Chapter Text
London, 2017.
Janus.
The two-faced god. The god of openings and closures.
Of doors, much like the one Alec was standing in front of, on a London balcony, three floors above the street, after a little climb and a four-day tail.
James’s flat opening on the city below, Alec’s disappearance closing on himself as his lock-picking tool failed to open the double glass door.
His hand reached for his laser pen instead, the ray quickly melting the system together before he was able to pick the lock properly this time. Surprisingly easy. But again, he knew that James preferred to retort to manual security. His trusty guns, and his fists. Alec was ready for the blow. He had his own Walther against his hip.
The door opened in a soft creaking and Alec stepped inside, his footstep muffled in a thick carpet. The flat was dark in the middle of the night, the newly cast moonlight painting a pool in the centre of the living-room, revealing a life Alec had long since ceased to be a part of.
His lungs filled with air as he took a second step, and immediately felt the pressure of a muzzle right against his throat, pushing against his trachea. Cold, precise. Alec instinctively reached for his gun, although he knew the game was over.
A satisfied smile curled up the corners of his lips.
In the distance a lamp was switched, revealing James’s slightly older face.
Alec saw realisation suddenly hit him, and for a second, the pressure of the metal muzzle against his throat weakened. Blue irises pooled in pain, before their iciness turned back again, silent anger hardening every feature of his face.
“What are you doing here?” came James’s breathed out question, as the gun pressed against Alec’s throat again, the grip more vicious, and for the first time since his arrival, Alec doubted the fact that James would not fire.
“Long time no see.”
The blue eyes darkened again, welcoming his old comrade’s poor excuse of a justification with another wave of visible pain, before James managed to school his expression into a more professional detachment. It was all it had taken for him to be back to his MI6 persona. Just a heartbeat.
“I thought you were dead.”
Alec opened his mouth to answer, when suddenly a second gun pointed at him from the back of the room. Alec took in the younger man’s dark mop of hair, his outstretched arms, the solid grip on his Walther, the perfect angle of his aim – a trained agent, there was no doubt.
“Who are you?” asked the young lad, green eyes piercing through his glasses and burning holes in Alec’s flesh.
Then Alec noticed the thin bare legs and James’s equally bare torso. His eyes momentarily went to the rest of the room, uncovering the traces of a life together. He felt his smile wither on his lips, and blood being drained down in a matter of seconds, leaving him slightly light-headed. For the first time in fifteen years did Alec feel the weight of time setting them apart.
And suddenly he knew.