Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

James Bond stalked through the halls of MI6.

Having just received a call telling him that he had been summoned to M’s office. His face was set stony as he thought through his last mission, he didn’t cause any unnecessary explosions for once, so he didn’t understand why he needed to talk with her.

Workers jumped out of his way as his long strides brought him closer to her office.

Eventually he found his way to the entrance, rapped a short knock on the door with his knuckles before opening the door and shutting it behind him with a click.

Looking towards the desk, he saw M sitting on her chair, shooting him a disapproving glance, before finishing up the report that sat in front of her.

He sat himself down in front of her and gestured with his hands for her to speak.

“Ever the conversationalist 007,” she said, “I have a new mission for you. I know it’s soon after your last one, but you are currently the only 00’ available and time is of the essence.”

“Well then, dearest M, pray tell, what is the objective?” James asked, cocking an eyebrow and swinging his leg round to rest his ankle on the other leg’s knee. She smirked back in return.

“We have received information from a terrorist cell in France, aiming to send an attack that we believe could cripple England’s security, from an inside source-” M had begun to speak before a knock was heard. “Come in.”

The door opened and the Quartermaster of MI6 walked through the doorway.

“Ah M, 007, perfect timing I see.” Boothroyd said as he sat down on the chair next to Bond, opposite M. James positioned himself in an angle that better carried the conversation that would begin between the three of them.

“Quite right Q. I was just informing 007 of the mission objectives. Would you like to tell him how we came about this information?” M asked him, however a thinly veiled command was carried beneath the questioning tone as she spoke.

“Oh yes, well, I had just gone to speak with R about a new project I was working on, you see, we had just begun looking at a new energy source for-”

“Please remain on topic Quartermaster.” M interrupted, sensing the upcoming rant and James too had predicted. He shot her a thankful look before turning back to Boothroyed.

“Sorry, sorry, yes so, after I came back, I went onto my system and it seemed that someone had managed to get into it. I attempted to trace where it came from before I soon realised that it was virtually impossible, whoever managed to get in, is extremely intelligent. I however managed to trace it slightly before hitting a wall which held the information that we now possess along with an SOS from a person calling themselves Stray.” Q informed him, looking slightly flustered and in awe of this person - Stray.

“Well, that sounds worrying Quartermaster, if someone managed to break in. Was anything else accessed?” Bond questioned him, seeming slightly alarmed by the thought, believing that MI6 held one of the most secure systems in the World.

“That’s the thing! Nothing was accessed! It’s marvellous! I would love to meet this person, Stray, and pick at their brain. I want them to work in Q-Branch with me, as a protege if M allows it after they have gone through all the proper checks, of course.” He hastened on at the end.

“Yes, we shall see. We believe that Stray is being held hostage by them for his technological abilities. 007, you are being tasked with bringing Stray back to MI6 with you after taking down the cell.” M gave him a file before gesturing for him to leave her office.

Bond nodded at her before making his leave.

“Your plane leaves at thirteen-hundred hours. Bring this Stray back safe.” She said as he left. The ‘bring yourself back safe’ left unsaid.

He turned and smirked back at her before leaving the office.

“Of course.”

Chapter Text

“Bonjour Henri, je m'appelle Hugo André, je suis responsable des opérations ici. (Greetings Henri, my name is Hugo Andre, I'm in charge of the operations here.)” Hugo spoke as he enters the office room and sits behind the desk that Bond, or rather Henri as of right now, sits opposite.

Bond had arrived in France yesterday, he had set up shop in a small, cheap hotel before accessing his new details and identity papers. He had taken on the identity of a man named Henri Gabriel, a French man who moved to England as a child, where he grew to hate the country.

Bond had shook his head at the information as he sat down on the bed he would call him for the next week. He didn’t enjoy having to use a different name, preferring his hits to know who caused the destruction of their ‘businesses’, alas this was a different situation.

Because he would be taking Stray beck with him to England where he would start a new life, the connections of MI6 to the act of his escape needed to be as minimal as possible. It was basically like witness protection, something he wasn’t good at considering he tended to shoot first and ask questions later.

He really hopes this Stray fella is as good as Boothroyd thinks he is, he also hopes he can pull his own weight, James really doesn’t want to end up spending all his time keeping the boffin under constant surveillance just so he doesn’t accidentally kill himself or something.

Bond moves around in the chair to face Hugo as he walks around. Inconspicuously checking his trouser pocket to see if the ear piece is still in place, in case he needs to contact MI6, although he doubts he will actually use it.

“Je vous emmènerai à mon actif bien assez tôt, je veux juste vous parler de ce que l'on attend de lui et donc de vous en ce qui concerne les normes de travail. (I'll take you to my asset soon enough, I just want to talk about what's expected of him and therefore of you when it comes to labour standards.)” André Hugo says as he leans back in his chair.

“Bien entendu, demandez ce dont vous avez besoin. (Of course, ask what you need to.)” Bond replies easily, not at all doubting his ability to answer any questions thrown at him.

“Nous vous remercions de votre compréhension. Je voudrais simplement savoir si vous avez les capacités nécessaires pour mener à bien votre tâche. Notre atout peut être assez, comment dire ? Difficile à persuader de travailler, vous devez être capable de le convaincre qu'il est dans son intérêt de suivre vos ordres. (Thank you for your understanding. I would just like to ask if you have the abilities to complete your task. Our asset can be quite, how should I phrase this? Difficult to persuade to work, you must be able to convince him that it is in his best interests to follow your orders.)” Hugo says, his fingers moving into a stippling pose in front of his chest.

Bond inwardly chuckles at the cliche pose confronting him. He wonders why all villains find the need to fold their fingers together like that.

“Je pense qu'avec le temps, votre atout trouvera que je suis très convaincant. (I think in time your asset will find that I am very convincing.)” James responds, not being flustered at all by the euphemism of using physical force of need to get Stray to do what is needed. He wouldn’t of course, but the lie slips through his teeth easily enough still.

“C'est rassurant. Je suis trop souvent déçu par des embauches décevantes, je suis sûr que vous comprenez. De plus, vous le protégerez en cas de tentative d'intrusion et vous l'aiderez à s'échapper. (That's reassuring to hear. Too often am I let down by disappointing hires, I'm sure you understand. Along with this, you will also be protecting him in case of an attempt of someone breaking in and aiding him escaping.)” Hugo responds, beginning to smile as he senses that Henri is the person for the job.

Bond almost smiles at Hugo, the irony of the statement almost being strong enough to make the 00’ agent break cover.

“Je suis habile de mes mains, donc je pense que cela ne devrait pas poser de problème. Si quelqu'un essaie de s'emparer de votre bien, je le ferai cesser aussi vite que possible. (I am good with my hands, so I don't think that should be a problem. Should anyone try to take your asset, I will put a stop to it as fast as I can.) Bond reassures Hugo, face serious and honest.

“Excellent ! Il est temps d'y aller, vous avez parfaitement répondu à toutes mes questions. (Great! It's time to go then, you have answered all my questions perfectly.)” Hugo cheers, standing up and walking to the door, gesturing for Henri to follow.

Bond gets up from the chair and nods in thanks as he walks past, before waiting outside the door for Hugo to take the lead.

As they walk, Bond makes sure to catalogue the journey in case it comes in handy during the extraction process. Counting doors and when they turned through the narrow corridors.

Hugo stops in front of a door, but before opening, a questioning look grows on his face. He opens his mouth, shuts it, and then opens it again.

“Avez-vous un enfant, Henri ? (Do you have a child, Henri?)” Hugo asks, his face serious.

“Non, je n'ai pas d'enfant. (No, I don't have any children.)” Bond responds, slightly confused and concerned by the question, but Hugo just nods, shoulders dropping and an easygoing smile taking hold of his face.

He opens the door and gestures for Bond to enter first, Bond enters the doorway and looks around the room, taking everything in.

The pale grey walls are bare, there aren’t even any cheap paintings adorning them to give a false sense of comfort. The lights pinned to the ceiling flicker every now and again, their buzzing filling the room along with the clicking of a keyboard. A small cot is pushed against the side of the room, the sheets unkempt and strewn across the floor, their colour a dirty grey, perhaps they even used to be white. Bond peers closer and sees dried blood staining the cover in certain places.

Along the wall, in the corner of the room, is a chair - most likely for him to sit on as he watches Stray work.

In the centre of the room, an old table is bolted to the floor by the legs. A lone, small chair behind it, with a laptop perched on the table, wires protruding from the sides connecting to a black box that Bond assumes is for more storage.

And finally, sitting on the chair, a small body is perched.

Wait, a small body.

Bond focuses more clearly on his target, yes, it does appear to be a small child. The child’s fingers rest on the keyboard as his head faces the doorway where Bond has entered. Eyes wide as he takes in his supposedly new tormenter.

Bond takes a deep breath, before turning to face Hugo, a questioning look in his eyes.

“Oui, c'est pourquoi j'ai demandé si vous aviez des enfants. Il est assez jeune. Ne vous inquiétez pas, il faudra peut-être encore le convaincre, car il n'est pas très doué pour suivre les instructions. N'est-ce pas, mon garçon ? (Yes, this is why I asked if you had any children. He is quite young. Don't worry though, you may still need to convince him, he isn't the best at following instructions. Isn't that right, boy?)” He directs the last part to his asset.

“Bien sûr, je n'en doute pas du tout. Les jeunes sont toujours les plus turbulents. (Of course, I don't doubt it at all. The young are always the most unruly.)” Bond chuckles fakely at the end, but convincing enough to fool someone like Hugo Andre.

Hugo nods in approval before leaving the room, assured enough to go back to his office and continue with his work.

Silence settles in the room for around five minutes before it is broken by the small boy behind the desk.

“I’m assuming you are from MI6?” The boy asks in an English native speaking accent, looking up at him from the old chair he sits in.

Bond takes the moment to observe the boy before replying.

He seems to be around four foot six, although he’s sitting in a chair so Bond may be slightly wrong about the assumption. A nest of messy, dirty brown hair flops on his forehead as it pools from his head. Large, dark brown eyes stare up at Bond, giving no feelings away.

Bond absentmindedly thinks that the kid would be great at cards.

His face is smudged with dirt and dried blood around his nose and lower lip. Thick, black plastic frames rest on his nose, lenses resting in the frames heavily. They seem too large for a child of his proportion.

His t-shirt is old and tattered, small holes spotted around on the fabric, with patches of dark blood corrupting the childish t-shirt depicting a cartoon that Bond doesn’t recognise.

“And I’m assuming you’re Stray?” Bond replies calmly, not moving from his standing position near the doorway. His eyes rest on the boy, calm and relaxed.

“Well, it seems that both our assumptions are correct.” Stray replies, moving his hand up to his face and adjusting the thick frames on his small face.

“I wasn’t told you were so young, this changes the plan a bit.” Bond says to him, still not moving, in case he spooks the obviously abused child.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t told they were sending a 00’ agent on a simple extraction mission, so what more is at play here?” The boy replies smoothly, staring at Bond accusingly.

“That’s need to know information.” Bond replies, finally moving to sit at the chair on the side of the wall.

“I believe I need to know, considering I’ve set up their operating system so that I can easily shut it down if I escape, I do believe I should also know the plan.” The boy retorts, “So what’s it gonna be, old man?”

“It's not very clever to insult the person sent to rescue you, is it?” Bond responds immediately, seeming annoyed at being called old.

“It’s not very clever to not include the person who is escaping in the escape plan, is it?” Stray smirks, before continuing, “now this argument could go on all day, but I want to get out of this hellhole, so let me in.”

Bond stays silent, looking at the boy up and down before nodding in acquiescence.

“I’ll let you know along the way, when we escape, but not all at once, it’s easier this way, and allows me to change things along the way without you nattering in my ear saying I’ve done something wrong - you seem like the type.” Bond informs the boy.

“Okay fine, I can understand that. Although we should plan the escape for tomorrow, because they are expecting a large shipment, which means tomorrow will also be when a helicopter will be available for us to acquire.” Stray says to Bond, now happy to look back at his computer and start typing again on his keyboard.

“So, why did you need a new guard anyway?” Bond asks the boy after sitting in the chair in silence for an hour. He isn’t bored, just curious about the small child who was smart enough to get into Boothroyd’s systems.

“He wanted to become a clown, so he joined the circus.” Stray responds sarcastically, not looking up from his work. Bond notices that his shoulders raise and stiffen at the question, ah, hit a nerve then.

“Ha, ha, ha, very funny. Your jokes must have been a great source of inspiration for him to become a clown.” Bond replies, tone snarky. Something about the boy getting under his skin as he attempts to ease the kid’s fear response and lighten the atmosphere as much as he can considering the situation they are in right now.

“I know right, I’m an idol.” The boy responds, beginning to smile before his face becomes blank. His eyes begin to show fear and sadness, James almost gets up to comfort the sad boy.

However the door opens before he can and Hugo rears his head inside the room, Bond immediately stays in the same position he was before, no use making a sharp movement and looking suspicious.

Hugo looks around, eyes inspecting, before smiling brightly.

“Je suis heureux de constater que tout fonctionne bien. Je voulais juste vérifier et vous faire savoir que votre service se termine à minuit. Vous avez ensuite une pause de six heures avant de revenir ici, car vous êtes le principal garde en poste ici. Alors, au revoir ! Je reviendrai vous voir dans quelques jours. (I'm happy to see everything is working well. I just wanted to check in and let you know that your shift ends at midnight. Then you have a six hour break before you are due back here because you are the main guard stationed here. Goodbye then! I'll check up on you in a few days.)” Hugo says, and then leaves without waiting for a reply. The door slamming shut behind him, causing Stray to flinch in his seat.

“I didn’t think he would be stupid enough to say important information like that in front of his prisoner.” Bond says, his face showing a hint of amusement, Stray chuckles at his comment.

“He doesn’t think I know French. Silly on his part, considering he knows how intelligent I am.” The boy responds to Bond’s quip, also amused at Hugo’s stupidity. “The shipment arrives at eighteen hundred hours tomorrow, meaning you will be on duty ‘protecting’ me. Well, this is working out very nicely for us.”

“Yes, very nicely indeed.” Bond replies, smirking slightly at the boy’s comment and the additional information that he is providing. Bond has to admit, the kid is one of the best escapees he has ever helped. He even provides useful information instead of just crying and thanking him. His standards have definitely heightened for next time he’s supposed to help someone escape.

“Now, I do need to continue with my task, in order to not raise suspicion, but I have a few questions for you and I believe that you may have a few for me, so I suggest we have a brief answer exchange before continuing on with what we were doing before Hugo barged in.” The boy says the last part in distaste, but a trace of fear still lingers in his eyes and the slight shaking of his hands above the keyboard.

“Okay, I can agree to that.” Bond nods, “I’ll go first, how did you know that someone was about to walk through the door?”

“Ah, that’s an easy one, I managed to create a small sensor when I was still new here and had more access to equipment. I then placed it under a floorboard outside the door, when it is pressured, a small alert is sent to my computer. My turn, why was a 00’ agent sent to rescue me?” Stray asks him, smirking slightly, eyes following lines of code.

“This is a secure terrorist cell, therefore the best option was to send the most capable person available, hence, me.” Bond answers, gesturing towards himself smugly, “How old are you?

“I’m 12. What did your Quartermaster say about my code?” The boy answers before asking, childish glee working its way onto his face as he waits for an answer.

“He didn’t say anything specific about code to me, but he seemed eager to meet the person intelligent enough to get into his system. It was clever not to access anything, made it so you weren’t a threat. How long have you been kidnapped?” Bond speaks, watching Stray type.

“Who said I didn’t access anything? How’d you think I knew you were a 00’ agent? Anyway, I was taken when I was six and my intelligence became clear. I've been sold off from agency to organisation since then, but I’ve been here for roughly a year - which tells me they have something big planned, that, along with everything I’ve been programming. The only way I’ve learned English has been through old classics and the odd guard that knew English and was willing to speak it to me, hence the odd way I speak, by the way.” He adds on the end, his fingers coming to a pause he stares at the screen, lost in thought.

Bond nods and absorbs the information but stays quiet, once glance at his face telling him that now is not the time to make a comment. Obviously, the boy is lost in thought about his past - something James relates to all too much.

Sitting back against the wall, Bond wonders about the boy’s family, if his parents are still alive and looking for their son, or if they’ve given up. He makes a mental reminder to speak to M about it as soon as he gets back. Where is the boy going to stay while they search for his family, if they search for his family? M may decide that it’s best to keep the boy within MI6 if he proves to be as smart as he says he is, and if his family isn’t too much of a burden and high up in the social classes.

The poor kid needs someone he can trust, and he definitely needs some therapy. James silently shakes his head as he thinks about what the kid might have gone through in the six years he’s been taken.

Quietly, the sound of typing fills the silence and James’ muscles relax even if he didn’t know they were stiff in the first place. He looks towards the boy and sees him typing away again, focused on his task.

An orphan who can work even when in distress? M will be sure to keep him within reach, and Boothroyd will be happy that he gets to pick the kid's brain for information and ways to improve security.

Bond leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. He doesn’t fall asleep, he just uses his other senses as he feels the beginning of a headache forming. God, this mission report is going to be long to write, he thinks, mentally groaning.

Chapter Text

06:00

Bond arrives at the room where Stray is trapped. He holds a coffee in one hand and a cup of earl grey in the other. He had tried to order breakfast tea at the small cafe but they only had earl grey left, so Stray will just have to have it.

He wouldn’t have usually got a drink for his target in a mission but he felt a bit bad for the kid and didn’t want to turn up in the cold room with a hot drink and leave the kid suffering. It just felt a bit wrong to him.

He opened the door with his hip and waited until it closed behind him before relaxing slightly and walking over to Stray, sure now that they were in privacy where he could speak to the boy.

Said boy was sitting behind his desk again, but it seemed this time like he had just woken up. His t-shirt was rumpled and his hair an adorable brown floof atop his head. A smile etched its way onto James’ face at the sight of the kid, it was reassuring when the boy looked or acted his age. It almost made him forget that he was a prisoner of a terrorist cell… almost.

His eyes search for James' blearily, pupils unfocused but directed in his direction, like he was trying to figure out who he is, which was coincidentally when James notices that he isn’t wearing his glasses.

“Where are your specs?” He asks, placing the cup of tea on the desk carefully, keeping an eye on how close Stray’s hands were to it when he obviously couldn’t see properly. He did not want to deal with a scalded child nor a broken laptop, both outcomes ended with a whiny child.

“I’m not quite sure. The night guard likes to play this fun game of hiding them while I’m asleep.” His flat voice answers, annoyance beginning to seep through, letting Bond know that this is a daily occurrence. He rolls his eyes at the childishness of the grown adult that thought that it was a fun pastime to hide the glasses of a small child, especially one in the situation that Stray is in.

“I’ll find them, stay here and still. I’m going to be leaving two hot drinks on the desk and I don’t need you spilling them over yourself.” James warns him before going off to search around the room.

It doesn’t take him long to find them, although it would’ve been difficult if you couldn’t see, James thinks as he walks back to Stray and places them into the boy’s waiting hands. The boy thanks him quietly as he places them on his face, resting on his small button nose.

James grabs the tea and pushes it over to Stray, raising his brows at him and the drink. The kid looks at him confused for a moment before realisation dawns and he picks up the cup, taking a small sip and looking pleased. Another small thanks leaves his mouth as he begins to properly wake up.

“So, what’s the plan?” Stray asks softly, looking up at Bond, eyes clear but James spots a tinge of hope peeking at him in the brown orbs.

Bond just taps his nose twice in response before smirking slightly at the boy’s obvious agitation about not knowing.

Stray shakes his head at him, annoyed at being left in the dark. Silently, he vows to empty Bond’s bank account should he act like this again after the mission. If they even see each other again after it. Stray hopes they do, he would like to thank the man in better circumstances and perhaps make some destructive gadgets for him.

“I’ll let you know when it’s time to make our exit. Until then, continue with your work.” Bond orders, voice flat as he slips into mission mode. He moves over to his chair and sits down, preparing for the long wait until the helicopter arrives. His left wrist rests on top, keeping his watch in clear sight.

17:50

“We are leaving in ten minutes, get ready.” Bond’s command breaks the silence. Stray jumps slightly at the sound after being in the quiet for so long apart from a brief toilet break.

“Of course.” He responds eagerly, leaning forward, his focus grows as he works a USB stick into his computer. Grinning when a red box appears on the screen, a small click og the mouse signals the start of a huge information download and the end of the entire system he spent the last year creating.

Nine minutes later, the screen blinks before going black before turning back onto the home screen. The boy quickly pulls out the drive and stuffs it into the bottom of his worn down shoe. He stands up and grins at Bond, giving him a thumbs up as he grabs the laptop, unplugging it and holding it under his right arm.

James briefly thinks that it’s the most age appropriate action he’s seen the boy do. Which is an extremely sad thought if looked upon too closely.

He nods and stands up, walking over to the door and opening it, he peers out into the corridor before deeming it clear and gesturing for the boy to follow him.

As Stray walks through the doorway, a flicks a small switch the rests unassumingly on the side of the doorframe - almost invisible unless you knew what you were looking for.

They walk through the corridor quickly, Stray close behind Bond as his eyes flick around the room.

Together they move through the hallways, the grimy grey walls becoming a fixed part of their sight. The concrete is dirty with obvious stains of blood that it has soaked up through its time working as a base of operation for criminals.

The floor beneath their feet is smooth from use, the grey concrete also stained with blood and littered with broken glass from what he can only presume as beer bottles and other such containers. Stray fights the urge to roll his eyes at the cliche of it all. A ‘criminal mastermind’ living in an old, concrete, deserted building that is covered in bloodstains and broken glass.

Seriously, I know he’s French, but couldn’t he have made a trip to IKEA? Perhaps purchase a nice Billy Bookcase to spruce the place up. Give it some better vibes, more lived in, less died in.

A group of men turn around the corner in front of them and they both quickly turn right into the nearest corner, standing flat against the wall. Stray turns to look at Bond alarmed, Bond just puts his index finger up to his lips in the universal sign of shushing someone.

They both stay silent as the men walk straight past them, not even looking their way once. When the corridors are empty again, Stray lets out a breath of relief.

“I can create a distraction if you want? It will take the guards to the other side of the building than the helipad.” The boy ventures, tilting his head to the side as he asks Bond.

He thinks about it briefly before nodding, it's a bit of an old fashioned technique, but it should do the trick here.

Stray pulls his laptop out from under his arm and opens the lid. He pulls up a tab showing schematics of the whole building before pressing a few keys and moving his fingers along the touchpad.

Soon enough, loud sirens blare from above them and Bond just chuckles. The fire alarm? A classic.

They continue forward, climbing up flights of stairs before having to venture through a floor to the next flight of stairs waiting to take them closer to escape. Nearing the final floor, they encounter a fork in their path, Bond runs the odds through his head before he feels a tug on the sleeve of his blazer.

“We should go left.” The boy informs him, voice clear and firm. Bond nods along, deciding that the best thing to do is follow the person who’s been living here for the last year. Stray smiles slightly as the man follows what he says without question, rarely is an adult comfortable with accepting that a twelve year old is smarter or more well informed than them.

They go left, Bond strides through the corridor, pulling the kid along with him when he falls back. He hears Stray muttering about long legs and the unfairness of the situation.

Just as he begins to let a smirk tug up on his lips, a loud explosion causes the walls and floor to tremble. Bond looks over to Stray to check if he’s okay only to see a smile on the boy’s face.

His smile grows wider at the look on Bond’s face. “What? The distraction needed to be convincing.” The boy shakes his shoulders, unconcerned by the fact he had created a massive explosion. Bond smirks at him.

“I think you’d get along swimmingly with a man I know, he loves explosions. It’s actually an addiction of his.” Bond informs the boy, chuckling slightly at the thought of Alex worshipping the ground the boy walks on just for the chance of explosions being made for him.

They begin to run through the corridors as adrenaline fills their veins, Stray making brief comments when to turn and whether to go left or right.

Suddenly, a group of three men interrupt their path, they begin shouting at Bond and Stray as they run closer.

Bond sharply pulls out his gun and shoots one, the body drops to the floor with a thud.

“Get down!” He shouts at Stray as the other two begin to put their hands behind their back, presumably for a gun. Stray follows the command and drops to the floor, staring at the scene worriedly as he tries to make himself as small as possible.

Bond moves forward and grabs one of the men before they have a chance, punching him in the face before grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back - using the man as a human shield when the bullets begin to fire.

He waits until he hears the tell tale signs of an empty gun before throwing the man’s dead body onto the floor. He stalks towards the man. Fear flashes across his features and turns to try to escape, before he can start running, a small fist punches him square in the groin.

He groans, bending over and stumbling backwards in pain. Right into James Bond, who quickly lets a bullet fly into the man’s head.

Bond then turns to Stray, raising an eyebrow at the small boy who stood in the middle of the corridor, fist still raised.

“I crawled my way over during your fight.” He sheepishly explains, smiling gingerly at the agent.

“Nice punch.” James shoots him a small smile before gesturing with his hand for them to continue forward. He felt with no doubt that the alarms had begun to rise, especially with the sound of gunshots adding to the scene.

They ran through the remaining corridors and up a few flights of stairs where eventually an old metal door stood, clearly marked as the entrance to the roof. Bond reached forward and pushed the door open.

18:48

The sight of the helicopter brought tears to Stray’s eyes, the idea of escaping was finally beginning to sink in. He quickly shook his head to rid himself of any thoughts that would distract him.

A shout gains his attention and he looks up to see Bond yanking the pilot out of the helicopter, knocking him out with a swift punch when the pilot begins to try and fight against him.

Once the man is knocked out, Bond looks over and shouts at him, demanding him to go forward, towards him and get in the helicopter. He then turns back and into the cockpit, looking around at all the controls and making himself comfortable with the control systems. He nods to himself, familiar with this steering system and the buttons surrounding him.

Stray stumbles along, clumsily climbing into the vehicle, unsure of where to position himself considering he’s never been in a helicopter - at least while being conscious. Don’t ask, it’s a long story. One he does not ponder about for too long, way too memories there considering he spent most of the time unconscious.

Bond gets in the back of the chopper and arranges the boy in a seat, strapping him in while Stray shot him a baleful look at being treated like a small child. He then gives the boy a headset and gestures for him to put it on, once he puts it on, Bond goes back to the pilot seat and puts his own on to match. Stray fiddles with the microphone attached, he needed to use his nervous energy somehow.

“I’m going to fly us out of here, just stay in the seat. We may experience some turbulence, don’t panic.” Bond speaks through the headset while flipping some switches and grabbing hold of the steering component. “My names James Bond by the way.”

Stray twitches at that, it doesn’t exactly give him hope when Bond tells him his name before taking flight like he’s saying his last words so he doesn’t have any regrets.

“Okay Mr Bond, just get us out of here alive.” Stray mutters back into the headset, staring out of the helicopter, anxious and eager to escape.

They begin to rise and Stray tries to take hold of the strap keeping him in place tightly, knuckles turning white from the force he’s putting into holding on. It is at this point he remembers that he is scared of flying. Well, there’s not much to be done now.

He sees Bond pull out a small earpiece and slide it in his ear, under the headset, before talking to someone whom Stray assumes is a member of MI6. He reports the status of their mission and that they are currently in a get-away vehicle.

The building he had been held at for the past year begins to get further and further away, his muscles relax more the further they distance themselves from his hell. He finally calms down, until he sees Bond lift his hand up to reveal a small switch.

Bond smirks at him, “you aren’t the only one with a distraction ready.” He quips before pressing down on the small red button. Stray has a sudden, sinking feeling that this can only end badly, red buttons don’t tend to end with things on a positive note.

On cue, a deafening explosion fills the atmosphere, Stray looks back to see the building completely blown apart. Rubble and debris flies through the air in all directions. An euphoric feeling blooms in his chest at the sight of his prison being destroyed so completely. Perhaps he will have a happily ever after.

Then the wave of power from the explosion travels to them and flings them forward.

He hears Bond curse under his breath as he loses control of their escape vehicle, Stray begins panicking as he hears the usually composed man swearing and breaking his stoicness.

The helicopter starts to spin violently as they are hurtled towards the thick, dense forest below. Before long, they break into the trees - softening their fall however they still smash to the ground.

Stray begins to lose consciousness from the stress of the fall and all the whiplash his small body is being forced to endure. His head drops to his chest as his eyes shut and his normally bumbling brain turns still. As his mind leaves the world of consciousness, the last thing he hears is James calling out his name and the sounds of a buckle struggling to be undone before a loud bang erupts, and then, silence.

He should have known Happily Ever Afters only happen in stories, and this was not a story.

17:13

MISSION STATUS
007 KIA
TARGET 1 MIA
TARGET 2 DESTROYED

Chapter Text

Stray wakes up to his body being tightly held against James Bond’s chest.

Definitely not how he thought his first nap as a free man (free child?) would happen, nor how it would turnout.

Oh well, beggars can't be choosers.

He lifts his head up, confused, before quickly drawing still, eyes clamping shut, as a sharp pain streaks down his neck. Huffing in irritation at the pain, he slowly cracks open his eyes again and peers around. He then quickly learns that he has either gone blind from the crash, or his glasses are not on his face.

With a few haphazard taps to the face with a stained hand, he makes another sound of annoyance as a distinct lack of plastic and glass greets his tarnished fingertips.

Well, at least he's not blind.

Above him, a sound of laughter is heard before James stops moving and gently lowers Stray to the floor, sitting up on the ground and crouching down next to him.

“Here you go…” James’ gravelly voice mutters before his vision shakily becomes clearer as large hands gently place his glasses on his face.

Stray’s eyes blink profusely for a few seconds as they adjust. He quickly looks around, taking note of the environment.

It seems that they are in a forest, most likely the one that surrounds his old ‘home’, he muses, staring at the trees. He looks down and grimaces slightly as he realises that he is now sitting on dry dirt. His hands shoot to his trousers, trying to wipe off any dirt.

The only saving grace being his laptop which is lying to the side of him, obviously he was an effective human meat shield in the event of a helicopter crash. A note that he intends to remember.

“You are the only person I know that can get into a helicopter accident, make it out practically unharmed, wake up and the first thing they feel is annoyed.” James chuckles at his antics, shaking his head softly. Quietly, in his own mind, he feels extremely grateful that Stray didn’t immediately start panicking and acting timid. It makes the whole situation a lot easier for him.

A scared target that he was meant to protect just meant another worry for him.

“Well, any situation is better than the one I was in before you came alone.” Stray mutters snarkily as his small hands angrily rubs at his clothes. “Ugh, well, not much to do then. To be fair, they were already quite dirty before the crash.”

“Yes, well, best get back up. We need to get a move on, I’m trying to find the nearest telephone so I can get in contact with MI6 and sort us a way out of here. I doubt they think we’re alive and my equipment got lost in the accident so I can’t contact them through the normal channels.” Bond ventures, standing back up and reaching out a hand for Stray to hold onto as he gets back up.

“That sounds like a great plan.” He nods, voice croaky as his throat scratches. Only now he realises that he desperately needs something to drink, looking around, he fails to spot any sort of stream and prepares for a thirsty journey.

“I do lose my equipment so often that if they get a call from a random number, odds are that they will patch it through.” Bond reasons to himself, before chuckling at the thought and glancing back at Stray.

“They must be very annoyed by you. I would be if someone kept on losing all the equipment I made for them. Well, I think I would just end up not giving them anything. Just the basics, as punishment, probably just a gun.” Stray replies, shooting him a quick glare at the mere thought, sounding irritated.

Good thing it isn’t his job. I don’t know who would be crazy enough to take the position of Quartermaster when they had to supply people like 007 with tools.

Before can take more than a few steps, he quickly finds his feet losing contact with the muddy ground and finds himself held bridal style against Bond’s chest. A wounded sound of indignation erupts from his mouth sharply at the manhandling and embarrassing hold.

“Wha-?” He starts his scathing reprimand, only to be cut off.

Bond shakes his head slightly, a smirk etching its way onto his smug face. “Sorry Stray, but this is the quickest way. Your legs are too little, we’d take double the time to get anywhere.”

James keeps to himself that he is still worried that Stray may have some sort of injury that he hasn’t realised yet. He refuses to have Stray even more injured under his watch because of something as simple as walking.

“Fine.” He responds tartly, looking away towards their surroundings instead of Bond’s irritating face.

Legs are too little, what a dick.

Off-handedly Stray admits that calling his saviour a dick isn’t the best move, even mentally. At least this way he doesn’t have to get sweaty, always a plus. The thought of even more grime building up on his already stained skin has him grimacing and relaxing a bit more in James’ arms. His laptop rests securely in his arms, being held onto like a lifeline.

James offhandedly thinks that for a long time, it was a lifeline. One that had led to his escape.

They journey silently for a while, Stray lost in thought and Bond quite happy in the silence offered by the small boy in his arms, before breaking it. A small part of him wants to know more about Stray.

“So who is going to be picking you up from our services once we are finished with this distasteful business?” Bond says, trying to sound nonchalant, which he succeeds in because he’s a fucking spy.

If you are allowed to be, goes unsaid as even Bond must admit to himself that the agency wouldn’t mind keeping hold of the boy as a ward, cultivating his mind for their use.

Stray sighs at the predictable question before answering rather begrudgingly, “none that I know of. How do you think someone my age ends up in this sort of position? It’s not by having a perfect, loving family, that’s for sure.” He mutters the end and reaches up to adjust his glasses as they begin to slip down his nose.

James sighs at the answer, there goes the chance to reunite him with a loving family that lost their six year old son. Stray is beginning to look more and more like the perfect catnip toy for M.

I guess I best get used to him, because there is no way she is going to let him go. He’ll probably end up moving into Q-branch. Lord knows Boothroyd will be rubbing his hands together at the chance to pick apart the kid’s brain.

Well, after he gets over the fact that he is a kid.

“My condolences.” Bond responds sympathetically.

“It’s not the end of the world, don’t worry. I don’t care all that much, you can’t miss what you’ve never known.” Stray responds, shrugging and unconcerned. “Although, I was in a foster home briefly, a transaction that went wrong - you could say, before my unwanted departure from society. That little stint wasn’t at all what he considered enjoyable.” He further admits to the man carrying him, refusing to look him in the eye.

“Ah, yes, well the foster system isn’t exactly known for being great.” Bond teases gently before sharply focusing away from the boy. Stray notices the action and mimics him, realising that the sounds of cars and people are beginning to poke through the tree branches. “Ah, civilization, finally.”

“Not to burst any bubbles here, namely my own, but we don’t exactly look presentable right now.” Stray forlornly spoke out, staring down dismally at his own clothes before glancing at the state of Bond’s own outfit.

“Mmh.” Bond hummed in reply, looking down as well, “good thing we aren’t planning on staying there long. We only need to be able to contact MI6, they’ll get to us within the hour most likely.”

Stray nodded in response and sighed, “My only desire right now is to take a shower.”

“You and me both kid.” James responded, chuckling slightly at the simple desire. He continues walking towards the sounds of other people, steps picking up slightly as he too must admit that a shower doesn’t sound too bad.

As the light begins to grow brighter, his target tucks his face against his chest. An aching reminder that the person James is holding is just a boy, a child. A child that has just escaped abuse and is now being thrusted back into society without any pausing or warm-up.

Bond ducks under the final branch and an old, quiet petrol station greets his senses. The strong smell of fuel burning his senses after spending time only surrounded by nature. Stray quickly peeks up at the piercing scent before tucking himself away again.

James doesn’t have the heart to tease him for it.

He strides through the empty car spaces towards the building’s doors, acting like he’s wearing a three-piece prada suit and not something resembling more of a zombie halloween costume.

Stiff hinges rebel as the old door opens under Bond’s strong arms. Stepping inside, he is greeted by a sleeping teenager behind the counter and an otherwise empty convenience store.

Bond quickly spots a landline hook to the wall behind the counter and spares little thought before reaching over and pulling it off the hook. The teenager doesn’t react beyond emitting another snore.

Dialling the numbers he has ingrained in his brain, he sits through the repetitive beeps before they cut off and a feminine voice breaks through the receiver.

“This is Amanda, thank you for phoning Eon Productions, how can I assist you today?” A kind, but obviously trained, voice relays the script.

“I want to file a complaint about the recent work of Ian Fleming.” Bond replies just as easily back, completing the script.

“Of course, please wait while I redirect you to our complaints department.” She quickly responds, before a click sounds out and the beeping starts up again. Bond rolls his eyes at the delay and sighs under his breath.

Stray looks up at the sound and Bond is quick to flash him a reassuring smile. The boy nods gently, convinced and burrows back. Bond represses his urge to chuckle as he realises the boy is falling asleep.

007, an infamous spy, surrounded by two sleeping teenagers at the end of his dangerous mission.

If Alex could see him now, he’d never hear the end of it.

The beeping stops and he quickly focuses back onto the voice coming through the phone.

“Hi, sorry to hear you have a complaint, how would you rate your complaint on a scale from 1 to 10. If you find it goes higher, please state the number still and we will try to adjust accordingly.” A now male voice breaks the robotic silence.

“7 out of 10.” He replies.

Bloody hell, how many of these damn lines do I have to go through?

It seems he has grown out of the habit, having learnt his mistake in the past about losing a way of communication after the bollocking that M gave him.

The memory still induces shivers.

“Of course, someone will get back to you shortly. Thank you for your patience.” A click is heard again and the beeping continues. He genuinely begins to debate throttling the person who invented the cover when a familiar voice greets him.

“007, and here we thought you’d departed from this mortal plane for good.” Boothroyd’s aged but jovial voice welcomes Bond. “What happened?”

The seriousness immediately destroys whatever lighthearted undertones were present.

“Target 1 has been acquired, I am requesting an evac at this location immediately. Medical assistance requested but no urgent injuries to note.” Bond slips back into his role of 007, his voice falling neutral.

“Understood, units have been deployed, please standby.” There’s a short break before Boothroyd continues, “ETA in 14 minutes.”

James relaxes slightly at the news before Bond goes back on guard, his eyes flit back to the teenager asleep on the desk again before they move to the entrance.

“Response appreciated, will stay on line until the arrival of help.” 007 responds.

“Of course, once back at headquarters M is expecting a deep mission report to be delivered to her, verbally, and with the presence of Target 1 obligatory.”

Bond sighs at the news, the chances of Stray being freed from M’s web is almost at zero now. She only takes meetings with those she finds interesting, and those that she finds interesting, she doesn’t let go off.

“If that is the case that it must be made prevalent now that Target 1 is especially vulnerable. He is a child.” 007 releases the information, sounding like a man signing someone else’s prison sentence.

Children should be free and lack responsibility. A dream for someone in Stray's shoes.

A sharp intake of breath is the only response for at least a minute. Bond can only presume that after Q’s own digesting of this crucial intel, that he immediately shared it along to M. The carrier pigeon most likely taking the form of one Eve Moneypenny.

“Are you sure you have Target 1?” Q questions, voice shaking slightly at the connotations of what that meant, while also being firm with his demand for an answer.

“Yes.” Bond responds bluntly. There’s no point beating around the bush or pretending that he holds any doubt about it.

“Okay. That changes everything.” Muffled talking can be heard before a different, faceless, voice informs Bond of a change in handler for his wait.

Q must be losing his shit, Bond snorts derisively at the image his mind creates.

Before long, the sound of multiple vehicles pulling up to the station disrupts the silence. Once it had been confirmed that it is MI6 outside (by his new handler), he quickly hangs up and steps out into the natural light again.

Immediately a paramedic rushes to him and attempts to take Stray out of his hands and place him on the stretcher her colleagues had thoughtfully wheeled over behind her. He shakes them off and attempts to place the boy on the bed himself, but that plan is thwarted too as Stray refuses to budge. “No.” A soft mutter escapes Stray.

“Well, you heard him.” Bond then places himself onto the bed, Stray still on his chest. “You can only take both of us.”

The paramedics look between each other for a second before the leading one shrugs and gestures for the others to begin carting them over towards the blacked out ambulance.

James smirks at their quick agreement, Alex and him have trained them well.

Once settled into the ambulance, they begin to surround them again. Seeing how they begin to crowd around, James leans down and quickly mutters into Stray’s ears that they can be trusted and that they need to check for injuries. It seems to work as Stray quickly loses the persona of a scared child and falls back into the boy that Bond saved.

How many times has he needed to do that? The thought briefly cycles through James’ mind before he turns back to the scene in front of him.

Stray shuffles over to the end of the bed, no longer lying on top of him, instead his short legs dangle over the edge as he allows a paramedic to check him over. Another talks to him gently while opening the packets of sterile plaster and wrappings.

A hand gently prods his arm, “have you got any injuries sir?” one of the paramedics asks him. He focuses on his body before replying.

“A few grazes on my legs and a deeper cut on my arm, I applied a makeshift tourniquet.” Bond responds to her, inwardly thinking that if he lets them do their job, M might go easy on him.

He lifts his head up slightly as he feels the vehicle move underneath him, realising that the doors have been shut and they are moving. At least the trip should be short before they arrive at an airport.

The paramedic nods at him and begins to treat them, giving him a quick shot of local anaesthetic on his arm before beginning to stitch up his arm wound. As this happens he looks over at Stray, the boy seems to be accepting what they are doing, that is until one of them tries to remove his glasses and he’s quick to fucking bite the hand that tried.

James chuckles before calling out, “leave the glasses, his face is fine.” The paramedic looks like he is about to argue before the woman attending to him clears her throat sharply and the man quickly stops and gets back to work, holding his hand back protectively and a lot more gentle when getting close.

Serves him right, bloody medics thinking they have all the right in the world.

As if hearing him, the woman treating him seems to purposefully prod at a bruise he didn’t realise he had. He muffles his grimace but tenses for a moment, the woman obviously sees it before he sees a small smile threaten to peek out.

Again, bloody medics.

Before long, they stop moving again and the doors slam open. Stray flinches abruptly at the noise and begins to move over to where James is. James quickly moves towards him and grabs him, mindful of any areas wrapped.

The scene of a private airport begins to actualize after the sharpness of the bright sun becomes more manageable. James nudges Stray forward and he gets the message, moving forward and towards the door.

Once out, an agent greets them.

“007, a plane is ready for you. A full bathroom is onboard along with a new change of clothes for yourself and Target 1.” The woman says professionally, never taking her eyes off his but face blank.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he notices Stray shuffle at the moniker and glare at the woman in front of him. There’s one thing knowing that you’re only here because you’re a target, another to have it told to your face so bluntly.

Annoying agent, does she think I’m deaf or something? He inwardly grumbles at her blaring act of ignoring his existence. He could delete every shred of evidence that she exists except from her actual body if he wanted to.

Bond nods in thanks, “sounds great agent, make sure to inform the agency when we take off.”

“Of course sir.” She responds and begins to lead them towards their jet.

Bond goes to nudge Stray again before realising there is no need as he has already begun to follow her, he shakes his head lightly before catching up. “It seems a shower may be in the near future after all.”

“Thankfully, only positive to this woman’s existence it seems.” The boy replies snarkily, still miffed about what she said. James thinks that this is the sort of attitude he should be attempting to stop as an adult but he finds it too funny. Instead, he just nods thoughtfully before continuing the conversation.

“The plane ride will be quite long, try to get some rest while we are in the air. We have a meeting once we touch down back in England and trust me, you’re going to want to be on your toes.” He advises wisely.

“Ah yes, with M I presume?” The boy responds easily, like he hadn’t just named the leader of MI6 and a name he definitely shouldn’t know.

Bond pauses for a second before deciding to leave that can of worms where it is.

Christ, this kid is good at hiding things.

“Yes, so be on your best behaviour.” He warns, half-serious, curious how M would react to someone of his age being snarky towards her. He can’t imagine her being the maternal sort, although she does love to surprise him, so what does he know.

“I am not a moron, 007, I know how to behave among civilised company.” Pointedly looking back at him and raising a brow as he says it.

“Snarky piece of shit, aren’t you?” He retorts, fighting back a grin. The boy in front of him has no such restrictions, flashing him a shit-eating-grin before feigning innocence.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about sir.” He responds timidly before determinedly turning back to following the nameless agent in his pursuit for a shower.

As the jet gets closer, they all begin to speed up and waste no time climbing the steps onto it. Bond turns around and offers a short wave at the agent before turning back and finishing the final few steps.

The inside is as luxurious as he would expect, although he knows he is only getting such treatment because they don't have a passport for the boy. Otherwise he would be sent to a hotel and then travel back economy as punishment for losing all communication again.

“I’ll find a change of clothes for you and a towel for you to take into the shower with you.” James says once the door has shut. “Although you’ll have to wait for the plane to take-off before you can actually get in there.”

“Thank you.” Stray says from behind him as he rummages through one of the black duffel bags left on one of the tables between the seats. Finding a towel on top and then undergarments, a t-shirt, some joggers, and a matching jacket for the boy.”

“It’s no problem.” He replies easily, beginning to turn back to him.

“No, thank you.” The earnest nature of the voice makes him look towards Stray’s face, seeing a genuine look of honesty and gratuity.

James stumbles at the open emotion and his brain cells are forced to perform mental jumping jacks in order to fall back in order.

“Yeah, it’s no problem though, seriously. I save people, and you needed saving.” He responds gently. “Lets sit down for take-off.”

The boy nods, eyes glistening slightly as he sits opposite the deadly agent.

The pilot exits the cockpit briefly, letting them know that it’s time to depart and they’ll get back in roughly 6 hours.

Enough time for a shower and a nap, Stray reasons as the man speaks, already wanting him to leave so they can get in the air and he can get in the shower. Maybe he does have a one-track mind, he chuckles inwardly at the thought.

Once they are in the air, he is quick to spring up and grab the pile of cloth that James thoughtfully placed on the seat next to him. He looks to James briefly, seeing him smile reassuringly before pointing to one of the doors near the back of the small jet. He smiles back at him before trotting off.

The sounds of the door locking allows him to truly relax and he gets undressed, quickly does his business before turning to the shower and beginning to work out how it works. It is admittedly quite easy due to the simple nature of its mechanics, but it takes him an embarrassing amount of time to work up the courage to get under the spray of water. Memories threatening to cause a panic attack as he thinks back to the last time he was under a shower.

Go fuck yourself Hugo.

Some nondescript products are in a little tray near the resting place of the showerhead and he quickly lathers himself in shower gel. God, the smell of something other than dirt is practically dreamy to his senses now.

He scrubs harshly, but wary of the plasters on his body that were thoughtfully wrapped in some sort of water-proof material. Something he didn’t think about until he was under the water.

Maybe I shouldn’t have bitten that man so hard.

After washing his hair with the same desperation, he turns the water off and steps out, grabbing the towel he can shiver. He clinically dries his body, making sure his eyes don’t linger on any of his wounds, before dressing himself in the too big clothes and placing his glasses back on his face.

He steps back out of the room and is pleased to find James still in the same seat but a pair of soft white socks and black slippers on the seat where his clothes were placed before.

“Feel better?” James’ voice breaks through his inner dialogue.

“Much, thank you.” He walks over and sits down before rolling on the socks and putting his feet in the, again too big, slippers.

James gets up and brings the other duffel bag over, as well as a smaller, dark green bag.

“I’m going to get in the shower as well, but beforehand, would you mind if I placed an IV in your arm? It won’t hurt, I just want to try and give you some needed nutrients and fluid while you nap.” He quickly reasons, and Stray finds he can’t deny a rule he has followed for years:

You can’t argue with logic.

He nods and pulls up the sleeve on his left arm, while not against the notion, he isn’t exactly looking forward to it.

James smiles, eyes reflecting the relief he feels at the lack of fight from the boy.

God knows the kid could use some extra help, there’s no way he hasn’t got malnutrition.

He makes sure the procedure is quick and gentle, Stray can’t find anything to fault him for and by the time it is all over, a bag hanging from a hook on the wall behind him, and James has already left for the shower himself, he struggles to keep his eyes open.

After a brief fight, he stops and allows himself to fall asleep, knowing he is finally safe.

~~~

A teenage boy wakes up panicked to the sounds of beeping, blearily looking around, scared he got caught sleeping on the job.

He relaxes as he realises it is just the landline hanging down its docking station. He slowly moves over and picks it back up, hearing it click as it slots back into place.

Now content, he rests his head on his arms again and closes his eyes, just before he drifts off, he has a final thought.

How the hell did that fall from the socket…?

Chapter Text

A hand nudges his shoulder, Stray bolts up and looks around for his glasses, forgetting where he is for a brief moment. A calloused hand appears in front of his face, a pair of wired lenses resting soothingly in the palm.

His smaller (and much frailer, James notes concerningly) hand darts out and grabs the worn metal, perching the frames gently on his face and relaxing finally, once the face of James Bond becomes clear.

Everything is a lot less anxiety inducing when you can actually see what surrounds you.

Stray sends a brief, but grateful, smile to James as a thank you. His right hand goes up and touches the framing gently in what can only be assumed as an attempt to self-soothe after the tumultuous last few days.

I’m surprised these have even lasted this long. The thought runs through his head passingly, although I could definitely be aided by a change in prescription.

Vision no longer foggy, Stray looks around again and notices that they are no longer in the air, plain grey walls peek out through the small circular windows dotted evenly on the jet walls. The door has already been opened and he quickly notes that his bag and laptop are nowhere to be seen, however, knowing that James has been here the whole time stops him from worrying too much.

“I’m just going to take this out, alright Stray?” Bond questions quietly, the smaller eyes flicker to the worn hand gesturing to the IV, and Stray nods in assent. James offers a brief, small smile (is that relief Stray sees?) before gently pulling out the needle but leaving the plaster in place. A small wince escapes the boy before he quickly recovers.

His other hand finds its way to the plaster, resting on it gently for a few seconds, comforting himself before he realises that he is free from any sort of medical tubing. He quickly asks for information about what is happening, “where are we going now, Bond?”

“We are going to meet the person responsible for sending me to get you.” Bond replies, standing up and wincing as his back clicks, “come on then little hacker, we have places to be and people to meet.”

The boy rolls his eyes at the nickname before getting up as well, following the agent out of the jet and into the carrier. The annoyance leaves his system however when he gets the chance to look around.

There are people in white coats walking everywhere, tablets and clipboards in their arms. A group of high tech jets are sitting proudly amongst the sea of people. Desks on wheels surround them, with bright screens resting on the table tops.

Stray stops and begins to look at one of the screens, a plan for a new jet upgrade shows on the displays. Notes and equations surrounding the intricate diagrams. As he begins to step toward it, his hand is grabbed. The head of the unruly brown hair snaps over to shout at the owner of the hand only to realise that it’s James.

“Now, now, don’t spy.” Bond tuts teasingly before tugging him away and continuing their journey towards the head of MI6.

I forgot how curious kids are, especially the smart ones.

The thought cycles through his head at the constant head bops and jerks of the child he is required to escort.

“That’s your job, 007, not mine.” Stray quips, still not actually focusing on where they are going. Instead, his eyes follow the screens surrounding him behind the glass frames. He trails behind Bond, only keeping up due to them being connected.

Soon enough, the bright screens unfortunately give way to a pair of heavy looking metal doors. Two agents stand on either side of the thick barriers, they see the two coming and open the doors, nodding at Bond as he passes them before closing the doors again.

The two agents turn to each other once the infamous 007 is out of their sight. The man on the right hands over a folded £20 note.

“Damn it.” The man who is now £20 poorer grumbles, letting out a short huff in frustration.

“I knew he’d end up with a kid from some random bird he knocked up before he retired.” The other smirks victoriously, stressing his sentence and pocketing the note quickly into his trouser pocket.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Twenty quid says the kid is gonna cause as much chaos as his old man.” The guard bets, looking over at his comrade with a smirk. The other looks at him and scoffs.

“I may have good luck, but I ain’t stupid enough to think that it’s strong enough to overpower those 007 genes. That kid is gonna be a menace.” The other responds, chortling at the very thought that the offspring of James Bond wouldn’t be anything other than a gremlin.

Before they can begin to try and barter, they notice another agent approach causing them both to quickly drop back into position beside the doors. Faces blank once again as they pretend nothing happened.

Stray huffs in annoyance as more plain walls form the corridor they are walking through, boredom begins to creep up now that there is nothing particularly interesting for him to take a look at.

I could at least have been given my laptop back to fiddle with during this tedious expedition.

James laughs lightly at the small (and cute, but he’ll never say it aloud) pout on the boy’s face. As much as he acts and speaks like an adult at times, Stray is definitely still a child in his heart and soul - a fact that comforts the experienced agent greatly.

However, that gratefulness dies out as the petulant boy begins to sag even further behind him, feet dragging on the flat flooring.

“Honestly, this generation…” James mutters under his breath before turning abrupt and scooping the boy up before he can say a word in opposition. “What would you lot do with a gadget?” He mutters again, although this time rhetorically.

It really shouldn’t be this easy to pick up a twelve year old… and when did I turn into such an old man? Alex would never let me live it down if he heard me speaking like some senile old geezer.

“Unhand me this instant, you foul fiend.” Stray scowls, fidgeting about and pushing against the human wall. James almost bursts out laughing from the old-timey phrase that escaped the young boy’s mouth before he looks down just in time to see his face go from a pale white to pink and then to a vibrant red.

The boy quickly looks away and hides from Bond's eagle eyesight, twisting his head around searching for anyone around to see his embarrassment.

“Hmm, I will as long as you walk beside me.” Bond responds easily, more than used to dealing with children, especially considering that his best friend is Alex out of all people.

He slowly and gently lowers the boy after seeing a miniscule up and down movement of fluffy brown hair.

Once on safe ground again, Stray’s feet still drag like before, but he does concede and keep up with the slowed pace of Bond. “I’m sure after the meeting, we can find you something interesting to look at.” Bond softens as he realises that the kid is probably still exhausted and in need of a couple of days of rest.

Stray, for his credit, perks up and begins to walk more briskly beside James quite happily now that he has a rewarding end goal. Although he does shoot the tall man a glare when a deep chuckle reaches the smaller’s ears. James mentally notes that bribery is a very successful tactic against the boy, yeah, just like Alex.

They walk down a short set of stairs before coming to a stop in front of a lift. Bond reaches over and presses the bottom button, which instead of having a number engraved, has the letter M.

So much for secrecy. The boy thinks as he looks at the lit up M button. The ping of the elevator arrives quickly and they both step into the roomy metal box. They stand, side-by-side, quietly.

The silence is filled only by the small ruffles of fabric as the boy fidgets around, beginning to feel a sense of anxiety as he actually thinks about what this meeting could be about and what it could mean for his future.

M could easily decide that he is more trouble than he’s worth, and have him eliminated. Or worse, shipped off somewhere with no access to any devices or the internet. How boring his days would be with nothing to do but normal people stuff.

He would never get to meet the quartermaster and show him all the flaws in his system, he would have to live with a perpetual cycle of thoughts running rampant in his mind, repeating all the easy gaps in the system he remembers with absolutely no way to fix them.

What a cruel torture, there must be something in the Geneva Conventions against that sort of thing.

A visible shudder runs through the Stray’s body and James quirks an eyebrow at the sight, wondering what could have possibly caused the body to react so strongly.

The two stew in their respective thoughts until the ding of the elevator breaks them out of it.

The door slides open and Bond steps out first, shortly followed by Stray, who sticks close to the agent quite willingly now that the moment of judgement looms closer.

Stray follows Bond as they walk through another plain corridor, although this one has evenly spaced painting pinned on the walls. Throughout the journey, they walk past a few plain wooden doors.

Instead of the corridor ending with the door to M’s office like Stray imagined it would, it merges into a waiting room, before continuing on through it. On the left of the room, a secretary desk with a woman sitting behind it is situated, opposite a huddle of mildly cushioned chairs which Stray can only assume are there for people to wait in.

“007, what a surprise, I thought death might have stuck longer this time, you must annoy the reaper as much as you annoy me.” The woman behind the desk teases as she stands up and walks round to stand in front of the two.

“Well, you know me, wouldn’t want to give M any more grey hairs.” He responds back, with a smirk that says the complete opposite.

“Hah, that’s rich.” The woman then leans over her desk and presses a button before turning back to face them. “And who is this?”

Her face tilts to the right of the agent, a small face peeking out at her.

“My mission objective.” Bond responds curtly, moving to the right slightly, covering any of Stray that might have still been visible.

“Ah, and here I was thinking all those honeypots had finally caught up with you.” The left of her mouth pulls up to form a smirk before the right follows, morphing it into a comforting smile. “Anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet you, little mission objective, I’m Miss Moneypenny.”

Stray pauses at the name, becoming a lot more comfortable now that he knows whom he is speaking to.

I read her file during my exploration of MI6’s servers. Moneypenny was that field agent that risked James’ life and then retired from the field after… but James isn’t being rude to her so they must be friends. If she is friends with James then she must be safe, right?

Stray steps out from behind Bond slowly and reaches out his hand, “Thank you Miss Moneypenny, it is also a pleasure to meet you.” He flashes her a charming smile and blinks innocently at her.

Maybe if she likes me, there’ll be less of a chance that M will be mean? Her opinion must mean something to M if she works as her secretary.

The woman laughs as she reaches out and shakes the small hand, “are you sure this one ain’t yours Bond? Sure knows how to charm a lady like you.”

While Bond responds back snarkily, Stray takes the opportunity to look at the woman in front of him. Miss Moneypenny wore a deep blue suit, with a white blouse underneath. She has a darker complexion than both Bond and Stray himself, her dark brown hair is styled into short, tight curls framing her face pleasantly. Her dark brown eyes epitomised the concept of kindness, even when they held a more teasing glint directed at Bond.

A small beep pulls her away from Bond, she moves back around the desk and presses a button before gesturing to the other end of the room, where the corridor continues on.

“She’s ready for you two.” She smiles down at Stray and winks, “good luck cutie.”

Stray blinks before offering a small smile, staring at the woman before a tug of his forces him forward. He hears her laugh behind him and a light pink warmth spreads up his neck and sits on his cheeks.

He follows Bond past two doors before he stops at the third, rapping his knuckles against the door lightly before grabbing the handle and pushing it down. The door glides open and Stray walks in from under James’ arm. He gulps slightly, staring at the woman behind the desk before relaxing and sitting on one of the chairs opposite her.

I’ve literally survived a helicopter crash, I’m sure I can last a singular meeting with an old lady.

Who am I kidding? She’s terrifying.