Note: Pierce Brosnan seems like a lovely man, but he really cannot sing - and he knows it, as evidenced by his tongue-in-cheek performance in the new Cinderella. Now, for your reading pleasure, I present to you...Spies doing karaoke!

Also, beware the parenthetical notes. (I think I might have gone a bit overboard with a couple of them. [Oh well.])

Also #2: Many hugs. Lots of hugging at the end.

Chapter 2

Sam had planned something else that night, so they all trooped out to the street and bundled into their little caravan of cars, with Damien's Aston Martin in the lead and Sam giving directions to the mystified driver.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" Donna asked Danny, with whom she was sharing the back seat.

"None whatsoever," the boy answered, and gave a nonchalant shrug. "Best to just go with it, when it comes to my family."

"You're all very close, aren't you?"

Danny grinned. "My dad and I are the only ones who are actually related, but yeah, they're pretty much siblings, the way they act. They've all been an important part of my life. Even though they're all mad," he said, rather loudly, so as to be heard by the two ex-agents in the front seat.

"We're none of us sane here, Danny-boy, and you know you love it that way," Sam said, leaning back to look at them with a rakish grin and a wink for his wife.

"You're an absolute lunatic, Sam," Danny said, shaking his head like the prim, middle-aged spinster he was at heart, "Getting married without telling us. Really, we ought to be offended that you didn't invite us to the wedding."

"There wasn't time!" Sam protested. "We got married as soon as I proposed."

"You could have called after!" Danny sniffed, crossing his arms. "Instead, you told us today. Today! It's been months!"

Sam gave his nephew, who was not actually sulking, a pitiful look. "Forgive me?"

Danny's stiff lip cracked, and he broke out in a helpless bout of giggles at his uncle's ridiculous expression. "Fine. But you'd better come home for Christmas, no excuses." He turned to Donna. "You're invited, too, of course," he said in a much more civil tone. "Dad's a great cook. All you'd have to do is sit back and let Sam bring you drinks."

"Thank you," Donna said, her eyes crinkling up at the playful teasing between the two men, "That sounds like heaven - A Christmas where I don't have to cook? Count me in!"

Sam grinned, glad that his two families were integrating nicely, and turned his attention back to the front. "There." He pointed at a sign to the left. "We can park in the back." He winked at Donna again, who brightened as she caught sight of where they were headed and sent him an adoring look.

Damien sent him an appalled glare, even as he turned into the car park. "Sam Carmichael, you can't be serious!" he hissed.

"Oh, come on, Day. Don't be a stick in the mud. It'll be fun!"

Father and son shared matching perturbed looks in the rearview mirror.

. . . . .

Victoria cringed and shifted closer to her nephew. "I don't suppose you have earplugs?" she asked him out of the corner of her mouth.

"I wish that were the case," was his heartfelt reply.

"Maybe you could cause a power outage," Stuart suggested, rubbing his ears.

"God, yes," Damien agreed stiffly, for once in his life condoning his disaster spawn's proclivity for causing blackouts, and winced at a particularly off-key note.

Sam Carmichael was suave. He was elegant. He was fierce and cunning and a master of all manner of fighting techniques.

But a singer he was not.

Or, at least, a good singer.

For singing he certainly was, in the karaoke bar he had reserved solely for their party...for the entire night. He was singing his heart out, and was sounding like a dying seal being crushed under a boulder as he did so.

Donna, his duet partner, and who had shown herself why Sam had fallen head over heels for her by being utterly charming, didn't seem to mind as they belted out the ABBA song together under the silver disco ball that was sending out bright sparkling lights all over the room.

In fact, the non-spies seemed to all be in agreement with her, for they were clapping and dancing and cheering them on like their ears weren't about to shrivel up from the assault, and even joined in on the chorus.

Danny sighed, sorely tempted to put an end to this aural disaster, but his conscience and affection for his uncle won out. "I couldn't do that to him," he moaned, and pressed his fingers into his temples. "Look at how happy he is!"

Sam's side of the family shared another round of resigned looks and agreed. Sam was practically skipping with joy. It was something none of them had thought they'd ever see, especially since Sam's tenure as 007 had ended several years previously on a sour note with fourteen torturous months in the hands of the North Koreans, and his recovery had been a rocky one.

Finally, Stuart shrugged and stood. "Well, you know what they say. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," he said, and went to pick out his song of choice on the machine.

Ivar snickered. "If that was his philosophy when he was active, the free world wouldn't still be standing." He gave a gusty sigh and nodded at his compadres. "Guess I'll go give it a shot, too," he said with his slow, easygoing grin, and went to join his 'brother in disfigurement,' as they jokingly liked to put it.

"Move over, Cyclops," he said to Stuart, walking over from the side opposite to his blindspot and nudging his arm. "Lemme take a look at this here gizmo." He squinted at the list of songs through his reading glasses.

"Wait your turn, Peg Legs," the one-eyed ex-005 grumbled back, elbowing Ivar in the ribs, but not hard enough to knock him off of his prosthetic legs.

"Ladies first," Victoria said in a voice that brooked no argument, cutting in smoothly between them. Neither of them was dumb enough to disagree with her. She chose a slow jazz ballad with her characteristic briskness and moved aside with an expressive roll of her ice-blue eyes to let them finish bickering.

The two Drakes, having been abandoned by the others, shrugged and gave in, crowding around the machine to pick their songs and squabble with the others about what was a good song or not, and what could stand to be butchered by off-key singers.

Sam beamed proudly at his family.

Holding back pained sighs, they all collectively decided that a few hours of mild discomfort was worth that grin on his face.

. . . . .

"I haven't heard you sing since I was a kid," Danny commented to his father as the latter sat down after a slightly shaky but adequate rendition of Live and Let Die.

Damien snorted and downed his drink in relief, trading mutual 'well done, mate' shoulder pats with Stuart, who had completed his turn at the mike before him (Another One Bites the Dust, in case the reader is curious). "That would be because I haven't, and there's a reason for that."

Danny shot him a fond smile. "I thought you were good, Dad." He winced. "Better than him, anyway," he said, nodding at where Ivar was bellowing, "Sweeeet home Alabamaaaaa!" with enthusiastic southern pride.

Ivar was of the opinion that if one had to do something, one might as well jump right in with both feet (regardless of whether one actually had two God-given feet to speak of, rather than custom genius-designed prostheses).

"Sit down, you damned Yankee!" Stuart catcalled, "You can't sing!"

Ivar broke off to tell him where to put it, since Stuart wasn't any better, then he begged pardon of the Sheridan girls for his foul language, which they granted with laughter then insisted that everyone was a great singer.

. . . . .

Donna noticed that despite Sam and his male friends cheerfully and ruthlessly demolishing each others' singing talents, Victoria and Danny had perfect immunity in the war.

Victoria, evidently, because she could actually sing, as she did all things easily and well. Her sultry rendition of Cry Me a River captured their full attention and had Bill gazing at her with slack-jawed, glossy-eyed interest.

(Afterward, when asked why they didn't tease Victoria, Sam had looked at her solemnly and told her that Victoria would kill them if they did so. Literally. [She didn't actually believe him until years later, when she found out what he, and by extension all of his friends, really used to do for a living.])

Danny, on the other hand, had a rough start, shyly stuttering out the first few lines of Knockin' on Heaven's Door until he found his confidence and his clear tenor settled into the soulful, melancholy melody.

Donna leaned into Sam's arm, which was around her shoulders. "You're all so protective of him," she observed, watching her husband's face take on a sad mien as he listened to his young nephew singing about having one foot in the grave and being too tired to go on.

Sam let out a deep sigh. "He was in an accident last year. We nearly lost him." He tore his gaze away from the stage and looked at her with a broken expression in his eyes. "He was the only survivor, and he's still dealing with that. The guilt. The...trauma of it all. He's getting better, but it's hard seeing him like this. He's always been such a happy kid. The light of all our lives. We're so lucky Damien's never minded sharing him with us."

Donna couldn't imagine losing Sophie; it was no wonder that Danny's family treated him so preciously now. She smiled sadly and laid her head against him, squeezing his hand in support. "So you already have experience sharing a kid with multiple parents."

He pressed his lips against her temple gratefully. "I guess I do."

"He'll be okay," she said softly. "Young people are resilient, and he's got a lot of people who love him."

She nodded at where Sophie and Sky had surrounded Danny, congratulating him on his song, and gently and playfully coaxing him into singing another one - a fun one - with them.

"Hope he's ready for another bunch of crazy family members who love the stuffing out of him."

Sam laughed. "I'm sure he is. He's always wanted siblings, and as for aunts and uncles, the more the merrier."

"Just wait until Rosie and Tanya get their hands on him," Donna chuckled. "Rosie will want to feed him, and Tanya will want to find him a girlfriend...boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend," Sam confirmed, watching her carefully.

"Even better," Donna smiled. "He's adorable."

. . . . .

It was late - the early hours of the morning, really - when they stumbled out of the karaoke bar, flushed and laughing, and hashed out who was going home with whom.

Sophie, Sky, and Bill would stay with Harry and his two dogs, Lucy and Kipper, in his rather large and empty house, while Stuart and Victoria both had kept their flats in the city, just in case. Ivar would be spending the night (or longer, as was usually the case) in Stuart's spare room, and Damien would go home with Danny.

This left Sam and Donna to lodge in the honeymoon suite of the Savoy (where Sam would answer the head manager's query of "Your usual, Mr. Carmichael?" with a rather proud "Actually, we've already got a reservation for the honeymoon suite," and the manager would afterwards soundly scold the poor clerk who had made the reservation for not warning him about the VIP beforehand [the clerk, being new, would not have known to do such a thing] and send the happy couple a bottle of complimentary champagne of the highest quality).

Before they parted, however, Sam slung his arm around Danny and asked, "Well?" with a twinkle in his eye.

Danny let out a gusty sigh and rolled his eyes dramatically. "Alright, she's not after your money."

Sam chuckled. "Don't judge people only by the way they appear on a computer screen, kiddo."

Danny nodded and gave him a genuine smile. "She's great. They're all great. A bit barmy," he said, thinking of how crazy things had gotten in that karaoke room, "but so are we. I'm glad you're getting your happily ever after, Sam. You deserve it." He bumped his shoulder into his uncle's chest..

"You'll come and see us sometime, won't you?" Sam murmured, unwilling to let him go. "Stow away on Stuart's boat and come around the long way."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Best stock up on a gallon of sunblock, though," Sam said; he wasn't a fussy man by nature, but he couldn't help it when it came to his nephew, especially now. "We don't need you turning into a tomato from the sun. I prefer to do that myself by teasing you mercilessly."

"Ha." The teenager rolled his eyes sarcastically and began to pull away.

Sam worked up the willpower to let go and did so with a light pat on the skinny shoulder. "Alright, Danny. Don't work too hard, hey? Your dad worries. You're making him lose his hair." He pitched his voice slightly louder at the end, making Damien, who was chatting with Harry, give him the stink-eye.

Danny grinned. "I'm quite sure that's genetics' fault, actually."

"Is it?" Then, unable to help himself, he ruffled the kid's hair and got glared at.

Danny tried to smooth out his disarrayed curls, to no avail, then shook his head, again rolling his eyes. He reached out and gave his uncle a proper, two-armed rib-cracking hug, which, incidentally, happened to be exactly what Sam wanted.

"I'm really, really happy for you, Sam," he repeated. "Really."

Sam chuckled and felt the small amount of disquiet in his chest relax. There was a shadow of lingering worry still haunting them all from Danny's accident last year that would likely never leave them, as long as Danny insisted on following in his family's footsteps in espionage.

"Really, really?" he asked playfully. Then, before finally letting his boy go, he whispered, "Stay safe, alright, kiddo? What you used to say to us goes for you, too. We love you and we absolutely can't do without you."

Danny swallowed hard. "I know. I will. Love you, too."

"Stop hogging the kid," Stuart called out to Sam, seeing that it was time to do so, "Or I'll give your wife a big kiss to welcome her to the family!"

"You most certainly will not!" Sam objected hotly, despite knowing that Stuart wouldn't.

"Then let the rest of us have a turn!" Stuart shot back, "Some of us haven't seen our boy in ages!"

"And whose fault is that?" Sam scoffed, but he moved away anyway, making room for Danny's other uncles and aunt to swarm him for one last hug, like a frenzy of rather affectionate sharks.

"Will you all stop that?" Danny huffed after a while, flushing in embarrassment. It was all well and good for them to do it somewhere private, but not in public, for goodness' sakes. In front of people. People whose opinions mattered. "I'm not a favorite toy, or a child, for goodness' sake. I am a grown man, and that is quite enough."

"Of course you are, darling," Victoria said as she gave him another warm hug and a kiss on the cheek, leaving behind yet another brightly-hued lipstick stain. "All grown up."

Danny shot his father a pleading look.

Damien's eyes crinkled up in amusement, but really, he was only one man against a bevy of assassins. It wasn't as though he could do anything.

The beseeching expression turned into a betrayed glare, then flicked to Sam's other family nervously.

Sophie laughed lightly. "Don't worry about it, Danny. I know what it's like. They treat you like they haven't seen you in decades when it's only been, like, a year or something." She rolled her eyes in commiseration. "I totally know. And then they say how tall you've gotten and anything else that's embarrassing. Families. They're like that." She shrugged.

"Oh, we are, are we?" Donna said with a grin, reaching for her daughter, who tried to dart away with a laughing squeal, only to be nudged playfully back by Sky. "You've been away, traveling the world for ages, little girl!"

"Hey, give your mum a proper hug, Soph," Sky teased. "She hasn't seen you in ages and ages. Three whole months."

"Oh my god, Sky," she groaned, dutifully accepting the very long and very thorough embrace and the loud smooch on her cheek at the end. "Mooom."

She shot a smirk at Danny, who was now grinning widely. 'See?' the look said. 'Me too.'

Then Donna turned around and enveloped Danny in a warm hug, much to his surprise.

"Don't be a stranger, sweetie," she said, smiling. "Come and visit us on Kalokairi when you manage to get some vacation time."

He blinked at her, then looked at Sam, who was beaming.

"I will," he promised.

"And bring the rest of the family," she said, waving her hand at the gathered assassins. "I have no idea where we'll put everyone, but we'll manage."

"You can put them in the goat house," Harry pointed out, making those who knew what that meant laugh.

"You." Donna swatted his arm, but her eyes were dancing.

"Actually," Sam said, catching her about the waist and pulling her snug against him, "I have plans for that goat house."

"Do you?" she challenged.

He kissed her. "Tell you later?"

"After you show her," Bill guffawed suggestively with a naughty waggle of his blond eyebrows.

"Bill Anderson!" Donna cried in mock outrage.

"I think they'll have a lot of things to tell each other and show each other," Harry said quietly, his hands in his suit pockets. He smiled at Donna and the one man of the three of them who'd won her heart.

"This is great," he sighed. "Never thought I'd end up with even a conventional family, but now I've suddenly got all of you. It-It's truly wonderful," he stammered, a little bashful, as any self-respecting Englishman would when expressing such sentiments.

"Aw," Sophie said and went to give him a hug - for they were all very affectionate that night, high on Sam and Donna's infectious happiness...and not a small amount of alcohol. "Harry, that's so sweet." Then she hopped over to give her third dad a hug, just because.

"Sure beats fat twin brothers, eh?" Bill said, nodding at Sam over Sophie's blonde head. "Even if some of 'em are you-know-whats."

"What?" Donna asked.

"Nothing!" he said quickly. "Nice people. Just very nice people."

"And you told me that your family isn't nice," Donna said to Sam. "They're all extremely nice people, and I have no idea why you'd ever say otherwise."

Danny choked. Stuart thumped his back, looking completely innocent while he did so. In fact, they all did their best to look very, very harmless.

"Yeah, Sam," Ivar said, his brown eyes open wide, "Why would you say such a thing? We're such fine, upstanding citizens!"

"Yeah," Sam snorted, "Except you're all arseholes sometimes, but that's beside the point, I suppose. Alright," he sighed reluctantly, "We'd best call it a night."

After another round of hugs all around (I repeat: very affectionate), they went their separate ways.

Sophie, Sky, and Bill skipped off with Harry in his large black car driven by his much-suffering chauffeur, chattering merrily the whole way home. Stuart and Ivar happily bickered their way to the former's London flat, while Danny and Damien drove off in companionable silence, content to sit quietly and enjoy each other's company.

Victoria, leaving alone, as was her wont, paused and looked behind her at the no-longer-solitary Sam and, with a gush of uncharacteristic warmth, silently wished him and his wife all the happiness they could squeeze out of the world. Then, she turned briskly away and sped off into the dark city, as though she hadn't had a sentimental thought all night.

"Well," Sam said quietly to Donna, his arm wrapped warmly around her.

"What a night!" she said, laughing a little.

With a warm chuckle, he echoed her. "What a night." He kissed her softly. "What a family."

. . . . .

Notes:

Sam skipping with joy - reference to Mamma Mia 2 and interviews in which "Pierce Brosnan skipping" in the Dancing Queen sequence is a frequent topic of discussion.

"What a night!" - Reference to Mamma Mia! in which Sophie reads her mom's diary and finds that written every time she "dot dot dot." (The song is Honey, Honey if you're interested.)

About the songs: I'm pretty terrible with music stuff, so if any of those songs don't fit, feel free to suggest substitutes.

Another One Bites the Dust (Queen) - Stuart. Because an assassin would love a song with that title.

Live and Let Die (Paul McCartney)- Damien. It was originally Livin' on a Prayer (Bon Jovi) because Olivia D'Abo recorded a version in 1994 with Bon Jovi, and her cousin Maryam D'Abo was his Bond Girl in The Living Daylights...but I decided Bon Jovi isn't really like him at all.

Sweet Home Alabama (Lynyrd Skynyrd) - Ivar. He's American and southern and I needed a really American, southern song.

Knockin' on Heaven's Door (Bob Dylan) - Danny, because Ben Whishaw was in the Bob Dylan biopic I'm Not There.

Cry Me a River (Arthur Hamilton) - Victoria. I don't know why. It's classy? I just like the idea of Helen Mirren singing a sexy jazz ballad, even though I don't know if she can sing.