AN - I'll have Chapter Two up Wednesday, the following chapters will be posted every Monday thereafter.
"Very well, Bond. We need you to get to the contact, bring them and the package home. The details are being loaded to your phone now."
"Ma'am, that's on the other side of the city."
"Are you saying you're not up to this, Agent Bond?"
"No ma'am, I can do it. But it could get messy."
"You mean this situation you're in isn't messy enough, Bond?"
James pauses, holding in her first three responses. "No ma'am. Just trying to find out what parameters I have going forward."
There is a scuffle on the other end of the line, and James can hear voices talking, several male voices sounding very demonstratively negative about something before there is silence and the muffled sound, James assumes a hand over the the microphone, is over.
"Bond, I'm assigning you a provisional Secret Agent designation."
"Ma'am. ... A double oh?"
"Yes Bond." M's exasperation, and possibly exhaustion if her day was longer than James's. "Just until you can get your ass back here." M sighs, collecting herself before continuing. "Richard, what designation is available?"
James can't hear his response, partially because the man on the other line mumbles the response, and the cacophony of blood rushing in her ears as the adrenaline of the moment surges in her.
"Seven? Good lord... Right, Bond, you are hereby granted a temporary provisional promotion to Secret Agent, 007. Get the contact, get to your exit, try not to make this situation any worse."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"...and Bond?"
"Ma'am?"
"Don't fuck this up."
London, SoHo, 4:15am
(Eighteen Hours Earlier)
Jamison "James" Bond's subconscious fought the response to the signal it was getting from her ears. The steady alternating buzz and chirp of her phone continued as she snuggled into the warm body laying next to her. Finally her subconscious could no longer fight off the signal, despite the exhaustion and alcohol in her system, and she stirred from her warm sheets and soft companion to find her phone in the mess of clothes on the floor by the bed. Pulling her pants towards her, which was encumbered by the extra weight of her service weapon, she finally pulled the annoying piece of plastic and glass out and answered it, her voice thick with sleep.
"MmmB'nd."
"James, it Maxwell."
Training and adrenaline gave James a sudden burst of clarity, as she sat up, slightly disturbing the tall blonde next to her. "Sir."
"Sorry to call you so late, Bond. I need you at HQ for a special assignment." Jerome Maxwell, head of domestic assignments, left a pregnant pause before completing the sentence. "Now."
James looked around the dark and unfamiliar room, finally finding her watch twisted into a bra. "It's ... 4:18, sir?"
"Are you unable to get here, Agent Bond?"
The young woman stumbled for a second, "Wha.. Umm, no of course I can. Sorry, sir, I just wasn't awake yet." Pulling on her panties while gathering up her clothes and sorting out the ones that were not hers ...and yet had been fun to remove... pulling her jeans on. "I'll be there in ten minutes, Sir."
"Very well, Bond." The line clicked over, the conversation over. James pulled her bra on while grabbing her shirt and looking for her missing sock.
"Ar' y'u leav'g?" The blonde asked, sitting up from where she had been sleeping, the sheet pulled up to her well defined clavicle, the diamond necklace that first got James's attention still dangling between where her clavicles met.
Buttoning up the last of her shirt, Bond smiles at the woman, sleep creeping back into her voice. James comes around the bed, finding her missing sock on the floor. Sitting down, she cups the woman's face, leaving a soft kiss. "Work called me in, darlin'. I'm sorry." The blonde lays back down, sleep quickly taking her back as James leans down to pick up the errant sock, finally able to get her boots back on and get out the door.
A brief walk back to her Jetta and a twenty minute drive and James was back at MI-6 HQ. Considering the time of night, traffic had been negligible, allowing her to take some extra liberties with the speed limit, and so as she came around to the vehicle entrance, she was feeling fully awake, the night air flowing with the top down, her red locks in a lopsided haircut blowing in the drive now fell on the shorter cut side in wind blown waves. Presenting her ID to the guard, and placing her eye to the optical scanner, the system hummed as it read and sent off it's data for approval. James used the seconds to flop her hair back to it's usual look, swept back and over her slight undercut, removing the more daring nighttime look for the much more sedate realms of British Secret Service. As the biometric scanner beeped, the heavy cement gate buzzed before the hydraulics smoothly let the block down, and James was handed her ID and waved in.
Driving quickly, she pulled into her usual spot, where Agent Jamison Bond, a junior member of the Interior Asset Division, was assigned. Hoping out of the car, it's roof already closing shut, James moved at a brisk clip towards the doors and the elevator beyond. She had never been to HQ this early, between her work so often taking her out with other senior agents to deal with domestic issues, and the fact that she was just over a year and a half out of the Acadamy. Standing at five feet nine inches, she wasn't exactly short by men's standard, but with her muscular yet lithe frame and a perchance for button ups and jackets, she was certainly subdued in displaying femininity outwards, which was equal parts a curse of the job and something James was fine with. Femininity had done her no favors over her life, and she wasn't going to advertise it now.
Entering the elevator, she scanned her ID and hit the button to go up to the 1st floor where she normally worked with most of the low level agents. The elevator shut securely, moving up silently and smoothly. The ride up the one floor took seconds, but felt longer as the doors finally opened to reveal her boss Division Director Jerome Maxwell, who for once looked minority disheveled, his tie crooked and shirt rumpled, Bond wondered if the man had actually left, or had hurried into HQ ahead of whatever prompted her call in.
What was more disturbing was that he was meeting her at all. She had planned and expected to report to his office as a subordinate would normally do. Instead, as she started to move forward, Maxwell raised his hand to stop her, and instead he entered the lift with her.
"Morning, Bond."
"Director."
Maxwell scanned his own ID, selecting the executive floor, which required a secondary keycode to be entered.
"Director, I'm not authorized for the top floor." Bond interlaced as the lift began the monotonous journey upwards.
"No, you're not." There was a pregnant pause as Maxwell's jaw tightened off and on, as if trying to bury some unspoken words. "So I hope for my sake you'll behave yourself, Jami."
James rolled her shoulders at the almost certainly intentional useage of the nick name that she hated. The taunts of the children at more than a few orphanages rang in her head in the silence of the car. That Maxwell disliked Bond was an open secret in the division. That Bond hated Maxwell was not even considered a secret in the department. Most of the rumor was that Maxwell disliked that a woman, even one with the scores Bond had posted, had graduated from the Academy. Some even thought that he was worried he'd be outshined by a woman. But Bond knew that it really boiled down to one thing: Ego. Bond had found the man pompous and useless, and worse, often impeded her work. What made Maxwell hate her was that he knew she felt this way, and couldn't disprove it, or her. But somehow they managed to coexist for now, which is why Bond was amazed that he was bringing her with him to the Executive Level.
As the lift hummed and paused, the doors opened and a guard took their IDs while showing them to a biometric reader, scanning their retinas. Once that was finished they shown into the main lobby, which Maxwell led through towards another series of doors, which opened into a small lobby. At the opposite end of the lobby was a final door, offset by offices on either side of Bond and Maxwell. Approaching the door, Bond noted that it read "Minister, Secret Intelligence Service", causing Bond to pale as they crossed the door that led to M's antechamber and to ...
"Moneypenny?" James said out loud in shock seeing her old friend at the top of the MI-6 food chain, sitting behind the desk that was perpendicular to the door that Bond assumed led to M's office. Moneypenny for her part looked unsurprised to see Bond, quickly coming round her desk to hug the taller woman tightly as she exclaimed "James! I'm so glad to see you!" Looking at her haircut, Moneypenny reached up, flopping the longer hair that covered James's side cut at work. "Love the hair."
"MP, what are you doing here?" Bond asked excitedly.
"I just got the gig a few months ago. I obviously couldn't share until now." The blonde beamed with pride at her accomplishment.
Maxwell, of course, had no interest in this reunion. "Young lady, is M ready for us?"
Moneypenny stiffened, sneaking a side glance and snark to James as she resumed her seat and picked up her phone. "Ma'am, they're here. Right. Yes, Ma'am."
The vivacious blonde put the phone down. "You can go in now, Director."
Maxwell nodded to her, opening the door and going in without waiting for James to keep up. Bond quickly followed, waving at her friend as she entered the small hallway between the secretaries antechamber and the Office of the Minster.
M's office was still dark, the large thick windows looking out on what was still a dark morning over London. There was a sconce light on over by one wall, illuminating paintings of HRM The Queen, as well as a smaller photo portrait of the Foreign Secretary. Otherwise most of the light in the room came from the twin set of lamps on M's rather large and imposing desk. It had an old feel to it with its wood frame and coloring, but the L-shape and configuration for the computer and monitors belied it's recent design.
"Ah, Maxwell." M said, not looking up from the folder she was reading. "You're here. Good."
"Yes, Ma'am. Good Morning, Ma'am." Maxwell said in his usual suckling manner, Bond observed. For her part she stayed off in the distance, waiting to see what her role was in this mornings events. The effect however left her lurking in the shadows, the lamp's light just lighting up her green eyes while casting a shadow on her face as the longer front of her hair covered part of it from the soft light. Maxwell and Bond stood waiting, the former as close as one dared, like a dog hoping to catch a morsel of fallen food yet afraid to be stepped on, the latter not unlike the Chesshire cat hiding in the shadows staying hidden from observation.
Still not looking up, M speaks up, "So Bond, I understand you've applied for foreign service?" Maxwell turned his head to look at her, the news surprising him as she had expected it to. Most junior agents use a mentor to help them find advancement, and typically one would have used their supervisor for such a hook upwards. Bond had, however, never felt comfortable being in the debt of anyone, especially someone as deplorable as Jerome Maxwell.
Of course, that means one has to bite the hand that feeds them, so to speak. The look on Maxwells face indicated that he felt well and truly bitten.
Bond, however, paid him no mind. Stepping forward only enough to enter the light, she paused at a half-attention, arms loosely behind her, body stiff, but she stared at the older woman who had yet to even deign eyesight on her.
"Your scores at the Academy were impressive, Ms. Bond."
"Than.."
"However, that means little once you enter the real world." Pausing, M looked up at Bond, sizing her up quickly. "Do you feel you're capable of field service?"
"Very much so, ma'am."
M turned to Maxwell. "Director, I have need of an agent for a simple one day trip on foreign soil. Do you think Bond is capable?"
"Well, Ma'am, the thing is..."
"Good lord, Jerome, it was a yes or no question."
"Well, Umm... " Maxwell sighed, displeased at being forced to give an honest answer. "Yes, Ma'am."
"Very well, that's all Maxwell."
"Ma'am?"
"I need to go over this with Ms. Bond. You haven't the clearance nor the need to know, so we'll wait for you to leave." M leaned back into her chair as the man took a second to comprehend, stepping back and nodding before turning to leave. The look her graced James with as he passed left little room to assume that her return would be to some form of retribution.
Once both doors closed, M waved to one of the seats on the other end of the L of her desk, away from the files and the monitors. James sat down on the posh chairs, adjusting her service weapon against the hard back of the chair. Settled in, she looks up to see the silver haired woman staring at her quietly. Bond responds by staring back, waiting for her superior to explain what's going on.
Before speaking, M pulls the top folder from where it had been on the other end of the desk, replacing her glasses to read from the file again.
"Bond has all the skills of a high value agent, but none of the concerns for the proper channel or chain of command. Much like a wild horse, she will likely need to be broken before she will be truly useful as an agent who can work in the field solo."
M sat the folder and her glasses down, folding her hands together to look at Bond, who sat still, returning the stare with cold green eyes. "Do you know who wrote than and when, Bond?"
"Ma'am, it sounds like Director Maxwell. Considering he used several of the same words in his upbraiding of me, I'd assume last week."
"Hmmmm," M hummed, waiting for a reply that wasn't coming. "Do you think it's true?"
"It is where the Director is concerned, Ma'am."
There was a pregnant pause as M waited Bond out again. "I need to know that I can trust you Bond. No one who has worked with you can say one positive thing without also mentioning you're recklessness in the face of authority." The older woman pursed her lips. "I'm stretched thin, and you're the best rated candidate. But no one thinks I should use you." She sighed, standing up and crossing around the desk, leaning against it next to her. She looks at Bond sternly, pausing before continuing. "This may be too much for a blunt instrument to understand, but arrogance and self-awareness rarely go hand in hand."
"Does anything in that file say that I'm unreliable, Ma'am? That I don't finish what I'm assigned, and do it well?"
"Interviews and domestic operations are not complicated, Bond. I let you loose oversea's, you could start a war." Returning around the desk and sitting down, she stares deeply at Bond. "Can I trust you to do a simple job, and do it without mistake. Can I trust you?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Very well. Let me be clear, this is a loaner. Opportunities for clandestine service are rare, and I have none open. But I also am stretched thin, as I said, so I need you to pick up the slack." Bond nods. "What that also means is that this is your trial, Bond. Do it well, I'll remember you fondly. Fuck it up, and you'll be taking domestic calls into your 60s."
Bond's eyes flicker at that, the coldness shifting to fire as she stiffens.
"Are we clear, Bond?"
"Yes." Pause. "Ma'am."
M flips some pages in Bond's folder, slipping her glasses back on. "Orphan. No family. Still true, Bond?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Relationship? Any chance of maternity concerns?"
A cruel smirk slides through Bond's face as she drops her face to hide it. "No ma'am, relationships don't like me. And I'm up to date on my IUD."
"Very well." M pulled out two papers. "Here, sign these. You should read them first, but I don't have the time, and that'd be uncharacteristic for you. The first is your standard will papers for overseas foreign operations. The second is the waiver for classified information." Bond signed them unread.
M took them back, and handed her one more paper.
"This is a limited authorization for deadly force."
Bond's eyes widened at the paper. "I thought only double-ohs got a license to kill?"
M looked at the young woman sternly. "It's not a license to kill, it's an authorization to defend yourself *if you must*."
Properly chastised, Bond signed the document and returned it.
"Very well. Q will have the details on your new mobile, but this is as simple a job as I can ask of you, Bond. Go to Tunis, pick up a dead drop package that we've been signaled will be left later today. Come home. That's all I need you to do, Bond."
"Yes, Ma'am. Sounds simple enough." Bond said as she stood up.
M's head flicked towards the junior agent. "Don't get sloppy out there, Bond. The information we've been getting from our informant leads us to believe they're being surveilled. At some point we may need to extract them, which means that the dead drop may be watched as well. Don't let the possible easiness of the mission lull you into getting in over your head."
"Yes ma'am." Bond replied, turning to exit.
As she opened the inner door, M calls out. "Bond."
James pauses, looking back.
"Don't make me regret trusting you."
Bond nods, exiting the office. On the other side of the second door was Maxwell, who looked Bond up and down as she exited the hall.
"Try not to muck this up, Bond." On those parting words, the man left.
Sharing a look, Moneypenny and Bond laughed after the director had left.
"MP, I have to run. Next time let me know I'll be seeing you!"
"Oh James, you're always rushing away. Never any time for us!" Moneypenny laughed at their old joke. The old roommates shared a brief hug and separated, Bond rushing away to her next appointment.