Chapter Text
May, 2016
Beep, beep, beep, beep.
Bond wakes instantly and shuts off the alarm, groggily focusing on the red numbers glaring him in the face. 3:45am. “Too bloody early,” he groans as he sits up and scrubs a hand over his face. Next to him, Alec rolls over and mumbles something about “pretty flowers” in his sleep. James grins and leans over to kiss his lover on the cheek before climbing out of their bed.
His cane is leaning against the wall, a gorgeous, carved wooden thing that Alec had worked on when James was in hospital. Recovering. He grasps the handle and stands the rest of the way while leaning heavily on it for support. He still hates the thing, especially when he needs it after sleeping, but the scar tissue and metal pins and reattached ligaments always ache the most when he first wakes.
It’s the hobbling and limping thumps that finally pull Alec back to consciousness. He faintly hears the water running and stumbles down the corridor to join his lover in a very early morning shower.
“Thought you were going to wake me,” he rumbles as he presses up against James to stand under the water. “Fuck that’s cold.”
“And that’s why,” James teases. “The heater hasn’t properly kicked on yet.”
“Prat. You wanted the hot water for yourself.”
“It’s too early to argue, Alec.”
“Too early for shower sex?”
“With this knee?”
“Who said you had to do anything?”
“What are you-oh fuck.”
***
Fifteen minutes later they’re dried and dressed and munching toast in the kitchen of their flat while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, James at the table and Alec leaning against the counter. “Any orders we have to fill today?”
“Uhhhhh, I think there’s a few cake orders. Probably some fresh baguettes too. I’ll have to look at the orders list when I get downstairs.”
“Nah, I’ll find it. You need to make sure the ovens are nice and hot.”
“Not until I’ve had my coffee. We need one on a bloody timer that makes it for us.”
“Maybe after our next pay day.”
The machine shuts down at that moment with a full pot of hot coffee; Alec fixes their mugs and hands James his. “Ta, love,” he murmurs before downing most of it in one scalding gulp.
“Come on. We should get started. Grab your brace, yeah?”
“Only if you promise not to stand at the bottom of the stairs like a keeper this time. I’m not going to fall.”
***
The few hours James spends in the bakery’s kitchen each morning are some of his favorites. The brace strapped firmly around his right knee helps stabilize his leg and lessen his limp a little bit. He has a few strategically placed stools as well where he can rest and take the pressure off when he needs to. Once he gets the fires stoked and the ovens properly heated, James brings out the risen dough and fixes up the first batches of bread and buns for the day.
While he gets things moving in the kitchen, Alec sets up the front of the store: sweeping, putting out chairs, wiping down tables, opening the register, checking the windows and the displays. “Hey James, where did I leave the ‘Sale’ sign?”
“Check under the counter!”
“I did, and it isn’t there!”
“You looked behind the box of flyers?”
“…shut up.”
“You were the one who couldn’t find it!”
Alec pokes his head into the kitchen with a shit eating smirk plastered on his face. “Hey James.”
Uh oh. “Yes?”
“A lawyer turned chef? He’s a sue chef!”
The blond groans and leans against the counter, rolling his eyes. “You are ridiculous.”
“You love me.”
“I do.”
“And you’re stuck with me, sexy buns.”
James smiles, chuckling to himself as he mixes the batter for one of the cake orders they have to fill before noon. Alec’s always been enthusiastic, but his obsession with baking and cooking puns might just be the death of James. Only two days before he had gone on for nearly an hour about a new kind of cupcakes: shut the fucupcakes.
If anything, Alec’s always had the better sense of humor between the two of them. And more energy.
They met their first day of SAS training, assigned as bunk mates and primary partners. Young, hot headed, ready for anything, they’d bonded almost instantly.
“Bet you I can make it to the ridge first.”
“You’re full of shit, Trevelyan. I’m clearly faster.”
“Race you for it!”
“OI!”
“Slowpoke!”
Anyone who goes through those exercises and training regimens together either gives up or keeps going. The great thing about working with Alec was when James felt like giving up, Trevelyan would help him through. The reverse was also true, and by the time they received their sandy berets, they were fast friends, and James was quickly falling in love with the man. They’d gone to the pub to celebrate their completed training, drinks finally leading to drunken confessions of attraction and a few very sloppy kisses. James had woken in Alec’s bed the next morning with a pounding headache and a sore arse; they’d been together ever since.
“I just checked messages. Ronson’s going to be out today. Think you’ll be okay on your own?”
James shakes his head a few times, clearing it of the memories to look at his lover. “Yeah, I’ll be just fine. We don’t have too many orders to fill today.”
“How’s the knee?”
“Still a bit stiff.” Alec smirks and hides a chuckle while James rolls his eyes. “Clearly showing you those films was a mistake.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Like you don’t know, troublemaker.”
“Hey James. Why doesn’t bread like warm weather?”
“Oh God. I don’t know. Why?”
“Because it gets toasty!”
“I swear you’ll be the death of me.”
“Are you kidding? I’m the one who has to save your arse.”
“I know. Go on then. It’s about time to open. Here’s the first batches of bread and muffins.”
“Are the pastries done?”
“In two more minutes you’ll have some. I’ll bring them out.”
“Don’t strain yourself.”
“Oh no fear.”
***
James loves his job, but he looks forward to the end of the morning rush. He brings Alec his second large cup of coffee for the morning before retreating to the kitchen to monitor the ovens while he rests his knee. Today he munches on a fresh croissant after he takes off the brace. His knee aches something fierce, more so than usual. “Must have weather heading in,” he mutters, staring up at the small windows in the kitchen. The sky looks fairly clear, but in England that means nothing. His knee says there’ll be a storm later. He’s thirty-fucking-eight years old and he has a knee that can predict the weather. “I’m too damn young for this.”
They’d been on a mission, rescuing hostages from bioterrorists holed up in an underground bunker. Two of their team had secured the weapon, he and Alec were escorting the hostages to the rescue vehicles. He’d gone back inside to find the last one, and the moment he stepped back outside with the young man, pain erupted in his right knee and he went down. Another shot rang out, and he heard a body hit the ground behind him. He’d heard Alec shouting for him, but he couldn’t move his leg; when he tried, the pain made him black out.
The next weeks are still a blur in his memory, down time between surgeries, constant tests, glimpsing Alec here and there but not having the strength to say anything. When he’s finally conscious enough, they tell him what he already knows. The damage the terrorist had done (a man named Silva) is enough that even with the reconstructive work, he won’t have full use of his knee again. He’ll be able to walk with physical therapy, but he’ll most likely need a cane or a brace. His SAS career is over.
“What am I supposed to do now, Alec?”
“What do you mean? You can’t go back, and I refuse to return without you.”
“But this is what you’ve always wanted to be.”
“It’s your dream too, you know.”
“You should find someone less… broken.”
“Are you really going to do this? I thought I’d finally convinced you before the damn mission how I felt.”
“This is going to take months to get me properly mobile again, Alec. I’m out of commission.”
The brunet rolls his eyes at James. “You keep forgetting I’m in this for the long haul. I was going to do this when we’d gotten back, but I had to wait for you to be conscious and coherent again. You were pretty damn funny on the morphine.”
“Fuck you, Trevelyan.”
“Not until you can walk and not fall down. Now. Will you be… my boyfriend?”
“God damn you, get over here so I can kiss you and then punch you.”
“Now now, didn’t your mother tell you it’s rude to hit?”
“Don’t you know it’s bad form to ask an orphan to remember his parents?”
“So is that a yes?”
“Fuck, yes, it is, damn it Alec I’ll bloody date you. We’ve been sleeping together long enough.”
“Glad to know you’re so enthusiastic about it.”
“Ask me again when I don’t feel like such an invalid.”
Alec resigned that day despite James’s protestations, and he practically lived at the hospital while James healed and struggled through PT. He still maintains it’s harder than all their training exercises, including resistance to interrogation. Walking hurts, and it still hurts, but he had been determined to stand on his own two feet again. Encouraging Alec to look up recipes to try had been a huge mistake though. He had discovered the wealth of baking puns on the web. Now the wall just inside the kitchen is covered in cartoons and memes, and even though they make James groan, they also make him smile.
He has the cakes finished, iced, boxed, and labeled by eleven for Alec to keep behind the counter for when the customers arrive to collect them. James has never minded keeping to the kitchen and rarely emerging to talk with customers unless he absolutely has to. Alec handles the front of the shop just fine, and he’s so good with people. If he’s honest with himself, he’s a bit self-conscious about needing a cane. So he stays out of sight while his lover handles the business end of things.
They close the shop at five, giving them both time to work on making the dough for the following day’s bread and pastries. James does most of the initial mixing while Alec kneads and works the dough, interspersed with even more puns.
“What happened when the baker’s wife came home early?”
“Do I even want to know?”
“She caught him masturbaking!”
“……..”
“I know you’re going to say enough with the bread jokes. They’re too crumby!”
“Alec, when do you have time to find all these?”
“On my phone when there’s a lull in the shop. And I know they’re cheesy… but I think they’re grate!”
“Alec, I swear to god.”
“You know you love them.”
“I know I love you.”
“Close enough.”
Once the bread is set to rise overnight, they head upstairs for an easy dinner. Alec cooks while James puts his leg up and takes the brace off for the evening. Tonight it’s a stir fry that they eat in front of the telly while watching Doctor Who reruns. It’s an easy enough life, James supposes, but it’s not necessarily the one he would have wished for them. The SAS was everything they had both ever wanted. But now… “Are you happy, Alec?”
“Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
“Because I feel like it’s my fault we wound up here.”
“James-”
“We both loved what we did. The adrenaline, the thrill of it all, helping England. And now we work at a bakery in Oxford.”
“Helping feed the city one hungry Uni student at a time. Did you know we’re the most popular off campus eatery?”
“One of them told you that today?”
“They did. Several of them actually. I was thinking we should have a free pastry day for students who want to use our shop for study groups.”
“That’s actually inspired.”
“Will I be allowed to tell more puns?”
“Alec.”
“I know. Come here, you.”
Lying in bed later, James listens to his lover snore and wonders if there will be anything else in Oxford that will make their lives properly worthwhile. It’s his fault they’re here. He should be the one to try and bring that spark of excitement back.