Fic: I'm Stolen, Skyfall fanfic for comment_fic
Title: I’m Stolen
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,218 (aprox.)
Characters, Pairings: Silva/Q, implied Silva/Bond, implied Silva/Severine, Q/Bond
Warnings: Rape, unbeta’d, a confused plot.
Spoilers: For Skyfall. Kind of. See the movie before reading this.
Summary: AU where Q was recruited by Silva years before he became Q at MI6.
A/N: Written on a whim for a comment_fic prompt after I saw Skyfall. Since I can’t call him Q before he joins MI6, I chose the name “Evan” for him, as it’s the closest I could get to “Eve” from “Eve the eavesdropper” from that list of names for cryptography exercises. Because that made sense at midnight last night. And right now it’s 2:30am and this story seems to make sense, so I’ve posted it. What was supposed to be a quick little drabble turned into a monster.
Evan refuses, at first. He thinks he knows what Silva wants, when he approaches him and asks if Evan wants to come to his private island.
"There's cheaper rent boys at the corner. Pick yourself up one of that lot." Evan snaps, getting up to leave the bar.
A bodyguard Evan hadn't seen pushes him back into his seat.
Silva laughs, but there's no warmth in his eyes, only calculations and vicious thoughts. Evan feels suddenly chilled in the warm room, wishes he'd decided to wear a coat tonight night.
"You misunderstand me, my dear boy. What I desire is your mind, not your body."
He waves a hand and one of the women lounging at the bar comes over and sets up a laptop in front of Evan. She's Asian, Chinese maybe, and doesn't meet Evan's eyes. She goes back to the bar when she's done, the laptop's screen glowing like a beacon in the dimly-lit room.
"Now, Evan, I have some understanding of your skills, but as you've never been officially linked to any of the actions attributed to your online presence, I can't be sure. A demonstration, if you please."
"And if I don't?" Evan asks.
"Then my men will dispose of your body as well as your mind. Perform to my satisfaction, and you will work for me, and be rewarded with all the money you could ever want."
Evan cracks his knuckles and gets to work, sweat trickling down his spine.
Hours later, when Evan is on a private jet clutching a bag of his few meager belongings, Silva approaches him with a glass of scotch.
"To new beginnings," Silva smiles, and Evan notices that something is not quite right about the man's mouth, a sunken unevenness. He chokes down the scotch hurriedly, coughing at the burn while Silva laughs.
"You're going to help me bring down MI6." Silva promises, pushing Evan's bag onto the floor. "You clever boy …" he reaches, and Evan knows instinctively that it will be worse if he resists.
Later, Evan realizes that it's not about him, specifically. It’s not even about gender, or physical attractiveness. Silva likes to own people, keep them, use them, almost like toys. He's incredibly possessive to the point of violent outbursts when he thinks his "things" are being threatened or taken away, and becomes outright murderous when they try to leave of their own accord. After a week of letting Evan get used to the sophisticated computer equipment and fucking him in a variety of ways, Silva decides that Evan is sufficiently "his" and leaves him alone at night from then on out. Evan immerses himself in the world of codes and computers and firewalls, and tries not to think about Silva's sunken mouth or cold fingers.
In two months he’s crippled economies and ruined lives, stolen weapons out from underneath warlords and sold diamond mines. Evan has more money than he’s ever dreamed of possessing, and Silva is showing no signs of letting him leave.
~*~
Evan didn't even notice that there was a new person on the island. Apparently Silva brought the new bloke into the lab on his first day, after some kind of initiation test, but Evan was wired in and the rest of the world, outside of the computer screens and reams of code, didn't exist as far as he was concerned.
His name is James, and while he doesn't look as obviously dangerous as the other mercenaries on the island, he's clearly capable. It's the way he walks, and holds things, and the ease with which he handles firearms. Evan is a little frightened of him, but also intrigued. There's a certain charm coated over the steel that is James Bond. He has an air of subtlety about him, whereas the other men Silva employs are obvious and rough.
Severine and Evan frequently have dinner together, avoiding the other men on the island for reasons safety. Silva won't protect them from the mercenaries, not unless the mercenaries damage them too obviously, “ruin” them for work. So Evan is surprised when, one night, Severine invites James to join them.
At first Even is apprehensive, thinking that James will use the opportunity to get them drunk and take advantage of Severine. But he doesn't, and as the evening goes on and the alcohol flows, it comes out that James has himself only recently stopped being visited by Silva at night. This alleviates the tension, as Severine and Evan are no strangers to Silva's attentions.
"Bit of a control freak, isn't he?" James barely slurs, despite having emptied a bottle practically all on his own. "Does he always do that, that thing with his mouth …?"
Evan nods, leaning down because his head is swimming. "Every time."
"I hate him." Severine says softly. "Some day, I will make it so that he is unable to harm a woman ever again."
"I'll drink ta tha!" Evan raises his glass, spilling most of the drink down his face in the process.
"Cheers," James inclines his head and downs a glass.
Evan passes out soon afterwards. He flickers in and out of consciousness, coming to as James is carrying him to Evan's own bedroom.
"Your eyes … they’re … whattdya call it … glay … glayyssshhh … ice things …” Evan mumbles as James sets him in bed and takes his shoes off.
"You're drunk. Go back to sleep." James says, taking off Evan's glasses and setting them down on the table next to the bed.
Evan does, and dreams of running and sliding down the side of a glacier with Silva pursuing him, sending dogs after him, Severine’s screams echoing through the icy landscape.
~*~
James is in Evan's space. Evan doesn't like it when people are in his workspace, they distract him, they spill things and smell different and try to make small talk and Evan doesn't have the time for that right now. Silva wants this project completed and Evan has seen what happens to people who fail Silva.
"What?" Evan asks, distractedly. He's pretty sure James just said something with a double-meaning but he can't remember exactly what it was.
"I was just wondering what brought you here. You don't strike me as the mercenary type."
Evan's lips quirk in a smile. True, he doesn't fit in with the muscly types, the hulking men with guns Silva houses here and flies out on helicopters. Sometimes they bring back people with hoods over their heads, people Evan never sees again. Evan shudders slightly. "I'm no use in the field. But here, behind these, I can do more damage than an army of thugs." he spreads his hands, gesturing to the monitors.
"Is that what you think I am? A thug?" James asks.
Evan turns red. "No, I … I didn't mean … you're not … you're … charming and …" he turns redder, grateful that James is at least laughing now, not punching him or recoiling in disgust.
"Relax, Evan," James tilts his head to the side. "You worry, don't you, about this job?"
Evan squirms. "It's … alright …" he tries to brush aside his fears and anxieties, but his hands are shaking a bit. He puts his fingers back over the keyboard and types a few strings of code. "The money's good."
"Money's not everything, though, is it?"
Evan shrugs, typing away, not nearly as fast as he was before. "It's enough."
"But will it always be enough?"
And suddenly James has a hand on Evan's knee and oh so that's what's going on here.
Evan turns slightly, hands still on the keyboard but unmoving, for the moment.
"What are you …?" he starts, but James cuts him off with a kiss.
Evan leans into it, all at once intensely aware of the fact that he hasn't kissed anyone in more than a year and how it's become normal for his fingers to be too tired and stiff from the twelve-hour hacking binges to rub one out at night before collapsing into his bed down the hall.
It's almost embarrassing how quickly he becomes a writhing mess of neediness, clambering onto James's lap and whimpering, rutting against him like the teenager he's so often accused of being. It is embarrassing how quickly he comes, James's hand wrapped around his cock, squeezing and twisting and oh so good ...
"'M sorry …" Evan mutters, seeing how he's stained James's suit.
"It's fine," James chuckles. He stops when Evan unzips his pants and reaches in. "You don't have to -"
"Reciprocal. Of course I do. I want to. I wish I had time to take you in my mouth, but, I've gotta get back to work before the boss realizes something's up. Or down, in a minute," Evan smirks and starts to jerk James off.
The next day, Evan is ready when James comes through his door. He ends a line of code and stands up, surprised when James bends him down over the desk.
"Don't you want me … in a bed?" Evan gasps as James pulls down his pants.
"Later," James growls, and Evan is hard already, fuck, what is it about this man?
At the time, it's sexy as hell. Later, Evan finds out that James was using the situation to plug in a portable harddrive and attach gadgets to the monitors to send information back to MI6. That he was teasing Evan and stretching things out for as long as possible, not for Evan's pleasure, but in order to let the downloads complete. It's the greatest sex Evan has ever had, and James wasn’t even giving him his full attention.
~*~
The betrayal doesn't surprise him. Someone's been leaking information for the past couple of weeks. In fact, Evan is starting to think of ways to disappear when the doors burst open and there are guns being pointed everywhere. Some of the mercenaries fight, and get shot. Evan sees Severine running down a hallway and silently wishes her luck. He slowly raises his hands in surrender, one of the few in the room who does.
Evan's pulled roughly from his chair and thrown to the floor, searched, and handcuffed. He gets one final look at his mass of computers, his beautiful machines, before a black bag is shoved over his head.
From there it's a standard and disorienting ride in a van of some kind, wedged in between two mercenaries who had the sense to surrender too.
"It was James," hisses one of the men. "I saw 'im outside, just now, working with the agents."
The other mercenary spits curses before one of their captors barks for silence. Evan tries not to cringe but does anyways. He hopes it'll be quick, this off-the-books execution he's no doubt bound for. Wildly, he wonders if James will be the one to do it, if they'll pull the bag off of his head and make him look James in the eye before he fires, puts a bullet through Evan's brains …
Evan's stomach churns at the thought. It won't be so bad, right? Quick, supposedly. Painless, perhaps.
He loses his nerve when the van comes to a halt, less than an hour later. Evan hears the mercenaries being dragged somewhere else. Begging seems pointless, as does struggling. Evan has no cyanide capsule, and a low pain tolerance. His legs decide to stop obeying his mind, so his captors have to drag him.
But it's not a concrete floor Evan is made to kneel on, or a wall he's made to stand against. He's guided to a chair and his hands are chained to what feels like a table. Evan sincerely hopes it's a table and not some kind of torture device, or a saw to cut his hands off. If he's going to live, he wants to keep his hands. He can't hack without hands, not without some sophisticated software and even then it would be difficult to keep up.
He bites his lip when the bag is finally pulled from his head. The light momentarily blinds him, and a stranger putting on his glasses for him only makes it worse.
It's not James. It's not anyone he recognizes, it’s some official with files and a recorder. Evan gulps and tries to steady himself. The room is barren, with a two-way mirror on one wall. Evan wonders if he's going to die in this room.
The official talks for a while, tells Evan a lot of things he already knew: how James Bond was a double agent, working for MI6 all along, how Silva was their target and he's since been "dealt with," and of course how much trouble Evan is in having collaborated with terrorists.
"007 has a very interesting take on the events leading up to today's take down of your former employer." The official rearranges some papers. "He says that you willingly fed him information and computer codes that were vital in taking down Silva's organization. He has also admitted to a series of sexual liaisons, to cover the fact that you were giving him access to your servers, and thus avoid the suspicion of the other members of Silva’s organization. Is this true?"
Evan doesn't have long to consider this. He could agree, and lie, and pray that it means he'll be allowed to live. Or he could tell the truth, call James Bond a liar, and probably face certain death for being just another one of Silva's things.
No. Silva kept him long enough, he doesn't have a hold on Evan anymore. If James wants to play more games with him, Evan is willing to go along with that for the time being.
~*~
Evan feels his face redden as he's introduced as the new Head of Q Branch. Some of the people in the office don't even look up: they're wired in, headphones firmly in place, fingers flying over keyboards. Most of the others give him looks of polite interest. There's a few sour expressions, though, and distrustful ones. Evan gets the feeling that several people were passed over for promotion to the spot he now holds, despite having first set foot in MI6 as a prisoner.
He's already made a few enemies, in an office full of spies. This is something he'll have to handle very carefully indeed.
Two weeks later he receives a message from Severine. It's a system he told her about one night, when they were drunk and frightened, hiding in Evan's lab while Silva and the mercenaries did something loud and horrifying to their latest captive. The woman had screamed for hours, and then when she was too hoarse and weak to scream, her whimpers of pain had echoed through the empty buildings on the island.
"If we ever get out of this place," Evan had said, in soft tones in case Silva was listening. "If we ever manage to leave him … here's how we can keep in contact. If I make it out, I'll find a way to save you, if you promise the same for me."
She had, and he'd shown her the dummy accounts, email chains, and how to bounce her location off various servers so nobody, not even Silva, could find her.
I'm safe. I know where you are. Do you want out?
Evan stares at the message. He glances around the office surreptitiously, at the people who answer to him, collaborate with him, and are even starting to respect him. And MI6 has such wonderful gadgets, practically unlimited resources, and the only person he's accountable to is M. And as intimidating as M is, Evan doesn't have to worry about M visiting him in the right and pinning him down with cold hands and a sagging mouth.
And then there's Bond. James Bond. The suave, intimidating man who saved his life, and is probably due for a sincere "thank you" in the form of as much sex as Evan has the free time to provide.
Evan doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life in hiding, or on the run, constantly looking over his shoulder for the remnants of Silva’s forces, or an old victim of Silva’s organization coming for revenge, or a new Silva looking for a hacker, or MI6 looking to recover or dispose of him for escaping.
Severine has found her peaceful paradise, free of men like Silva. Evan knows this because they discussed various havens during their dinners together on the island: isolated places, safe communities for women, big cities to get lost in, paradises in the Pacific ocean, cruise ships constantly on the move.
For now, Evan decides to stay in London with MI6. He answers to “Q,” hacks what and when he is bid, and goes home to a modest but comfortable apartment every night.
And sometimes, James Bond is there, waiting for him.
(The End)