You are Vesper Lynd and you are dreaming. That moment after your promise to Mr. White and his make-it-look-real pistol-whipping, stretched to infinity before connecting with awakening. In the dream, you leave your hospital bed and see James. He's as hobbled as one of the heroes in an American action flick, a Greek god save for one arm in a sling and an artful scar that bisects his eye. You tell him everything and he coos and understands, holding you against him as he promises to make the bad men go away.

Then you wake up. You heard the cries of pain earlier, but you never imagined anything like this. You find it hard to believe that James isn't dead, he looks so hellish, but in death he would probably have a kind of serenity that eludes him in simple unconsciousness. He sees you, eyes glazed and diluted. Something in the room agitates him and he's lost again as the nurse ushers you and Mathis out of the room.

Three weeks later and the doctors won't let you see him. Is that good or bad? Bad, most likely. Mathis says to be patient, but if he were in love… Corinthians to the contrary, love isn't patient. Love is wanting to rush in there and force him back to health, kiss him back to life like Princess Charming. The real world, the ugly and dirty and foul world, is having to wait with a volcano waiting to erupt beneath your skin, any second liable to be found out

James wakes and still you say nothing. You tell yourself that it'll just be until he's better. Once he can take the news, you'll tell him the truth and there'll be a storm. He'll be icy towards you for a while before thawing, there will be consequences… the Treasury will never forgive you… but he'll understand, eventually. He'll stand by you.

Just a little while longer. Then you'll tell him.

In his sleep, you take pity on him. Better for everyone if you just go according to plan. He never has to know. You already have a cover story for the money… these kinds of things get lost in the wires all the time… and he'll keep looking at you like he does. Like you're stainless and pure. The two of you will be happy together.

The yacht is heaven on earth, aside from a slight tinge of seasickness you can't seem to shake. Maybe it's just guilt. You throw that aside. You don't have anything to feel guilty about. It was you and James or the money. Besides, Britain can afford the loss, after all the two of you have done for her.

Then you see Gettler in the canals and your world narrows to one single thought – maybe, just maybe, you can get out of this alive.

It'll be time soon. One way or another, you'll be done. All or nothing, just like James would do. Either you walk away scot free or… best not to think of the alternative. You need all the courage you can hold onto. But just in case… you don't even know why, really…

You leave the cell-phone. Let James decide. Please, oh God, let James do the right thing since you don't even know what that is anymore

The world is ending. The building shakes and rattles, in its death throes. Bond is ripping through Gettler and his men, the soldier, the spy, the Double-Oh. He can't forgive you for this. For pulling him back into a world he thought he was finally free of. A trial, an interrogation, whatever's in store for you… it would only prolong the inevitable. Best to spare him the agony of being torn between being with you and being where he belongs. You close the accordion gate and wait for death.

You wish that you could be there for him, even as a ghost, in the brief burst of grief that will surely follow this. But he'll go on. He has to. Britain needs him.

You take only a single thing with you into the darkness. You kiss his fingers, trying to wipe the blood off his hands. It's not your fault, you're trying to say through the water that will soon be filling your lungs. It's no use. He can't hear you. The water closes in and darkness claims you.

You hope that wherever you wake up this time, James will be waiting for you.