"Excuse me sir, but I'm afraid we're closing up soon." Bond does not raise his eyes from his scotch as he responds,
"That's fine old boy. Just give me the bottle and I'll be gone within the hour." Sliding a bill to the bartender, he grabs the 18 year old Glenmorangie from the man's hand and fills his glass up to the top. It's just one of those nights. One of those nights when he can't stop thinking about her. He takes a long sip and dismisses the bartender with a wave of his hand.
"Yes sir." The man disappears into a back room, leaving Bond completely alone. He swirls the scotch around in his glass for a moment, trying to banish the thoughts that haunt him, and hardly notices the attractive black woman sit on the stool next to him. He only turns to look at her, when she takes the bottle from him and pours herself a glass. It's Moneypenny. Of course. The woman knew him better than he knew himself, though that wasn't such a feat anymore. To be perfectly honest, he doesn't even really know himself at all.
"Hello James."
"Miss Moneypenny." They greet each other formally, though Bond has to resist the urge to send her away. Of all of the people he wants to talk to, she might be the least, especially since she never failed to see the good in him, even when there was none. Forcing out his last shred of pride, he takes another long sip of his drink and sits up straight.
"I'm sorry, but is there a reason you're here?" Moneypenny raises an eyebrow and smirks.
"You mean on this planet? I'm not entirely sure of that myself." Instead of smashing his head on the bar like he really, really wants to, Bond just grips his glass until his knuckles turn white.
"You know what I mean." Moneypenny gives him a searching look.
"Would you like to talk about her?" Bond downs his drink in one swig and pours himself more.
"Who? Ms. Lincoln? I'll send her some chocolates tomorrow as compensation for not getting my paperwork in on time." Moneypenny pours herself some more too.
"You know what I mean." Yes, he does. He knows exactly what she means. And he's been doing his best to avoid it. He keeps Vesper in the deepest recesses of his mind where she only emerges at the darkest points of night. The ones where he's alone in his bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering why the hell he thought he could have ever settled down anyway. It wasn't as if secret agent was the type of job your kid would bring you in for career day with. You couldn't very well escape your past, not after you've killed so many people. And it seemed his past was finally catching up with him. His conscience was finally catching up with him. And with M dead, he thought about this more and more. Should he talk to Moneypenny and tell her everything? Probably. But they both knew he couldn't do that. It just wasn't him.
With a slight nod and a shake of her head, Moneypenny stands and kisses his cheek.
"If you ever need to talk James, I'm always here. You know that right?" For the first time that entire night, Bond looks her in the eye.
"I do." Moneypenny gives him a half smile and drinks the last of her scotch.
"I'll see you at work tomorrow. Try not to get yourself killed." She turns and walks quietly out of the bar. Bond stares at her retreating back.
"I'll do my best." He murmurs and fills his glass up again.