Life's Work, Crossover: James Bond (Craig Movies) & Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

[derwent_f]

Title: Life's Work

Fandom: Crossover, James Bond (Craig Movies) & Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

Pairing: James Bond/M | Gareth Mallory (one-sided); Peter Guillam/George Smiley (Mostly book!Smiley, mostly movie!Peter.)

Rating: G

Summary: ‘Why not stay dead?’ He'd asked Bond during their first meeting. Sometimes Mallory wonders why he hasn't done so himself.
(Or, bereft after the Spectre revelation and Bond's departure, Mallory visits two old spies and wonders what could have been).

Gareth stepped out of his car and closed the door. Before him, the vast expanse of the Cornwall sky was spread, the moon and stars shining down upon the land and dark sea beneath.

A one-story cottage lay solitary near the edge of the cliff. There was a garage beside it, but Gareth’s legs were restless and a short walk would do good for his nerves. He’d insisted on driving alone despite his chauffeur and Tanner’s objection.

The past couple of weeks were an endless blur of meetings and inquisitions and damage control. He barely slept, what with practically living in his hastily-restored office. Silva’s mess was nothing compared to the Nine Eye Operation and Spectre. Gareth knew his strengths and limitations, and he knew that he needed all the help he could get. That was why he was here: to seek advice from the only man who had been through the same thing decades ago.

A few metres away from the door, he caught sight of someone hiding in the shadows. The man stepped forward, and from the blond strands among the grey Gareth knew it was Peter Guillam. He remembered the suspicious, adversarial tone which Guillam had used on the phone, before Smiley’s soft voice cut in, ‘Peter, let me talk to him.’

(He didn’t hold it against Guillam. Peace is hard-won in their line of work, and these two were far luckier than most. Of course Guillam would be very protective of it.)

‘Agents fall in love and ruin all the time,’ Guillam said. ‘Though never in such an excessive way as this Bond did, I have to say.’

Like Ricki Tarr? Like Alec Leamas? Gareth thought but didn’t say out loud.

Despite the sharp tone and vigilant face, there was something in Guillam’s posture that emanated contentment, and Gareth was seized with the sudden curiosity if this was how Bond would look like in a decade or two, long retired with Dr Swann in some sunny island. He glanced at the garage, and would bet an entire year’s salary that inside was Guillam’s fancy car – Ferrari, perhaps, or some such. The car would be too conspicuous in the village, but Guillam wasn’t the type to care and Smiley wasn’t the type to say anything.

When Gareth made no reply, Guillam opened the door. ‘Well, come in then.’ He led Gareth through the house (two doors, one front one back, the windows were a little too small to escape through, though it’d do in an emergency) to the backyard, where George Smiley was sitting on one of two wooden chairs facing a small garden. His walker stood beside him. Here Gareth could hear the sound of the waves breaking on the shore in an ancient rhythm. On the small table between the chairs was a half-empty cup.

The small, fat man was buried underneath a stack of colourful blankets. Gareth was reminded of poisonous toads with their bright skin warning off predators. An apt comparison, though not one that Gareth would voice out loud.

‘Mallory.’ Smiley peered at him from underneath his thick glasses. ‘Do sit down.’

He did as he was told. Smiley simply looked at him, and Gareth realised the older man wouldn’t start grilling him. He’d just wait for what Gareth had to say.

‘We’re cleaning house,’ he began, ‘My quartermaster is divesting the Spectre’s spyware from our system.’

He went on, explaining the steps they were taking to dismantle the damaged done by Denbigh and Blofeld. His eyes strayed toward the house, where he saw Guillam leaning against the door, ever watchful. ‘Despite all the actions we’ve taken so far, the government inquiry next week is unlikely to welcome us warmly.’

‘No, they won’t.’ Smiley nodded in assent. His eyes were kind, and suddenly Gareth knew that the man had seen through his ruse. His visit was never about advice in picking up the pieces, in appeasing short-sighted politicians, in building up the house torn down by betrayal.

No. Gareth was here because he needed to be with someone who understand, who knew what it felt like to have the foundation of your life’s work being pulled down from underneath you. He needed to be with someone who understood treachery – a communion of betrayed and disillusioned souls.

He took in a long deep breath. Felt like the first time he managed to do so in weeks. Leaning back in his chair, he looked up and gazed at the stars above. Only the wind broke the quiet.

‘It’s late.’ Smiley said. ‘Why don’t you spend the night here?’

Guillam was there before Smiley even heaved himself up. His hands were tender and careful as he helped the older man to his walker. They walked slowly, and Gareth followed behind.

Guillam showed him to the only bathroom in the house. The floor was warm underneath his bare feet. Heated, undoubtedly, as he suspected the entire house was. Guillam would insist, for Smiley’s sake.

The house was filled with a lifetime’s worth of objects. Books on German poetry on the shelves and stacked on the floor. Pictures on the wall, of friends and of Smiley and Guillam in their youth. Smiley wasn’t the sentimental type, but Guillam seemed to be.

Gareth leant his head against the mirror. He was honest enough to admit to himself that he envied them. They didn’t just survive; they got to build a life together afterward, in a small village where nobody knew them or what they’d done, far away from the endless intrigues of London.

The guest room was on the left of the bathroom; his host’s on the other side of the bathroom. Gareth stepped inside. Aside from the minimum décor, the room was bare. But of course. What need they had to pretend, to hide their relationship, so far away here?

He’d noticed the ring on Guillam’s ring finger. Their years in MI6 never overlapped – the two had retired for years when Gareth started working with the intelligence – but he’d heard stories, of Smiley’s divorce from his wife, of the civil partnership with Guillam later.

Long-term relationship wasn’t something Gareth ever envisioned for himself. Work had taken too much of him, and he wasn’t sure he could marry a civilian whom he’d have to lie to every single day. Having a relationship with someone in a similar line of work was too full of risks. In intelligence, one can’t never sure of where another’s true loyalty lies. He didn’t want to be another Prideaux.

At least until he met Bond. Like Smiley, 007 returned when M – the former M – and MI6 needed him. His loyalty was beyond question. The attraction had been there from the beginning, from the moment they were introduced. And there are moments, like that wink, and others during their time working together, where Gareth thought it might lead somewhere.  

He stood, opened the door slightly, and looked around the house. Little things, gathered over a lifetime, that together pile up and slowly make up a home.

No, he couldn’t begrudge Bond and his woman their happiness. He couldn’t begrudge anyone who get out and build a life.

He closed the door.

*

In the morning, Gareth turned down the breakfast offer, unwilling to intrude any longer upon his host. He walked to where he parked his car last night. As he started the car, he saw Smiley and Guillam standing in front of the house, watching him. Guillam had an arm wrapped around the older man’s shoulders. He was seized with the absurd wish to snap a picture of them.

Then he turned the car around, and drove back to London without looking back.