skieswideopen (skieswideopen) wrote,

Mix and Match for Spyland

Warning: contains spoilers for Alias.

1. Icons (Bond, Water)

James Bond   Vesper Lynd

2. Tag Banner (Spy Game, Freedom)


3. Wallpaper (Alias, Kiss)

(Click for full size: 1280x800)

Syd & Vaughn in Phase One

4. Bad Fanart (Sneakers, Red)

You really don't want to know.

5. Picspam (Alias, Family)

Danny: Syd's almost family.

Francie & Will: Syd's just-like-family.

Jack, Irina, and Nadia: Syd's family-by-blood.

Michael, Jack, and Isabelle: Syd's future family.

6. Acrostic Poem (Alias, Storm)

Syd stands in the doorway and says quietly,
You know the storm is coming,
Don't you? Can't you feel it
Nearing? Wind and rain and danger
Electric. We must take care,
You and I, or we'll be swept away.

7. Haiku Poems (Spooks, Mission)

Tom waits patiently.
Sits still and silent, as taught.
The moment will come.

Zoe smiles. Nods.
Pats the gun in her pocket.
She will be ready.

8. Drabble (Bond, Years)

M closes the report and sits back in her chair. There will be a phone call coming. Demands for justification. More work to be done.
It's on nights like this that she feels the weight of her years: years of life and years of service. She's been at this so long now, with so little to show for it. An empty house. An initial instead of a name. A country of citizens who sleep safe in their beds, none of whom know who she is. Few of whom are known to her.
She wonders, sometimes, if it was worth it.

9. Letter (Alias, Choices)

Dear Sydney,

I don't know how to explain to you why I did what I did. I've been thinking over the choices that I made to get to this point, wondering where I went wrong. What I would change. There's the obvious, of course, but if I had chosen differently, then I wouldn't have you and at this moment, and that thought is unbearable. So I'm forced to conclude that even knowing who she was...what she was...I would marry your mother again.

And the second choice? I fear I would have to make that one again too. I'm a patriot as well as a father, and I could not let her continue. That, I fear, is a decision you won't understand. How could you? You're so young, and all you know right now is that you miss your mother. And I can't even apologize for that, not honestly. I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you, but not for what I did. I can't be.

Perhaps fortunately for our relationship, these aren't decisions I'll ever have to explain to you. And watching you now, sleeping in your bed, I can't help but be grateful for that.

With love,

10. Crossover Fic (Bond/Chuck, Alone)

She's alone at the bar when he spots her, slim and blonde and--as a moment's observation reveals--clearly on the job. A fellow professional. Bond wonders idly who she works for. The Americans, maybe? Or perhaps one those myriad mercenary organizations that's popped up in the last few years. He's supposed to be keeping a low profile. Keeping his head down.

He approaches her anyway, intrigued.

He has a whole storehouse full of lines--some clever, some witty, some flattering. He doesn't think any of them will work on her. He goes for the direct approach. "Can I buy you a drink?"

She's about to turn him away--he can see that--and then she changes her mind and nods toward the stool beside her. "Gin and tonic," she says. He gesture to the bartender and her drink arrives a moment later. She raises it to her lips, but the level doesn't go down.

"Thank you," she says, smiling now. Flirty. Professionally so. He wonders what kind of operation he's providing cover for. He wonders how far she'll want to take that cover. Will it extend all the way to her hotel room upstairs, or will it end here, when her contact arrives or the person she's tailing leaves? And if it does go upstairs, will that mean a sleeping pill? A taser? A gun? Or something more pleasurable.

It's a dangerous game, passing time with a fellow spy on an unknown op. He doesn't care. He's on vacation, after all, if you can call it that when your boss has ordered you away and told you not to get into trouble. And after all, he can always plead ignorance.

She's charming, even giving him only half her attention. He returns the favour, flirting gently. Watching to see what she's watching. He gives half of his attention to guessing where she's keeping her gun in a dress that tight. She has one, of course. She's certain of that.

He can tell the moment when her contact enters. She's too professional to just cut him off--she keeps the conversation going, keeps a hand on his wrist--but he can see how her attention keeps straying to the tall, dark-haired man who's just entered and who's now nursing a drink of his own and starting daggers into Bond's back. He's now surprised when she excuses herself, pleading an early morning, and exits the bar. He waits long enough to see the dark-haired man get up and follow her, a shade sooner than he really should have. Not quite up to her standard.

Her drink remains untouched on the bar.

He swallows down his own drink a few minutes later, and leaves the bar the way he arrived: alone.

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