Title: Little by little
Author: jamesraoulsilva(tumblr)/countess-nynke(DeviantArt)
Rating: -
Pairing: None
Summary: The scene in which Bond visits the deserted island takes a different turn
Warning: none
Word-count: 918
Perspective: James Bond
Copyright: James Bond (Skyfall), James Bond & Raoul Silva © Michael G. Wilson, Barbara Broccoli and directed by Sam Mendes. I do not claim to own any of these characters and I do not intend to profit through this fan fiction.
PLEASE NOTE: It is not my intention to pair James Bond and Silva. Feel free to do with this note whatever you like; I just want you to know that this is not my intention. My opinion on the island scene is that it's a power game and I liked the thought behind it so I rewrote it.
TL;DR: Please enjoy.
I approve of (constructive) criticism.
Little by little, I regained my consciousness.
There was a light room, with a lot of windows at least twice my size, full of computers, servers and wires in front of me, neatly ordered and creating a straight path which led to elevator doors. I was tied to a chair: my arms tied behind my back, however, my feet were free. I turned my head and saw the same bodyguards that were on the ship. They were standing behind me, three of them. One of them was carrying quite a heavy machine gun. It was the broad, big, heavy-build bald guy whom I suspect of knocking me unconscious. My head was hurting and it was hard to see clearly. For a while, nothing happened and I started to feel numb, but then I heard the zooming sound of an elevator going down.
The doors of the elevator at the end of the path slid open. A blond-haired man with a pale complexion in a light outfit stepped out. He was too far away for me to see his face, but I instinctively knew that this man had to be the man Sévérine had spoken about. My body tensed as he took a step, approaching, slowly coming closer, like a predator that knows his prey cannot escape. One step at the time... and he spoke, quite a heavy, rich voice with a slight accent filled my ears. "Hello James, welcome", he spoke calmly. To me it appeared he did this more often, as if this was just something he did every day. A routine job for him, however, on me it had a whole different effect. My body started to ache, but I maintained my neutral expression. I was trained for this. This was my routine job. With barely a pause, he continued speaking. "Do you like the island? My grandmother had an island when I was a boy. Nothing to boast of. You could walk along it in an hour. But for us it was paradise. One summer, we came for a visit and discovered the whole place had become infested with rats. They came on a fishing boat and gorged on the coconut. So how do you get rats off an island? My grandmother showed me." I had to admit, this man was interesting me, drawing me to him like a moth to a lamp, in spite of my situation. He had a vivacious, immersive voice which compelled you to listen.
"You put an oil drum in a pit and hinge open the lid. Then you coat the lid in the coconut. The rats come for the coconut and plink, plink, plink, plink; they fall into the trap. Then what do you do? Throw it in the ocean? Burn it? No."
He had come quite close now, so close that I could see his face. His outstanding features, which were heavy eyelids and a nose which has probably been broken more than once, gave him an uniquely striking face. He was still advancing. Predator...
"You just leave it. And then one by one…"
He mimicked a masticating sound. I tensed again and could not withstand a slight flinch. Only the slightest. It might seem a trifle, but at this instant I already partly lost this game, this dance of power.
"They start eating each other until there are only two left. The two survivors. Then what do you do? Kill them? No. You release them into the trees. But they will not eat coconut any more."
He stood in front of me now, towering above me. I felt profoundly vulnerable, sitting on a chair, my hands fastened behind my back. He looked down on me.
"Now they will only eat rat. You have changed their nature. The two survivors, this is what she made us." I jerkily exhaled. Inhaled, held my breath, counted to ten, exhaled. Looked up at him. The moment we made eye contact it felt like his eyes penetrated my soul, revealing al my secrets and fears. He had dark eyes, discrepant with his otherwise pale skin and ashen hair.
Adrenaline. Survivor instinct. Panic rising. Could not show. Not again.
I kicked him in the loins. He fell on his knees, grunting in pain.
On both sides of my head, gun barrels were pressed against my temples. In my neck, I felt the barrel of the heavy machine gun. I didn't move, only looked down at the blonde man. Seconds passed, but they felt like hours. Then, finally, he looked up, his hair had fallen in front of his face. In his eyes there wasn't anger, not even pain, or embarrassment. He looked at me mockingly. He already knew he had won and he knew I was only putting up a show. The façade was broken, shattered like glass. He jerked his head sideways and said "leave".
The men with the guns left. Up till this day, I still think he wanted to finish me himself. All by himself.
He stood up, obviously still physically in pain because he grunted again, and reached for a chair. He put it just in front of me and sat down heavily. He shot a glance at me from below his eyebrows. "Ah, to let the rat nip at his freedom makes him only more desperate to escape." He sighed and shook his head. "She sent you here, knowing that you would most likely die... Mommy was very bad." Little by little, a smile crept on his face.