drive (drabble)
This fic is rated: PG
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James Bond/Alec Trevelyan
slashthedrabble prompt #159: Drive
Warnings: angst
Word Count: 100
X-Posted: were_lemur, forengland, slashthedrabble
Feedback: yes, please! Concrit welcomed.
Distribution: archiving, linking or remixing ok, just credit me and drop me a line!
My FanFic Masterlist
Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond. I don't own Alec Trevelyan either (alas), nor any other recognizable characters mentioned in this fic. James, Alec, etc. are all property of Ian Fleming and MGM. I'm just playing with them for a while. Not making any money, don't have any money, please don't sue!
James pressed the accelerator down to the floor, pushing his Aston-Martin to the edge of its acceleration. On the back road, he didn't suppose he would have enough time to swerve if there were an emergency.
He didn't care.
Alec was dead.
He still wasn't sure why he'd fought his way out of Arkangelsk. Why he'd fought to survive. Just like he didn't know why he swerved to avoid the stalled lorry in the lane.
Survival was, he supposed, a habit that he wouldn't be able to break.
So he kept driving, pedal to the metal, Alec's ghost riding shotgun.
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James Bond/Alec Trevelyan
slashthedrabble prompt #159: Drive
Warnings: angst
Word Count: 100
X-Posted: were_lemur, forengland, slashthedrabble
Feedback: yes, please! Concrit welcomed.
Distribution: archiving, linking or remixing ok, just credit me and drop me a line!
My FanFic Masterlist
Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond. I don't own Alec Trevelyan either (alas), nor any other recognizable characters mentioned in this fic. James, Alec, etc. are all property of Ian Fleming and MGM. I'm just playing with them for a while. Not making any money, don't have any money, please don't sue!
James pressed the accelerator down to the floor, pushing his Aston-Martin to the edge of its acceleration. On the back road, he didn't suppose he would have enough time to swerve if there were an emergency.
He didn't care.
Alec was dead.
He still wasn't sure why he'd fought his way out of Arkangelsk. Why he'd fought to survive. Just like he didn't know why he swerved to avoid the stalled lorry in the lane.
Survival was, he supposed, a habit that he wouldn't be able to break.
So he kept driving, pedal to the metal, Alec's ghost riding shotgun.