The debriefing rooms at Langley reminded Felix of his high school's detention room. The bland crème colored walls and the stiff gray chairs made for the most uncomfortable place that required focus and concentration from its occupants. It also made for a very sleepy atmosphere. Felix immediately needed a nap as soon as he sat down in the first chair.

Jack Lord was already sitting at the table with a folder at Felix's end. Jack had been his handler since 1997. Ever since the blow up in Bolivia with the South American section chief, Lord had taken it upon himself to be the sole communiqué between Felix and Langley. There were few agents that could be fully trusted. Lord wasn't about to lose his best to another fool.

He waited until Felix opened the file before beginning his debriefing. "Henry Larson was murdered this morning. He's aide-de-camp to Orson Wallace, our ambassador to Britain."

Felix didn't look impressed or interested. "What happened? Did he try to buy coke? Nail the Queen? Or one of the princesses?"

Lord narrowed his eyes slightly. "No. For all intents and purposes, this was an attack on an American because of his connection to the ambassador." He watched Felix closely, waiting for any tell tale sign. "But we do know who did it."

Now Felix looked uninterested. "That's great. Why are we here then?"

"The killer is an old friend of yours," he said calmly. "James Bond."

He had Felix's interest now. He looked through the file with more attention. "Why do you think it is James? He's not a killer."

"The man threw a British secret service agent off a roof six months ago," Lord shot back. "The gun was his, the bullet had his thumbprint on it, and there was a strand of his hair found at the crime scene." He sat back in his chair, the look in his eyes daring Felix to argue the validity of DNA. "Your man did it."

There was some part of Felix that believed James capable of this. After all, he had a license to kill and he did the bidding of MI6 without prejudice or judgment. The few times Felix has encountered James gave him a sense of cold talent, great charisma, and quiet strength. A man who was willing to do anything if he deemed the action necessary.

"He didn't do it," Felix said simply. "What's the motivation for an MI6 agent to kill one of our ambassadors?"

Lord shrugged. "Bond is a loose cannon and don't you dare argue with that statement." Felix knew he couldn't. "He's killed before, against the orders of M. He's capable and he's guilty."

Felix glanced through Bond's biography. He'd never really had a chance to sit down and exam what they had on Bond. It wasn't much. "Bond's an orphan. The only full time job he's ever held down is at MI6. It doesn't fit the profile." Felix closed the folder and tossed it aside.

Shaking his head, Lord picked up the file. "Felix, I don't really know much about your background with Bond and, quite frankly, I don't give a shit. You are the only agent who has had prolonged exposure to him, so you are assigned this case. M is bringing him in for questioning and detainment. Your job is to get the answers we need and to make sure this closes smoothly. We can't stand to let a foreign spy kill one of our politicians. If M can't take care of one of her own traitors then you need to do it for her."

Felix stared back at him with a narrow expression. He was not looking forward to this. Bond was trouble enough when they were on the same side. And there was that little inconvenience of his conscience riding against him. "Sounds like fun."

Lord stood up. "Get to London. M will be expecting you."

****

She didn't believe it. Oh, he could do it and she had seen him do it before to others. He wasn't a murderer, though. James was too devoted to his career to kill on a whim. Despite the many ways Britain and America had tried to make him out to be a traitor, M knew much better than they did. He was a man of resolve with nothing to lose in giving his soul to the job.

She walked through his place with brief glances, but nothing stood out. His apartment didn't boast much individuality. The place was furnished in a tasteful, but distant style. He obviously didn't spend much time in it. There were very few personal items. A couple of pictures from college and some after recruitment were sitting on bookshelves and tables here and there. There were none before the age of nineteen. She couldn't very well blame him for that. Life in an orphanage wasn't something one mounted on the wall proudly. James had certainly never spoken of it.

M made her way into his bedroom. It was the only place she found more touches of James himself. His credentials were resting on a desk against the window and a pair of ivory cufflinks beside it. She picked up the cufflinks and smiled softly. They were beautiful. James always carried himself so well. How could she not put some sense of self worth into him then? He needed more than this job. Maybe then these house calls wouldn't be required.

She set the cufflinks down and continued to look around. The rest of the room was carefully arranged and cleaned, but she froze when she caught sight of a torn picture of Vesper. The front door opened, but didn't turn around. That picture had gone missing from the file months ago. M picked it up. It was well cared for except for the scarred end. He loved it as he had loved the woman. It tore at M in a way no other agent had been able to touch her. The girl hadn't needed to die. James needed her.

James walked into his bedroom and stared at the intruder with nothing more than brief curiosity. "Are we holding meetings in my apartment now?" he asked curiously. "I wouldn't let the prime minister know. He might get jealous." He pulled his outer coat off and tossed it over the side of the chair as he walked further in. "And this is a very bad room to do the discussing in, ma'am."

There was the tone she knew and hated. M turned to face him, setting the picture back down on the bed stand. James glanced once at it and his face stiffened in anger from the intrusion of privacy. "Smug pride will never get you anywhere, James," she said simply. "And as it turns out, it might land you in the hot seat yet again. You're coming with me."

"For what? Polygraph?"

He was smart enough to know this wasn't a new mission. She had been right not to underestimate his skills. Her face remained stoic. "Possibly," she said. "The American ambassador's personal aide has been murdered. The CIA is claiming you did it."

He raised an eyebrow. In all honesty, he was surprised at the claim. The CIA had tried to bring him down before and their attempts had failed. This seemed a rather feeble attempt. "And what would be my motivation for killing that man?"

"I haven't the slightest clue," she said calmly. "Hence my bringing you in for questioning."

He smiled a little coldly. "You don't do anything without knowing the outcome."

"Not true," she said curtly. "Or else you would never have been promoted."

He canted his head to the side and smiled humorlessly. "Everyone has their lapses in judgment." He took the picture from her hand and put it in his pocket with one swift motion. "I didn't kill anyone, M."

"I don't know that." She picked up his coat and handed it to him. "Come with me now. We will get this sorted out in the office."

James took it and put it on, but he didn't move. "Whatever evidence they have is a lie."

"I don't know that either."

"Yes you do," he challenged. "Or you wouldn't have come yourself. You would have sent agents to pick me up."

M let herself smile coldly. "Believe it or not, Bond, I've come to realize that there are some things I do better than you."

He smiled knowingly. She wasn't director of MI6 for no reason. There was always a card up her sleeve and usually that card was Bond himself. "Yes, ma'am. I know. Should I pack?"

"No."

The front door opened and two agents appeared. James looked down at M. "So you do believe them," he said softly.

"I don't know what to believe." She reached up with a small needle to his neck swiftly. James felt it, but his reflexes were immediately sobered and he dropped to the floor. He was still somewhat conscious at the agents walked over and picked him up. M capped the needle and took the picture of Vesper out of James' pocket. The woman smiling back at her was beautiful, charming, and mysterious. James' type.

If only she had lived.

****