Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alec did not expect to have a change of heart.

There’s a lot of things he didn’t expect, really. He didn’t expect to go behind James’s back, didn’t expect to collude with the Russians, didn’t expect to set up a massive satellite with the power to bring down the world’s electric grid in one fell swoop. He most certainly didn’t think he would change his mind. He was on the catwalk with his friend in front of him, willing to throw James to his death. Splat, end of story. James’s blue eyes glittered in the bright Cuban sun and Alec felt himself falter. Suddenly a little thread of misgiving snaked into his heart. A split second of hesitation, enough for James to overpower him and push him up against the railing. No, not yet, not yet! Alec wanted to scream, but the way he was held he could barely breathe, much less speak. James, please, he gasped out, and he saw the same hesitation mirrored in his friend’s face. The first name, he knew that would get James’s attention. He heard the beating of rotor blades nearby, and then James was dragging him back up and they were climbing into the helicopter’s cabin. The Russian girl—Natalya—was not happy to see him, and she might have actually thrown him out of the vehicle if James hadn’t stopped her. When they finally landed, James said, don’t think this means anything. Don’t think this means we can go back to the way things were.

Well, clearly it did mean that, because they’ve been here a few months now. They never went back to England, and somehow the summons never came. Now they live in this tiny cottage on the beach, sky blue and rickety yet entirely theirs. Whoever painted this place must have been a drunk, he said, and James chuckled at his words. He’d warmed up by that point, allowing himself to sink back into their normal relationship. On ice for nine years. I mean it! Who paints a bloody house blue?

Whoever built it, James said with a shrug, jamming the key in the lock. It was a shoebox, literally, and Alec is not at all unaccustomed to small living quarters. He is used to poky tenement housing in Georgia just as much as fancy hotel rooms in Paris. The front door opened right onto the main room, with a couch on the left side and a kitchen on the right side. The back of the house had two tiny bedrooms, and the area behind the kitchen wall hid a small bathroom. No bath. All the walls were painted in the same riotous shade of blue as the outside facade. There’s not even a hallway, for Christ’s sake, Alec snapped, and James kissed him for it. After the first few days, though, he realised it didn’t matter. He had a roof, a bed and a kitchen. An enclave to retreat to with James where he wouldn’t be bothered. The road they’re on has little to no foot traffic; Alec could probably prance around the front yard buck naked and nobody would see him. As the weeks wore on it felt like they were in their own little universe, unbothered and unseen by anyone. Alec is not stupid enough to think that’s really the case, of course. MI6 knows exactly where they are and what they’re doing at all times. This house was even bugged when they moved in, though they spent an afternoon removing and immolating them in the fire pit in the front yard. Alec remembers watching them burn, staying well clear of the toxic smoke, listening to the tiny cameras and microphones crackle and pop as they melted in the flames. Someone must be keeping tabs on them, though. There’s no way they’d just give up after that. Maybe the bugs were just red herrings, made to draw attention away from some other surveillance. Alec can’t find it in himself to care, though. He’s not sure how long MI6 will allow them this—a year, tops, maybe two—but he won’t think about that now. It’s warm and safe and every single damn morning he wakes up with James stroking his hair. They go swimming in the sea after breakfast and take a walk every afternoon. There’s nobody around, so it’s safe enough to go hand in hand. Every night they make dinner in the kitchen, watching terrible Cuban shows on the tiny TV set. Eventually they retire to bed, snuggling on top of the covers with the mosquito net pulled over. The same every day. Virtually idyllic.

Even with this routine, it took a little while for Alec to get used to it. To let himself go, to stop fussing with all the thoughts of revenge and rage and anguish and hurt. To not look at James and instantly connect him with Britain and the government that tossed his parents away like they were nothing. Eventually Alec allowed himself to be touched, then kissed, then taken in James’s arms. He allowed himself to be fucked, and then he wasn’t just allowing it but taking part in it too. His whole body straining against his friend’s as he exploded in a hot sweaty climax. It became a routine, as Alec somewhat expected. After their morning swim, they would shower, then James would pull him down onto the bed and they’d get to it. Sometimes it was hard and fast and rough, like it used to be in the old days, but many times it isn’t. It’s slow and gentle and Alec just about melts with it. Feeling James’s hands trailing down his back, kissing at his scars, sliding up and down his cock. Kissing him and softly moaning and whispering I love you over and over as Alec moves within him. Perfect.

This morning it’s exactly the same. Alec’s eyes flutter open, and the first thing he sees is the bar of sunlight coming through the window above his head. The bed is empty, the sheets rumpled up. James is already awake; he’s moving around in the kitchen. That’s odd. Normally Alec wakes up before James, or at least around the same time. “James?” he asks, getting to a sitting position. It’s a bit harder these days. His midriff seems to have gotten stiffer. “How long have I slept in?”

“Not very long,” James says. He’s stirring a pot of porridge on the stove. “I just didn’t want to wake you.”

“Yeah?” Alec stretches, wandering out of the bedroom. “Were you drinking in my sleeping beauty, eh?”

“Something like that.” James hands him a bowl, squeezing honey over the top. Alec takes it, yawning. Why is he tired? He slept like a rock, unusually. The nightmares didn't bother him last night. “Tired?” James asks, the barest teasing edge to his voice.

“Yeah. No bloody clue why.” Alec presses the switch on the coffee pot, yawning once more. “Christ. I’m sure I slept well.”

“You did, darling. You didn’t even wake when I left to use the toilet.” James’s chair creaks. “M would be horrified to know.”

Alec rolls his eyes. His MI6 training is slipping, and somehow he doesn’t care about keeping it up. Feeling his mind go a bit mushy and ossifying at the edges. He still keeps up his physical discipline—mostly—but there’s no need to keep his mind in razor-sharp focus like before. He is not Janus or even 006 anymore. He can just be Alec. As the coffee pot slowly warms up, Alec leans against the fridge to eat his porridge, letting the coolness leach into his bare back. He’s shirtless now as he is every morning, though it didn’t used to be this way. For the first few weeks he couldn’t bring himself to go naked in front of James. He’d go into the bathroom and firmly close the door behind him, only opening it again once he’d changed into his clean clothes. It was not just his face that was marred by the explosion, it was the whole right side of his body. From his ankle to his face his skin is hard and scaly like a lizard’s. One that was half-flattened by a car and left to bake on the asphalt in the hot sun. It made him feel vulnerable and ashamed. He hated feeling that way, so hiding the scars it was. Just to hide that dirty bit of history he had with James. To his dismay, he was forced into the open completely without his stir. He was shaving in front of the mirror, letting out a yelp when he accidentally shaved off a slice of skin. James opened the door to check on him—Alec was standing there in only his underwear. You alright? James asked, looking around the room as if he expected to see a gun-toting assassin standing in the shower cubicle.

Fine, Alec said cagily, snatching up a towel and dabbing at his chin. Just cut myself.

Oh. Alright. James did not take the hint. He leaned against the doorframe, looking Alec up and down. I thought it was just your face, he said, and his voice sounded sad.

No, it wasn’t. Alec didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about the skin grafts and the debridements and the way his skin felt like it was going to tear apart any time he moved. It’s nothing.

Hm. James came closer, and he must have noticed Alec flinching because he added, it’s alright. You can show it to me. He reached out, gently running his fingers along the scars, as light as moth wings. They stood together in the bathroom, barely daring to breathe. Alec could feel himself relaxing. James wasn’t pitying him, or pushing him away, or thinking that he looked like a monster. He was touching Alec, being gentle. He wasn’t nervous at all. Alec didn’t feel ashamed about it again, and shortly afterwards they started having sex. “Might want to lay off the porridge,” James says, breaking Alec from his reverie. “Your stomach’s starting to enter the room before you, darling.”

James isn’t wrong; he’s only pointing out what Alec has known for a month now. His belly has started to soften, his defined abs disappearing under an unmistakable layer of pudge. “Less of the cheek,” Alec mutters, though he slows down on the porridge. Not that he’d say so, but his weight gain is slightly worrying him, and he’s not been able to exercise it away. He goes swimming and walking every day, yet the pudge refuses to shift. Alec has never had trouble staying fit and toned, so what’s changed? Maybe it’s the food, richer and spicier and loaded with more carbs than he’s used to. Bloating, or something. He finishes his breakfast, going to the sink—where did the bowl go? It’s on the stove, sitting on top of the front gas ring. How did that get there? “Now you’re forgetting things,” James says around a mouthful of porridge. “You’re letting yourself go, Alec.”

“Oh, leave off, you’re the same as me,” Alec snaps, far too loudly. That’s not him. He’s unemotional. Rock-solid. That was always Alec, burning the feeling out of himself. 006 had no time for feeling. Janus had no time for feeling. Even orphan Alec had no time for feeling. Emotions made him weak, emotions made him vulnerable. Never show any emotion, he’d said once, at a seminar a million years ago and a thousand miles away. Don’t let the enemy know they have anything over you. If you’re emotionless, you don’t give anything up. Well, he’s given himself up now. He snapped, flushed red, slammed his bowl down on the bench. Touchy, aren’t you? James might say, but he hasn’t said a thing. He actually looks shocked. “Alec, are you alright?” he finally says, putting down his coffee cup.

“Yes,” Alec hastily says, turning to the sink and twisting the tap. Blast it, his face has gone even redder. So much for keeping himself under control. “Sorry. Lost my head there.”

“Don’t be.” A pause, then, “You’re not 006 anymore. Not here, anyway. You don’t have to be all, ‘if you’re emotionless—‘“

“‘—you don’t give anything up’, yes, I know.” Not that he’d admit it, but Alec’s heart warms at the fact that his friend remembered that statement. From one seminar of many, however long ago it was. He rinses out the bowl, leaving it on the tea towel to dry. James pours himself a new cup of coffee, and the smell wafts over to Alec. He’s not sure why, but it’s sickening. How is that possible? It’s just coffee, yet it could be rotten egg for how sick it makes him feel. His stomach is writhing in nausea, almost painfully so. Alec dashes to the bathroom, dropping down next to the toilet just in time for a painfully acidic torrent to gush out of him. It’s mostly undigested, and it’s unclear whether that’s better. Alec gags and retches until he can’t anymore. He flops onto the toilet seat, gasping for breath. Where did that come from? He looks down at his abdomen, more flabby now that he’s folded up in this position. It’s so much more noticeable. Alec put it down to bloating. The Cuban food they’ve been eating as of late is far richer than he’s used to. He’s a spy, he should be used to it, but it seems that his stomach will always remain just that little bit more sensitive than normal. Ironic for a spy, that. It can’t be, though. Surely he’d be accustomed to the food by now. Alec remembers all that happened since he woke up. It’s all coming together far more neatly than he’d like. The nausea, the ‘bloating’, the forgetfulness, the irritability. The tiredness. What condition could he have that would include all those things? Pregnancy. Maybe the pudge is actually a baby, growing and swimming around inside him. Alec’s mouth goes dry, and he’s just about to yell for James or throw up again when his friend appears in the doorway. “You alright?” James says, kneeling down next to him.

“As much as I can be, having lost my damn breakfast,” Alec pants. His chest and throat are burning, though he’s able to ignore it. “What’s that in your hand?” James hands over two plastic sticks with an ironic smile. Pregnancy tests. Of course the super-spy would be able to connect the dots. Alec should have thought. “Why the hell do you have those?”

“You know why,” James says drily, and Alec lets out an irritated sigh. Of course. Secret agents can’t be going around leaving babies in every continent. At least, babies they don’t know about. He snatches the tests from his friend, waving James out of the bathroom. Alec shakily gets to his feet, slurping water from the tap. He needs to piss, and soon. Soon enough he feels the familiar pressure in his bladder, and he urinates on the two tests as he knows he has to. Alec can’t even look at them as the result slowly clarifies. By God, what if he is actually pregnant? What if James’s baby is happily kicking around inside him without either of their knowledge? What will this change? Will James jet back off to England the moment he hears about this? Goodbye, old chap. Back home for me. As he’s sitting there, Alec presses a hand to his belly as he’s seen other pregnant women do. Almost immediately, he drops his hand. Not because he’s a man, but because he never expected that to be him. Never did this eventuality cross his mind. Not even once. He was a little too busy carrying out his revenge plan to focus on fatherhood, but even if it did, would he have done so? Would it have mattered, feeling a baby grow inside him? Giving birth, raising his child, becoming a parent? Alec doesn’t know. It truly was never a possibility.

After ten minutes he can’t put it off any longer. Alec snatches the tests off the edge of the sink, and the result sucks all the air from his lungs. Two lines on both, and they are so pink they’re almost purple. If there exists a God—merciful or otherwise—this is probably His way of clouting Alec around the head and saying, you can’t ignore it now. Alec has the most ridiculous urge to flush the tests down the toilet. The last resort if he couldn’t dispose of something properly. Most of his enemies wouldn’t go looking in a septic tank for a piece of paper or flash drive. Up to their elbows in shit, and for what? A piece of metal and plastic that was corroded by human waste? He can’t do that, though. He has to tell James. Alec stands and walks out to the main room, the plastic sticks clutched in his hand. James is in the front yard, standing on the path. There’s a ribbon of cigarette smoke lazily spiralling towards the sky, barely moving in the Cuban heat. He must have stepped out to quickly light one up, waiting for Alec to be done in the bathroom. “James,” Alec says, and he surprises himself by keeping his voice steady. “Here,” he says, holding out the tests to his friend. “Your instincts were right on the bloody money. As usual.”

James stubs out his cigarette, inspecting the tests as if it might be a precious artefact he’s been sent to protect. “Positive,” he says, casually as if he’s just received a bill in the mail. “So you’re…”

“Pregnant.” Alec sighs. “Yes.”

The moment of truth. Alec’s heart slams in his chest, and he hates it. He’s not meant to be this nervous. James looks up at him, and he actually looks pleased. Far from being angry or even annoyed, James has got a twinkle in his eye, yet there’s none of the usual cunning or secret-agent virility behind it. As if he might actually be happy that such a thing has happened. “Well, Alec,” he says, leaning against the doorframe, “this certainly throws a spanner in the works, doesn’t it?”

Chapter Text

James had no idea how right he’d be when he said that Alec’s announcement would disrupt everything.

Everything shifted out of place, including the plans he privately held. He always knew this wouldn’t be permanent. He always thought they’d return to MI6—or at least James would, and Alec would be there in the shadows. Maybe he’d be relegated to working for Q or somewhere in the bowels of the NIS building on the computers. Unfortunately MI6 had other ideas. They said in no uncertain terms that they didn’t want Alec back. Alec Trevelyan is a traitor who has committed multiple acts of global treason. He is an unconscionable security risk. And he should have thought of that before he skipped off to become Janus, was the unspoken end to that little diatribe. James could understand it and he knew Alec did too, but he could see the brief flash of regret on his partner’s face. Alec went to bed soon after, and once he was in the bedroom with the door shut James contacted MI6 again and told them he would retire. The next morning he broke the news to his partner, whose reaction was less than stellar. What the hell? Why would you do such a thing?

Well, I think it’s time to move on. Settle down.

Alec seemed lost for words at that. Don’t you want to go back? he asked eventually.

James knew what his answer would be. No, not without you.

There was a very long pause. You want to give all that up for me? Alec asked, sounding a lot more vulnerable. You want to give up MI6 and the missions and everything else just to stay here with—

Yes, yes, yes. All of it. It’s not just you, darling. Is it? James went closer, cupping Alec’s face on the unscarred side. We have a child now. Things are different.

Alec scoffed. A child that’s in me and is currently the size of a strawberry.

Doesn’t matter. I want this, I want you. And you should believe it.

Alec touched his belly, though his hand almost immediately dropped. As if he wasn’t used to such a tender action, even for himself. Are you sure? he asked again. He couldn’t help himself. Don’t make a bloody rash decision just because of—

Alec, darling. We’re staying. I’m staying. Don’t even worry about it.

Alec sighed. Must have taken MI6 a fair amount of convincing.

No. According to M I’m a sexist, misogynist dinosaur. I think she’s quite happy to relegate me to the history books. James shrugged. I don’t care. It’s behind us now, and…we can have a life here. It’ll be alright. He wasn’t even lying. It really didn’t matter. This house is cheap, the food is cheap, the bills are cheap. Everything is cheap in this little town, even more so now that they have hard currency. They have enough money between the both of them that they can live as kings for the rest of their lives here. When they finally severed the last tie between them and MI6—though James isn’t stupid, he knows someone is still watching them—he asked if they wanted to move. He expected Alec to heave an irritated sigh of relief and snap, I thought you’d never bloody ask, but he didn’t. Move? he asked instead, his voice slightly uncertain. Move where?

I don’t know, somewhere that’s bigger and doesn’t look like it’s been painted by a drunk? James teased, but he grew serious when Alec’s uncertain expression didn’t change. We don’t have to, not at all. I just thought—Christ, I don’t know. I just thought you didn’t like this house.

Well, no, I didn’t, but… Alec blushed, and James’s heart privately melted at the sight. His partner very rarely looks like that, even now. I don’t know, I’ve gotten rather attached to it. Haven’t you?

James could imagine why Alec was so besotted with the place. Yes, it was small and crazily painted and there was barely enough room to swing a dead cat round in it, but it was theirs. Nobody bothered them here. They had their own space that was just for them. They had their wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom—one half for Alec and James each—their ratty couch, the tiny bookshelf with faded paperbacks that Alec kept buying. The kitchen with the potted plants on the bench. A horrific waste of space, but James liked watering them and Alec said nothing. There would be room enough for all three of them, when the baby inevitably came. James would go wherever his partner was, anyway. It’s that simple. He’s fine enough to stay here and raise his odd little family. It’s all going to be alright.

Of course, there’s some roadblocks to get over first. Alec’s morning sickness has come on with a vengeance; they were both stupid to think that one morning would be the worst of it. Even the slightest whiff of coffee will have Alec running to the bathroom—a terrible blow to James’s morning pick-me-up. Black beans and rice becomes a staple, since it’s the only thing Alec will keep down with certainty. Even with that he still throws up once every couple of days at least. He doesn’t like to be fussed over, so James has to lean against the fridge and listen to Alec vomiting very close at hand. This morning is no different. Alec woke up nauseous, irritated that he wasn’t well enough to go for his usual morning swim. He waved away an offer of breakfast, shambling to the deckchair in the front yard and parking himself there. He’s got sunglasses on and a towel over his legs. Bucket on the table next to him. Sipping ginger tea like it’s going out of style. The towel is tucked under his slightly swollen belly, and James can still see faint streaks of moisturiser on the skin. He wants to touch it sometimes, just to feel it, but he’ll get swatted if he does. Alec’s still a bit jumpy, even all these months later. Slightly averse to touch. James doesn’t allow himself to think too hard about it, but how long has it been since Alec had this? Tenderness and comfort and warmth that wasn’t from a hired fuck he would discard the next morning? Alec mostly comes out of his shell, but there’s two places he won’t allow James to touch—his belly and the scarred right side of his face. James learned about the latter the hard way: they were lying in bed together, doing nothing but just staring at each other. James tried to trace a finger along Alec’s scars, but he flinched away, shuffling backwards. It was there only for a second, but James saw shame and fear and sadness in Alec’s eyes, and he knew that it was off limits. He’s not sure why. Did it hurt? Did he not like the sensation? Did the touch remind him of those days in the Russian hospital when he was recovering? James didn’t ask, and he didn’t try to force the issue. Alec’s abdomen was added to that list too, thankfully for a less serious reason. It feels bloody weird when you touch me there, he said once, as they waded into the sea together one morning. Wait until the baby starts moving, at least.

James sits with him, of course. He’s not going to leave his partner alone, and it’s nice outside today. Not too muggy. If it was hot Alec would retreat to the other bedroom and curl up on the armchair with a fan pointed at him, but it’s not necessary now. Even under the sunglasses James can tell his partner looks wrecked. “How are you feeling?” James asks, plopping down on the second deckchair.

“Like my whole bloody intestinal tract is on fire,” Alec moans, rubbing his chest with the heel of his hand. “I should never have let you do this to me,” he adds weakly.

“Let me? You were the one shagging me like a sex-crazed sixteen-year-old schoolboy. What did you expect would happen, eh?”

Alec’s head tilts; he fixes James with a look of utter disdain. “Fuck off,” he snaps, taking a slug from his ginger tea. The nausea must be worse again. “Bloody arsehole you are.”

“Oh, no need for that language, darling. Go on, shift forwards. I’ll rub your back.” Alec obliges, and James easily slides into the empty space behind his partner. He begins to gently rub circles into Alec’s spine, feeling his breathing and his slightly elevated heart rate. Tiny fragile sensations. Even under Alec’s super-spy turtle shell he is still just a man. Fragile and breakable, all the minute cogs of his body turning to keep him alive. His lungs drawing air, his heart pumping blood. Alec gives a little sigh, flopping back into James’s arms. James wraps him in a hug, pressing a kiss to his scruffy hair. You know I love you really, he almost says, but he’s not sure how that would be taken. Alec might spring up and run into the sea, never to be seen again. Even though they’ve kissed and had sex and are now having a child together, they’ve never said those three words seriously. It seemed almost incendiary. Sending an ICBM right into the little garden that is their relationship. Saying it during sex didn’t count, somehow. As if their respective orgasms dulled everything around them, the words disappearing into the ether. “Alec,” James says softly, “you know I love you really.”

Alec stiffens, then relaxes. “Mm. Do you?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t mean it.” Much too late James realises how stupid that must sound—he’s said so much he didn’t mean, all in the service of his job. Promises, love confessions, drunken secrets whispered in the dead of night. “Well…you know what I’m saying. But I love you, Alec.”

A pause, then: “I love you too,” in a much quieter voice. Alec isn’t trying to wave it off or run away from the warmth of James’s confession, scared of getting burnt. He’s letting himself believe it. He relaxes even further against James’s shoulder, and they watch the waves coming into the beach. It’s so close by, James could throw a stone into the sand from here. Right across the badly-paved single lane road. He knows it’s poor and run-down and fairly more deprived than he’s used to, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters if Alec is here with him.

The idyllic little scene gets disrupted eventually. Alec throws up again, and once he’s finished he retreats inside to bed. He doesn’t ask, but James can tell by his expression that he doesn’t want to be alone. James lies with him, on top of the blankets as usual. “I wish it wasn’t like this,” Alec mutters, curling up into a ball.

James feels a tug of misgiving. “Like what?”

“All this. The…vomiting and the tiredness. It’s a bloody crock if you ask me.”

James feels a rush of relief. Alec just dislikes being sick. He’s not commenting on their wider situation. “I know. But at the end of it we’ll have a child.” He snuggles Alec a little closer. “After six months or so.”

“Mm. Yeah.” Alec doesn’t say anything more, and within a few minutes he’s asleep, snoring lightly. James could probably leave him alone now, but he feels no desire to do so. The nice thing about living here is that they have no real responsibility. They can just relax. They can just be. The sun is out, but it’s not shining right through the window. The whole room is bathed in a sort of hazy half-sunlight, almost dreamlike. It’s almost like time isn’t passing, and even if today didn’t end James would be alright with that.