Chapter 6
Danny gazed in awe at the sleek black helicopter. Despite his obsession with all kinds of aircraft, he had never actually been on one.
Damien carried him up to the side of the vehicle, letting him touch the smooth paint, and smiling proudly as the little boy told him everything he knew about the specs of this particular model.
The pilot, once he realized that the toddler was an aircraft buff, answered every question the little boy threw at him with infinite patience - at least, what he could. He had to admit that he didn't know the answer to some of them.
The good-natured pilot didn't mind though; he had kids of his own and knew that they were sometimes monomaniacs about things, and they were always curious.
Victoria had long given up trying to move things along, having herself come under Danny's spell.
"Admit it," Stuart muttered to her through the side of his mouth. "You think he's adorable."
"I most certainly do not," she retorted indignantly. She might admit it to herself, but she was certainly not going to admit it to a man. After all, she had her pride.
She'd had to fight her way tooth and nail to get to where she was, and she wasn't about to let some perceived maternal feelings boot her back down to the level of the squealing female secretarial pool.
"Personally, I think he's the cutest kid in the world," Stuart said, a sappy smile on his face.
She shot him a look.
"He is," Sam agreed from her other side with an equally dopey expression. "Definitely the cutest."
"Good god, men. Get a grip on yourselves."
. . . . .
Danny's exuberance had persisted for a while after takeoff, but he had soon fallen asleep with his little nose pressed against the window.
Victoria watched Damien watching his son sleep with a peaceful, adoring expression that seemed completely foreign on his face.
"Ask away," he said presently. "I know you have questions."
She and Damien had taken one helicopter while Stuart and Sam were on the other.
She flicked the switch that would limit the communication lines to only their two helmets and leaned back in her seat.
"Why?"
He raised his eyebrows at her. "He's my son and I love him."
"Obviously. But-"
"Have you ever loved completely and unequivocally, beyond doubt or reason?" He didn't let her reply. "No, you haven't. I know you haven't. It's not the same as loving a partner or a spouse. It's completely different."
"You know I was married once, a long time ago," he said, surprising Victoria, who knew but never mentioned it because they all had painful pasts. "I loved her. I gave her everything of myself that I could bring myself to give. And it hurt when she died. But I got past it because I hadn't given everything to her."
He paused and sighed, looking down at his son. "I swore I'd never fall in love again. I didn't think I had anything left to give but to Queen and country after her anyway. Then they put him in my arms and...Victoria, I couldn't help it. I gave myself up to him completely. He was so small and helpless and I was his whole world. He didn't have anyone else but me. He put his little fingers around mine and I was his."
Victoria looked at him, looked at him gently stroking the small hand in his, the delicate fingers curled softly around his larger ones.
She sighed and shook her head, a soft smile rising unbidden to her lips. "You damned orphans," she huffed. "Can't help it, can you?"
"And you're not an orphan?" He looked at her as though daring her to contradict him. He knew her history too.
She snorted. "You were young. I was old enough."
They sat in companionable silence for a while, only the whirring of the rotors filling the air.
"Where's his mother?"
"Dead," Damien replied, and unconsciously shifted the child closer. "Accident when she was pregnant with him and died on the way to the hospital. He was very early, and incredibly lucky to be alive."
Victoria made a sympathetic sound. "So you were all the kid had and you couldn't bear to give him up for adoption because you got sentimental. And now we're here and you've got crackers and extra nappies in your bag?"
Damien chuckled. "Yes, something like that."
"You softhearted idiot," she said fondly.
"Mm," Damien agreed. "I am. But admit it. I have a very cute kid."
She looked at the little boy snuggled up against his father, all soft cheeks and unruly curls hidden under the comically oversized helmet, and had to agree.
"Alright, Drake. I'll say this once and you'd better keep your mouth shut about it or I will kill you. Your son is adorable."
Damien chuckled.
She reached out a hand to touch the soft cheek, but hesitated.
Damien watched with knowing eyes. "Go ahead," he said softly. "He doesn't bite...most of the time," he amended with a smirk, remembering that Danny had indeed bitten his kidnapper.
Victoria carefully touched the tips of her fingers against the delicate round cheek. She found herself holding her breath when the small boy shifted in his sleep, nuzzling against her fingers with a sleepy little sound.
"Alright," she admitted nearly under her breath, "you've got me, too, kid."
. . . . .
Sam watched Damien Drake walk into MI6 as though he was still 007 - that is, he strode with long, decisive steps, head held high like he was in a Saville Row suit instead of the battered and bloody button-down and jacket he was wearing over ripped blue jeans.
He was sure, also, that he and Stuart looked an equal mess, but they at least were a far more expected sight in the halls of MI6 than a retired double-oh with a toddler asleep in his arms.
Shock followed them everywhere they went - "Was that Drake with a baby?!"
Drake, aware as he must have been of the scrutiny, bore it all with dignity and aplomb.
Stuart, Sam, and Victoria, for their part, quickly and without speaking formed a close diamond formation, as though they had been assigned as protection to Damien, or rather, the precious bundle he held in his arms.
. . . . .
In the antechamber to M's office, Loelia Ponsonby greeted the group with a bright smile and rushed out of her seat with her arms outstretched.
"Give him here. Poor thing is exhausted," she cooed in a hushed undertone, and once the child had been deposited in her arms, kissed the downy curls softly.
"He has had a day, hasn't he?" She tutted over the colorful sticking plaster on her godson's neck that covered his first (and hopefully last) battle wound.
Damien sighed. "I hope he never has another like it."
Ponsonby hummed in agreement. "Well, he's your son," she said. "He's got that streak of adventure in him. He sniffs out danger and heads straight for it."
Damien chuckled quietly. "Don't I know it."
Danny slowly stirred at being moved and lifted his head sleepily.
"Hello there, dearest," Ponsonby said in a voice far gentler than Sam and Victoria had ever heard from her.
"Lolo?" Danny said groggily, blinking at her in a rather adorable manner.
Sam looked at her in shock. Lolo?
Seeing this, Stuart caught his eye and shook his head frantically; it was definitely not advisable for anyone other than Danny Drake to call Loelia Ponsonby 'Lolo.'
"That's right, sweetheart. You're going to stay with me while your father has a talk with someone."
At that, to everyone's surprise, Danny's small face crumpled and he began wailing.
"Daddyyy…"
Damien reached out and took his son from the surprised Ponsonby.
"Hush, luv," he said softly, bouncing him gently, "I'm here. It's alright."
M came out of his office to see what the fuss was about, and stared for a moment, flabbergasted at the sight of the former 007 with a howling toddler in his arms.
"You three," he said to Victoria, Stuart, and Sam (003, 005, and 007, respectively), once he had shaken off the astonishment, "you might as well come in and debrief now."
"Sorry," Damien said rather apologetically to his former boss while patting his son's back gently, "We're having a bit of separation anxiety. We've had a big day, by our standards."
"No worries. We've all been there," M said in his usual avuncular manner, though really, he had no children of his own. He approached them with some curiosity to take a closer look at the child who had caused the notoriously reserved 007 to fall head over heels in love.
"Now then, young man," he said gently, addressing Danny, whose sobs had quieted to soft, hitching breaths, "No one is taking you away from your father, eh? You just stay here with him and Miss Ponsonby a while. Maybe she even has a sweet for you."
At that, Miss Ponsonby slid open a drawer and pulled out a chocolate candy wrapped in foil. "I do indeed," she sang, unwrapping the candy and offering it to Danny, who opened his mouth obediently.
"It's not everyone who gets a chocolate from my secret stash," she told him conspiratorially. "Only very special people."
Danny mumbled something that sounded like thanks around the chocolate in his mouth, snot and tears still streaming down his baby-round face, and Ponsonby reached out and stroked his hair and patted his back soothingly, offering his father the box of tissues with her other hand.
Damien took a couple of tissues and proceeded to gently mop up the toddler's face with practiced ease, all the while murmuring comforting words to him and looking extremely domestic and not at all like a trained assassin.
M shook himself out of his reverie and ushered the three agents into his office for a talk.
. . . . .
Danny had settled and was half-asleep again by the time the three agents emerged from M's office.
Damien stood from his seat in one of the plush leather chairs in the antechamber. "My turn? I feel like I'm waiting to meet the headmaster."
"What, are you nervous?" Stuart teased. "It's not like you answer to him anymore."
"I heard that, 005," M said from inside his office. "And 007, don't selectively forget my order to go to Medical. Go right now."
Damien smirked at his younger counterpart. "Selectively forget?"
M came to the door. "Yes," he said, exasperation showing, "do it one more time, 007, and I'll put you on-track for early retirement due to senility."
Sam grinned at him, completely unrepentant.
"You always threaten, sir," Damien commented lightly, "but you never do it, at least not permanently. It's always suspension instead."
"And how many times have I suspended you, Drake?" M asked, with false sternness.
"As many times as I've resigned, save once," Damien returned with a cheeky grin. "'Suspension' is really another word for 'vacation,' isn't it, sir?"
The others hid their mirth, albeit not very well.
"You, Drake, are the reason I started losing my hair in the first place," M sighed, and waved him in. "Come in and sit down. Yes, bring the little lad with you. We don't want anyone upset."
He closed the door behind them and started to pour Damien a drink, but the former agent stopped him.
"I don't drink around him," he said, glancing down at the top of his son's head. "But thank you anyway."
M paused and looked at him in surprise. Damien Drake had been a heavy drinker when he had been 007; all the double-ohs were, really. It came with the job. It was how most of them dealt with the stresses of their lifestyle - alcohol and sex.
Now, two years after their last meeting, Drake looked tired from his fight to defend his home, but he also looked rather younger than he did before. The lines in his face were deeper, but they were laugh lines. He looked...happier, and more content than M had ever seen him.
The younger man returned his close scrutiny with a steady gaze.
M sat at his desk. "Well, Drake. It's been a while. How are you?"
"I'm doing well," Damien said pleasantly, "And you, sir?"
"Oh, fine, fine," M said, conscious that his hairline had receded even more and his waistline was rather thicker than before, while the other man still looked fit and trim. "Now, Drake. Will you be needing assistance relocating?"
Damien looked at him for a long moment with his sleepy son safely ensconced in his arms. "No, sir," he said softly. "We'll be staying where we are."
M raised an eyebrow at him.
"A life on the run is no way to raise a child," Damien explained. "He needs a steady home. I'll rebuild the house."
"Well." M sat back and clasped his hands on his stomach. "Alright then."
"Can we cut to the chase, sir?" Damien said, "You asked me here for a reason."
"Ah." M cleared his throat.
Damien continued: "You're down a few agents due to this mole, and you want me back because you know you can trust me. Isn't that it?"
M sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, partially to escape that sharp green gaze.
"I was planning to, yes," he admitted slowly. "But now I've seen you, I don't think I will."
"No?"
M gestured to the little boy who was watching him with drowsy eyes, green like his father's. "Fatherhood suits you, Drake."
"I always thought the job would kill me," Damien said carefully, deliberately. "And I was alright with that. Because I didn't have anything else."
"I know," M said kindly. "I understand. You don't have to explain yourself to me." He paused. "Besides, your son's admirers have made it quite clear that I'll have a munity on my hands if I pressure you in any way about coming back."
Damien cocked a brow. "Ah," he said slowly, "I see. It's not like you to take blackmail sitting down, sir."
"I told them, as I've told you just now," M said, pulling out a cigar out of habit, then hurriedly put it back in its box with a glance at the toddler, "I don't intend on asking you back. You've got a nice life for yourself with your child, and you've earned it. I thought you might be...bored, but I see now that that isn't the case at all."
Damien smirked. "Ah, of course. A bored former double-oh is definitely a threat to national security."
"You're not bored, then?"
"My son made an exploding toaster two weeks ago," Damien said, completely deadpan. "He made another one today out of the replacement I bought and forgot that he set it to detonate. I think you can safely say that I am very much not bored."
Baffled and slightly horrified (terrified?), M stared at the small child, who returned his gaze with an unnervingly intelligent stare, despite blinking frequently and sleepily.
"Q is his godfather, I understand?" he said weakly.
Damien snorted softly, understanding why he'd asked. "Yes, he is. They get along like a house on fire. My house, sometimes."
"Well."
"Miss Ponsonby fancies herself the sole stabilizing influence on his life."
"I see."
There was a long pause as M had something like a staring match with the toddler.
"Well," M said again and cleared his throat, having lost the battle. "I'm sure Q is eager to show his protégé around his kingdom."
"We can visit Uncle Geoffrey now?" Danny asked brightly, shaking off all traces of drowsiness.
"Yes," Damien said, gathering him up and standing. "I think that was permission to go down to the labs."
He shook hands with his former boss and stepped out of the office.
There, in the antechamber, he found Stuart and Victoria dawdling, waiting for the two of them.
"Did Sam get over his senior moment, then?" Damien joked.
"He did," Stuart said, "Shot off straight to Medical faster than any double-oh I've ever seen, bum leg and all. He doesn't want to miss Danny seeing Q-Branch for the first time."
Damien chuckled. "I suppose we'd better wait for him, then."
"Sod that," Stuart exclaimed, "Let's go. Sam can watch the surveillance video."
. . . . .
Note:
Damien's dead wife is Tracy di Vicenzo from On Her Majesty's Secret Service. In case it was confusing, Tracy is not Danny's mother.
