Disclaimer: Pete Wisdom and all related characters are the property of Marvel Comics. They are being used here without their permission but no money is being so I guess it's all right. Edina Averil is mine while Julian Garfield belongs to Mise Me Fein. Anyone else that you don't recognise belongs to both of us.

Author's Note: One thing I've always liked about Fan-fics is when people create their own teams or re-construct the existing ones. So this is my attempt at this genre. The series is called "Her Majesty's Secret Service" and is based on the British Secret Service groups MI5, MI6, and Black Air. This story is just meant to be an introduction to the various characters both new and old. A basic summary is 24 hours in the Crown pub. The idea came to me after watching one too many episodes of "Men behaving badly".

The Crown,
Soho District,
London,
12pm Mid-day.

Pete Wisdom paused at the entrance to his favourite watering hole and soaked in the atmosphere. The pub was dark and dank. The gritty fading wallpaper was peeling in places. There was a stale smell of vomit and urine from the direction of the men's toilets, in the far right corner. To the left was the door to the poolroom and next to that the bar. The sixty or so occupants of the pub were scattered around the various tables and the entire scene was covered with a thin veil of smoke.

"This is what a real pub should be like," Pete thought, as he slowly savoured the experience.

He glanced to his left and saw the pub's resident barmaid, Raquel, carefully weaving her way towards him. She stopped just two paces from him, folded her arms and said, "Where's my twenty quid, you evil old git?"

"You'll get it when I'm good and ready," Pete answered, a small grin touching the corners of his mouth. "Anybody here?"

"Yeah, Jardine and Doyle are in the back. You want something to drink?"

Pete shot her a hurt look.

"Sorrrry, stupid question. One Wisdom Special on its way."

"Cheers, Luv."

He found Jardine and Doyle exactly where Raquel said they would be. They saw him coming but didn't say anything until he took his seat across from them.

"Jardine, Doyle," Pete said, nodding to each in turn.

Jardine returned the gesture but Doyle just scowled at him.

Pete looked to Jardine. "He's not still ticked at me for leaving MI6, is he?"

"He wasn't til he met your replacement."

"They've replaced me already? I feel so unloved," Pete chuckled. "So what's he like?"

"Young," Doyle muttered. "Young and enthusiastic."

"Ex-yard."

Doyle nodded, "Bloody idiot thinks he's James Bond."

Raquel came up with a rather nasty looking concoction, which she placed in front of Pete.

"You guys alright?" she asked, looking from Jardine to Doyle.

"Grand for now Luv," Doyle grinned, picked up his glass and took a good swig.

"Hey, Raquel, will you keep an eye out for Culley? He said he'd be in."

"Sure thing, Pete," Raquel replied and headed back into the sea of customers.

"Culley? He's Black Air too, isn't he?" Jardine asked.

"Yeah but Cully's sound. It's Scratch that's the nut-job."

"If you ask me, everyone in that organisation is a few buttons short, no offence intended, Pete," Doyle said.

"None taken."

"I don't trust anything that's ex-military -- 'cept Eddie, of course."

"Yeah, well, it's better than wasting the next couple of years waiting for your fat ass to croak, 'cause that was the only way I was going to get anywhere in MI6."

"You could have killed him off," Jardine suggested.

"Great idea, but I'd end up killing myself trying to get rid of the body. Imagine trying to bury that," Pete said, poking a finger into Doyle's bloated side.

"And that was your only reason for moving?" Jardine quizzed.

"That and a big pay raise," Pete retorted. He began searching through his pockets and pulled out a cigarette packet. He opened it but it was empty.

"Blast," he said and tossed the packet over his shoulder. "Back in a tick." He headed towards the bar and heard Doyle yell after him, "Oi, get some peanuts."

Les, the barman, was standing behind the counter. Les fitted in perfectly with the pub. He was loud, rude and very unhygienic. He was a short stout man. He always wore the same beer-stained net-vest. He rarely shaved and his hair, or what remained of it, was greasy. Still the pub's regulars had a strange fondness for him. They felt they could trust him.

"Pack of 20, Les," Pete yelled as he approached. As Les turned to get them, Pete leaned over the counter and pulled out an assortment of peanut packets. Les handed him the cigarettes and Pete pocketed them.

"Put them and the peanuts on Doyle's bill," he grinned and headed back to the others.

He tossed the peanuts at Doyle and plonked back down into his chair. He shot a quick glance towards the door and a huge grin crossed his face. "Hey look who's back." The others followed his gaze.

In the doorway stood a woman in her mid-twenties. She was average height, about 5'8" with a very athletic build. She had a pale complexion and wore dark eye shadow and lipstick, which made her appear even paler. Her hair was raven black, and trailed down her back to just above her waist.

She was dressed very casually. Well, casual in that everyone else in the bar, with the exception of Raquel and Les, were wearing suits. She had a waist-length, light brown suede jacket on. Under that was a darker brown v-neck thin wool jumper. A pair of tan jeans and swamp green converse trainers finished off the outfit.

Pete stood up and gave a yell. "Oi, Eddie, over 'ere."

Eddie waved at him and carefully made her way to the table, ignoring the lurid comments she got from some of the male clientele. When she reached the table she threw herself unceremoniously into a chair. She drew her legs up into the lotus position, she rested her elbows on her knees and in turn rested her chin on her hands.

"Life sucks," she announced to the others.

Doyle grinned. "How was India?"

"Wet." She leaned back in the chair and allowed her head to roll back. "India sucks," she said, scowling at the ceiling.

"I take it you're not enjoying your new role in public relations for MI5."

"Oh, yeah. It's a blast," she responded, the sarcasm dripping. "I'll kill Pitman for moving me."

Raquel came up beside her. "Hey, Edina, how was India?"

"Fuck off," Eddie yelled.

"But don't you want a drink?"

"Desperately," she answered. "The usual, please."

"Sure thing, Edina," Raquel chirped.

"Don't call me that," Eddie growled after her, as Raquel retreated to the safety of the bar.

"Eddie's usual, Les."

"Refresh my memory," Les said, screwing up his face in an attempt to think.

"For fuck's sake," Eddie yelled, shifting around in her seat so she could see them. "I have come here on average 360 days out the year every year for the past four years and ordered the same god-damned drink every single time."

Les just stared blankly at her.

Eddie rolled her eyes and sighed, "Vodka in a chipped glass, with a dribble of flat tonic and after-test of cigarette ash."

"That's it." Les smiled. "I got it now."

"Oh, goodie," Eddie muttered, and swung back around to face the table.

"Is it that time of the month?" Doyle asked.

Eddie just made a face at him and went back to scowling at the ceiling.

"What time is it?" Jardine asked.

Eddie held up her hand to him, and Jardine twisted her wrist around so he could see the face of the watch.

"2:17," he announced. "I'd better go."

"Why?" asked Doyle, settling himself in more of his chair.

"Hey, some of us gotta work."

"Speak for yourself," Doyle retorted, "I'm not going back 'til I know that eager little wanker is long gone."

"You mean Wisdom's replacement?" Eddie asked, lowering her head to look at him.

"Yeah, why?" Doyle asked, a knot forming in his stomach.

"Oh, he's not at the MI6 building."

"Thank God," Doyle said, relaxing.

"He's outside the door," Eddie said, grinning. "I think he's scared to come in. You want I should show 'im in?"

"You do and I'll flush your head down the Lav."

"Oh, charming," Eddie grinned.

"Well, I'm leaving so I'll tell him to come in, shall I?" Jardine said, standing up and edging his way around the table.

"You're all against me," Doyle sulked.

"Calm down, Doyle, or you'll give yourself a heart attack." Jardine grinned, "I won't say a thing to the little bugger." And with that he was gone.

"So anybody else gonna do any work today?" Eddie asked lazily.

"I will if Culley ever bloody shows," Pete said, pulling the pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

"I thought you said you were quitting," Eddie commented, pointing at the pack.

"No, I said I was cutting down. This is only my 40 something fag today."

"Well, I suppose that's low, by your standards."

Raquel suddenly appeared beside the table holding a small bowl in her hands. She placed it in front of Eddie, who shot her a quizzical look.

"From Les," Raquel explained, "to make up for messin' up your drink earlier."

"What is it?" Doyle asked.

Eddie reached out and cautiously poked at the small green things floating in the bowl. "Pickled gerkins. Gee, thanks!"

"You're welcome." Raquel chirped and headed back to the bar.

"Sarcasm is wasted on that girl," Eddie muttered, pushing the bowl away. "She's made me hungry, though. Anybody want anything from the shop?"

Pete shook his head. "Nope, scotch and nicotine enough for me."

Eddie looked at Doyle but stopped him before he could speak. "No, Doyle. One thing, that's all. I'm not bringing back half the bloody shop for you to munch on."

"Fine. I won't have anything then."

"Suit yourself," Eddie said, and went to stand up. "Oh shit."

"What?" Pete asked.

"My leg's gone dead," she answered, pinching her thigh in an attempt to wake it.

Both Doyle and Pete looked at her for a second before bursting into hysterics.

"I'm glad you two are finding this so fecking funny." Eddie snapped as she slowly stretched her legs. She groaned as the feeling slowly returned. She eventually made it to her feet and began stomping her feet. "That's better," she announced to the two giggling idiots and took an experimental step. "I'll be back in a sec," and she headed across the pub and out the door.

Pete and Doyle countiued to laugh after she'd gone but soon their laughs died down to low chuckles, before stopping completely. They sat in silence for about 15 minutes, before Pete spotted Culley making his way to the table.

"What bloody kept you?" he yelled while Culley was still only halfway across the floor.

"I picked up a stray," Culley retorted, gesturing to the young man following closely behind him.

Pete studied him. He was a rather odd-looking chap. Over 6ft tall and wire-thin, he slouched forward and kept his head low. He had a mad patch of ginger hair, which curled slightly at the ends. Pete couldn't see his face as it was turned towards the floor but his forehead was thick with freckles. Like everyone else in the Crown he wore a suit but it just hung over his shoulders and highlighted his height and build more.

Turing to Doyle, Pete asked, "Who's that with Culley?"

Doyle looked over and cursed when he saw the approaching youth. "That's your replacement, Julian."

"You've got to be kidding me. He looks about 12 years old."

Culley arrived at last at the table and quickly took Jardine's vacated seat. He rubbed his hands together as he looked round the table. "Damn it's cold out. Hey, Doyle, how's tricks?"

"What on earth did you bring him in for?" Doyle asked, motioning towards Julian who was standing quietly to the side.

"No reason. Just felt sorry for him." Culley answered as he stood up to take off his jacket. He saw Raquel and yelled over to her, "Hey, gorgeous, pint of larger when you're ready." He sat down again and saw Julian still hadn't taken a seat. "Ginger, sit down."

Julian obediently took his seat and grinned stupidly around the table.

Pete looked him up and down. "You've really got desperate."

"Tell me about it." Doyle muttered.

Julian, eager to impress himself on the others, stuck out his hand to Pete. "Julian Garfield, MI6, pleased to meet you."

Pete just looked at the hand and said, "Wisdom, Black Air, couldn't give a toss about meetin' you."

"Black Air? I'm not familiar with that department." Julian said.

"Your surname's Garfield?" Pete asked, eyeing the ginger hair and freckled face, "You've got cruel parents."

"Yes, sir," Julian answered meekly.

Just then Eddie returned. She had half a Mars bar poking out of her mouth and her hands were full carrying another two bars, a roll, and a bottle of orange. She deposited everything on the table and carefully chewed the bar in her mouth before swallowing. She picked up the other two bars and tossed them to Doyle. "I felt sorry for you, you big fat git. Hey, Culley," she said, nodding towards Culley.

"Hey, Edina," Culley replied. "Do you know Julian?"

"Vaguely." Eddie answered, walking over to Julian. In one movement she picked him up by the back of his collar and tossed him out of the chair. Julian made protest as Eddie sat down and quickly pulled up a stool to the table.

Raquel brought Culley's drink over and smiled warmly at Julian, her heart immediately going out to the poor boy. She knew how insensitive all the customers of the Crown, and especially the ones at this table, could be. She turned away from Julian and addressed the entire table, "Right, you lot, I'm taking my break now, so you'll have to fetch your own drinks." She didn't wait for any of them to reply.

Pete lit up another cigarette and tossed the pack to Culley. "You'd better drink that down fast, Culley. Our flight's in 30 mins."

"Mmmhere you headin'" Doyle asked, his mouth full of Mars bar.

"Iceland. Just accompanying one of the medics over to collect a body."

"Oh well, at least there's some decent pubs," Eddie commented, nibbling at the roll.

"What the hell is that doing here?" Doyle growled, glaring at the door, and everyone at the table turned to see who it was had Doyle in such a fluster.

A slender built man with a thick head of black hair and a cruel mouth stood at the door.

"Scratch." Eddie snarled, and looked first at Culley, then at Pete. "Pete, I love you like family but, if that's gonna be following you round, you're not going to be welcome in here for much longer."

"Come on, Culley, let's go." Pete stood up and walked towards Scratch. Culley followed close behind. There was a brief conversation before Pete and Culley exited the pub. But Scratch didn't follow them out. Instead, he walked over to the table and half smiled, half snarled at the remaining occupants. He moved close to Eddie, perching on the edge of the table. "Hey, Edina, given any more thought to our offer?"

"Of course." Eddie answered coolly.

"And?"

"And you and Black Air can just feck off."

"Such language." Scratch mocked, leaning in closer. "Your talents are wasted in MI5."

Eddie didn't recoil, but held her ground. "Listen, you little weasel," she snarled, positioning her hand where he could see it. The tips began to glow as Eddie activated her mutant power. "Piss off now, before I paralyze everything below the waist, permanently."

Scratch's expression never altered, as he slowly stood up and made his way back across the pub. "The offer's always open, sunshine," he yelled back.

"I feel sick." Eddie muttered.

"Who...who was that?" Julian asked in an exaggerated whisper.

"Scum." Doyle answered.

"Is he with Black Air too?"

"Yeah, he is."

"What is Black Air?"

"My god, Doyle, haven't you told him anything?" Eddie asked, delighted to have something to take her mind off Scratch. "Black Air is an ex-military organisation that's been up-graded to Secret Service to replace the old W.H.O. organisation."

Julian opened his mouth to speak, but Eddie stopped him. "No, I'm not going to explain who W.H.O. are."

"Was." Doyle corrected.

"Were." Eddie shot back. "You shouldn't worry about Black Air anyway. They may be part of the Intel. Community but they're not welcome here with the exceptions of Pete and Culley."

"Here? You mean the pub?"

"Yep, this place is like the central meeting point for all the secret service units. It's easier then going round to all the official HQ's. The MI5 B division may be just up the road in Piccadilly but the rest are scattered all over the city. We all gather here in our different units."

Julian frowned at her, not following her meaning at all.

Eddie sighed, "Look, you see this table we're at?"

Julian nodded.

"This table is for MI6 and MI5 B division."

"B division?"

"Doyle?" Eddie snapped.

"What? I don't have time to explain everything to him."

"You've explained nothing! MI5 is made up of 6 divisions, ranging from A to F. MI6 is a spin-off of B division so we all stick together," she paused and looked round the various tables. "Ah, you see that table nearest the door?"

Julian pointed towards the table. "That one?"

Doyle immediately hit him. "Never, ever point at anyone in here. Understand?"

Eddie ignored them and continued, "That's MI5 A division. They're all a right pack of wankers and should be avoided at all costs. That lot next to them is Criminal Intel. Another pack of wankers but some of them are all right, like Jardine who sits here with us." She hit the empty seat beside her. "That crowd nearest the door are GCHQ. All they do all day is listen to radio signals. Very boring work and it doesn't develop their conversational skills much."

"4 out of 5 of them are hard core alcoholics," Doyle added.

"Hence why they sit near the bar. That lot behind them is MI 19, interrogation department. Very up-tight crowd, never piss them off. Actually, don't go near them period, they tend to take everything personally. Most of the other departments are ok. And you'll get to know them over time."

"What about that table in the centre?" Julian asked.

"Visitor's table. It's for people like the Russian SVR and the American CIA and FBI." She frowned as she studied the group sitting at the table. "I know two of them are G2, not sure about the other one."

"Is it not dangerous to discuss classified information in such an open space?"

"Nah, no one's listening to us."

"But the table could be bugged. That ashtray could be a hidden camera." Julian said, leaning in to examine the overflowing ashtray.

"Probably is, but who cares?" Eddie commented, opening the bottle of orange and taking a large mouthful. "Yuck. That's awful," she spluttered, coughing up the liquid. "Garfield, go fetch a glass of vodka to go with this."

Julian got up and headed towards the bar. When he was out of earshot, Eddie turned to Doyle and said, "I think he's been reading too many Ian Fleming novels. Hey, Doyle, got any idea what time Parliament finishes?"

"Not a clue. Why?"

"Well, as part of my new duties, I'm now the official MI5 representative to WestMinster."

"Thrilling," Doyle muttered.

"Yeah." She looked at her watch. "I suppose I should make an appearance."

"What? You're not leaving me here with that little twerp!"

"He's not that bad. Well, he is."

"He's gonna be following me around all day, then I get to go do the shopping before going home and celebrating my anniversary with my wife." He shivered as he thought about it.

"Aww, poor baby," Eddie mocked. "Wait a minute, I may have a way to kill two birds with one stone. You got a shopping list written out?"

"Somewhere," Doyle said, searching through his pockets. He pulled a very tattered piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

"It's long enough, isn't it?" Eddie said. She looked over her shoulder and saw Julian returning with her drink. "Play along."

"Here's your drink, Ms. Averil."

"Thanks, Julian," Eddie said, scanning the room, her eyes wide like a frightened rabbit. "Julian." She gestured for him to move closer. She pushed the shopping list into his hand and leaned back in her seat, still scanning the bar nervously.

Julian went to look at the list but Doyle caught him by the arm and shook his head.

"Listen very carefully, I shall say this only once," Eddie said, her tone very serious, "That piece of paper contains a list. I need you to go to the Asda in Wood Green, North London and buy everything on the list. Then throw the receipt into the third bin to the left of the phone box across from the Nags Head pub."

"Then what?" Julian asked, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

"Bring the shopping back here at exactly 6.."

"7." Doyle corrected.

"Sorry, 7 o'clock. Now this is a very important mission, vital to national security. Are you up to it?"

"Yes sir." Julian snapped. He slowly stood up and walked calmly across the pub. When he reached the door he broke into a full sprint and raced off down the street.

Eddie grinned at Doyle, "He'll be gone for hours and you get free shopping plus free delivery."

"You beauty. But what am I gonna do about the wife?"

"I can't solve all your problems for you. But when you collect your shopping at 7 I'll shout you a drink. Right now, though, I'd better haul ass to Big Ben." She quickly emptied half the bottle of orange out into the ashtray and poured the vodka into the bottle. Pocketing the bottle, she stood up and began to make her way to the door. Before she left she yelled back to Doyle, "Don't worry, we'll send you home so locked you'll sleep right through your anniversary." She gave a wave to Les and marched out the door.

A few minutes later, Doyle hauled himself to his feet and shuffled his way out the door.

The Crown,
Soho District,
London,
6:59 p.m.

Julian entered the Crown and coughed as his lungs inhaled the poisonous fumes that passed for air in the pub. He didn't like this place but this was where Doyle had told him to come. He heard the alarm on his watch sound. 7 o'clock. He was right on time, so where was Doyle -- or Averil for that matter?

He struggled over to the bar, lugging the numerous bags of shopping with him. He smiled warmly at the barman. Les was in a foul humour and just scowled back.

"Good evening, my good man," he announced, and frowned at the titter of laughter behind him. He quietly dismissed it.

Les pulled at his stained vest and scratched himself in his lower region. "You want somethin'?" he asked, as he leaned closer to Julian.

Julian immediately pulled away and nearly fell over the shopping. "A..a.. a dry martini," he stuttered, "shaken not stirred." He looked around, startled by the sudden eruption of laughter behind him. Les's face broke into what Julian assumed was a grin and he went off to make the drink.

Julian turned around to face the bar occupants. They were all ignoring him now, and chatting amongst themselves with the exception of the MI 19 table who were enthralled in a game of cards. They were staring moodily at each other across a large stack of money. Julian glanced at the MI6 table but its only occupant was a cross-looking black man with an odd-shaped head and very narrow set eyes. He debated whether to go introduce himself but then he noticed the barmaid, Raquel. She was serving the card players but they didn't seem to notice her. "She might know where they are," he thought to himself. He stood up and started waving his hands in the air in an attempt to get her attention. "Raquel, Raquel," he yelled but she didn't, or at least pretended not to, hear him. Failing to catch her attention that way, Julian stepped up to drastic measures. Abandoning the shopping beside the bar, he bounded through the tables shoving and elbowing people out of his way in the process as he raced determinedly towards his target.

"Offical MI6 business," he shouted over his shoulder to the disgruntled customers. Raquel, seeing him approach, backed up slowly, holding her tray up as a makeshift shield. She stopped beside the wall next to the MI19 table, who were still engrossed in their card game. Julian finally landed beside her but he was forced on by his momentum and crashed into Raquel. The tray was knocked from her hand. The glasses sailed through the air and landed in one of the card player's laps. Soaked by the downpour of larger, he jumped to his feet, tossing the table aside as if it were made of paper. The contents of the table -- drinks, cards, and money -- were sent flying as the table overturned.

Julian slowly stood and turned around. He shrieked as the front of his jacket was grasped and he was picked up off the floor. He found himself face to face with a very large man.

"Look what you've done to our game!" he snarled.

"Sorry," Julian whispered back meekly.

"Sorry? You're sorry?" the large man nearly screamed. "I'll give you 'sorry'." Julian could feel the warm flecks of spit running down his face. The large man looked at Julian properly for the first time. "Hey, who the hell are you anyway?" he asked, sobering up a bit.

Julian gulped under his stare. "Garfield, Julian Garfield. Or an agent of MI6 to you," he answered, trying to sound confident and calm. "Now unhand me."

At this short speech the man stared at him blankly for a moment, before seeing that Julian was serious and bursting into a deep throated laugh. He looked over his shoulder and shouted to his companions. "Did'ye hear that lads. He thinks he's a spy."

Another identical-looking big man came up beside him and tickled Julian's chin. "Aww... how cute. Maybe tomorrow your mommy will let you be a cowboy." Both man laughed as Julian squirmed.

The first large man stopped laughing and looked at the second man. "Connie, where's the money?"

"Relax, Pat, it's right there." He said, turning to point at the now upright table. Pat also turned to look, still keeping a tight grip on Julian. What they saw was the remaining card player sneaking towards the door with the money. Pat let out a roar and flung Julian aside. He stormed through the tables, but he was a lot bigger then Julian so, as he pushed through, he angered a lot of people. Before the bar staff knew it a full-scale riot had erupted.

Raquel turned to Julian. "You'd better get before Pat comes back for you. Go!" She pushed him round the edge of the fight.

Julian fell to his knees to avoid the flying bottles and other debris and started crawling slowly under the table towards the shopping which was still piled up beside the bar. When he reached the bar, he threw himself across the bags as if they were a wounded soldier. Gathering up the bags, he scrambled to his feet and prepared to make a run for the door. Les yelled at him, "Tell Doyle if he ever lets you in here alone again, he's barred." And, with that, Julian was out the door and stumbling blindly down the street, leaving a trail of shopping in his wake.

The Crown,
Soho District,
London,
8:47 p.m.

Doyle and Edina entered the pub for the second time that day to find it much changed. Broken chairs and tables lay on the floor, while Raquel collected the unbroken ones and placed them against the far wall. There were splatters of blood on broken chair legs and a few shattered teeth could be seen dotting the floor. Doyle felt uneasy at the dirty looks aimed his way.

"What did you do?" Eddie asked, surveying the wreckage.

"I don't know," came the reply.

They headed over to the counter. Les looked up and, when he saw Doyle, he nearly lunged over the bar, fists flying. Luckily for Doyle, Eddie pulled him back or he'd have been lying on the floor.

"You idiot, you ruddy great fat git. Look at what he did. Look at my pub. My beautiful pub," Les looked close to tears, "It hasn't been this bad since the last England Scotland rugby match. Just let me at him." He lunged towards Doyle again.

He backed down as Eddie stood between them. She stared coolly at Les, "What on earth are you rabbiting on about?"

"He trashed my pub."

"For fecks sake. Who?" Eddie snapped, beginning to lose her patience.

"Felix."

"Felix? You mean Garfield."

"Whatever. He hurt my baby." Les began to stroke the counter, whispering softly to it.

Eddie and Doyle exchanged looks before turning to look at the mess again.

"Garfield did this?" Eddie asked, a small smile creeping across her lips. She turned back to Les, who was still fussing over the counter. "Les, get our drinks and don't pull that refresh my memory shit again."

Doyle found their table and turned it up-right while Eddie found some chairs. Raquel came over and gave them the whole story. By the time she was finished Eddie was nearly choking with laughter.

"Well, you might laugh," grumbled Raquel, "you didn't have to fix the place up afterwards. Les said we might close early today."

"What!?! ...er... I mean I'll see where our drinks are." Doyle got up and went over to the bar.

"Whats all that about?" asked Raquel.

"O, it's Doyle's wedding anniversary today and of course that means avoiding the little Missus. This pub is the only place she won't come in looking for him. I think she's scared of us. Can't think why?" Eddie grinned wickedly.

Meanwhile at the bar, Doyle pleaded with Les to stay open. "Aww, come on, Les, it's my bleedin' weddin' anniversary. I don't want to spend a whole night with my wife. She's threatening to cook me dinner tonight. My stomach can't take that kind of torture. Be nice. Look, the pub's practically back to normal."

Les thought carefully for a few minutes. "Alright, but you gotta swear that ginger git won't be let in here on his own again."

Doyle's face lit up. "Great, thanks, mate. I'll chain Garfield to the bike rack outside if I have to." He picked up the two drinks and headed back to the table.

The pub was pretty quiet for the next hour or so, but gradually it began to fill up again. As members of the different departments arrived they fixed up their own tables and placed them back in their original spots. Soon it was impossible to even tell there had been a fight. Eddie spread the word round about Doyle's anniversary and each table sent a round of drinks his way.

Doyle grinned like and idiot when he saw the table full of pints laid out before him. He guaranteed everyone that he would finish every last pint even if it took him all night.

"You're not really going to drink all of 'em?" Eddie asked, quickly counting up how many had arrived. "Aren't you going to offer me one?"

"Nope."

"Bastard."

Doyle just grinned as he picked up the first glass and savoured its aroma. Eddie just lay back in her seat and scanned the pub. Most of the tables were full now, even MI 19 were back in their little corner playing cards. She watched the door for a while noting who came in and where they went. It was a lovely, relaxed atmosphere and Eddie felt she could nod off if it wasn't for the sound of Doyle gulping down his drinks like they were air. Then she spotted Jardine. "Oh thank God, salvation. No offence to your company, Doyle." Eddie didn't know if Doyle heard her or not but he didn't respond. Eddie waved and smiled at Jardine but the smile quickly faded when she saw he wasn't alone. Following closely behind Jardine as he made his way to the table was the current director of MI5's B division, and Eddie's boss, Pitman.

"Hey, boss man," Eddie said, "take a seat." She used her foot to kick out one of the seats from under the table. "Sorry, Jardine, but you're gonna have to try and squeeze round Doyle there."

As Pitman took his seat, Jardine attempted to navigate his way around Doyle's large mass. In the end he gave up, and instead vaulted over the table. The table wobbled slightly and Doyle gave out a yell, "Oi, watch the drink."

Pitman turned to Eddie and frowned at her. "Where the hell have you been all day? You were supposed to be in WestMinster at 2 this afternoon."

"I was a little late." Eddie answered, putting on a wounded expression. "Traffic is hell round there, you know."

"A little late?" You turned up at half 5 and left 20mins later."

"Well, I did turn up. Doesn't that count for anything?"

Pitman just rolled his eyes and turned to face the other two. "I give up. We'll discuss this tomorrow morning when you present your report on India."

Eddie grabbed his shoulder and pulled him round again. "What report? Nobody said anything to me about any report."

"As part of public relations you have to write up daily reports for publication. I told you that when I transferred you."

"I'm not writing any bloody reports," Eddie whined, scowling at Pitman.

"You have to, or you'll be kicked out of public relations."

"Fine, send me back to espionage."

Doyle, who had been busy knocking back pints, yelled over, "If you two are going be talking about work you can piss off now. It's my anniversary and I don't want to hear anything to do with work."

"Here, here," Jardine said, "I'll get the drinks in, shall I?"

Pitman gave Doyle a hearty slap on the back. " Whatever you say, Doyle. I'll have a pint of larger, Jardine."

Jardine nodded, as he climbed back over the table, "Eddie, you want something?"

Eddie was scowling at Pitman, not happy just to drop the subject, but a grin slowly spread across her face. "You're right, Doyle, no more talk about work. Same again, Jardine."

"Vodka and tonic, right?"

Eddie nodded and Jardine headed up to the bar. He returned with the drinks and announced a toast, "To Doyle and his lovely wife, wherever she may be."

A loud cheer went up, followed by the clinking of glasses.

The Crown,
Soho District,
London,
3:35

Eddie balanced carefully on the barstool and waved her glass at Les, "Les, give us some ice please." She swung round on the stool and stared at the centre of the floor. All the tables and chairs had been pushed up against the walls and the 12 or so remaining customers were all seated in the middle of the floor in a long line. Someone had turned the radio on and "Rock the boat" blared out as the line of men tried to imitate a rowboat waving their arms around like oars. Doyle was at the top the line yelling out orders to his crew with a rolled-up newspaper acting as a megaphone. The rest of the line was singing along, out of tune, to the song. Eddie just shook her head and turned back to the bar. The phone beside the till began to ring and Eddie yelled at Les but he was at the far end of the bar and couldn't hear her over the noise. She reached across the counter and picked up the receiver. She strained to hear the voice at the other end but couldn't make anything out. She picked up a glass off the counter and hurled it at the radio. Her aim was spot on and the radio crashed to the floor. Without their music to inspire them, the singers fell silent.

Putting the receiver to her ear again she said, "Hello. Could you repeat that please?" There was a pause as she listened to the person on the other end. "Hold on a sec." She put the phone down and yelled over to Doyle, "Hey Doyle, it's your wife."

Doyle, still using his megaphone, yelled back, "Tell her I'm busy."

Eddie quickly relayed the message and there was another pause as she listened to the reply. Again she yelled across to Doyle, "She says you're to come home now and eat the beautiful meal she lovingly prepared for you 6 hours ago. Then the two of you can go to bed."

"Bed," Doyle yelled. "Bed's for sleepy people."

Eddie started to relay the message but stopped half through and said, "Look, I'm not your bleedin' secretary. You wanna talk to him, come down here." With that she slammed down the receiver. An eruption of applause went up from the others as Eddie turned back to face them. She hopped down off the stool and gave a quick bow to her audience. Les finally came back with her ice, which she grabbed off him and headed back to the table. She sat with her back to the wall and started nibbling on the ice cubes. She was well used to these booze-ups. In another half an hour or so they'd start to drift home and she and Jardine would be left to drag Doyle out and into a cab.

Sure enough after about 20 mins of trying to fix the radio, they began to feel the effects of the larger. One by one they made their excuses and headed out the door. As Pitman was getting ready to leave he bellowed over to Eddie, "That report better be on my desk first thing in the morning."

"Yeah, right," Eddie muttered as she stood up and made her way towards Doyle. Jardine was trying to help him to his feet while Doyle sang "I am sailing" through his newspaper megaphone.

"You call a cab?" Eddie asked, coming up beside him.

"Yeah, it should be outside. Give us a hand."

"Maybe we could just roll him out," Eddie suggested, taking hold of one of Doyle's bloated arms.

Jardine took the other arm. "He'd never fit through the door. On my count now. 1...2...3"

They slowly struggled across the pub and eventually made it out the door. The cab was right outside the door and the driver jumped out and helped shove Doyle into the back seat. Jardine turned to the driver and started giving him directions. Eddie turned to go back inside but stopped when she saw Julian standing outside the pub in the middle of a sea of Asda shopping bags. Eddie folded her arms and slowly walked over.

"Garfield?"

Julian looked up at her and grinned meekily.

"How long have you been out here?"

"Couple of hours," he replied, his voice low. "I didn't want to go in again. I had a few problems earlier."

"I've already heard the whole story. At least you got the shopping. Come on, we might as well give it to Doyle now."

Julian obediently picked up the shopping and followed Eddie. Doyle had dozed off in the back of the taxi so they just piled the bags on top of him. As the taxi disappeared out of sight, they heard a bang behind them and turned to see Les slamming the door of the Crown shut.

"Well, I guess this means we gotta go home," Eddie said and started walking down the street. "See you guys tomorrow." She waved over her shoulder as she went.

"Bye, Eddie," Jardine called after her, before turning to Julian. "Julian, right?"

Julian nodded, "Yeah."

"Come on, we can share a cab." Jardine said, heading in the opposite direction to Eddie. Julian followed behind like a lost puppy. He looked back at the pub just to see the lights flick off and the street disappear into blackness.

The Crown,
Soho District,
London,
11:53am

Pete Wisdom paused at the entrance to the Crown and scanned the crowd. The usual collection of scum and filth was gathered there. Les stood at the bar using his grime-covered vest to wipe glasses, while Raquel danced her way around the tables, smiling and joking with everyone as she went.

"You're back early."

Pete swung round to find the source of the voice. Eddie stood behind him, hands on hips and a wide grin on her face.

"Yep, nothin' really to do there cept' drink."

"Where's Culley?"

"Hospital."

"Really?"

"I think he had one shot too many."

"You look like shit, you know," Eddie said, giving him a good onceover.

"Funny, I was going to say the same to you. Buy you a drink?"

"Ahh, why not." She walked past him and into the pub. Pete grinned and followed her in.

All comments can be sent to either Cliodhna at stoical@angelfire.com or Mise Me Fein at mise_me@hotmail.com If anyone wants to write a story for this series they're quite welcome to. The only rule is it must feature someone from one of the 3 intel. Groups [MI5,MI6, Black Air]. You don't have to use the characters featured here but you're welcome to if you wanna.