what he wanted to say. 'Thank you' seemed so cheap for what just happened between them. She returned the kiss just as passionately. He felt himself drowning in that kiss, but it didn't matter. Rowanne wouldn't let anything happen to him. And he. . .he wouldn't let anything happen to her. He couldn't let anything happen to her.
The kiss was broken, and still holding onto each other's hands like a pair of children, the pair went to her bedroom. As Rowanne promised, there was more than enough room for them both in the big bed. They made love for hours, not once disturbed by the men, or Jack Wade, or Sassy. Alec was aware, as his head was pillowed on Rowanne's chest, that this was a little. . .odd. Wasn't it his job to protect her, to take care of her? Wasn't it his responsibility to hold her as she slept? And yet, much to his chagrin, he kept falling asleep in her arms, her fingers stroking his hair.
Back in the present, Alec ran his fingers over the chaise lounge once more. That wasn't the last time they made love there. In fact, it was for that reason (among others) that the chaise was falling apart. Alec murmured, "If I live through this, you have my word. We won't neglect you any more. But right now, people have to be my priority, not things." Still holding onto the memories of making love with his wife, before she was his wife and before he realized he had fallen in love with her, Alec took a deep breath and left the sun room to meet his fate.
It took a little longer to start the second tape. Technical difficulties, according to their 'host.' Personally, M thought the others were just as reluctant as she was to watch what came next. She was all too aware that it was the least she owed to Alec Trevelyan, but that didn't make her eager to see what else Orlov and his pet generals did to him. Natalya was just as reluctant, and she had what seemed like a thousand questions for Evan White.
M had to give the big man credit. He answered every question with remarkable patience. He already saw this tape, he knew what was coming. He saw what was done to his boss. And there were times when she was sure the only thing that kept White from lashing out was his promise to his female employer to see this through. He didn't like them. Any of them. The only ones for whom he showed real respect was William Pryce-Meecham and Charles. Everyone else, he tolerated, though just barely. In some ways, his attitude toward them reminded her of her own attitude toward Damian Falco.
William told her about his encounter with the young guard upon his arrival. How the boy labeled the representatives of MI-6 as 'troublemakers,' and threatened to kill them all if they further harmed either of his employers. There was no doubt whatsoever in William's mind that the young man meant it. M didn't doubt it, either. She. . .oh. Evan White rose slowly to his feet, his face looking like it had been chiseled from stone, and said quietly, "Here we go." Oh dear heaven. She swallowed hard, as the picture came into focus. Aslender body hung by its wrists from a fan in the middle of the room. M's blood ran cold. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly, hoping she was imagining this.
She wasn't the only one. M opened her eyes as Natalya murmured, "Nyet." But it was indeed Alec Trevelyan hanging there. Natalya, never tortured herself, had already grasped the point of this particular exercise. Alec wore no shirt, showing the terrible bruises around his ribs and waist. His arms, held in that position, would put more pressure on his already-broken ribs. That wasn't taking into account any internal injuries. It was so simple, but devastatingly efficient. No doubt, it was drawn from the torture techniques of the Middle Ages.
Barbara Mawdsley blinked back tears, seeing the bruises marking Alec's body and even the bruises on his face, in spite of the now-long blond hair and the thickening beard. She bit her lip, hearing his soft moans of pain. The mother in her made her whisper, "Oh, the poor boy." And the agent in her, bean counter or not, swore to avenge this. Oh yes. She understood all too well, and wished she could comfort Natalya.
The young woman again whispered, "Nyet. . .nyet." M couldn't see the younger woman's face, but she was certain there were tears running down her face, and she was equally certain that Natalya was shaking her head. All the denial in the world would not make it go away, though. What they were seeing could not be undone.
Ourumov entered the room, one of his men right behind him. M blinked back her tears, focusing on the second man. Ourumov was beyond her reach, but if there was a way she could make any of his henchmen pay, she would. Ourumov said something which M didn't understand. It wasn't in Russian. However, Alec did understand and spat out a reply, summoning enough energy to kick Ourumov hard in the face. Surprisingly, Natalya actually giggled and at her side, 007 whispered, "What is it?"
"He told Ourumov to kiss his Cossack arse," Natalya replied, still giggling. The laughter stopped briefly, then she murmured, "But on the train, Ourumov seemed surprised when you said Trevelyan was a Lienz Cossack." The Russian barked a command, and the man just inside the door reached over to flick a switch. The switch, M realized with horror, was for the fan. It began turning slowly, carrying Alec Trevelyan with it. He screamed in pain. The sadist operating the camera zoomed in, forcing those watching this to see the agony in the agent's face. Alec's eyes were squeezed shut, and he was mouthing something over and over again.
This time, it was 007 who whispered, "Forgive me, James, forgive me." Alec screamed again as the fan picked up speed. M's oldest child, Justin, was obsessed with Star Trek, the original series, when he was growing up. Sometimes, when she needed a break from paperwork, M would join him as he watched the adventures of Captain James T. Kirk. What was being done to Alec Trevelyan now reminded M of an episode she saw, though she couldn't think why. It was too long ago, and the details long since faded from her mind.
The door opened and closed, revealing a man perhaps ten years older than his captive. He was around the same height as 007, with black hair and handsome features. 007 spat, "Orlov!" M memorized his face, so she would know him when she saw him next. He was twenty years older, but she was a reasonably good artist. She would draw his likeness and send it to Moneypenny to go through the aging program. This was the man who duped them. This was the man who used her agents.
On the screen, Orlov snapped in Russian, "Ourumov! Enough! Slow the fan down!" With an expression that could be best described as sulky, the so-called 'Iron Man' did just that, signaling someone the viewers couldn't see, and the fan began slowing down. A chair was dragged over and Orlov climbed up, catching Alec's torso as the fan brought the half-conscious agent to him. The young man gave a low moan and his head slumped forward even further. He had, mercifully, lost consciousness.
Robinson murmured, "He used it as a shield. Trying to buy himself time." What? She looked at Charles, who explained, "He would allow himself to lose consciousness. I noticed it earlier. In the beginning, they would wake him up, but then they lost interest. I think Orlov feared they would damage him too badly. Alec noticed this, and instead of trying to simply endure the beatings, and the torture, he would allow himself to lose consciousness. That was part of how he stayed Alec for so long. He used whatever tools they unwittingly gave him."
"Sneaky, my lad. . .very sneaky," William murmured, but there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. M agreed. By using a means that some would have considered cowardly, Alec protected MI-6 for as long as he could. The more she watched, the easier it was to believe that the boy who went to Russia with 007 eighteen years earlier did not betray them willingly. He may have hated England for leaving his parents to die. But to betray England meant betraying James Bond. And now, M realized that Alec would never willingly betray his friend.
Now the tears she fought were tears of pride. Alec Trevelyan wasn't one of her agents, but she was proud of him nonetheless. And she was certain that her predecessor would have said the same. As of the time stamp, Alec had been trapped in this hell for nearly three months. The narration at the beginning of this tape explained that to prevent their subject from dying from the beatings and the malnutrition, he was removed from the custody of Ourumov and placed in an infirmary until he regained his strength.
The screen, meanwhile, had faded to black. The next time was for the following day. Alec was now lying on his back, his arms once more suspended over his head. M's blood ran cold, for she immediately recognized the Rack. They had a taste for medieval torture devices, did they? Pity that Ourumov was dead. She would have liked to use a few torture devices on him herself. Remove all of his weapons, then stick him into a small room with six or seven teenagers. After telling the aforementioned teenagers what he had done to Alec Trevelyan.
Teenagers were odd creatures. They could be cocky and a know-it-all. . .or they could be ferociously protective of anyone who suffered an injustice. Especially teenagers like Sabrina Trevelyan. M shuddered. No, she didn't want young Sabrina to see this. It was bad enough that her father endured this. . .bad enough that a naive young girl was a mute, horrified witness to this. . .there was no reason in the world for the child to see what was done to the man who helped to create her. Right around, in fact, the time she would have been born. And there was no question in M's mind. . . if Sabrina Trevelyan saw what Orlov did to her father, she would kill the Russian scientist. M didn't give a damn about Orlov, but she didn't want that for Sabrina. That was MI-6's purpose. . .to make sure the Sabrina Trevelyans of the world didn't carry that burden.
M turned her attention back to the screen. Alec wasn't alone. Orlov was with him once more. The insane scientist was cooing over him, as if Alec was a beloved child whose disobedience resulted in harm to himself. It made her ill to witness it. Especially when the audio picked up Alec's harsh breathing and Orlov's mock-tender words. He was saying, "Why do you fight so? Mmm? Why? They will not come for you, my foolish young friend. Not your beloved friend James. Not for the MI-6 jackals, who abandoned and betrayed you."
"I'll see you in hell," Alec promised, speaking English once more, "I'll see you in hell, and Ourumov with you." Orlov made a movement with his hand, and the young agent whimpered in pain. There was a silence, then Alec began whispering. Orlov frowned thoughtfully, and the audio was turned up louder. M also frowned, which quickly changed to a smile. The boy was reciting the monarchs of England, though she noticed he started with Alfred the Great.
And again, Orlov asked, "Why?" He sounded genuinely bewildered. Alec licked dry, cracked, bloodied lips, almost gasping out the last few monarchs. M had no idea how long the torture went on, before they finally started the memory experiments. . .but it had to be soon. The boy would have died if he had to put up with much more of this. Orlov repeated once more, "Why would you do this?"
"You. . .ever. . .watch. . .American movies? Star Wars. 1977. Obi-Wan. . . Kenobi. Jedi Master. Became far. . .more powerful. . .than Vader. Because. . .of his. . . death. Luke fought harder. . . because of Kenobi's. . .death. So. . .will. . .James. I'm Kenobi. . .only. . .younger. . . and better. . . looking," Alec rasped out. M wasn't sure about that. . .she was quite infatuated with Sir Alec Guinness when she was a young girl. However, he had a point.
Unfortunately, being right didn't spare him. Displeased with Alec's answer, Orlov's face twisted with rage and his hand moved again. Alec screamed in agony, then wept softly as Orlov's hand shifted back. The doctor rose to his face and hovered over the half-conscious agent, hissing, "You are a fool, Alek Vessenovic Denisov. A fool like your father before you. And weak like your mother. But that matters little. You have not yet served your purpose."
The question was, what was that purpose? GoldenEye, she now suspected, was a distraction. If that was the main point of the Janus Syndicate, Orlov and his partner would have made a move to find their creation long ago. However, MI-6 had a prior claim on Alec Trevelyan. . .and she would commit all of the resources available to protect him and his family. You took him from us once, she swore, not again. Never again.
James Bond saw, did, and experienced things on a regular basis that no human being should ever have to endure. He saw friends die, felt the bitterness of failure when he could not save someone under his protection, and killed more men than he could count. He was tortured and left to die in a North Korean prison. Abandoned and betrayed by someone within his own agency. Lost a brother, only to find him alive and a traitor to everything he believed in.
Only to find. . .he never betrayed them. Didn't betray James. Didn't betray MI-6. James fought desperately to hold onto his anger and his hatred and his certainty that he was stronger than Alec. He was strong in North Korea; shouldn't Alec have shown the same strength in Russia? He wanted to believe that, but it wasn't so easy. Not after seeing this. He was tortured in North Korea, yes, and he would likely bear the scars from that for the rest of his life. But they were looking for information, and these people. . .these people tortured Alec for pleasure. Simply because they enjoyed causing pain. And that was the only reason.
They hurt his little brother, and he didn't know about it. He thought Alec was dead. Alec knew that, and warned the Russians that James would come after them, twice as hard as before. He was right. As if that wasn't bad enough, there was Alec's plea to him to forgive him. Forgive him for what?
No, Alec, he thought, no. The question was. . .did he mean he couldn't forgive Alec? Or that of the two, it was James who needed to be forgiven? He didn't know. Nor did he know at the time that Alec was still alive and that he needed him. Was that good enough?
Looking back at Arkangelsk, he wondered if there were things he could have done differently, ways that he could have taken Alec with him. Would have, could have, should have. The seeds were already planted, the seeds of doubt. Alec, his friend, remained. And Janus. . .Janus was someone, something, separate. Janus was an abomination who wore his friend's face and spoke with his voice, but it wasn't Alec. They weren't the same person. They were light and dark twins, in the same body.
A sound distracted him, and Bond turned in his seat to investigate. Only to find himself staring at Alec Trevelyan. His old friend was staring in horror at the images on the screen. And James. . . James found that he couldn't look away. He heard the twenty-seven year old Alec's screams of agony, and saw horror, pity, grief, and rage reflected in the eyes of the forty-four year old Alec. Evan White was at his side, a gentle hand on his shoulder. And it occurred to James that it should be him, comforting Alec, supporting him, but the agent's legs refused to move.
He couldn't look away from Alec's face. Not until an unearthly scream of pain tore his eyes away, and refocused his attention on the screen. M whispered, "Oh dear God. No." His blood ran cold. He thought the Rack was bad. He thought Alec suspended from the bloody ceiling fan was bad. But this. . .both of those paled in comparison. He should have seen this before. Should have realized that Alec's scars were too neat, too precise, for him to have received them at Arkangelsk, when the chemical factory blew up.
Alec didn't receive those scars from the explosion. He received them as part of the torture. Too neat. Too precise. Once more, mercifully, he sank into unconsciousness. . .but only after screaming his throat raw. 'You gave this face to me,' Janus told him among the ruins of Soviet giants. But that wasn't true. That wasn't true, because Alec received those godawful scars that twisted and marred his flesh at the hands of the monsters who used him and James.
Red hot iron rods, heated God only knew how, then pressed against the face of the still-unconscious young man. Very neat, very precise. Down his cheek, lightly brushing the corner of an ear lobe, and down his neck. And then there was the expression on Orlov's face. Damn him to hell. James' hands, which were fastened around his knees, now began tightening. Even unconscious, Alec whimpered in pain, and James' hands tightened further. He had to keep tightening his hands on his own flesh, or he would put both fists through the tv screen.
He was a double-oh agent. He couldn't afford to lose control. Not even when faced by this. . .this. . .James shook his head mutely, finally tearing his eyes away from his friend's ruined face. Was that why Rowanne Trevelyan chose to have Alec's scars removed? Did she know how he came by those scars, of the torture he endured? Or was she simply trying to set him free? Free of the burden of Janus, in whatever way she could? James didn't have the answer, and looking into Alec's, present-day Alec's, face. . .he wasn't sure it mattered. Alec had no idea this was done to him.
Evan White held him in a tight grip, and James wondered if his uncle had someone there when he was captured and brainwashed into attacking M. He knew that the brainwashing was removed, but was someone there to help him? To put him back together? Was there a Rowanne Bramwell, who looked after him and took care of him? Did his uncle, also one of the finest agents in MI-6, ever have to endure something like this? Odd, he hadn't thought of that terrible time, when he believed Uncle James was lost to him. . .not in years.
He wanted to hold onto his anger. Wanted to hold onto his suspicion. Alec Trevelyan's betrayal tore out half his soul. And he couldn't afford what a second betrayal would do to him. But the young agent on the screen and the older version of that agent were making that bloody difficult for him. James tried to tell himself that data could be manipulated. That. . .that all of this was a terrible hoax. A hand touched his own, and James tore his eyes away from Alec, to look at William Pryce-Meecham. The old man held his gaze and shook his head very slowly.
James tried to swallow, failed miserably, and his former instructor said softly, "I know what you're thinking, lad. But you're wrong. None of this is a hoax. I've read the reports of the experiments and the torture. Sebastian saw the footage on the tapes that Orlov left behind in his labs. This all happened to Alec after he was captured. The child spoke the truth. Every word of what she told you was the truth. The question which remains, then, is how you will deal with this. You know now that Orlov set you up. . .set you both up. What will you do with that knowledge, 007? What will you make of it?"
The agent didn't answer immediately. He was caught between being an agent and being an older brother; between his fierce affection for Alec and his equally fierce hatred for Janus. But Alec wasn't Janus. . .they weren't the same person. It was a battle to accept that. Even with Alec's repaired face and his new mission in life, it was hard to accept. An image flashed through his mind. Alec on his knees, Ourumov's pistol pressed against his forehead. The gunshot that he believed ended his friend's life, and the gunshot that tore out his heart. Alec was gone. That bastard murdered Alec. James would have abandoned the bloody mission to save Alec, and then that bastard murdered him.
And all this time. . .all of it. . . James drew in a deep, shuddering breath, whispering, "I don't know. I can't think." He could say that to William. He knew. Of all people, he would. . .could. . .understand. William's hand tightened over his own, and James looked up at the old man. Much to his surprise, the younger agent saw tears in the eyes of the older. Of course. William loved Alec as a son. This had to be killing him.
"Good. That's good. Because we must proceed with caution, my boy. Custos and Orlov are very smart men. They're stupid, but they're also smart. I want to rip out their hearts, both of them, for what they did to my boy. But we can't afford to do anything foolish. The risk is far too great. What they could do to our agencies and to the agencies of friendly nations is far too devastating. It will be hard, but if we want to protect our interests and avenge what was done to Alec and the others. . .we must be patient," William said quietly.
Others? What others? His former instructor explained sadly, "This was only the beginning, James. At least for Alec. But in theyears leading up to his capture, there were others taken prisoner and tested. They died, James. . .all indications are that they all died. Alec was the first success. But even that was undermined. In spite of everything, there was a piece of Alec Trevelyan which remained dormant within Janus. Be patient, James. Be patient, and listen." That would be easier said than done. . .but James Bond was no longer certain that he had a choice in the matter. If, indeed, he ever did.
This can't be happening. This isn't real. None of this is real.
He wanted to believe that. But all indications, all evidence, was to the contrary. If the steely strength in Evan White was real. . .so were the images on the screen. Alec's head was spinning, and it was only the Marine keeping him upright, rather than collapsing from sheer dizziness. Was his head spinning, or was the world spinning? Maybe that was it. The world had gone mad. He saw himself, and yet, not himself on that screen. Was he ever that young? It couldn't be. Not possible. But even as he denied this, the horrific images were burned into his mind, and knocked the gears of his mind loose.
This wasn't real. And yet, the picture didn't change. There was still the boy who wore Alec's face. He was young. God, he was so young! So, terribly young. Five years younger than Alec's wife was now. Five years older than she was when the met. Why had he never realized just how young twenty-seven really was? As if that wasn't surreal enough, seeing that boy with Alec's own face, there was the torture itself. Somewhere in the back of Alec Trevelyan's mind, he was observing the techniques with a detached fascination.
A detachment which faded when he saw the red-hot iron rods. No. No. He shook his head mutely. No. This. . .no. Alec was only vaguely aware of Evan's arms tightening. Oh gods, no. He gave a low moan of denial, only barely recognizing it as his own. And Alec heard a woman crying. Who was crying? Rowanne? No, Rowanne was still in the library. He left her there. Sabrina and Sassy took their new friend Sebastian to the pool area after he finished his swim, along with Matthew Wade. They arrived just as he was leaving.
Who was crying? He couldn't be certain. There was no wetness on his own cheeks, so he knew it wasn't him. Who was crying? It was a woman. Yes, it was a woman. M, the new M? No. No, somehow, he thought not. She would be all too aware of being considered weak. A figure approached them. Alec pulled back, unconsciously retreating to safety. Then the figure blocked his view to the boy, and Alec relaxed. He knew this man. Charles Robinson asked softly, "What can I do?" Charles. Yes. But Charles wasn't supposed to be here, was he?
"Help me get him into a chair. Easy, boss. . .'s all right. We got'cha. . .now let us do all the work," Evan said in a gentle voice. Alec leaned heavily against the young man. Young? Yes. Yes, he was the same age as Rowanne, or thereabouts. Young. Not as young as the boy on the screen, but young enough. The pair maneuvered Alec into a chair, and he did nothing to help or hinder them. There was no strength in his legs, it seemed. He couldn't look away from the pictures on the screen. The burning poker was pressed to the boy's face, in a cruel mockery of a tender caress. In just the same way Rowanne sometimes caressed his face.
But it wasn't Rowanne touching him. Even when she was most angry, her grief over her sister's death at its most raw, she was never cruel like that. She didn't delight in causing pain. She wasn't like that. Maybe she could be. But it wouldn't last long. He knew his Rowanne. He knew all of her. He knew her smile and her frown, the gentleness of her touch and the sharpness of her mind. She wasn't like that. She was good. Like that old Western he and James watched once, when they were half-asleep. Angel and the Badman. She was his angel.
Alec closed his eyes to the horror of what was done to the boy, calling forth the memories of Rowanne once more. The harsh breathing of the boy melded with his own gasps as Rowanne explored his body for the first time. The whimpers he made, even while unconscious, became Alec's moans as Rowanne's body fused with his own. The crooning words of that monster torturing the boy was overwhelmed by the sound of Rowanne's soft singing as Alec lay his head in her lap. He closed his eyes even tighter, and could almost feel her fingers weaving through his hair as he drifted off to sleep.
Through the dull roaring in his ears, Alec could hear Evan telling Charles, "Stay with him. I'll get a wastebasket." Why? As if hearing his question, the big man explained, "I think the boss may be going into shock. I want a wastebasket handy, in case he starts throwing up. After I get that, I need to leave the room. . .I want to get a blanket for him. Boss, you just rest. Agent Robinson will take care of you." Alec barely managed a nod. He didn't care. He didn't care what happened. He wanted Rowanne.
No. No, he didn't. He didn't want Rowanne in here. Never mind that she had already seen this, that was hardly the point. He didn't want her to see this. He didn't want her to see him like this. Alec barely registered the hands on his shoulders. But he did hear Charles murmur, "It's all right, Alec. I know, I asked you to keep me out of this, but I couldn't do that. I had to see what they did to you. I wish I had known. If we had known, Alec, we would have come for you. We never would have left you there."
Alec shivered and hands began rubbing warmth back into his trembling body. He was cold. Why was he so cold? More and more, he felt himself distanced from his own body. Nothing seemed real to him any more. Not the hands trying to rub warmth back into his arms. Not the voice he was hearing. Nothing. He couldn't understand why he was so cold. Couldn't understand why he felt so sick. And above all, why wouldn't anyone help that poor boy? They were torturing him, why didn't anyone see that?
And what sort of people would watch such a movie? It was monstrous. Like watching old movies about what the Nazis did to their prisoners. Alec croaked out, "Help him. Help the boy. They'll kill him." They'll kill him, they'll. . . Alec shuddered. Him. They did that to him. He was twenty-seven years old, captured at Arkangelsk, while he and James were there to take out the chemical weapons facility. It was six months after he found out about his parents and how they died. Six months. . . and just a short time after he came home from Scotland.
Memories began tearing free then. Yes, tearing free, because it felt like Alec's soul was being torn asunder by a Roman scourge. He remembered himself, eighteen years earlier, leaning back in Cassandra's arms as she talked about what she wanted to do when she got home to Canada. He remembered feeling at peace, Cassandra's innocent questions about taking revenge on people who had no part in atrocities. The people whom Alec knew now. . .they were not responsible for that betrayal. James, like Alec, wasn't even born yet. Did he really want to destroy James, because of something that happened before either of them were born? What kind of monster would that make him?
No. No, the only remaining child of Vesseney and Anna Denisov would not take that path. He was still angry with England, he was still angry with MI-6. But by now, Alec realized that someone put that file in his door to push him into a rash action. He would not oblige them. He would not allow them to use the deaths of his parents, the death of his older brother, like that. Cassandra must have sensed the change in him, because she stopped talking and smiled at him. Alec smiled back and in a quick motion, rolled her onto her back. Her smile broadened, and then they. . .
His decision. He made his decision. . .and then they took it from him. Those bastards. Those bloody bastards! In the present, Charles' arms tightened, but Alec barely noticed. Memories were flowing freely now. The fan, that bloody fan. . .they tied him to that, and then turned it on. He was hanging from it, with ribs that were already broken. He remembered everything now. He remembered the agony, and his own whimpers of pain. Orlov. He remembered Orlov. He remembered Ourumov. He remembered waking up in a cell, his forehead bloody thanks to the bullet that grazed him.
Bloody hell, 007, he had mumbled, you're slipping. And the sudden agony that erupted in his gut when Ourumov kicked him. The first beating. The others that came afterward. The thirst, which was worse than the hunger. The pain. Not being able to breathe after one of the more vicious beatings. The memory of waking up with a badly-burned face, the searing agony that pulsed through his head as a result of those burns. And. . .the Catherine wheel, which almost broke him.
The Catherine wheel. An ancient device of torture, designed to draw out the suffering of its victim for days. In the back of his mind, where his darkest side remained, Alec could suddenly see Janus staring back at him. With a mocking smile, Janus gestured to something off to his right. Silently dreading whatever would come, Alec shifted his eyes from Janus to. . . Oh no. Oh gods, no. Not that. Janus whispered, "The key to breaking her was there all the time, Alec. In the recesses of your memory." Breaking her. Destroying her for being innocent when his own was lost.
No, he said fiercely, no. You can't have her. You can't have her! You will never have her! Janus merely laughed, that horrible hissing sound that sounded so much like a snake. Alec's already devastated psyche had enough. Confronted with the image of his wife, his Rowanne, his angel, on the Catherine wheel. . .Alec Trevelyan had enough. With a soft moan, he slumped forward. He was unconscious before he could hit the ground.
Thus, he never heard the returning Evan White cry out, "Turn that off, now! You, old man. . .go get Juturna! Tell her that Janus needs her, now! Stay away from him, Bond! We'll take care of him." Alec knew none of this. His mind shut down, leaving him unconscious and oblivious to everything. And perhaps that was necessary to save his sanity. Perhaps, it was necessary all along, for Janus to be born. Perhaps.