Summary: Former 007 Sam Carmichael's Mamma Mia! family meets his spy family. Bright Star 'verse. Follows after the 2009 scenes in my story "To Give Life a Shape." Please read at least some of the other stories in my 'verse before tackling this one or it will make very little sense.

Bright Star 'verse: Basically, Sam Carmichael from Mamma Mia! is the 007 played by Pierce Brosnan, who isn't named James Bond. The name James Bond in my 'verse is used only by the Daniel Craig version of the character, who doesn't appear in this story. The Timothy Dalton version of the character does, and is named Damien Drake, and his son Danny is also the new Q played by Ben Whishaw, but he's not Q yet. Got that? See, that's why you need to read the rest of the series. It's really complicated otherwise.

Even so, I dropped Rosie and Tanya from Mamma Mia! from the story because there were just way too many characters for me to handle.

I'm posting this under the Bond fandom even though it's technically a crossover with Mamma Mia! because all the rest of my stories in this 'verse are in this section.

Mamma Mia!

Chapter 1

September 2009

Sam Carmichael, ex-007 of MI6, grinning and looking wonderfully tanned, slid into an empty seat at the hotel bar next to a man sipping a vodka martini. This man was several years older than Sam and casually elegant in a grey suit with the top button of his shirt undone and once-dark hair smoothed back in natural waves.

"I'll have the same," he told the bartender, who nodded and silently began mixing the drink.

His companion raised an expressive brow at him, questioning Sam on why he had called him here.

"Guess what."

"I'm sure you're about to tell me anyway," Damien Drake, also an ex-007 (Sam's predecessor in the designation, actually), said wryly. Judging by the twinkling of his eyes and curve of his lips, he was more amused than annoyed. "You're fairly bursting at the seams, Sam."

Sam leaned in and said, with the air of a man sharing confidences, "You, my friend, are looking at a married man."

Damien blinked slowly and sat back in his seat to get a better look at his friend. "You got married." He sighed and shook his head. "Sam, I know retirement has been driving you up the wall, but-"

Sam waved a hand to cut him off. "No, no, no, it's great. I'm not crazy," he protested, then paused, "Alright, maybe the situation is a little crazy, even by our standards."

Damien finished his drink and ordered another, silently inviting Sam to explain himself and persuade him that he hadn't gone completely bonkers.

. . . . .

So Sam told him about how he had met bright, beautiful, fun-loving, and free-willed Donna Sheridan in Greece years back when they had both been young and carefree, and how he had fallen deeply in love with her, despite already being engaged to someone else back home. Then he described how there had been two other men in the picture, and well, things hadn't turned out the way he'd wanted them to, and he'd ended up going home and marrying his fiancée instead because he was an idiot.

Fast-forward some twenty years later, and he was now a retired double-oh agent trying to acclimate to civilian life (and getting absolutely bored with the architecture business he'd started in order to fill his time), when he received a wedding invitation out of the blue from Donna for her twenty-year-old daughter, whom he'd never met. The wedding was to be held at the little Greek island where he'd met her mother…

(At this point, Damien let out the first of the many groans he'd utter during this explanation. He could see where this was going.)

So he had met Sophie and she was just as wonderful as her mother, who was as beautiful and independent as ever. The longer he'd spent with the girl, the more convinced he'd been that she was his daughter, and it had culminated in all three men - all of whom Sophie had invited in secret, using her mother's name - stepping forward as her father because they had all come to the same conclusion. At the same time. At the wedding. In the church.

(Damien had his head in his hands, muttering "No, no, no" under his breath.)

And then, Donna had confessed that she didn't know which of the three men was really Sophie's father, which had caused something of a hubbub until one of the men had proclaimed that he didn't care and would love to have even one-third of Sophie. Well, the other two men had heartily agreed, and now Sam, Bill, and Harry were the proud fathers of one-third of a daughter.

("Sam, you utter loon.")

And then, Sophie had decided that she didn't want to get married after all and called off the wedding in favor of traveling around the world with her would-be husband.

And then, Sam had told Donna that he'd loved her all along and he knew that Donna felt the same - ("My god, Sam. Please tell me you didn't.") - and had gotten down on one knee and proposed using a ring he'd bought on the fly that morning.

("For heaven's sake, Sam Carmichael, you deranged lunatic.")

And they'd gotten married right then and there - oh yes, he'd divorced Lorraine ages ago, before MI6 came calling - and then it was all a bed of roses, and now he wanted to introduce his crazy new family to his other crazy family.

. . . . .

There was dead silence for a long minute when Sam finished his mad tale of how he had gotten married to a woman he barely knew.

Damien rubbed his temples, gathering his thoughts. "You're sharing one daughter with two other possible fathers? Didn't you have a paternity test done? Sam!" he said reprovingly, worried that such a seasoned spy had possibly been hoodwinked by a less-than-honest pair of conwomen or that he had jumped into this simply because he was bored. The latter was much more likely.

"But that's the beauty of it, Damien," Sam protested. "We don't care who her biological father is. She's a daughter to all three of us and we all love her. We don't mind sharing. She's...oh, she's absolutely marvelous. Great girl, just like her mum," he said, and pulled out his phone to show Damien pictures of his girls and the other two dads.

Damien sighed and looked at his friend. He hadn't seen him like this since...Well, ever, really. He'd never seen Sam Carmichael positively dizzy in love and fit to burst into song.

"I'm glad you're happy, Sam," he said quietly.

Sam looked at him a little sheepishly. "You must think I'm barking mad."

Damien snorted. "A little. But you always have been, so it's nothing new."

"It's like this," Sam tried to explain. "Did you do a test when Danny was born to find out if he was really yours?"

"No, not when he was first born," Damien said with a sigh. "I did when he was a couple of months old. The only reason I even had it done was because I didn't know anything about his mother's family medical history, and I couldn't tell them for certain that I was his biological father. He had so many health problems back then that they wanted to be sure. Nothing would have changed, as far as I was concerned, because for all intents and purposes, I was his father. I was committed, and I would have raised him and loved him regardless. In the end, though, it turned out that he definitely is mine."

"As if anyone would have doubted that," Sam snorted.

Damien shrugged. "I would recommend you do the test, Sam. You don't have to look at the results, as long as there's nothing terrible medically running in any of your families that she'll need to keep an eye on or take preventative measures for, but it's good to have it just in case something crops up."

"I'll bring it up with the others," Sam promised. "But you understand, don't you? You wouldn't have cared if it turned out that Danny wasn't your biological son because he was yours regardless. That's how I feel about Sophie. I know she's all grown up and she doesn't really need a dad, never mind three, but…"

Damien smiled softly. "I understand." And he did.

"I thought you might," Sam said with an uncharacteristic trace of shyness, "That's why I wanted to tackle you first. Now to tell everyone else. Break me out if they put me in the loony bin, will you?"

Damien snickered. "Only if I can be there when you tell them. I'd love to see the look on Stuart's face. And Victoria." He chuckled.

"Personally, I want to see the look on Danny's," Sam said, looking mischievous. "Ivar already thinks we Brits are all insane and won't bat an eye."

Damien grinned in agreement.

"I asked the others to meet me upstairs in about a quarter of an hour," Sam said, standing and tossing down a few bills for the drinks. "Shall we?" His Irish blue eyes twinkled impishly.

"Oh, this will be fun."

. . . . .

Predictably, their reactions were hilarious.

"You did what?!"

"Does she know that she married a bloody assassin?"

"Ex-assassin."

"What if she's after your pension? I'm looking her up right now. Bloody hell, look at her credit score! Sam!"

"A grown daughter?! How old is she?"

"Sam! Is she even yours? What do you mean you didn't do a bloody paternity test? What if she's not yours?"

"Sam Carmichael, are you mad? Did you really have to get married?"

"What were you thinking? Has retirement gone completely to your head?"

"Will the two of you stop laughing? This is a serious situation! Are you pulling our legs?"

"Aww come on, y'all're overreacting. There's worse things he could do with his retirement than get married and settle down with a kid."

"Ivar, not helping."

. . . . .

Sam had reserved a private room at a lovely little restaurant he knew in the nice part of London in honor of the event.

Once everyone had filed in, he got started on introducing them all to each other. This was no easy task, since he had invited everyone he considered family, and this number had nearly doubled since he had gotten married.

Sam had asked his secret service family (all of whom were ex-assassins, except for Danny, who, as one of the top computer geniuses in the world, was really the most dangerous of them all, despite his scant nineteen years of age) to 'please, please act like normal people and don't scare them off because I really like them,' and since they loved him, they were determined to try, for his sake.

Of course, eyebrows went up all around, since most of them were actually not quite normal people.

After all, Harry Bright, as a very serious investment banker, was the most ordinary of them all, and he had been the one to suggest the (very spontaneous - he was proud of this fact) wild idea of sharing fatherhood in the first place. Bill Anderson, the last of the trio of Sophie's dads, was a rather well-known adventurer and travel writer (and, like Sam, also naturally spontaneous).

Sophie and her almost-husband Sky were there, too, having stopped in London while backpacking through Europe on their honeymoon-without-getting-married. They were delightfully sunburnt and ecstatically happy to be reunited with Sophie's new expanded family and to meet her new stepfather's adopted family.

Damien Drake, Victoria Winslow, and Stuart Thomas were all ex-double-oh agents for MI6, just like Sam, and Ivar Bryce had been an American agent with the CIA and DEA before his retirement. Of course, since they were trying to be normal for Sam's sake, they didn't say all of this. There was a mention here and there of them being retired from something rather vague, but they mainly stuck to the truth of being old friends and colleagues of Sam's.

Danny was introduced as Damien's son and thus Sam's 'nephew' in the same way that Sophie had her 'Auntie Rosie' and 'Auntie Tanya.' Sam thought it would be funny to add: "He thinks you're after my pension."

"No, I don't," Danny said quickly, cringing and turning pink about the ears. He could always count on his beloved uncle to embarrass him whenever he got the chance, usually with ammunition that Danny had inadvertently given him.

Thankfully, Donna didn't miss a beat. "Then I hope you know," she said lightly, "that I won't be accepting a penny from him. Can you believe it? He tried to get me a whole new wardrobe. Who needs that many designer outfits? Not to say that I've never dreamed of finding a rich guy and never having money troubles ever again, but everyone does that." She rolled her eyes. "I'm a dungarees kind of woman, and Sam knows it."

Sam's old friends (and nephew) could see that, now that they had met her. Donna was independent, strong-willed, and straightforward. Those qualities, combined with her warm and bubbly personality, made her a much different kind of woman from those Sam had spent his entire career in espionage seducing.

Sam grinned widely and put a gentle arm around his new wife. "It's absolutely heartbreaking. She won't let me spoil her."

"Listen, mister," she told Sam sternly, poking a finger into his chest, "I let you book this ridiculously expensive restaurant tonight. You didn't tell me that it would be this fancy. And this dress!"

Sam caressed her shoulder and dropped his hand to her waist. "Aren't you glad that I convinced you to keep it?" he purred, trying to steer her away from the topic. "You look absolutely stunning in it."

It was a very nice gown, a silky sky-blue fabric in an elegant draped style that emphasized her best assets and made her look like a Greek goddess. Sam's friends spotted his exquisite taste and eye for gauging exact measurements because it was obvious that Donna wouldn't step foot in a high-end dress shop if it was the only place on earth that sold clothes. She'd probably fashion a toga out of bedsheets before she did so.

"I'm sure that this dress is worth more than my savings account," Donna said dryly.

"Significantly more, actually," Danny muttered under his breath, "since your bank account is practically empty." His father elbowed him to shut him up, but Sam heard him anyway and smirked at him.

"Anyway, Danny," Donna said, not having heard (or maybe she had - the twinkle in her eye could mean anything), "Your uncle told me that you're something of an artist. He showed me your drawing."

"What dr- Sam, you kept it?" Sam had indeed kept a faded crayon drawing that Danny had made of a lopsided tiger when he was four years old and had carefully brought it to his new home on Kalokairi with Donna.

Sam beamed. "Framed it. It's in our bedroom."

Danny's face was bright red. "That's...shockingly sentimental of you."

Damien chuckled. "Sam's a romantic at heart. You know that. Gets worse every year," he muttered, ostensibly under his breath, but definitely loudly enough for all to hear.

. . . . .

They eventually sat down around the table chatting amiably and getting to know each other.

The meal was exquisite, and the conversation soon settled between smaller, more intimate groups over the good food and wine.

"So Danny," Harry asked, "What do you do? Are you at uni?"

He had been seated across from Sam's nephew and was trying to make conversation with him, though he would be the first to admit that he knew very little about young people.

"I work in IT," Danny replied, which was true enough.

"Ah, computers are the big thing now, aren't they?" Harry said, "That social media and the Facebook and all. It's all too complicated for an old bugger like me. Who are you with?"

"Universal Exports."

That was the official cover for MI6, and it was what was printed on the business cards for most of their employees.

Bill choked. "Universal Exports, eh? I've, er...heard about them on my travels," he hedged. He turned to his fellow co-parent. "Do you, er...know much about them, Sam?"

Sam inclined his head. "I used to work for them, too," he said, not quite winking (because he was a spy, dammit, and winking wasn't exactly subtle). "We all did, except for Ivar. He worked for...an American-based company."

Bill took that in with a large gulp of his wine. "So your entire family is…?"

"Yes. Well, Danny really is in IT for them, and the rest of us are retired. Does it bother you?"

Sam had to confess that he was actually a little nervous. He liked Bill and wanted him to like him too, and not be walking on eggshells around him because he thought he'd suddenly snap and go on a killing spree.

Bill pursed his lips and nodded. "Well, you're alright, Sam. I'm sure they're fine, too, if you say so. Your family is my family. More exciting than mine, anyway. I've got a fat twin brother. Love him, but he's a bore."

"So Bill," Stuart started, leaning over, "I'm a sailing man, myself. I say, it's a privilege meeting a great adventurer like you. You're famous! I've read all your books."

"How long have you been sailing?" Bill asked. Being sort of a celebrity, he got this quite a bit, but he was happy to oblige, for Sam's sake. And also because it was probably wise to humor an ex-MI6 agent who might actually be an ex-assassin.

"Oh, only about a dozen years. Got The Francis back in '96, been pretty much living on her since then. Can't get enough of it all."

Bill stilled. "The Francis? You're the crazy one-eyed pirate I keep hearing about?" He emptied his glass. Definitely an ex-assassin.

Stuart's friends exchanged amused glances and shook their heads, chuckling. That sounded like him, alright.

Meanwhile, the three young people at the table were getting along swimmingly. Sky was getting tips for the website for Donna's hotel from Danny, who promised to take a look at the coding on the site, and to point them in the right direction for the best equipment for optimal internet strength on their little Greek island in the middle of nowhere. Sophie, who was taking her new role as sister figure to Danny seriously, was smiling fondly at his enthusiasm and how he lit up when talking about computers. In fact, she laughed out loud when Danny quickly went beyond Sky's understanding, resulting in the latter asking him to slow down and explain ("Wait, wait, hold on, mate!").

Harry just watched and listened, having been completely lost from the get-go, but he could tell that Danny Drake was a very intelligent young man.

"Don't you want to go to uni?" he asked him, "It would be a waste of talent and brains for you not to go. You're brilliant! A degree will get you places."

"Er," Danny hemmed, "I've already finished, actually." He squirmed, as he always did when confronted with more-or-less ordinary people, steeling himself for the odd looks he usually got at this point.

"No need to worry about him, Harry," Sam called over from his seat farther down the table, "Our Danny is a certified genius," he boasted. "He's got six doctorates already, and his job's a good one with room to move up. He'll be the youngest head of his department in the history of the company, mark my words."

Danny turned beet-red as everyone turned to look at him.

"Six?" Sophie asked, her jaw dropping dramatically. "Oh. My. God."

"Bloody hell," muttered Sky under his breath, equally dumbfounded.

Sam saw his nephew tense and curl in on himself the way he did when he was arming himself against rejection from his age-peers. It was an expression that Sam would rather never appear on his beloved boy's face but often did. The change was subtle, and a civilian wouldn't have caught it, but to someone who read body language and expressions for a living, the effect was heartbreaking. Yet he had faith...

"That's amazing!" Sophie gushed, her grin brimming with genuine awe, and the entire table (especially the side with the assassins) let out a collective breath.

Sam smiled, relieved, and Donna, with a knowing look, squeezed his hand under the table. He'd known that Sophie - lovely, warm-hearted Sophie - would never reject Danny, no matter how odd or unusual he was, and would only welcome him, just like she had opened her heart up to her three dads, weird quirks and all.

"When did you start uni?" Sky asked, likewise floored but not at all dismissive. "You're nineteen!"

Danny cleared his throat. "When I was twelve. I just kept going, I guess, until I got a job."

Sky uttered another "Bloody hell" and sighed mournfully. "Meanwhile I'm sitting here, twenty-three, and with only half a degree and I dunno if I'll ever finish it."

Danny shrugged, visibly relaxing. "You don't have to, you know. Plenty of successful people don't have academic degrees, and statistically speaking, a degree doesn't guarantee job security or even happiness in the long run anyway. You're better off doing what you love."

Sky nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. I guess so. Thanks, mate. If I do go back, I'll pick your brain for study tips, eh? Might need a tutor, too." He grinned playfully at the younger man - boy, really.

Danny blossomed into a shy smile. "Yes. Of course."

"So Danny. One question." Sophie flipped her long blond hair back and leaned closer, a mischievous smirk on her lips. "Favorite song?"

Danny's family exchanged relieved glances as the conversation between the younger generation moved on to other topics. Their Danny was a lovely boy, but he was rather awkward when he was around people who couldn't adjust quickly enough to sudden surprises like a nineteen-year-old with six doctorates. He tended to vacillate between bashfulness and overcompensating when it came to ordinary people, and he never could hit the right balance.

But Sam's new extended family seemed alright, quite alright.

. . . . .