Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Should he have known that something like this was going to happen? 

No. Because things like this didn't happen. Maybe to Agent Rider. But that was Alex, not him. And unlike Alex, he, Tom Harris, was an entirely unassuming civilian who just wanted to heat up some leftover takeaway. Of course he had no reason to have had even the inkling of assuming  that the plate of leftovers he had put into the microwave would explode. 

But that was what had happened. 

He had put the plate into the microwave and pushed the buttons, moving with muscle memory. His attention had been glued to his phone, in the middle of a mindless binge session of some new show he'd started the night before. And then, before he knew it, there was a flash of a spark inside he'd only barely caught out of the corner of his eye. And then an almighty bang followed by another louder explosion somewhere in the house. The lights had cut out, plunging the house in darkness as the storm raged on outside. It had taken him a moment to gather himself, winded and terrified on the ground wondering what the ever loving hell had just happened. He remembered there being a  blur of panicked searching for his phone in the dark to call for help. And then the flash of lightning flooding in from the window that illuminated the room for just long enough for him to see a figure kick his phone back to him from the hall. 

He didn't even get to put up a fight, body locking up in absolute terror as the man levelled the gun at him and pulled the trigger.

“Wake up.” 

The taps on the cheek weren't gentle, yanking him up from the murky depths of unconsciousness. He came to full consciousness screaming until a sharp hand across his face put an end to that. The owner of said hand watched him squirm from across the table, trying his damn best not to vomit from the piercing headache that was threatening to fracture his skull in two.       

“There we go.” The man's voice had an oddly calming lilt to it. But it did nothing to alleviate the apprehension he felt when he met the man's cold eyes. 

“Tom Harris.”

Tom mumbled an affirmative,  unable to keep eye contact. He readjusted his attention to the scratched up surface of the wooden coffee table between them. The carpet under his feet was a grungy maroon made all the more unappealing by the dingy lighting in the equally dingy and cramped motel room. 

 “My name is Yassen Gregorovich.”

Tom's brows furrowed. It wasn't an unfamiliar name. 

“We need to talk. About Alex.” 

Chapter Text

[01:25] Vauxhall - London 

Sitting across from the director of British secret intelligence whilst being questioned about his kidnapping and subsequent meeting with an INTERPOL wanted hitman wasn't exactly how he had imagined  his first ‘real’ introduction to Alex's work would go. But, there he was. 

“Alright. Let's organize. You're absolutely sure that that was the name?” Ben asked, glancing up from the screen of the tablet he held in his hands tilted at an angle that hid from Tom's line of sight. 

“Yes.” Tom snapped, hands balling into a tight fist. They had been at this twice now, cycling through slightly re-worded questions in search of something that Tom couldn't even guess. But, it was the expressionless staring made him want to scream. 

“For the last time, yes. I know what I heard, alright. He asked me about some guy named Zacharia Bridgid. Brownish blonde with brown eyes. Maybe a little older than my parents? Wasn't too tall. Wore mostly suits. Nothing special. Just some posh European businessman.” He rattled off before Ben could ask again. 

“I told him that Alex never mentioned him. Or anyone, really. He hasn't talked about work related things ever since he officially joined..” 

“You said that Gregorovich asked about when you last saw Alex?” Jones changed the subject with a question of her own. Tom nodded. 

“It sounded like a harmless question. So, I gave him a truthful answer. The last time I saw Alex was almost a month ago. But that's all I said. Nothing else.” Tom added just a little nervously. 

“Was there any sort of reaction to your answer?” 

“I couldn't really tell.” 

“Did he say anything to you before leaving?” 

“No.” 

The blanket of tension that descended was almost palpable as the other two shared a wordless and serious conversation regarding whatever it was that was on the screen hidden from him alone. 

“Right.” Jones muttered with a nod to Ben before readjusting her unnervingly full attention back to Tom. 

“Can I go now…?” 

“Unfortunately, the house you two share will need to be flagged as compromised, so we'll need to move you to a safehouse.” 

“A safehouse?” 

Jones nodded. “Just until we can do a full security sweep of the house. The electric work will need some fixing as well. We're due for some flurries this week. At the very least being in a warm house with electricity would be welcome, no?”

“Yes, but-” Tom spluttered. 

“For your own safety, Tom. It's what Alex would want from us in this situation.”

 [03:35] Brecon Beacons - Sennybridge Camp 

“-trol to K-unit. I repeat, Control to K-unit. Come in, K-unit.” the radio crackled to life in the darkened interior of the humvee. Eagle grabbed the radio from the passenger seat. 

“This is K-unit.”

“K-unit, you've been ordered to stand down and return back to base camp immediately.” 

There was a pause as the mood took a radical shift into apprehension at the unexpected message. 

“Control, we're in the middle of a field exercise-” 

“A new team is enroute to your location, K-unit. I repeat, stand down and return back to-” 

The transmission came to an abrupt halt at the same time Wolf heard his phone ding with a message.

Is Alex with you right now?

No. 

Within milliseconds of his reply, his phone went off with an incoming call. 

“Ben?” he answered with the slightest tinge of apprehension. 

“Where is he?” There was a certain amount of stress in his ex-teammate's words that was uncomfortably unnerving.

“He's with Racoon up at the quarter point.” 

“Where are you?” 

“We're at the halfway mark.”

“Is it just him and Racoon?” 

“Yeah.” 

There was  muffled cursing on the other end, further cementing his suspicions of there being a problem. 

“Right. I need you lot to get back to base immediately. As fast as you can, yeah?” 

Wolf didn't hesitate, stepping on the gas. 

“What about Racoon-”

“Team two at quarter point-” the instructor's line crackled. 

“Copy that, this is team two at quarter point.” They heard Cub answer. 

“Team two, you have new instructions to stand down and return back to base.” 

There was a stretch of silence on Cub's end. One of suspicion, no doubt. 

“Team two-”

“Understood.” 

Wolf took a sharp left, cutting through a shortcut. 

“Listen. When you guys get back to base, you're gonna go to Sarge's office in the instructors’ building but don't park near the building. Alright?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And once you get there, there's going to be someone waiting. I don't know exactly who, but it'll probably be someone from a unit that wasn't out during the exercise. I need someone to secure the perimeter outside, and two with me in Sarge's office when Cub and Racoon get there.” 

“You know I don't like this cloak and dagger shit.” Wolf muttered. 

Ben gave an amused huff, but it felt oddly flat on the other side of the line. 

“Trust me, Wolf.  Absolutely no one is having a good time right now.” 

The vague response left the mood in the vehicle all the heavier. 

“Just hurry, alright? I'll explain what I can once we get this mess sorted.” 

 They had been ordered to take the route around the perimeter so as to not distract from the exercise. But Racoon noticed a shift in tension from the passenger's seat beside him as he parked the car in front of the Instructor's building. 

Bear was waiting outside, squatting on the rickety steps smoking an oddly leisurely cigarette. He shared a wordless conversation with Racoon away from K-unit's mysterious 5th, shrugging the silent questions off with a brusque “new orders from HQ.” 

Cub hesitated at the threshold of the building but Bear stepped close behind, forcing the small group forward into the building and down the hall past the file storage towards the sergeant's room. 

The trio came to a halt in front of the imposing door as Bear stepped forward to knock. He turned the handle at the affirmative, holding the door open for the two but didn't enter, closing it on the two from the outside. 

The first thing Racoon saw was the Sergeant's desk where a figure with a familiar face sat looking unfazed as opposed to the heavy atmosphere in the cramped space. 

Taking a step past the door frame revealed that they weren't alone. Wolf and Snake sat on the couch pushed up against the wall beside the door behind a metal filing cabinet. The odd location had Racoon wondering whether it had been moved there on purpose. 

He noticed the odd man out a second after, sitting squished up between the two burly men looking notably uncomfortable. An agent, clearly. But not one any of them would have expected to have been picked to join in whatever it was that this was. So, perhaps not Daniel's pick…

“Alex.” Ben spoke, hauling himself to his feet. 

“Ben.” Racoon took the greeting as a hint to step aside. 

“Something came up at R&G. They've called in a code Ash.” 

The silence that followed brought about a whiplash change in demeanor that had Racoon momentarily stunned, dangerously close to the gun the agent had pulled. He could see Wolf and Snake stand as well from his peripheral, hands on their weapons and more than ready to shoot. 

“Julius.” 

All eyes returned to the blonde who swallowed thickly, eyes suddenly sharp as he glanced over to Racoon who stood rooted to the spot confused but more than capable of understanding that there was something very very wrong. 

“Don't move! It's shoot to kill, Grief.” 

Julius took one last deep breath before lifting his hands in surrender, bringing the other agent rushing forward with cuffs and a hood while Ben stared the clone down, finger never leaving the trigger of his gun.    

Chapter Text

[12:03] Vauxhall - London (30 hours post arrest) 

“Sleep well?” Ben tossed brusquely, breaking the cold silence. He settled himself down in the empty seat across from where Julius sat in cuffs chained to the table top looking considerably worse than he had when they had first brought him in. 

Crawley let out an amused snort, wordlessly eyeing the blonde as he had for the past half an hour having chosen to take on the role of the “bad cop” from the get go. He was good at it. Had an innate ability to get under the skin without a word through sheer patience and determination. 

Julius didn't rise to the bait, but Ben could tell that Crawley's silent tactic had worked to some degree. The psychological aspect in tandem with whatever it was that had been physically wrong with the clone was showing potential progress in SIS's bid for answers. 

Was it the most ethical course of action? No. But with everything that had transpired within the past three days alone, MI6 was still reeling from the brutal hit to internal security amongst other points of concern.   And while the very rushed sting operation to bring Julius into custody ended in success, there was no relief. Not even a sliver. Not in the wake of silence Julius had imposed when he had been frog marched into the interrogation cell straight from Beacons. And most certainly not in the holding cell they had taken him into a little over three hours later when it was made all the more clear that he had no intention of speaking. 

Silent and unresponsive to everything including meals, not laying a single finger on the trays of food he had been given for lunch and dinner and breakfast the next morning all through lunch an hour before he was summoned back to the somber room with the fluorescent lighting that made the stabbing pain in his head all the worse. No food. No water. And, according to the surveillance notes, very minimal sleep possibly due to some sort of physical discomfort.

It was why he had been left awake in his cell for as long as he had been before he was brought back before Crawley just to sit in silence for as long as he had. Because MI6 was grasping for straws in the dark and if an unethical exploitation of an already physically unwell state  through some fluorescent lighting and psychological intimidation  was what it took to force cooperation, then that was what they would do.  It certainly explained the state Julius was in when Ben finally arrived with a file along with an unopened bottle of water and some paracetamol, silently noting the pinched lines of fatigue and dark circles made all the more prominent under the harsh lighting. There was a tension in the way Julius held himself  that hadn't been there the first time around. Tight lines of stress along his shoulders and his jaw as he stared straight back with cold deadened eyes, studiously avoiding Crawley's staring himself. Ben would have laughed in any other situation. 

But, having walked out of Jones's office not long ago after receiving a direct call from Beuford, the Director of MI5 informing her of a possible case of burglary at former Director Blunt's residence that had been reported to law enforcement  by a concerned neighbor and the subsequent report logged within MI5 on finding the man deceased with a bullet to the head in what looked to have been an act of  suicide. And for the first time in what was nearing the better part of nine years of active service in MI6, Ben saw genuine panic in the director's eyes. Tulip Jones  wasn't the cold and calculating person Blunt had been. But she was just as tough. So, the visible start of the erosion of composure was more than enough warning to Ben to show just how bad the situation was forming to get…

“Something that might interest you.” Ben unpinned the assorted photos from inside the file he had arrived with, setting the file aside before sliding the small stack over to Julius who followed his movements with deadened eyes. He froze at the sight of the first photo, the most  graphic of the handful. The choice of order had been deliberate but Ben didn't feel all that much satisfaction in his choice as he watched the brief slip up.

“He was found at his residence about an hour ago.” Ben pressed on. 

“And?” Julius indulged after a lengthy silence.  

“Forensics is leaning towards it having been a suicide.”  

“Oh?“  Julius muttered, finally meeting Ben's eyes straight on for the first time since his arrest hours prior back at Beacons. He felt Crawley shift beside him, confirming that it wasn't the lighting in the room and that there was, in fact, a very concerning new found burst of vigor in Grief's eyes.  

“My condolences.” he added without a drop of sympathy. “I'm sure he'll be missed. A good man and a patriot. Something like that, no?”   There was a momentary quirk of what would have no doubt been a smirk had it not been squashed down with a cough, turning his gaze to Crawley. 

Crawley hummed, having understood the veiled message loud and clear plunging the room into a frigid silence, which Ben took as an opportunity to redirect.

“You're supposed to be dead.” 

“Mhm. He's alive-” Julius retorted dryly without so much as a blink at the attempt to catch him off guard. The metal of the cuffs and connected chain rattled loudly against the table top as he leaned in closer, allowing for the two spies to get a closer look at the state of the blonde. The circles under his eyes looked all the more dark under the light in close proximity, atop the smaller  scarring to his lip and temple. His hands were no better. The backs of his clasped hands were littered with cuts underlying the bruised and roughened knuckles. There was something odd about his hands apart from the visible injuries that Ben just couldn't place. So, he pinned the thought away for later. There were more pressing matters at hand. 

“Who is?” Crawley questioned, keeping his tone neutral. 

The question was pointedly ignored altogether with an arched brow. 

“For now.” 

There was no mistaking the meaning of the blunt and vaguely threatening answer. As strange the situation was shaping up to be, it was the minute change in Julius's demeanor that felt the strangest of all. As if the sudden and shocking news somehow changed the power dynamics, pushing Julius up a few pegs. Why? Ben had absolutely no clue, and that alone felt chilling enough.

“Where is he?” Ben demanded capitulating, shoving aside the neutral facade. Julius didn't answer, eyes never once not breaking contact. He stared in silent observation, expression unreadable but he couldn't quite hide the vicious shine in his eyes. Under all of the masks of poker faces and pretend, that moment of silence was all it took to see that Julius was not ok. 

“Does Byrne know?” He asked out of the blue. 

“Know what?” 

“That Blunt is dead?” 

“No.” Crawley answered shortly.

Julius nodded with a hum.

“Don't deviate. Answer the question. I know you know Julius. Where's Alex? What have you done with him?” 

“How should I know?” 

“Bullshit.” Ben spat. “You were the one saying that he's alive. Was that all a lie? What the hell do you mean you don't know?!” 

The silence left in the wake of Ben's tirade dragged on for another ten minutes before Crawley put his foot down and ended the session, watching Julius getting frog marched out without any sort of fight, feeling a tiny sense of apprehension begin to take hold in their minds.