"All My Yesterdays"

I started tinkering after reading/watching OHMSS at Christmas last. What if's have always fascinated me and Bond has the ultimate in what if Tracy lived. I'm sure the series would have ended etc but I did something similar in a short story on the old forum and for once, reviews were lukewarm. I guess after all that I did, it was a touch weird. (That and that story I tried to do here, where Ian Fleming is brought to the future somehow to witness where his hero has gone to...)

anyway. A few glasses of wine later, here's what I have so far. I haven't touched it since December.

The story that is

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“All My Yesterdays”

London, 1963

“Aye, and who might ye be, young lady?”
The young blonde woman wearing a dark grey Tyrolean outfit, paused where she stood by the foot of the stairs in the somewhat swanky Chelsea apartment. The woman who stood halfway down the stairs had her hands on her hips. She was a short woman, a little stout, with greyish-black hair in a neat bun and a scowl on her pale lips.
“I…uh…”
James Bond stepped past the blonde with a smile and held a hand out. “May, this is my wife, Tracy.”
“Ye gone and got married, Master James?” May made what sounded like a clucking sound. Bond tried not to laugh, sometimes when facing May in one of her moods he felt like the rebellious young boy brought to his mother. May came stepping down, she avoided Bond’s outstretched hand sizing Tracy up. “Welcome to the home, Mrs Bond.”
“Tracy,” the blonde said almost self-consciously. “I’m pleased to meet you. James has told me so much about you!”
May eyed Bond so sceptically, he turned away. “Did he now? This is all out of the blue, Master James. I wasn’t expectin’ a young lady visiting. Not this time.”
Bond coughed. “Well, May, consider this a belated Christmas present. Or rather, New Year’s.”
Bond’s false cheer hid the nerves that had admittedly been brewing all the while since the wedding in Munich. The wedding had been a crush of an effort as it was –happening at the British Consulate there with the Consular-General his best man. Then there was the drive in Tracy’s Lancia. They had been talking about their lives together, something that Bond had been almost entranced by. Like it was a dream. He hoped to make it happen, he found himself thinking, he really did love Tracy (the bachelor Bond, married! What a thought!). Kufstein was not even an hour’s drive from Munich and he had been confident of making it in time.
Then the Maserati appeared just as Bond stopped to tend to the little Lancia. He trigged that he had seen it at the petrol station after leaving the wedding. The curious two in the car with their white leather driving coats and big driving goggles that obscured much of their dirt streaked faces. And the fact that a Maserati was being driven with its roof down in Southern Germany in the winter…
“Tracy, get down!” Bond shouted diving around the front of the car. He heard the howl of machine gun fire, the windows of the Lancia shatter and shower him as they gave way. He wrenched open the Lancia’s door and scrambled inside, his head was swimming and his heart pounded. Almost before he got the door shut, he had his foot on the accelerator. The Lancia swerved from side to side for a few yards before Bond got it under control. He glanced at Tracy. She was sitting up, her face pale and eyes wide. “James?”
“Are you okay?”
“I…I…”
“Blofeld!” Bond scowled. He flattened the accelerator. He had nothing in the car.
“Master James…I asked ye if you wanted your spare room made up!”
Bond shook his head, from his dream. “Yes, please…No…no! Tracy will be in my room.”
May frowned disapprovingly at Bond. He had always been careful to conduct some of his affairs at home when he knew May would not be around for a certain time. She truly was the mother figure in his life that was right out of the last decade’s crop of comedy films. He smiled at his Scottish treasure and helped Tracy with her jacket. “We had a somewhat eventful wedding day, May. I was wondering if you would be so good as to make some coffee.”
“Certainly, Master James,” she headed into the kitchen saying as she went. “No honeymoon then?”
“No,” Bond glanced at Tracy who now matched his cheer. “We had a little problem.”
For once, Bond had been grateful to be in the little Lancia. The same car that had overtaken his trusty old Bentley on the road into Royale-les-Eaux all those weeks before. The same car that had fired his excitement so brilliantly. They made contact with the Maserati south of Rosenheim before the road came to the right on a branch past Brannenburg. At one point, he had pulled level with the convertible and glanced over, he could make out now Irma Bunt’s toadlike face and Blofeld’s syphilitic nose. Just as Irma Bunt leant behind her master and a muzzle thus appearing on the car’s frame, Bond dropped behind the Maserati.
“What are you going to do?” Tracy shouted.
Bond did not hesitate. “Kill the bastard.”
Tracy had already seen Bond in action during their mad drive away from Samuden. She knew from her father just what Bond was capable of and what this Blofeld was like. Bond accelerated, he managed to coax some extra horsepower out of the Lancia and closed in on the tail of the Maserati. Away to the left the road began to drop away into what appeared to be a ravine.