Chapter 1.

Chance Encounter

James Bond had just returned to England from a long and overly exhausting mission and wished for nothing more than to just go home to his long-abandoned apartment, take a hot shower then fall into bed and sleep, sleep, sleep… Preferably for many hours undisturbed. However, according to MI6 protocol, before he'd be allowed to do any of these activities, he had to present himself in Headquarters and give the first version of his verbal report to M and the Chief of Staff. Then he would also be required to visit Q-Branch and account for the equipment he had been given for the assignment (or, in his case, explain to the old Quartermaster why he couldn't give back anything, yet again), and get a clean bill of health from Medical. Only after completing these, would he be permitted to leave and have his peace for a day. Not a minute longer, because after that, he'd have to start working on his written report about the happenings, explaining every little detail, like for example how a Komodo dragon had eaten his weapon, or why he had had to shoot three people and burn down two buildings to ashes in the process of completing his task.

And the new M insisted vehemently on keeping to protocol.

At first, he had thought nobody could be stricter than Olivia Mansfield had been as the previous leader of the Secret Intelligence Service. But he soon had had to discover that Gareth Mallory was even more determined to make his agents keep to regulations, and while normally he would just ignore instructions like that in favor for doing whatever the hell he himself wished to do, this time he felt like he really shouldn't hit off the wrong way with the new boss. At least not right away. Who could know what he would be capable of doing as a punishment? He could make his life miserable if he really wished so. James still didn't know the man enough to completely trust him. Not like he had trusted Mansfield…

Anyway, that was the reason for the fact that right now 007 was strolling towards their base in Vauxhall instead of heading to his luxurious apartment on the other end of the city. He hoped to God that he could have his duties over with very quickly and painlessly, and that he would be home as soon as possible afterwards.

Of course, Fate wouldn't grant him even this small mercy.

As he walked and arrived at the foot of the bridge, he found a very small, skinny, shivering bundle hiding in plain sight, pressed firmly to the railing, clearly frightened and – at a confirmatory glance – completely abandoned. Nobody seemed to notice the – probably - boy, or to care about his (her?) predicament.

James Bond sighed loudly in resignation ('this is just not my day') before crouching down next to the little child and speaking gently.

"Hey, buddy, what's up? Where are your parents?"

The small boy (by now Bond was sure it was actually a boy) just curled into himself even more but didn't acknowledge the question or the man in any way.

Bond pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly ('why is it always me?') before trying again, more soothingly, if that was even possible.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you. You don't have to be afraid. I'd just like to help you."

The small form went still for a second, then agonizingly slowly raised his head just a few inches so that he could peer up at the newcomer with large green eyes. Bond immediately felt like drawing in them. God, these eyes were mesmerizing!

The child still refused to speak but Bond took his nonverbal response as encouragement, so he continued gently:

"I promise I don't want to harm you in any way. I just saw that you're distressed and you seem to be alone. Can I help you? I have a cell phone, I can call your parents or guardians or something if you're lost…" – He trailed off, not really sure what he should offer. The boy didn't seem older than 3 or 4 years old. Could he even tell him his family's number or his address? Or anything at all that could be of help finding his folks?

James Bond surely didn't have any idea about children and about what to expect from them at any age.

They boy blinked at that statement and this time his eyes held more curiosity than fright. A good start then…

"Listen, kid, I'm sure it's not good for you to stay here. For one, it's cold and it looks like it's going to rain soon. You'll catch a nasty cold like this. For other, you're too young to be alone. This is a huge city, full of busses, cars, motorbikes… it can be dangerous for a toddler to be alone."

This had an effect at least; however unexpected it was.

The little one's eyes instantly darkened and threw sparks of fury. He suddenly uncurled himself and stood up tall (well, not a big difference since he was so small but the intent was clear) and declared angrily:

"I am NOT a toddler! I'm nearly six years old!" – He also stomped his left foot for good measure and held up two hands, showing five fingers on one and one finger on the other.

"Six?" – Asked Bond incredulously. – "I thought six-year-olds were much bigger…" – He trailed off when he saw the child huff in annoyance.

"I'm small for my age, so what!?" – Well, that was the understatement of the century. But whatever.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter. Can you tell me your name and address?"

"No."

"Look, kiddy, I'm not going to hurt you. I won't break into your apartment or anything like that. I just want to help." – He held up his hands in a clear sign of surrender, trying to gain the boy's trust so that he could help him then finally continue with his own things. – "Can you at least tell me the phone number of your parents?"

"No."

Bond sighed again. Life just couldn't be easy for him, could it?

"What do you think I would do with the information aside from calling your folks or bringing you home to them?"

"I don't know. But I can't tell you any of these things, as I simply do not know the answers."

"What!? What do you mean you don't know the answers? You just said you were six years old! I'm not an expert but I'm pretty sure you should be able to remember your personal data, like name and address, by now!"

The boy flopped back down onto the pavement, laughing bitterly.

"I'm pretty sure about that as well. And still: I have no idea."

"Don't play games with me! I didn't ask about the 43rd digit of pi! I asked who you were and where you came from!"

"3."

"What?"

"3 is the 43rd digit of pi." – Explained the boy patiently.

Bond shook his head in exasperation.

"You really want me to believe that you have no clue who you are; you know nothing about yourself except for your age; and yet you not only know what pi is but can also tell me without even having to think about it for a second its random digits?"

"I don't care whether you believe it or not, mister, but it's exactly like that."

"You realize it's completely insane, right?"

"Yes."

The agent felt a horrible headache approaching and wondered if it would be very cruel to just walk away and leave to boy to his own devices, pretending they had never met. But however insolent the little brat was now, Bond just couldn't forget how he had huddled scared and freezing just mere minutes ago, clad only in jeans, well-worn trainers and a thin T-shirt; messy dark hair sticking out in every direction like a bird's nest. Somehow even with his admittedly very limited knowledge on children, he was sure the boy's cheekiness originated from his fear and hopelessness rather than him deliberately wanting to be rude.

He took a deep breath before coming to a decision.

"Okay. I'll tell you what we're gonna do: You'll come with me to where I work and I'll take you to my boss there. This is a huge international organization that will be able to help you find out who you are. All right?"

"An 'international organization'?" – The boy repeated with suspicion. – "Do you maybe belong to a sect?"

Bond didn't know whether to laugh or shout in frustration.

"No, lad, this is in no way a sect. It's a military organization." – And he pointed towards the building that housed their Headquarters.

The little one's eyes instantly got as round as saucers.

"You mean you work for MI6!?"

The agent raised an eyebrow in amusement at that.

"You have an interesting kind of amnesia, I'm telling you."

"I do not appreciate being made fun of, Mr…"

"Bond. James Bond. I'm not even going to ask for your name again. Well, come on, then." – And with that he grabbed the reluctant youngster's arm and all but dragged him into the building.