"Even the darkest places can hold good memories." Or at least they did when those memories could be trusted.
"Do they?" He picked up a grape and chewed on it. "Hadn't noticed."
"And you call me serious," she replied solemnly.
"Some things are better left alone."
"Words to remember."
"Is that a hint to leave you and the subject of us alone?"
"A warning you may not like the answers you get."
He did wonder what that meant. Perhaps she didn't feel the same kind of attraction that he did or willingness to want to get to know the other beyond 'just sex'. It was something he never quite imagined with her, but there it was. "I'd rather have the truth," he replied, albeit quietly. It still hadn't put him off his food though, his attention now turned to the steak.
She had the opposite reaction wiping her hands on a cloth napkin and rising. "Everyone thinks they want the truth until they get it."
He sat back, folding his arms across his chest, expectant of her to continue regardless. "I'm all ears."
Hands went to her temples and she rubbed gently. Once again she regretted her lack of sleep. It would make the decisions on how to edit things easier. But her head was back to being foggy.
"The KGB was on the cutting edge of brain washing. Far beyond anyone else. Not only did they remove memories but they implanted them as well." Most of the records were lost after the fall of the Soviet Union. "Those techniques were refined in the girls."
"What happened?"
"Programming was created. Ways to control them. Safe guards put into place so no one would question the false memories." Physical illness from mild headaches and nausea to seizures. "We could enjoy the memories but couldn't probe them deeply."
"So you don't really know who you truly are?"
"Programming eventually crumbles. Either because their techniques aren't good enough or because some of us don't follow the rules. " A faint smile at that. "I have full and complete memories of being in the ballet. Even muscle memory. But it's all false."
"All of it is false?"
"Those yes. Ballet is a good story to use because what little girl doesn't want to be a ballerina?" Among other reasons. Discipline. Training. Coordination, balance, agility...
"I see."
She remembered her fascination with the local ballet troupe. It led to her first kill.
"It continued with the Widow program as well. They used it to ensure my love for my husband. " A man she barely knew. "And then my loyalty to Russia."
"Did you love him at all?" He briefly recalled her talking about him yesterday, though he supposed it would be difficult for her to tell.
"If I had an answer for that life would be easier." But she didn't think so. Not really.
"I'm not sure it would be..." He stood and rounded the table to where she stood, food suddenly a lot less interesting. Reaching out, he took her into his arms.
Her voice took on a monotone as she distanced herself. She offered no resistance when he touched her this time. "It happened many more times and I've found I can't trust my memories in large part, because I have no real way of knowing if they are real or not." Sure, some things would eventually come to light. For instance she didn't have the feet of a ballerina. They were much too pretty, no signs of deformity from being en pointe so often. "And if my memories aren't true, then how do I determine which emotions are?"
He looked down at her. "Well, what do you feel right now?"
Oh if only it were that easy. "The last time they did actual damage. 'Severed neural synapses' they called it. It cannot be fixed. I have gaping holes in my memory that I will never have access to." And they were all centered around one person, but that wasn't something she wanted to discuss. That she hadn't even been the real target when it happened made it that much worse. Once more she had been a weapon to be used against someone else. Someone she loved and now couldn't remember. "The damage is lasting and it effects other things as well. Maybe if they had been more sophisticated it could have been done with more precision. But he used the old techniques."
He sighed, allowing her to get through what it is she wanted to say, making sure to listen and pay close attention.
If he believed it was longer ago than it was, that was fine. Easier. "I am... disconnected... now." Oh she was worse than that. She was completely empty aside from anger, guilt and pain. "I am beyond damaged."
"I see." Realisation dawned on him that she felt nothing. Sociopathic to an extent. He acted the part but he wasn't actually one. They all had to act the part. Then his mind went back to the way she held onto him at night and the smiles and laughter at the beach before. "So you haven't felt even remotely happier the last few days?"
Shrugging him off she sighed and moved away. She had once told Clint point blank she had no feelings for him to protect him. To give him closure to move on. But she couldn't quite do the same now. So she avoided. "There are no children with me. No happily ever after. No peaceful quiet life. I will always be hunted. Someone will always want me dead. Always want to pull me back in." It pained her to say it all out loud. When she had brought it up to others they had insisted she was wrong, that what had been done couldn't possibly have effected her emotions. Blown her off entirely.
"The last time they took away any chance for Natasha and left only the Black Widow."
He went and fetched a cigarette, the old filthy habit. Covering himself up with a robe, he wondered how he ever kept himself in shape with all the toxic trash going around his body and circulating in him he would never understand. Been caught with all kinds of illegal substances too but that was brushed under the carpet kept hush hush. Substance use never looked good on anyone's record and then there was all the experimental crap that was flowing around him. Trackers buried in his blood, things he'd pulled or yanked out over the years. Who knew what kind of chemical substances lurked either. Sometimes he was certain the abuse of painkillers and the occasional amphetamine was better than what they dosed him up with like some kind of guinea pig. "Well, if you think I'm not fighting someone ninety percent of the time for similar reasons..." he said, lighting it. "And children, you alluded to that the other night." No he was under no illusions there. "I'd be a lucky man if I ever got close enough to someone to think about children." What a really serious conversation to be having so early on! He should be running to the hills. "That and my lifestyle is kind of selfish for them, don't you agree? I'd have to leave. And... Well, I'm close to what they say is mandatory retirement for someone in the field, especially in the capacity that I'm in it but well I'm not exactly considered a catch to most women who are looking for something normal.
"And that's the first and last time I'll ever put myself down."
Frustration had her scrubbing her face with her hands. "You just want to be hard. Cold. Need to be for this job. I get it. The difference is I don't have a choice." Now she whirled on him, her agitation not even remotely hidden. "It's not that I won't feel it, or stop it. It's that I can't. Whatever they did destroyed those connections. I know people, people I remember caring about. But it's distant now. Like feeling something through a fog of nothingness."
"This is now. The past and future is often shrouded in mystery. If we spend too much time worrying about either then we'll get nowhere, especially in this line of work." Living like some kind of masochistic Buddhist was always for the best. An eternal paradox. He took a long drag, the calm of the tobacco helping with this bizarre conversation. "What did you feel the last few days? Other than for the job?"
He wanted to get philosophical now? She laughed and it was as hollow as he accused her of being once before. "Come on now Bond. You were right about me, you should be happy." Right, just for the wrong reasons. A deep breath, eyes closed, head titled back. When she straightened a change to her entire body language. Now she moved towards him like a predator. Shirt fell to one side exposing the top of a breast. Steps were careful, deliberate. Until she was completely in his personal space. Hand reached out and rubbed him through the robe. Mouth at his neck, teeth dragging across skin. His response was obvious in her hand. "I can make you feel this. I can give you this. Every hour of every day." She stroked him, hand now passing through the gap in the robe and into the waist band of the underwear he still wore. "I can make every single one of the fantasies come true." The kiss was hard and unforgiving. When she broke from it she looked at him. "But I am incapable of love."
And with that she broke away from him taking several steps back.
Though he couldn't deny the reaction she'd given him, how she turned him on, how that made him feel and how her words sent a jolt to his groin, her words gave some pause at least for now. "Are you certain?" He paused. "I'm more than capable of love." A foolish pursuit but it happened to him. "And if I fell in love with you?"
"Please don't. " It was a whisper. Barely audible.
"So you'd rather I didn't pursue you for my sake? Or for yours?"
"Yours. "
There was a frown and some silence. The furrow of his brow told it all, a story he wasn't even willing to say out loud. He'd had his fair share of let downs over the years, too many to count, but he didn't really expect this one to punch him in a gut quite that hard. Still, he respected her wishes. If she was so sure, not that he entirely believed it, then what could he do? He couldn't force it on her. He couldn't do anything. It was a tryst and that was that. He got too close and as always he was getting burned by another woman. No wonder he had problems with the fairer sex. And if she was right? Then she was liable to trigger that fear of abandonment he had so snuggled deep inside of him he behaved in every unreasonable way to prevent it from ever happening.
"Alright," he whispered, voice emotionless. "I'll let it go."
Usually he didn't care. This hurt. Why?
Words knifed through her and she bowed her head. She struggled to breathe past the unexpected pain, to keep her face blank. To wrap herself in numbness again.
"I'm sorry," she managed finally. "I never should have allowed this to start. I just didn't think..."
He was silent for a moment. A lift of his shoulders in a shrug, trying to lift the pain of everything away from him and to carry on past it. To forget about it. It was done now. He had to move on. "Well, I'm sorry, too..." What started out as just sex had developed into enjoying someone's company. Caring for their comfort and hoping they remained safe. It was a whirlwind romance quite literally and it hit him as hard. He wondered what Vesper would think of this. If she was looking down, miserable at his misery and God awful luck.
"What didn't you think?"
"This would ever..." she struggled with the words. "I assumed it would be simply business. It never occurred to me there was a danger of anything else."
Was there a single man in her life she didn't carry a huge amount of guilt over?
"Well, it doesn't matter now," he replied, albeit very coldly. "It's done." Shrugging the robe off, he tossed it onto the bed and went into the bathroom for a shower.
Jesus she deserved that. She knew it. Still... it hurt just to draw breath. Just when she thought she was too emotionally empty to flinch he did it.
Waiting until the water could be heard she sank to the edge of the bed allowing silent tears to fall. How the hell did she end up here?
If he could punch a hole through the wall then he would, though all that would do was likely break his hand. Alcohol was out of the question. That would only earn him her disdain and if he was quite honest he'd rather not speak with her for the rest of the night. The thought of that food, all going to waste, was also on his mind. It wasn't often he left his stomach empty or close to empty. But here he was, in the shower, brooding. Sometimes he hated his life. Detested it, in fact. It was filled with tragedy and women were always at the heart of it. Women. He should just abstain but he couldn't. He should have learned his lesson with Vesper, but he didn't. One day it would kill him.
Stepping out from the shower, he looked in the mirror as he dried himself. That ritual that he was used to in his flat was quickly settling in here. The dark tendrils of depression reaching up through his body, pawing at his brain, insisting and refusing to leave him alone. No. This is why he spent so much time away. He could ignore it then. He wasn't a basket case. He couldn't be. But this is what his life did. What was normal? What was right? What was wrong? If he killed a man in cold blood and it was for the good of the world, was he good or bad? Who was this person that stared back at him? Was he good? Was he evil? What did he deserve? That tremor in his hand was back. He had to get a grip. Go for a run. Anything. Something. He couldn't fall into this now. Not now when they were so close to inescapable danger.
He took a deep breath and tried not to look at the man he didn't recognise half the time. It was worse if he'd had bags under his eyes or a few days worth of stubble. This had given him pause to think. To consider everything. His life was a mess, filled with the weird and the wonderful. But he never expected the weird and wonderful to quite so much land at the foot of his doorstep again. Not like this. Anything else? A distance? He could handle it. But they hadn't maintained a distance. They hadn't just done the deed and then they'd bonded with one another. He was a damn idiot. A fool. He'd caught feelings so quickly because she made him feel so. damn. alive. but was that just because that's how she was 'programmed' to behave? Was he used just as he used others in the past? The thought made him sick. So that's how it felt. Maybe Karma was finally catching up to him. Maybe the masochistic Buddhist was finally turning into a sadistic one, too.
He took a few deep breaths. Steadying himself. Readying himself and pushing it all back down into that cage where he locked it up and threw away the key. Get a grip, James. You could do this to your hearts content once you got home. But now wasn't the time. Focus on the job. Ten minutes later, repeating that mantra over and over, and he'd grabbed the other spare robe from the bathroom and reappeared. He didn't bother to say anything to her, he didn't even want to look at her. Not out of disgust, but because he needed to forget as quickly as possible. Having made his way to the balcony, he watched as the waves crashed against the beach and for once in his life he wished for simpler times when he was back on the open sea without a care in the world. The man and the agent never really were compatible. One day he might just harden his heart to believe it.
The balcony was her normal retreat. The sound of the waves soothing. But she hadn't earned that so when the sound if water had gone silent she'd scrubbed away the tears realizing she was still wearing his shirt. Hastily she shed it, folding it neatly back up and setting it on the bed. The old t shirt she frequently lugged around taking the place of the expensive cotton.
Truthfully she was tempted to go. Disappear tonight and not look back. He would deal with the threat. There was no doubt on that. But if he got hurt doing it, or killed... that would be her fault too.
Were she floating around in his head she would be forced to laugh. A kind of insane glee because the thoughts would be so familiar. So close to home she would shy away out of habit.
If she told him he got to her... told him he had cracked her walls... would it make it better or worse? Hurting him worse was the last thing she wanted. He deserved better.
With shaking hands she touched the roses he'd sent. They made her smile and she wished she could go back to that first night. Go back and tell him no. Keep him from feeling like he did now. Prevent him from trying to see her as anything other than the monster she was.
Unwilling to return to the bed she curled up tightly in the corner of the couch, drawing feet up under her and pushed her own pain aside. All that was left to do was save him anything else. Any other pain at her expense.
A few cigarettes later, or was it more like three or four he was still trying to still that damn tremor in his hand. Eventually it eased and he slid the door closed behind him. He noted the way she was curled up. He put a hand on her shoulder and whispered. "You should get some sleep. Proper sleep." Quality sleep. That was what was needed. They had a big day ahead of them and losing sleep over this would only get in the way of what they had to do. "You can take the bed. It's fine." Wouldn't be the first time he'd been a gentleman about things either.
"You don't have to be nice. " It wasn't deserved by any means. "I don't sleep much any more."
A thought occurred to her but she didn't give it voice. That she had slept better with him than at any other point in recent memory, even when she pushed herself to exhaustion. "You should though."
He sat beside her. "What would I achieve by being nasty to you?" She didn't ask for this. She couldn't help what she was.
She drew up more. Scared to touch him. She would only contaminate him even more. Her head flopped over to the arm and she closed her eyes once again unwilling to look at him.
"James..." probably the last time she would ever use his name. "I appreciate it but its not needed." I know what I am. What I deserve...
"Then you don't know me. Because that's not who I am." If she didn't feel, or whatever it was she claimed, then why was she holding herself, curled up like a child in their mother's womb?
"It's who I am though. And I came to terms with it a long time ago."
"Are you lying to me, Natasha? Are you that terrified of what could happen that you're lying to me?"
"You said you wanted the truth. That's what I gave you." Anything she edited didn't effect him. Just saved her reliving things she'd rather not.
"And if it's the truth then why are you hurting so much?"
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
She saw through it then. Had it been that obvious? "It's fine. It has to be."
"It's not fine. None of it is fine."
"We have a mission tomorrow. So it has to be fine. I'll go through it alone when I'm back in London. You really opened something up in me Natasha," he admitted, almost like he was conceding defeat.
If only she could sleep. "The mission will be fine. " Especially if she could beat him him to the target. She could save him him that. She just couldn't save him from her.
"I'm sorry," she repeated. "There is nothing about me worth any hurt I caused. "
"You made me feel alive. For once nothing mattered but us and I enjoyed being lost in those moments, allowing myself to actually live.
"I haven't felt like that in years."
No no no. Please no. "I will tear you apart in the end Bond. No one has survived me yet. "
"You already have."
Eyes squeezed shut trying to hold back tears. "I didn't mean to."
"No one ever intends to hurt the other in these situations."
She couldn't withdraw more. There was no where left to go. "I would take it back if I could."
"I wouldn't. I have to take what I can get. Even if it's brief. Men like me don't get to see their dreams and I found that out the hard way."
Tears moved down her cheeks now. She still refused to look at him. It would be better for him if she got up now and left. Never to be seen again.
"Dreams keep us alive, " she whispered.
"No, they eventually destroy us. That's why they're not suited to rebellious men like myself."
"No dreams means no hope." Miserable now.
"What do you dream of, Natasha?"
"Nothing. Not any more."
"I see."
"I should have died long ago."
He turned to look at her and noted the tears on her cheeks. For someone who supposedly didn't feel, she was having a hard time suppressing it.
Reaching out he cupped her cheek, futile and foolish as it was to subject himself to that pain and brushed a thumb over there. "Shh... No you shouldn't."
She would destroy him just as she had destroyed so many others. When he touched her she flinched, more hot tears spilling from behind closed lids. "Please don't." He was going to be her complete undoing.
"Natasha..." His hand remained. Was she lying? Did she think herself so unworthy that she'd lie to him? "Are you afraid?" His voice was a whisper. "Are you pushing me away because you're afraid of what might become of us?"
"Because I know what I'll do to you in the end. It won't be worth it. " If what she offered were worth it Barnes wouldn't have left when they used her to get to him. "You terrify me."
There was a look of concern now etched on his features. "What will you do to me?"
"I could end up killing you."
His hand remained, his voice still a whisper. "Why do you say that?"
"They've found sleeper triggers in my head before. There is no way to know if there is more. " Truth. Though not all of it. "They used me to try to kill Barnes last time."
"Barnes?"
"James Barnes. The Winter Solder."
He nodded. "And you think they might use those triggers to kill me?"
"It's possible."
"So it's not that you cant feel. It's that you cut yourself off on purpose because you're terrified of what will happen.
"I really did hit home with what I said didn't I?"
She shook her head and finally looked at him. Willing him to understand. "Clint Barton is my best friend. I know this like I know how to field strip any weapon you hand me. Know this like I know every scar on my body. Without thought. Without question. But when I look at him all I feel is a distant memories. I know it's true but I don't feel it. " How many years had it been since they had punched holes in her brain? She wasn't sure right now. "I haven't been able to feel it since the last time they took my memories. Since they tore up my brain."
He was stubborn, possibly too stubborn for his own good. "Then what do you feel when you look at me? Nothing? Nothing at all? Dammit was all your laughter and your pleasure, your happiness. Was it a lie?"
She should have gone while he was in the shower. No answer she could give him would give him peace.
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you felt nothing at all. Nothing. No pull. No care. Nothing."
Muscle clenched in her jaw and she looked away. "Even if I did no good will come of it."
"You're full of shit..." It had slipped out. Utter pain and frustration faltering him and breaking through.
At that she have a weak laugh. "Have you not paid attention to anything I've said."
He felt like that raw, angry young man again who slipped back into bad habits and was out of control of himself. He was so caught off guard by all of this, by himself, by everything. How'd she get so under his skin.
Standing up he finally let it out and slammed his fist into the wall. It did the damage he wanted it to and he didn't care. He didn't even feel it though he was sure once the adrenaline stopped pumping he would.
He regretted it already. A careless moment of weakness and a complete lack of self control.
He felt... Abandoned. And he was an eight year old child again, hiding in the priest hole after the deaths of his parents. And he was a thirty six year old man cradling his fiance's cooling body after committing a suicide he couldn't stop. And now he was a forty four year old man being led on a merry go round. He shouldn't have cared but she'd gone there, she'd burrowed and she'd done it. She'd gotten to him in a big way. It was like she knew
"Stop!" She stood quickly, grabbing his arm. Anger melted into concern. Immediately she reached for his hand pulling it up for inspection. Blood oozed from his knuckles and she scowled up at him sharply. "Breaking your hand solves nothing."
Indeed she would rather he strike out at her instead. At least she earned his wrath.
She should have lied to him the way she had to Clint so many years ago. That she didn't want to was something she didn't want to consider.
"Fine. " Lips brushed against the damage gently. "I feel drawn to you every time you get close. I have let no one touch me since they used me against Barnes. Until you."
Not allowing him to balk she pulled him to where dinner had been set up. Snatching a linen napkin from it she wrapped it around his hand. "You made me hope maybe I was wrong. But if I'm not then I have done damage to you for nothing and that isn't fair to you."
He hadn't expected it. But as soon as the anger rose it'd gone again. Soothed by her actions. "Breaking my hand seemed like a preferable alternative." Then the pain struck along with the wrapping of the cloth and he winced.
"You could have said."
He still wasn't too sure what came over him. What the fuck happened to his training?
"Then you are an idiot. " She should go get some ice for it. "It doesn't change anything. It can't."
That sounded like the Natasha he knew at least. "Call it months of pent up frustration after you called me gay if that makes you feel better." Oh, she knew now he was certainly not gay.
"You felt something. That should give you a dream. Hope. It doesn't mean you're as dead inside as you think."
"I never thought you were actually gay. " No there were far too many rumors for that. "I can't believe you took that to heart." Taking the ice bucket they provided she moved towards the door.
"It doesn't mean I'm wrong either. And I can't survive it again."
"And the alternative is you live the rest of your life miserable. Who knows it could be long, it could be short. But while you're never seizing the moment you live in, your maker rubs their hands together just that little bit more at their creation. You're an agent, Natasha. Thinking of the past or future is a rookie mistake. No one can tell you what will happen and if you live in fear of it then you're not living your life at all. Do you really want that for yourself? Because I can walk away if that's the case. I just tend to lift my middle finger quite high and proud when my lot try to tell me what's good for me."
She knew he wanted a rise out of her. Knew he wanted her angry. Because angry was better than giving up. But she had failed to truly make him understand. Like the others, he thought she was exaggerating. But they hadn't lived with the agony. The knowledge that what was supposed to be there wasn't. To know that some vital part of what made you fucking human was now missing. Torn away from you at a point you had been happy. Something you never quite thought you'd get. And no, she didn't actually remember the happy part, couldn't because she couldn't remember Barnes, but the file had detailed it. And it all rang oh so true.
Casting the ice bucket aside she spun back to face him, seeing red now. "What do you want from me?" she yelled. "You keep making demands, pushing, expecting me to some how figure out what the hell it is you want! I am not a god damn mind reader James! I give you what you want and you spend the waking hours tearing me apart! I do what I can to protect you and suddenly I'm some kind of coward for it. So once again it all boils down to me not catering to your whims!"
Now she threw herself at him, hands at his shoulders, driving him back. "And what happens when I become England's most wanted? Because it can happen. What happens when you are considered compromised and they send someone after you? Dammit all of that will fall on my head then! Has it even occurred to you that while you grow old I might not? Or that some morning you wake up and I'm a fucking pile of dust? Or when we are on opposite sides during a mission? Are you going to sit at home and pine for me while I'm gone? Expect me to do the same? Because neither of us are the type." She had a full blown rage working now. "My brain has been taken out and played with more times than I can count Bond. I don't know what the repercussions are, but none of them have been good so far. So when you can truly tell me you've considered these things, considered the consequences... When you can honestly tell me you understand, entirely, what I have tried so hard to press upon you, then maybe I'll believe you are actually thinking things through."
She thumped him in the chest hard enough to hurt. "If you want to leave, then leave, but don't you fucking dare pawn that off on me. You are an adult and you are capable of making decisions even if you don't seem capable of communicating anything." THUMP "But stop trying to place all the blame on me you gigantic asshole, because I will not shoulder it for you!
"Just because I want you, want you touching me, doesn't mean it's the smart thing to do. Just because I feel it every time you touch me doesn't mean it's something we should follow through with. Just because you have an effect on me doesn't mean I am suddenly human again!" THUMP "So go ahead. Leave. Don't let me get in your way.
"And I will tell you what to do with that finger when you do!"
He hadn't been trying to make her angry. Far from it. He'd just been trying to see that she had the capability to be selfish and say to hell with it. Bond had already risen to his feet when she yelled, prepared for what he knew was surely coming next. At first he allowed her to back him into the wall, also allowed her to slam her fists into his chest. But when she was done he snatched at her wrists, preventing her from doing so again. "I want you. What part of that didn't you understand?" As if it wasn't obvious enough?! "But let me make myself clear. Don't put your hands on me like this ever again. I won't stand for it. All I was trying to do was help. To get you to see that you can live in the now and to the hell with the consequences. When was the last time you were selfish?"
Bond was angry now, and he threw her hands back into her, pushing himself away from the wall. "Do you honestly think you're the only one that hasn't had their brain poked and prodded, hmm?" It wasn't a competition. But she took him as if he was glass, fragile and easily breakable. That had to change. "I've been beaten, tortured and had cruel and twisted things done to me too. They tied me down to a fucking dental chair and while I was awake drilled into my head." The pain had been unbelievable and the damage long lasting. "They decided that a man like me had no need to remember the faces of the women he'd been with, so why not take them away? It wasn't as if I had need for them, was it now? And I'm sure you'd agree you're keen enough to remind me of it. It was his cruel way of getting revenge." He woke up every day not being able to remember Vesper's face, her eyes, her nose, her lips. All he had was the memories of her hair, her scent, the way she walked, the way her lips felt and tasted against his own. Dammit, the tremor in his hand was back now along with the sounds of his own screams. The open terror that he'd worn on his face was a vivid memory, he couldn't hide behind cockiness in that moment. There'd been no laughter, barely any taunting that day. Physical pain paled in comparison to what was done to him. "How do you feel when I tell you the minute you leave this room I can't even remember what colour your eyes are? That I don't recognise you? That I've had to sit through intense work and all kinds of tests to try and restore what they could of me. That I've had to compensate for what I lost? How do you feel when I tell you I don't remember your face when you orgasmed? That every single woman I've ever been with blurs into one?" And yet she was still important enough to him already that he'd made some kind of distinction.
"Apparently that was a fitting torture for me. Apparently I have no need to remember that." Every time he'd met her, he'd been forced to take in the little things. Her hair, mainly, or the way that she walked. Intense therapy had helped, hadn't made him completely useless, and he was told he was lucky it hadn't been as severe as it was. "I carry on. Because I'm a stubborn bastard." No one other than M. and maybe a few of the others who had suitable clearance. The psychologists, for example, just exactly what had happened to him. It was kept quiet. For all his talents no one had to know of his weakness or liability. Now he'd just handed it to her and he found he didn't care one bit for it either. "From the night we met and exchanged pleasantries I formed a catalogue of what I could about you. Mostly your hair. Then I started to notice everything else." He shook his head, not sure he could really forget her now. "So now you know. Do with that what you will. Break my finger if it makes you feel better. But I won't let anyone dictate to me what they think is best for me. That's for me to decide and if I want to be selfish then that's what I want to be. But not once was I blaming you. Not once."
"I don't get to be selfish. " She wanted to yell, rage, use every ounce if anger she could muster. "People die when I'm selfish. People die if I ignore the consequences. People die when I pretend I'm not responsible for something. " Then other people had to live with the choices only she could make. People who would loose themselves entirely doing it.
He flung her hands back at her and she staggered a few steps before catching herself. His words like a hot waterfall cascading over her. They cut into her, as he had meant them to. But oh she understood. Understood what it meant to cling to those wisps that seemed so important. The ones that seemed like things you should never forget.
Anger fled completely leaving her weak and shaken. His confession rocked her. With a hitching breath she took a few more steps away from him to grab the other napkin.
When she stopped in front of him again she held it up in front of his eyes, going slow, giving him the chance to protest. Carefully she tied it around his head, blinding him.
"Don't spend time trying to see with your eyes." Fingers twined together with his a beat before her hand was over his, moving it. Then his fingers were against the skin of her belly moving across to the thicker, straight scar that marred her right side. A scar that had actually been a double surgery. First from unskilled hands then from skilled.
It was slightly raised from the rest of her skin but flat along its length. Smooth, without the same softness as the rest of her flesh. A small knot at the bottom edge when she ran his fingers down it then back up.
"You want to know what I think of when I think about you?" Hand still held his fingers in place. "The way your mouth moves when you smile. " Now she pulled his fingers up her body, grazing a nipple that hardened at his touch to a smaller, narrower scar above her breast. A stab wound. But the blade had been hot when it struck home and inhibited healing. She ran his index finger over the diagonal slash. This one felt different than the first.
"You want to know what I feel when you touch me? Like I'm on fire." Down again. To a thin, raised jagged scar over and around her left hip. Tracing it from back, up over hip bone, trailing down the front where it disappeared. "So if you ask me what I think that my face is something that doesn't come to mind my answer is this: how do I smell? How do I feel against you? How does my voice sound when I say your name? How do I taste first thing in the morning and late at night. " Breath caught and then, "That's my answer. "
At first he wondered whether she was going to reach for a knife or something ridiculous. Who truly knew. Then he saw the napkin and he was about to protest, a vulnerable look flashing over him, unguarded, everything torn away, when it was placed over his eyes. Most the time he could condition himself in emotional situations to focus on his training, but he found he didn't want to. Usually he'd have protested, hated the idea that he would be reduced to not seeing where he was, what he was doing. It should have released unpleasant memories, but how could it when he knew her intention? He let his hand fall limp, eased by her guidance, ghosts of finger tips trailing over the scars, the contours of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the peak of her nipple.
He allowed his other senses to take over. While not blind, this was the perfect opportunity to identify her more than ever. He couldn't even imagine having had this conversation with any other woman. They'd have run, not really understood, and it'd have been another reason to leave him for another man. He'd grown so used to it that the last time it happened, he simply lit a cigarette and practically shrugged in front of her. It was always the way. Now he believed after Madeleine it was truly over for him. There'd been perfunctory bouts of sex in between, nothing special, completely cold and passionless, then this happened. "You always smell like a mix of hard work and femininity, the rough and the smooth, not at all unpleasant."
That smoky, unique, whiskey comes to mind. From its barren home comes hidden intimacy and romance. "Tonight you smell like salt... Tears." He swallowed dryly. "You feel like pure passion. Like someone has shook a bottle and you're about to explode. Like warmth. Like... care." His hand was pushed lower, finger tips barely brushing against the scar she was leading him over. "My name from your lips lingers in my ears and when I kiss you, your lips feel welcoming. As if they want me there. You taste like that whiskey. Long lasting. And something I want to taste again and again."
There was a pause and another swallow. "Damn you..." But it wasn't meant at all uncaringly. Just that he'd given in to her. Losing himself again.
Hand at her hip she let go of him just long enough to pull the t shirt over her head leaving her standing there in only the panties she had on from before. His hand was in hers again sliding across to circle her navel.
"My eyes are blue. Sometimes. " Finger dipped into the divot hopefully forging the blue into his mind. Not from sight as he was used to, but from touch.
"I feel you walk into a room even before I know you are there. " True and she hadn't realized it until now. Her walls were falling away to blind eyes. "What did I feel like the first time you were inside of me?" His finger along a line of muscle now. "How do I walk?"
There had been no inkling he had stored things about her until he said it.
"My hair changes shades in the light. " Down the center line of her abs. "Its darker in winter." His whole hand pressed to her belly now. "I didn't move the first night because you felt right inside of me and I thought I'd never feel it again.
"I still smell your cologne on me from wearing your shirt. " Thumb brought up to trace her lower lip. "What does my mouth look like James?"
"I know they are. I just don't recognise it," he explained. Though he was recognising more about her, things he was committing to memory, the scars, the depth and length of them, the width and coarseness. The work he'd done over the last months had helped immensely. But it was a closely guarded secret that one of their top instruments couldn't really tell a face apart.
"You felt like the final piece of a puzzle we were putting together over the months. Yes, we, not me." It hadn't been a lie. Tension had built between them. He thought she hated him. She probably thought he had no interest. It was all starting to make sense. The sex made sense. And it'd let them both free. "A sense of completion." His lips curved into a smile, perhaps breaking the moment, but only for a playful tease. "Not gay, in the least."
He licked his lips, his mind clearly flashing back to that night. Hands on her hips, lips to lips, swallowing panting moans. "You walk with an air of confidence. Again, you also walk like a woman would at the same time. A perfect mix. Just how I like it. You know how to turn me on."
The comment about her hair had him close his eyes underneath the napkin. "I noticed that." And he had. That was one thing he could notice. One of the physical tells he was now trained to see. It had all made his job just that much harder, his concentration levels high. The possibility of mistaken identity a real threat and during that depressive episode, it'd been hard work, knowing he might never get out here again it almost destroyed him. But here he was. No wonder he was a complete grumpy bastard around her and around everyone. He was broken, bruised, battered and still being used until they could squeeze every bit of life out of him. He knew they wouldn't give a damn if he died. What would he get? Well, he knew that. His flat sold and a poxy obituary in The Times. But to the subject at hand, how could he ever tell her she was beautiful when he could never commit her face to memory? No wonder she believed he didn't recognise her as a woman. He'd been living a walking nightmare and death with already poor excuses for physical release until she fell onto his lap in this resort.
"It doesn't have to be the last time," he murmured. "But I'm not surprised you do. That's a nice cologne. How does that smell to you?" Though it was no use turning it around really. He was entranced and enthralled. Seduced. SEDUCED! Who'd have thought? "Thick. Soft. Plump. Perfect."
A pause followed. "I'm not quite sure I can tell further than that. Kiss me and I'll give you a thorough report in the morning."
No he couldn't do this with everyone but if it bothered him that much with her it was a problem that could be worked on. She knew a few things about brains and how they routed things.
"So see... you see me. Just not the way you're used to." She wanted to kiss him but held back. "It smells warm. It wraps around me. Reminds me of your arms around me in the middle of the night."
She smiled but held back the laugh. Her voice was low and husky now. "Focus James. You know the shape of my mouth under your fingers. Now put it in your mind. Its different from your mouth. Different from the girl at the front desk." It didn't matter if he could remember a random woman's. Not yet. But she felt they could build it for her. Build by something other than sight.
"The taste of my mouth with the shape you feel. That's me. And you already recognize it. "
"And the shirt? How does it feel?" He was wearing a smile now. Had he been a little bit younger, maybe he'd have been disappointed that she'd held back from kissing him. However, age was a great helper in making him see that not all roads led to sex as if it was the only important aspect of living or being around someone.
His fingers trailed along her lips even though it hadn't been her request to do so in the first place. "I hadn't noticed her lips." Though he noticed Natasha's by feel alone.
"I know I do. But you understand it. Others wouldn't," he whispered.
"Soft. Well made. Tickled against my breasts and the tops of my thighs. All the while filling me with how you smell." Now she did laugh, softly. "You notice all women. It's just part if who you are. I'd be more worried if you didn't. "
Her hand cupped his again moving it to her cheek. "How do the structures under my skin sit? Are my cheek bones high? Sunken?" There was more to life than sight. Just ask any blind person. But she understood why it would make it even harder for someone like him.
"You know what I look like." A beat. "No one else would recognize me by touch alone. " Now she did lift up, lips brushing like a whisper against his. "What do I look like?"
"Well..." She'd caught him there. A small white lie on his behalf maybe. Of course he'd noticed her. Vaguely recalled she was blonde. Maybe there'd been a smile there too. If he saw her again he'd probably recognise her through other methods than her face though. He remembered she was attractive though. Or at least she had been at the time. It was just going to be hard to put two and two together until he saw the other tell tale signs again. "Alright. I notice women." But his focus had been far more on her as of late.
"High," came his immediate response. As if it would be anything else? Sunken. She wasn't an old woman. The thought had him chuckle out a laugh. No, she was an old woman. That was the point.
"Like Natasha Romanoff. Unique. Beautiful," he spoke against her lips. He knew then. A memory. When he'd brushed his lips against Vesper's in Montenegro. He could remember them both and their distinctions. How would he ever forget? Blofeld killed her then went one further by attempting to destroy his memory of her while doling enough pain for him to live with for the rest of his life. Bastard.
The hand that punched the wall clenched. Tight. Knuckles whitening., blood dripping down over his knuckles He was no brother of his. How dare he. It wasn't enough he made him suffer and drove the woman he loved to suicide. He had to try and ruin what little he had left in his life. He should have stuck a bullet between his eyes instead of making the difficult, mature decision to have him arrested under the Special Measures Act though he'd left that one up to M. in particular. The only thing giving him solace had been Madeleine and that was so short lived.
He swallowed, a little heavily and thickly. Repeating his words before and trying to slacken his hand and the thought it brought back. "Like Natasha Romanoff," he spoke quietly. "And that's all I need to know."
She smiled against his mouth. Of course he noticed. He noticed woman the way others noticed architecture or acoustics... Natasha wasn't the jealous type.
She knew the exact moment it went sour. "Stay with me James." Lips went from his mouth to his cheek still feather light. "The past is done and can't be changed." Obviously it stayed with him more than he wanted to admit. "Shh." She sought and found his other hand, pressed it against her chest. Heart beat surged against his hand. She could feel it pushing against her ribs. "No more or I will taste like blood. "
Head bent then to press a kiss to the injured hand. "No blood. No salt. Not tonight. "
He understood and he backed down. But this was muddying the waters. Making him think of other things lost and gained over the years. It couldn't be helped. The palm was pressed flat against her, ignoring the soreness in his throbbing hand. They should have gone for ice for it half an hour ago. Too late now. He was silent. "How do you feel inside? Most of the time?"
"Numb. Detached. " The answer was immediate. She was back against his lips again. "Distant. " She hadn't felt anything this strong in so long. Heart thumped inside her chest as if trying to get to his hand. That gravitational pull of his again. "I want to feel that way with you. For both our sakes. " Teeth caught his bottom lip. "I keep telling myself it's best. "
Her heart thrummed against his hand. Excited. Warm. "That's what your head says." He didn't move, allowing her to tease and play with him anyway she dared to. "Your heart speaks and feels a much different language on a different level." There was a pause. "You shouldn't lie to me because you're scared. Just let go." Christ knows, he had and she could slaughter him for it, but she hadn't.
Her own hands now went to his chest, not parting the robe but settling outside it instead. "It's not smart," she whispered between nibbles at his lips. "Not a damn thing about this is smart." Oh but did it really matter anymore? "Right here..." kiss "Right now..." kiss "I'm yours." Mouth was on his and demanding. "Yours."
This had the potential to end in tears. He knew it. They both knew it. If she had a change of heart again, would they go through it all just for her to send them on a merry go around again. He allowed his lips to melt into her kisses, listening to her words, drinking them in. "To hell with smart. If we knew what was good for us we wouldn't be facing death on behalf of the ungrateful masses tomorrow." Even with this makeshift blindfold on, he had a good sense for were the wall was, and he backed her into it, pinning her hands against it. His lips trailed down to that spot on her neck, the one he discovered far earlier, the one that he knew drove her insane. His kisses were hot, breathy, and he allowed his teeth to graze gently. With this blindfold on, he had to say it., had to hear it."Say my name."
A jolt in her belly when she hit the wall. Arms pinned so she arched into him. Christ she wanted him. Trying to deny it was useless. She felt it in every fiber of her being. Walls already gone she had no resistance at all. A moan when he hit her neck. It turned into a choked gasp when his teeth grazed her skin. He had prevented her from touching him though she wanted to. Wanted to reverse their positions and climb him, wrap her legs around his waist as she had before. "James." It was barely a breath, her thought process rapidly fleeing with his body pressed against her and mouth hot against her. "I want you James. More than I should."
He pressed against her, allowing her to feel his hardened length. Those lips still teased and nibbled, wanting her like a puddle in his hands. "So much I could do to you." The blindfold remained on. He didn't need to see her. His senses were on fire. "Though I do believe I owe you something." A hand let go, travelling up her thigh, hitching her leg, pushing himself firmer against her. It took a firm grasp of her behind, his personal favourite. "Tell me how much you need me tonight."
Growling because she wanted to touch him it ended in a curse. Knees were already weak and he'd barely touched her. Likes a damn inexperienced... the thought slipped away because his mouth was moving again. "I'm yours," she repeated. Willing him to keep touching her. Wanting his hands and mouth on her. Wanted him inside of her. When he let go of a hand she started to reach for him but then he was moving up her leg and she had trouble keeping herself upright. He was going to make her beg, she knew it. And at this point she would. Hand on her ass as she forgot how to breathe again. Finally she remembered her hand was free and pushed against his shoulder. He was going to drag this out dammit and she wanted him now. "James," his name was choked out this time, stopped by the sheer amount of need surrounding her. "I need you. Need to feel you inside of me. Over me. In me. Around me." She was tempted to drop to her knees. Use her mouth to force his hand.
She was needy, so insistent. He'd had other plans, mainly around where exactly he wanted to put his smart mouth tonight but how could he ignore that. With her leg hoisted it was the perfect opportunity to shimmy her out of her underwear, doing so albeit awkwardly which did bring a small laugh from him. His bloody hand grasped to find the tie and worked her out of the robe once it did, leaving her breasts exposed to him, though Christ knew how he was going to find them though he was sure his lips could fall anywhere and she'd arch until she almost broke her back in two.
Fingers went to her groin. Soaking. Already. It stroked his ego immensely. A tug of his own underwear and he was free, the robe following suit. Then he jammed her between the wall and him, wasting no time easing his way inside. "Tell me exactly how you want it."
His mouth just might kill her at this point. She was on fire, sweet hot liquid that was once blood filling her, causing her skin to flush. Heightened sense of touch was at peak now. Everything from his body pressed against her, his mouth on her, to his hands. She felt it all like shocks of electricity at every point their skin touched. Control of her whole body was his. His laugh made her smile. So rare really. And it washed over her pleasantly as well.
She was past wet, likely to the point of dripping when he touched her. His touch alone made her quiver. She grunted when he shoved her into the wall but it wasn't a complaint. Her hands were free now and she dug in to his shoulders. "Jesus Christ," she breathed when he pressed into her. He wasn't even seated and she felt herself spasm around him once, taking him in. "Hard." Gasp "Now. For the love of God now."
Bond needed no encouragement, his hands were wrapped around her behind, pulling her against him. The feeling of her gripping him, just from the way he slid into her alone was enough to allow his hot breath to escape against her shoulder.
Not one to deny pleasure, he bit down on her collarbone harder than intended and went for it just as she asked. With a grunt he pushed into her again and again, sliding back and forth, hard, filling her, making her take every inch of him, grinding her against him with each stroke relentlessly. "Christ Natasha you feel so good," he breathed.
A word with each stroke. "Oh. God. Yes." His teeth on her made her moan, feeling him slam deep inside of her made her breath catch. The angle he hit nearly sent her into orbit. "There," she demanded, nails pressing far too hard into him. Breath on her skin, hands on her body, him thrusting into her... she felt it build quicker than anything she could remember before. Faster than a teenage boy. His words were barely a few minutes past his lips when she felt the sensation cascade over her body and she jerked around him. Her leg unable to hold her up because the orgasm rolling over her sucked every ounce of strength from her. A whimper that was his name. Her whole body quivered against him.
He held her tightly, knew better than to stop and he continued with the pace even if the angle was lost. From underneath the blindfold his eyes were screwed shut, drinking in the sensations that he felt. She'd unravelled around him faster than expected and the heady sense of lust got to him too. "Yes," he whispered into her ear. "Oh, yes."
A minute later and he jerked, thrusting one last time and stilling with a loud groan, her name eventually falling from his lips. It was the quintessential quicky. The fast fling against the wall though he's never done it blindfolded before. For a moment he buried his head in her shoulder. "I'm not going to be finished until I've had you on every surface in this room." And then some. He pulled the makeshift blindfold from his head.
It was then that he could see her. Didn't need to recognise her. He knew her instinctively. He pulled her closer, his eyes glued to hers and carried her to the bed where he joined her at her side. His kisses were tender. Caring. Different. And they didn't stop coming. But who knew what she wanted beyond tonight. Who truly knew. Bond resolved to enjoy what he had, whatever it was, in his arms for now.
His release made her smile but his breath against her made her spasm against him once again. His name was a soft laugh as it happened. This was damn near embarrassing.
"There's an awful lot if walls here alone. " Not that she would complain. There were a few places that had better be at least twice. "And I already can't look at that damn desk."
His eyes on her and she offered him a smile. Unsure of what shifted, but she could feel it somehow. The kisses he rained down in her made her heart thump again. Once again his name rose, this time in question, but she held it back. A hand found him, grabbing a handful of hair, to bring his mouth to hers.
"You ok?" She asked finally. Hand stroked his face and she frowned faintly.
They'd both been like a pair of horny overzealous teenagers. It was a nice feeling by all accounts and they were both making giddy fools of themselves. Neither of them really able to last for one reason or another. But he didn't feel embarrassed. They were having fun. Were going to potentially have more fun. It would all fit into place soon enough.
"You mean the desk where James infamously lost it?" He wouldn't tease her over her own composure just then, but a little self deprecation felt... Comfortable around her now. A little weakness didn't seem to be something she'd grab a knife for.
Their kisses were slow and deliberate. His head was spinning at the way he'd relinquished control to her and ended up here. It was a whirlwind romance.
His kissing finally ceased, his fingers rolling through her hair. His other hand having found one of the scars from earlier that was now burned to his memory. "Just savouring this. I have you now. In the morning you might toss me away when you think about what lies ahead." He shifted, his lips kissing her again, his voice a whisper as he peppered her lips between his words. "If it's as you say, that you cant do this, then let us have this one night. And if that's what you want I'll let you go and I won't resent you for it. There's no obligation. I understand. And I've been through the loss of what appears to be a good thing more than you can possibly imagine."
At his words she laughed, clearly, head dropping back with it. When the laughter faded she looked at him. "Well, perhaps, but I remember quite enjoying the feeling of you losing it." Not just that, the feel of him period.
There was only one other person on the planet who had ever gotten slow and deliberate from her and she'd known him for decades, though they had never truly been compatible on a romantic level. But Clint was never rushed. Anyone else that tried though... she pushed, forcing the issue until she got her way and slow and deliberate was long forgotten. Right now she didn't feel like changing it. Not yet. Though she should. For all the reasons she shouldn't still be laying here with him. When his hand found the scar again she felt heat rise over her again.
The words hurt but she pushed it away. There was no good thing coming from her. Nothing he wouldn't regret later. But for now... well... maybe she did want this as much as he did. Fingers found his lips and pressed against them. "Stop." It was gentle, chiding. "Let's not go there right now." And she didn't want to. For now dawn was light years away and they had all the time in the world. Thumb brushed his lower lip before she leaned up to him with a kiss. "I told you... right here. Right now. I'm yours." There was a deep refusal to examine that or why she had said it in the first place. She was good at refusal. Years of practice. How she was going to go back to what she was when she left, Natasha didn't know. But she had to.
"If you keep touching me like that Bond, you're going to have to start pretending to be 20 again." God she couldn't get enough of him. She could gladly take him again without hesitation. Skin tingled along the trail he traced. "There are a lot of surfaces to cover in a single night."
Her laughter was infectious, him joining her for those few moments. It was amazing how at ease they'd both grown around one another. And she was right of course. Living in the moment, not the past or the future was vital. But another thought entered his head and maybe it was more important than any other. James Bond felt like he had a friend in her. He couldn't quite believe it and there was still a lot to prove when it came to one another but he could talk with her. If a romantic relationship was off the charts then he could live with that. Bittersweet, but he could. And he could understand, perhaps finally, although not fully, why she'd let this, her, slip through his fingers.
Not that he wasn't stubborn enough to hate that bloody idea.
THAT thought regarding how this all turned out prompted a loud laugh from him.
His fingers stopped, resting on her hip for a short while. Maybe he could? He'd never considered it. Or tried it. But he was willing to try. Might take a good ten minutes or so he thought at the least. "I'm game if you are." Yes, game. Fun and all. Though he took a moment to take stock of their surroundings.
They'd managed the wall. That desk which will remain famous in both their minds for the rest of their lives. The bed. Hmm. There was still the chair. The couch. That spot underneath the balcony where no one could see them. Oh and how could he forget the dining table? Then there was that in suite Jacuzzi they hadn't indulged in yet. Been too busy for that. Though the shower was an option.
He'd take the toilet if she wanted.
He laughed. Again. "I'm sure I could manage two or three in the next round."
Well, then, old chap. Just how many times were you planning to go tonight?