Disclaimer: I own none of the characters associated with Ian Fleming's James Bond, nor any of the settings or situations. This is simply an exercise in creativity and not to be used for profit in any way.
A/N: If you read, please review! I always appreciate constructive criticism.
Eve Moneypenny had to admit, there were advantages to her new desk job.
Perhaps most of the thrill was gone, the heart-racing, adrenaline-filled romps through crowded streets, the glory of having served crown and country so brazenly. She did miss it at times, the feel of it all. But no one shot at her while she was at her desk; nothing was life-threatening or particularly stressful.
Most importantly, she was never called upon to shoot her co-workers. And as far as Eve was concerned, that was reason enough to resign from the field.
Not to mention the perks. Her wardrobe had seen a considerable spike in dresses and heels and other such luxuries that were impractical in her former position. Her pay was better, the work was less, and she genuinely enjoyed the company of her superior Gareth Mallory, or M, as he was now called.
And she had the highest security clearance, which meant access to the top secret files.
It was not as though she read them at her discretion. There were things she found she was happier off being ignorant of. But M trusted her to help him assign agents in the field, which required a certain amount of study of MI-6's higher operatives. She came to intimately know men and women she had never laid eyes on. You did not simply gain employment at the British Secret Service until every inch of your life had been combed through.
James Bond was no exception. She often saw his file on M's desk and took great pains to avoid it. It was a constant source of temptation, a glance into the life of such an enigmatic man. 007 was legend now, every bit the womanizing, devil-may-care man of action he was painted to be. She had thought once upon a time that it was all hearsay.
That was before their paths crossed.
Their initial encounter had not ended well, but he did not seem to hold that against her. In fact, it seemed as though she had become all the more interesting to him. Those looks he gave her, icy cold and cobalt blue, that sensual twist of his lips, the confident swagger, all flamed the fires of the attraction she was making no effort to disguise.
They had some close calls, and she very nearly had given in more than once. However, she was determined not to succumb, or at very least, to make Bond work for it.
It was a game now, a battle of wits. Eve had foolishly first thought that they were evenly matched, but it soon became apparent that she was just keeping up. There was the occasion where she bested him, where he graced her with a brief expression of shock or amusement. She fancied that was why he kept returning.
Bond's visits to M all seemed timed for when she was in the office, posted at her desk. He was like a breath of fresh air, a bolt of excitement in her sometimes humdrum day. However, even after months of their prolonged flirtation, she knew nothing of him.
Eve was not the kind of woman who was satisfied being left in the dark. She surmised, perhaps to placate herself, that there were things about Bond she did not want to know. A man did not develop a hard exterior like 007's by having a happy past. There was a certain thrill to the chase, to the unknown.
This is why she kept away from his file as long as she possibly could.
He came in one morning in his usual cloud of mystery, straightening the suit that looked as though he had poured his body into it. She made no secret of admiring his physique, nor did she bother to hide her smile.
"Miss Moneypenny," he greeted evenly, nodding his head and exhibiting the old-fashioned manners she found so endearing. It was a constant source of fascination that so renowned a womanizer could also be such a gentleman.
"Mr. Bond," Eve liked the way his name played on her tongue.
"Been staying out of trouble, have you?" he paused in front of her desk, leaning one arm casually across it. His facial expression betrayed nothing, but his lips quirked ever-so-slightly at one corner. The hint of condescension crept into his tone. She fancied that he was joking. After all, he knew perfectly well why she was now employed in an office.
"Well, fieldwork is not for everyone," she echoed his advice. "Besides, my job has certain…perks." She allowed just the hint of suggestiveness to seep into her words.
"M's been good to you?"
"He's quite the gentleman," she stood up under the pretense of moving some paperwork. His eyes followed her across the room and to a line of shelves along the wall. She craned up in her heels, purposely straining for the highest shelf.
He was behind her in a moment, quiet as ever. She felt a surge of warmth, as though a fire had been ignited behind her. It was the same heat she felt whenever she was close to him and it drew her in like a moth to the flame.
The trouble with fire though, was you play with it long enough, you get burned.
Eve exercised every bit of self-control she had learned as an agent to stop herself from leaning backwards into him.
"I'm quiet the gentleman, as well," his mouth was painfully close, the heat playing off of her ear and making her dizzy. She spun around, careful to keep her body pressed against the bookshelf.
"I'm not convinced, Mr. Bond." She titled her head back and attempted to regard him coolly. "A gentleman would not tempt a lady so."
He smiled outright, and opened his mouth to respond. Their banter was cut off by the door to the main office swinging open with authority.
"Double-o-seven," M stood in the doorway, his face betraying nothing, but his voice rife with displeasure.
"M," at once Bond was all propriety, coming to attention and turning away from Eve. She took the opportunity to return to her desk, pointedly avoiding the gaze of both men.
"I'll see you now," M said curtly, spinning on his heel and retreating into his office. Bond followed without so much as a glance at Eve. She did not mind. It was his nature.
It was upwards of an hour before he emerged, this time without M. She could not surmise from his expression whether the meeting went well, but then again, she never could.
"Until next time, Miss Moneypenny," he swept past her desk in three long strides, lifted her arm and planted a kiss on the back of her hand. His lips lingered just a moment too long.
"Looking forward to it," Eve said. There was no point in lying.
M walked out ten minutes after Bond left, a thick black folder in his hand.
"Thought it might interest you," he had said simply, dropping it on her desk.
It was Bond's personal file. Eve contemplated why M would want her to read it, but before she could ask, he had retreated back into his office.
She opened it at once, heart thumping, both excited and terrified for what was to come.
The basics were on top, date of birth November 11th (a Scorpio, she could not help herself from noticing), height just under 6 feet, blonde hair, blue eyes, a certain disdain for authority. He was born of privilege, though his parents had passed when he was a child. It was an incident, a psychologist's note told her, that he had never quite gotten over.
She felt a certain pang of pity, though she intrinsically knew that most agents came from checkered pasts. Still, some part of her craved to comfort the broken little boy inside of him. She shook the feeling and continued on.
Notes on the two kills that earned him his Double-O status came next, and then a brief summary of his first few missions.
And then were the pictures of the women. She was confused by them for a moment, thinking perhaps the agency was chronicling his sexual conquests. She looked closer at the notes scribbled beneath each photograph.
They were labeled by date and cause of death. The pictures seemed endless; the women of different shapes and sizes, ethnicities and colors, all united by their common lover, Bond.
It seemed endeavoring into a romance with Bond was not only ill-advised, but deadly.
She paused at one picture, that of a government agent Vesper Lynd. She was pretty, though not the exotic type Bond seemed to frequent. Her date of death was one of the earliest and her picture referenced a file of her own.
It became obvious now, why M handed this to her. He clearly did not want his secretary losing her virtue, heart, or life to the infamous James Bond.
Eve shut the file. It felt like an invasion of privacy. Bond, whatever he might be, was something of a friend. She would not betray him by seeking out any information he was not willing to volunteer.
She returned the file to M, completed her work and returned home, feeling somehow sick.
Her flat was quiet and clean, the way she left it. She had been slowly adding personal touches, splashes of color to the otherwise drab space. It felt more like home now than it once had, but it was still not completely hers. She contemplated perhaps getting a pet, or even a flat mate. Maybe she would ask the man she had been seeing. She was willing to bet that no woman he dated had ended up dead.
She wandered through her flat until she reached the bedroom. Eve paused when she noticed the light was on. She distinctly remembered turning it off as she left for work this morning.
Seamlessly, she drew her gun from her purse and kicked her heels off. Desk job or no, she had once been an agent and a force not to be trifled with. She cocked the gun, grateful that she had cleaned it the night before and slid quietly into her bedroom.
The room was empty, everything in its rightful place. All save the bed. She gave a start when she saw the basket sitting innocently on the sheets, as though it had every right to be there.
Apples, red as sin, were piled so high they had begun to fall out of the simple wicker-made container. They pressed into her satin sheets. She approached with caution, gun still leveled. Anything, even a fruit basket, could be a trap, particularly when it was a surprise.
She snatched the card on top quickly and opened it carefully.
She recognized the blunt, slant handwriting inside before she even saw the name. Notes like this found their way to her desk frequently, often in the form of memos or notes for M.
Eve,
Keep living up to your name and you might find me to be even less of a gentleman than you think.
The note was unsigned, but the signature was not necessary. Leave it to Bond to ensure that he had the last word.
Smiling, Eve set down her gun and lifted an apple, cradling the smooth, firm fruit to her palm. She raised it to her face, taking a moment to breath in the tart, crisp scent.
Bond, whatever he might be, knew how to treat a woman. And besides, what harm ever came from simply teasing?
With that thought in mind, Eve's lips parted and she took a ladylike bite, fantasizing that Bond was watching her. Knowing him, he very well could be.
Swallowing, she whispered against the cool, juicy fruit pressed to her lips.
"Looking forward to it."
After all, there was no point in lying.