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He wakes up to black.
Brian doesn’t know how he got here, wherever here is, and he crushes down the automatic panic rising in his throat and remembers that he's a spy, he can handle this, he just needs to breathe, and he needs to take inventory. Experimentally, he twitches his toes, then feet, legs, all the way up until he's satisfied he has all his parts and they’re all in working order. He raises his hand and feels the air in front of himself, and touches soft, airy cushioning, like the kind they use in ball rooms on special occasions, or as decorations on Valentine's Day, or, or in-
Caskets.
He's in a casket.
It gets harder to stay calm.
He doesn't know how he got here. He tries to think back, to remember, maybe someone put him here as a joke, or this is from a tacky villain, but-
But he remembers the screech of car tires, and an impact so jarring he can feel it in his teeth, even now. He remembers a disfigured jagged strip of metal in- it's in his abdomen. It's pierced through his stomach, and it was- it was bleeding, a lot, and there's already a puddle of blood around him and he's seen wounds like this before, in the war, from explosions, and massacres, and- it's too much blood. It's too much blood. It's too much blood, and he knows he's going to die. Roger is holding his hand (when did he get here?), touching his face, his neck, and he's shouting at someone to call for help, and he looks-
beautiful.
He has cuts on his face, and his eyes are blown wide, panicked, but- if this is the last view Brian has before he dies, it's not bad. He tries to tell Roger that, and that he's sorry, that he wishes they had more time, but his tongue is heavy, and he tries to reach out, to hold Roger's hand, but his limbs aren't obeying and he's getting dizzy and his sister is going to be worried and he has one last look at Roger's eyes before-
Before he woke up here.
Is this the afterlife?
He discards the thought immediately, mostly because it's unproductive, and he needs to be productive right now. So now the next question is- well, how does he get out?
The thought barely crosses his mind before he's gasping, on all fours, his hands clutching the grass in front of him. He touches a hand to his stomach, almost unconsciously, reverently, before- before he starts laughing. It has a hysterical edge to it, but once he starts he can't stop. He doesn't know what happened, or what's going on, or how he got here, but the sky is blue and the grass is green and it feels like its been years since he's seen either.
After he's gotten control of himself, he pushes himself off the ground, and takes a look at himself. He's wearing a suit, simple, fitting, with a rosary around his neck. His father's watch is in his front pocket, and the ring he gave Roger is in the back. There's something in the breast pocket, and when he fishes it out, he sees that it's a patch with the Union Jack on it. It takes him a moment, but then he realizes- these were put on him at his funeral. This is what he was buried in.
Suddenly, the collar feels too tight.
Shrugging off his anxiety, slipping it off like an old coat, he puts the patch back where it goes, slips off the rosary, and puts on the ring. He spends a moment or two longer tracing the edges of the watch before placing it, along with the rosary, in his back pocket. He doesn't know where he's buried, but he can see a gate in the distance, so he figures that's as good a place as any and starts the walk over.
Once he's standing by the gate, he pauses, and just- looks. He looks at the people, the fashion. He looks at the cars, the buildings, and it doesn't take him long to realize England isn't how he left it. He can't afford to have a breakdown now, though, so he shoves the panicking part of him into a box, and stores it away for a later date. Before he's even realized he's done it, he's flagged down a cab and saying the address to the Falsworth Manor to the driver. He has no idea if it even still exists, but- he doesn't know what else to do. He doesn't know where else to go.
The route is unfamiliar, but as they get closer and closer, the houses get older, and more expensive, and it gets easier to recall the way home.
Gotta love rich snobs for never changing.
Eventually, the cab stops at the gate to his house and it's-
It looks the same.
He feels like he's going to cry.
A throat clearing brings his attention back to the cabbie, who's holding his hand out for a fare.
Brian stares.
The cabbie stares back.
After the cab drives away, a new silk tie possibly from Savile Row in hand, Brian is left on the sidewalk. The Manor isn't /exactly/ the same (the ivory climbing the northwest side is new, for instance, and the main archway looks redone), but it's enough to be recognized as home.
He needs to see the inside.
He doesn't know who lives here, now, or if anybody does, but he /needs/ to see the inside. Nearly running, he knocks on the front door, and waits, anxiously, for someone to answer. He's just resolving to break in when the bolt clicks, and the door opens, and he's just opened his mouth to explain why he's here, but the person on the other side is-
His sister.
She looks exactly as she did in 1945, young, with no wrinkles, as if someone froze her in time. Her blonde hair is loose around her shoulders, and her eyes are wide in shock and so, so blue.
They both stand there, staring at each other, ghosts of the past, before Brian starts crying, and Jacqueline does too, and there's hugging and tears and I'm sorry's and I love you's. Questions will come later, after more tears and cups of tea and just looking. Taking it in. Remembering, reminiscing.
The Manor, old as it is, is full of history, from the portraits on the walls to the cordoned off rooms no one is allowed to enter. The coffee table is from 1879, and though neither of the Falsworth's know it, it is the last surviving legacy of the family who made it. The ornaments they hang on the tree at Christmas are from Ireland, France, Africa, Dubai, Mexico, everywhere a mission has sent the Falsworth's, and the photo on the mantle is the line-up of the Invaders, tired and battle-worn, but alive. Jacqueline is wearing a set of pearls she got when their mother died, and Brian is twisting the ring Roger gave him- in hushed tones and promises of forever- around his finger. The Falsworth's themselves are relics, echoes of the past forcibly shoved into the future. Sometimes, Jacqueline will get surprised by her reflection in a mirror, how young it looks, and sometimes, Brian will wake up at three am because the blankets got tangled around him and it feels too much like the coffin he woke up in. Sometimes, when the dreams are too much to go back to sleep, they bump into each other in the kitchen. Jacqueline gets the mugs out, Brian starts on the tea, and they both just lean on each other, not speaking. They don’t need to.
When this happens, it's hard not to notice how old Jacqueline looks. When this happens, it's hard not to notice how the bags under Brian's eyes make him look skeletal.
But this comes later. For now, there are reunions, there are tear-stained smiles, and there is love between two siblings.