Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, Silva or Skyfall.
A/N: If you read, please review if you saw any mistakes or if you liked it. I don't have Beta and I didn't have time to check the grammar or sentence problems.
Meeting at the Café
Bond adjusted his suit, his blue eyes suspicious on the red dot in his smartphone's screen pointing at where he was right now, his eyes when looking around landing on a familiar face of a man that shouldn't have been, well, alive.
There, across the street sitting by the window of a small café was Raoul Silva drinking a small cup of a steaming drink, his eyes watching him from inside of the window with appealing satisfaction. Bond noticed that the only difference about him was a darker tone of colour in his hair. Now it was a dark brown instead of the bleached blond he was, but even then, there was no mistaking it was him. The hollow eyes, the face, the smug look, even the way he drank showed. It was all there.
Silva watched as the blond agent recognized him. He couldn't help but smile into his cup of coffee, he put down his cup and crossed his legs, observing as the blond crossed the road and entered the establishment and in a few smooth long strides he was in front of him. Silva nodded to him as if welcoming to sit in the chair across him.
Bond sat and observed the surface of the table, there were two cups, a full one in front of him and a half full in front of Silva, there had too croissants and a rolled newspaper by the cups.
Silva let the man accommodate himself and watched as he took a sip of the dark coffee, the taste of his own coffee lingering on his mouth in a bittersweet aftertaste.
"Ressurrection… As you see Mr. Bond, is a hobby we both have in common."
Bond quirked a side of his mouth in what could be considered a smirk.
"It was you then." Bond stated putting his smartphone on top of the table. The GPS still there, with the red dot shining on the bright touchscreen.
"Umhm…" Silva nodded, putting both elbows on the surface of the hard wood and pulling himself closer to the table. "MI6 and their security breaches… theyshould check on that."
"Umhm"
This man destroyed the MI6 headquarters using a single computer, hacked the central computer while being in a cell, trolling the new quartermaster and exposed secret agents in missions in some sort of sadistic game. To close some security breaches wouldn't help in anything, he could crack a way in whenever he wanted. There was just one thing bothering him. "Why haven't you decided to act yet?"
Silva smirked and played with the cup of coffee, spinning it slowly on the table. "But I did. That's why you are here."
Bond chose to take one more sip of his coffee rather than reply.
"I have heard from the new command of the MI6." He traced the rim of the cup. "Mallory, isn't it?" His eyes now on the agent. Bond didn't have to answer, Silva knew the whole hierarchy, so he didn't.
"The new M." He grimaced. "Well, if you want to know if I'm going to attack MI6 again my answer is: Only if I have to."
"So why are you here then?" Bond took the rolled newspaper and took off the elastic encircling it, opening it before skimming his eyes over the small Times New Roman font. Silva chuckled.
"You know why I'm here Mr. Bond, I'm here because of you."
The blond eyed him over the newspaper "Why me?"
Silva put his hands on his lap, stretching his legs long enough to make them brush the agent's legs. "This question deserves to be answered with another one: Why not you? Because I'm so generous, my offer still stands. I'm like a shadow Mr. Bond, your shadow. You can't get rid of me. So, you know what they say… 'If you can't beat them…' "
The blond changed a page of the newspaper. "Not happening."
"Ah, I thought you'd say that." Silva said and smiled. Silence. Bond waited for him to continue but he didn't.
"…And?"
Silva laughed to himself quietly. "…And nothing. Eventually you will give in, and when you do, I'll be waiting for you. Sooner or later you will see how alike we are and then you won't deny the attraction that you already feel, but don't let show."
The agent eyed with a small frown the man across him.
"Don't bet on it."
Silva rolled his eyes. "Denial is so old-fashioned, Mr. Bond." He sipped the rest of his coffee and Bond unconsciously trailed his eyes to the man's Adam's apple. "Just wait and see. Mallory is going to do to you the same she did to me," Silva glanced at his watch and sighed.
"And when you realize his betrayal, I'll just have to point and click." Bond watched quietly as the dark haired man got up and adjusted his suit. "Excuse me, but it seems I'm getting a little behind on my schedule, Mr. Bond. So adieu." He bowed. "Oh, and call me anytime, sweetie." He winked then turned his back and leaved.
Bond watched the man leave quietly, and did nothing to stop him, as the door of the café closed and Silva was nowhere to be seem, the agent just glued his eyes to the newspaper. Not really reading it.
'Call me anytime, sweetie'
Hm, funny thing to say since it was him that could manipulate his phone by distance whenever he wanted.
He looked over to his smartphone suspiciously and dropped one hand from the newspaper to take it. He touched the screen and the stand-by got off showing the menu, instead of the GPS that was before. He checked his contact list for a new number.
And indeed, there was a new one.
Yours truly it said. Bond snorted unbelieving and indignantly. The number was untraceable, and it didn't show on his screen, but it was definitely Silva.
Bond put his phone in his pants pocket and got up, letting the newspaper on the table.
"Sir?" A red haired waitress stopped by his side. He nodded at her in acknowledge. "Before leaving that man ordered this to you." She was carrying a silver plate and on top of it there was a 18 years old Dalmore and a small letter.
He took them and thanked the waitress, that blushed slightly before turning and leaving. He observed the bottle of scotch, slowly turning it. The silver deer on the bottle shining when the light reflected on it. He then glanced at the small white letter on the table and he took it. Opening it, there was written in a fine handwriting:
"A toast to the shadows that we've become."
Fin