"I'll have a martini, shaken."

"You do realize the ice bruises the liquor, yes? Changes the flavor. You could use the finest gin in all the world, and it will taste like swill in the hands of the average barman."

"That's how I enjoy it. I refuse to justify my tastes to you."

"Fine. Enjoy your bottom-barrel drink. While you're at it, though, would you like some crisps with your caviar? I hear the flavor profile of the barbecue pairs wonderfully with beluga sturgeon."

"Sod off."

"I'll assume it was the Navy that taught you such colorful language and instilled in you your damaged taste in drink."


For several months, that is the extent of their relationship.


Tiago Rodriguez is a man who has always appreciated beauty, and James Bond is alluring in the way that only sparkly-clean new agents can be, plucked from the Royal Navy like a ripe summer peach.

Bond is older than the other recruits. A transfer. Nearly Rodriguez's age if looks are anything to go by. MI6 usually starts younger, however, idle gossip is circulating that M is grooming this one for something special.

A former Commander means a potential double-O.

Bond's only a few years behind himself in his training, so there's hope yet that the agent will mature into something formidable.

Right now, though, all Bond has going for him is his appearance, his military experience and his quiet intensity. Rodriguez gives him three months before he's scrambling back to the armed forces for a desk job.

In the mean time, Rodriguez will enjoy the view.


The higher-ups rave about "Commander Bond" and his unique skill sets.

Eventually curiosity gets the better of him, and Rodriguez takes an assignment that insults his intelligence just so he can have an excuse to engage Bond somewhere other than a London gastropub.

It's a simple escort operation that should take no longer than three days as long as the diplomat avoids running afoul of any local warlords.

Rodriguez is the senior agent, and Bond, while attempting to seem indifferent, hangs on his every word trying to soak up any information that might be useful in the future.

It's bizarrely attractrive.

Rodriguez can actually see that MI6 hasn't gotten it's claws too deep into this one yet, and it's refreshing that Agent Bond still has some humanity left.

But those feelings are gone as quickly as they come not six hours later.

Over drinks they end up discussing nonexistent family members and 'classified' training exercises. Bond keeps calling him 'Rodriguez' and flirts with anything in a skirt to overcompensate for whatever discomfort he feels at the less-than-ideal talking points.

Neither reveals anything legitimately personal, and the whole affair is about as enjoyable as chewing on glass.

When they retire to their respective rooms, Rodriguez amends that while Bond may have lasted longer than his preascribed three months, he will no doubt die bloody in the near future. Possibly by Rodriguez's own hand.


Two days later, when they lie panting in the bed of a cargo truck wearing bloodied suits and bearing pistols with empty clips, Bond becomes James, and Rodriguez becomes Tiago.

It's the start of something terrible.


The first time they're anything close to intimate is after James' first MI6 kill. Reportedly self-defense, nothing even close to proving Bond worthy of double-O status, but a life taken all the same.

They just sit together in the dark, faces turned to the glittering London skyline. They don't speak about what happened, and Tiago truly believes that neither will mention this night again.

"We all begin fragile," he remembers saying finally, running his fingers gently across violently bruised skin. "But we grow strong in the wake of those events that would otherwise destroy us, yes?"

He will not be a mentor, and he doesn't know if he can be a friend.

He decides to be something else.

As James shakes, Tiago repeats again, "We grow strong."


The whole event was a test, Tiago discovers later after slipping by a temp in the records office. There he learns the 'ambush' was set up by MI6 to rate Bond's duress under fire.

James apparently passed with flying colors in the eyes of the brass, but his psychological evaluation is patchy. Like someone has redacted entire paragraphs of the report. Regardless, M has since approved "Agent Bond" for "an Advanced Regimen of Desensitivity Exercises".

The program is standard procedure for advanced field agents, but certainly not yearling recruits. He'd completed the training himself several months prior to Bond's arrival after being told it was an essential step for agents desirous of double-O status.

He doesn't get a chance to pass on that "Advanced Regimen of Desensitivity Exercises" is MI6 code for medically supervised torture.


Agent James Bond goes under for three weeks with "no issue".


"We grow strong." James toasts when an extraction places them both in Belgrade three months later.

Tiago raises his glass, but he recognizes the dull shine behind James' eyes all too well.

The spark is gone. Snuffed out by whatever "exercises" MI6 has deemed nessesary in the current political climate.

That night is the first time they fuck. They don't kiss.

He instigates and lets James top initially, but the act reeks of psychological conditioning. Halfway through he shoves off the junior agent, flips Bond onto his back and everything after is teeth and nails and pain.

Bond spits in rage while Tiago jackhammers into him, the quick snaps of his hips leaving him breathless enough that he can't articulate much more than a seething 'fuck you' every few minutes, but at least the emotion is something tangible.

They both climax quickly and neither man enjoys it. Bond too furious and Tiago seeking a reaction that doesn't imply deep seated animosity on his bedmate's part.

When James is coherent again - and substantially less disturbed - he turns a steely gaze on Tiago, who doesn't hesitate to offer an explanation with a flippant wave of his hand.

"Sometimes in this line of work, you can forget yourself."

James furrows his brow and ducks his head in a slight nod.

He's gone the next morning before another word can be said on the matter.


Their relationship evolves slowly following the encounter in Belgrade.

James is reluctant and Tiago is too busy to chase a man trying so hard to act uninterested.

Instead he takes every mission thrown at him, jetting around the globe on assignments that drag him away from London for weeks at a time.

Before long his dedication and growing apathy earn him the coveted 009 designate.

He's never seen M look so proud and it's as close to a benediction as he'll ever recieve in this line of work.

He holds a license to kill and junior agents look at him with a mixture of awe and spite as he leaves M's office.

Tiago goes to bed alone and falls asleep with a gun beneath his pillow, just like every other night.

The thrill wears off.


They don't tell you that nothing really changes when you become a double-O.

The target on your back just gets bigger.


He wakes up one morning a week after his promotion to a postman ringing him to sign for a package.

It's petrol station scotch. Offensively cheap. No note.

He chucks the bottle into the trash bin and goes back to bed.