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Oz, Dan Oz

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Summary: Special Agent 007 faces the most difficult mission of all - fatherhood

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Movies > James BonddulcineaFR1389,67583120,74524 Jul 048 Dec 04Yes

London, 1985

Title: Oz, Dan Oz
Author: Dulcinea
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, nor will I be making any profit from this story. I believe MGM owns the James Bond franchise, and Joss Whedon owns Buffy, but I’m not positive on those, so please don’t sue me. In keeping with Challenge #289, there will be quotes from "Desperado" by the Eagles as well.

This is in response to-
Challenge # 257 (Father, Real Father) :
"And you're quite sure that he's the father?"
"No doubt whatever."
"How many does that make?"
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid that I've lost count."
"Very well. Get the legal department to handle any child support claims," said M, "Oh, and ask 007 to step in please, I think it's time we talked about that vasectomy again..."

The usual "real father" plot, the difference is that the real father is
(a) the world's greatest secret agent and
(b) not exactly a caring parent.
Almost anyone in the Buffyverse can be the child - Bond's career in fiction began in 1953 with mention of a career in World War 2, so his children could include Giles, Joyce, Hank Summers or Nikki Wood as well as the usual Buffyverse suspects. Or take a look at the film Casino Royale, maybe everyone in the Buffyverse is related to him!

And, Challenge # 289 (Oz, the Desperado):
Oz: a character of many colors (literally). Does he ever find peace, a cure, a steady hair color? Take your inspiration from the Eagles' song "Desperado" for an Oz-centric fic, set in the 'verse of your choosing. Any movie, book, cartoon, etc. is up for grabs. You don't have to directly quote the song if you don't want to.

Summary: Special Agent 007 faces the most difficult mission of all – father hood.


“How on earth did you get that scar, Bond?”

“Well doctor, I could tell you…”

“… but then you’d have to kill me?”

“I was actually going to say a gentleman never kisses and tells.” James offered up a winning smile as he hopped off the table.

“Ah. Still claiming to be a gentleman? What a pity.” The doctor tsked in false reprimand. She couldn’t help but enjoy the view as Bond buttoned his shirt. He was such a cad, but after so many years, the doctor had given up trying to reform him. She had finally convinced herself that the day 007 quit flirting was the day the apocalypse would come. Her musings were interrupted by the intercom blaring to life.

“Doctor, is agent 007 down there?” The voice of MI6’s director echoed through the room.

“We were just finishing up his physical.”

“Indeed.” The director hmphed, indicated just what she thought of that. “Please send him to my office as soon as you’re through.”

“I’m on my way.” James called out. As the intercom clicked off, he turned back to the doctor. “Well, madam, your company was a pleasure as always. Until we meet again.” Bond kissed the doctor’s hand in farewell and was down the hall before she could remind him to ice that bad shoulder. Really, how many poisonous darts could a shoulder take and still perform perfectly?

“You called?” Bond tapped lightly on his boss’ door and peeked his head in.

“Yes. Come in, and shut the door behind you.” James took his normal seat facing M. “Tell me, do you remember Paris?”

“Quite a lovely city this time of year.” Bond replied wryly.

“Do you remember Paris six years ago?”

“Are you referring to the attempted bombing of the International Physicist Conference?” The tilt in his brow dared M to contradict him.

“Your memory is as sharp as ever.”

“You would expect no less. Now what seems to be the problem?” His lips were set tightly to avoid revealing any reaction, but inside he shuddered with the thought that he would have to return to this year’s conference. That had been by far one of the dullest assignments he’d ever taken, undercover for nearly week around people who could only talk physics. If it hadn’t been for that plucky American redhead, he would have bit his arm off to get away. He prayed M wasn’t sending him back.

“Do you remember your extracurricular activities at the conference?” M asked pointedly.

“The American?” He had learned long ago not to dally with M.

“Yes. Dr. Fairchild Osbourne.”

“Ah yes, how is she?” James asked with a reminiscent smile.

“Dead.”

“Dead? Are you quite sure?” M nodded. “Well that is a pity. She had quite a brilliant… mind. But I’m afraid I don’t see how this relates to me.”

“You were named in her will.” Bond gave a short cough of surprise. “You now have sole custody of her child, or shall I say, your son.”

“I’m sorry, what? My son? How is that possible?”

“Really 007, if I have to explain that to you, then I’m not sure you’re up to your job.” Bond knew she was teasing despite her perfectly straight face.

“But we only knew each other for one night.”

“And that is all it takes.”

“Are you sure it’s mine?”

“Good grief, Bond, do you think we’re that careless? There’s an entire wing of special services looking after the bastards you’ve scattered around the world. If you weren’t so good at what you do, I doubt the ministry would pay the millions in child support, but frankly, MI6 has classified you as indispensable. However, this was not expected.”

“Oh?”

“Well, you see, none of your liaisons have died before, or if they have, they certainly have not named you in their wills, and they most certainly would not include a clause barring you from putting the child up for adoption.”

James frowned. “I can’t raise a son. My job is too dangerous.”

“Actually, I think it will be good for you.” M smiled at the look crossing James’ face. “Face it, Bond, you’re not getting any younger. Perhaps it’s time to hang up your playboy image and try fatherhood. You are a master of improvisation; surely you can find a way to make the child an asset?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” M shook her head. “Very well. Where is the child?” He sighed in resignation.

“I left Daniel with Q. Might I suggest…” M paused. “I know this is rather sudden and you are not looking forward to this, but please try not to take it out on the boy. He’s just lost his mother.”

James had the good sense to look properly chastised. He took his leave and headed down to the engineering labs. It didn’t take long to find Q, and sure enough, there was a five year old perched on the work bench. He caught Q’s attention first and his old friend came over, leaving the boy to fiddle with some gadgets left on the table. “So that’s the boy?”

“Yes, you got lucky.” Q smiled fondly at the boy he’d been watching all morning. The boy’s strawberry blond hair looked like it needed a haircut soon. It was clear whoever dropped the boy off wanted him to look proper in his Sunday best, but after a morning playing in the lab, his tie was flipped over his shoulder, his sleeves were rolled up, and there was some sort of oil stain on his slacks. Bond would have his work cut out for him, if he was going to emulate the polished image his father always portrayed.

“He looks nothing like me.”

“Really? I was just thinking how similar you are.”

“In what way?” Bond asked in disbelief.

“Well, he’s only been here a few hours, but he’s already taken apart several of my inventions.”

“Any five-year old would.”

“Yes, but they wouldn’t do this.” Q brought Bond over to where the little boy was busy tightening the screws on a gun. “Is it finished?”

The boy nodded gravely and handed the small gun to Q, straightening his tie as he noticed the visitor standing beside the funny old man.

“Alright, now aim this at the boy and shoot.” Q instructed.

“Are you mad? I’m not going to shoot him!” Bond stared at Q incredulously.

“Check the barrel, it’s not loaded. Or, look, I’ll fire a test shot.” Q fired one round into the floor tiles. Clearly he was firing blanks.

“Alright.” Bond took the gun from his friend and aimed it at the little boy. He pulled the trigger, and gave a little gasp as the boy made a startle yelp and clutched his chest. “Are you alright?” Bond immediately stepped forward to assist the boy, when the boy pulled back his hand and smiled.

“What is the meaning of this?” Bond gave his friend a serious glare.

“Daniel, the mirror.” Q instructed the little boy. The boy picked up a mirror sitting next to him and held it up so that Bond could see his face. There, on his forehead was a little red laser dot.

“What is this?”

“Well, you see, I wanted to make a laser sensitive tie tack so that if someone was aiming a gun at your chest, as in an assassination attempt, it would let you know. The only problem was I was having interference issues with the line of sight. Little Daniel here came up with a solution. Instead of the signal from the tie tack sending a beam back at the would-be-assassin, it submits a trigger to this portable radio airborne device.” Q picked up a small robot cleverly disguised as a house fly, “which can then track the shooter with a matching red beam. If the shooter tries to leave the fly will just follow, making it easier to catch him. Here, try to move around.” Q released the fly, which flew back up to the lights.

Bond stepped forward, backwards, left and right, still the red dot stayed on his forehead. “That’s fascinating.” He muttered. “And you say the boy built it?”

“Well, I helped with some of the wiring, but yes, mostly it’s his invention.” Q nodded proudly.

“Wonderful.” Bond smiled and then turned to the five year old, his new son. “Hello, I’m Bond, James Bond.”

The boy stared at the hand the man stuck out in front of him. He thought carefully about what his mother said about greeting strangers politely. Finally he stuck out his hand and mimicked the man’s greeting. “Hello, I’m Oz, Dan Oz.”

“Oh yes, I can see you two are going to get along splendidly.” Q smiled.
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