A.N.- I finally finished this! I've been working on it for months. Everytime I sat down to work on this, I would get a paragraph in then remember why I would walk away. So, this is my first attempt to write from Tiago's point of view on one of his mentally unstable days. Please tell me how I did, because I was constantly going over and re-writing scenes and lines hoping that it would seem organic. Also, this is the first companion piece that I've ever done, it happens at the same time as "Skyfall - A Bad Day" only from Tiago's POV and I literally and figuratively bent over backwards to make sure all the events synced up. So, enjoy, and please tell me if you think it works!
Mother's Little Monster
A terrible ringing brought Tiago out of his trance. James' damned alarm clock! How long had he been in the bathroom? Tiago couldn't even recall when exactly he woke up or how he got their bathroom. The alarm was shut off and Tiago turned his head back to where he had been facing…the mirror….of course, the mirror.
His reflection was so jarring that it took him by surprise. Why did he do this to himself? Tiago leaned in closely and brought a few of his fingers up to his hollowed cheek. The unnaturally stretched flesh didn't feel like his. The whole marred visage didn't feel like his. He tried to blink, but found it a noticeable struggle without a proper cheekbone providing support. He looked down to see a few of his remaining blackened and uneven teeth peaking from behind his sagging lips.
Without his prosthesis he looked quite the monster, the perfect creature to Mother's Frankenstein. Mother. Raoul chuckled to himself as he thought of it. It was almost dramatic irony wasn't it? Was that the phrase? Maybe not, but there was some kind of terrible irony in it. She made the perfect creation, the perfect monster, and in the end, it was her creation that destroyed her. How did the story end? Raoul couldn't remember. The poor doctor was made to pay for his sins against humanity, but what of his Prometheus? What of that poor creature alone in the world? But he wasn't alone was he? No, there was that Mr. Bond wasn't there? Yes, handsome Mr. Bond, Mother's new pet. Bond. James. James was already outside jogging wasn't he? Did he hear a knocking before? Tiago found himself already heading down the stairs and making his way out to their mutual running path on the beach.
When did he get dressed? When did he leave the pull of his reflection? Tiago tentatively touched the side of his cheek as he started to run. His false face was set firmly in place. These blackouts were bothersome. But he was moving now and that was good.
Yes, he needed to stay in shape didn't he? There was always another mission to go on wasn't there? That Mr. Bond liked to keep him busy, on a short leash. For a moment, Raoul considered running to catch up to Mother's little star student. But it would be prudent to let him think that he had the upper hand here, lull him into a secure state. It would take a lot of patience and planning to escape from Mr. James Bond.
Suddenly there were eggs placed on the plate in front of him. It took Tiago a second to realize that he was done running and was now seated at their kitchen table. He looked up to see James standing next to him. James. What was he doing here again? Breakfast, of course. At least he didn't burn them today. Tiago looked across the table to see his partner sitting at his laptop, trying to look disinterested. Tiago smiled. It may have been internally, he couldn't tell if his face reflected his mind or not. James worked so hard and was so patient with him. He focused his concentration on picking up his fork and eating his breakfast before he blacked out again. At some point, Tiago noticed that James was talking to him. He was going to respond, but he either decided he couldn't, or wouldn't, he wasn't sure. By the time Tiago finished trying to decipher his muteness, he found that he was done with his plate and not even in the same room as before. He was now seated before his work desk in the Library, staring at his laptop. He prepared to rack his brain to remember his password, but his fingers were already typing. How had he needed to concentrate to lift a fork when he knew his password like the back of James' hand?
His home screen appeared and Tiago was immediately greeted by a pop-up notification telling him what to do and where he had left off from the day before, which had, apparently been written by himself, but how could he be sure?
The message was in Spanish, but what if James had gone into his system in order to keep him in a state of order? This would go along with Mr. Bond's precious little schedule. But no, it couldn't be him. The Spanish was too advanced and natural for his dear Mr. Bond, who tramped through the language as he did through most everything else. He decided to go with his gut feeling and trust the message. He opened the folder it directed him to and began typing the thoughts that came to his head. When he couldn't think of anymore, he followed the next line of instruction on the message that had a link leading to where he was yesterday in his work. He heard a voice. Who was there with him? What was James doing here? When did he enter the room? He was gone now, what did he say? Was he even there to begin with?
Raoul got up from his chair and made to leave his computer room, but he stopped. This wasn't Hashima. Where were his racks and racks of wires, hard drives, and modems? Why was he on his grandmother's island? When did he get there? Where were his men? Someone was going to have the unfortunate business of explaining this to him. He should not be alone here, not when he still had so much to do. Mother awaited the return of her prodigal son.
Raoul passed his grandfather's armchair and saw a book out of place. Shakespeare? James. Bond. James Bond.
Mother dead, island, lover, missions, house.
Images, sounds, memories came flushing back into Tiago's head as he stumbled to a chair to sit down. His head was spinning and all he could do was sit and breathe. How did he lose that so completely? How long did he forget? What was the time? The only solid thing Tiago could grasp was that his stomach was aching for food. Had it really been so long since breakfast?
He looked at his placemat partially to see if his plate was still there from before, but also to have a still thing to focus on. Soon enough, a plate was set before him and Tiago looked up enough to see James setting a plate of nourishment between them. It was some sort of "build your own" affair and Tiago made every effort to keep his mind on track long enough to make his own sandwich. He sincerely hoped that James wasn't trying to talk to him. Every ounce of his concentration was being spent on completing the most simple tasks of guiding his food to his mouth and eating it. It was like he was trapped in a giant mechanical suit and he had to direct every motion and action with levers. As he got further and further into his sandwich, Tiago found the movements coming more and more naturally. He was even able to look up at James from time to time, and was proud of himself that he was able to keep a stream of consciousness to last the whole meal, even if it did take all the mental power he could muster. He soon noticed James getting up from his end of the table and head out the door, taking the trail on the left. He was going to the range. Tiago smiled to himself again that he was actually succeeding at staying alert. With some effort, he got up and began to follow James to the shooting range.
Tiago didn't quite remember walking into the range or loading his gun, but he didn't mind all that much because he had no trouble getting back into control and remember what he had been thinking about before. He took his spot in his stall next to James and began to shoot.
The target. The hole he put in the target. He felt it in his gut. Another hole. His shoulder. A searing pain in his side. A cattle prod. A knotted rope. A plank. A needle. A chain. A small, dark room. Anger. M. Seething anger. Screaming. Someone screaming. Him screaming. Screaming for Mother, for someone, anyone to save him. Arms, around him, tight and constricting.
Raoul flailed and broke free from his captor. He turned and shot the firearm he still had in his hand, on purpose or not, he didn't know. He was on the ground suddenly, wrestling with his attacker who was bearing down on top of him. Raoul managed to get a hand free and grabbed the guard's arm. He felt a wetness there and froze. Tiago looked at his hand to see the dark red liquid that coated them, then he looked up at James, who was currently inspecting his arm.
Tiago had shot him. He had hurt him and he didn't even realize it. His love, his caretaker, his nanny, his new constant, the thing that was slowly taking the place of his obsession over his creator. He vaguely became aware of the weight being lifted off of him, but he didn't care. The red on his hand was staring at him, judging him, accusing him. He tried in vain to wipe the sin away from his hands, but the stain remained burned in his brain. More images, flashes, a wail, then…nothing.
Tiago was back at his grandparents' diner table. There was food in front of him, but he didn't want to eat. His stomach felt like a sunken pit.
James was leading him out the back of the house and down to their small dock. He was now in the bedroom beneath the deck of their boat. James left him there and Tiago was perfectly content to just sit and ponder. What if he had seriously hurt James? What if he decided that it was too dangerous to hang around? What would he do? This was a bad day, and he barely made through it, and only because of James' unseen help. What would he do without him? Tiago got up and headed towards the shower. He was slowly becoming aware of how torn up he was. He must have wandered back to his house through the woods, or done some considerable damage to his person on his own. He had no visible cuts, but his clothes were crooked and dirty. He hair was only lightly pushed back and in need of washing. This simply wouldn't do.
Due to the sudden exhaustion that seemed to hit him like a wave, Tiago sat in the shower under a numbingly cold stream. He wanted to see James before he fell asleep. He wanted to drink up every inch of him and beg for forgiveness for all the trouble he caused. Before he knew it, James was outside the glass shower, and was saying something. Tiago was able to manage out some unintelligible response, he first verbal acknowledgment to James all day. He soon joined him in the shower, and berated him before turning up the temperature. He didn't respond this time, though he could have, but he was soon distracted by the warmth surrounding him. James was holding him and rubbing his hands up and down his back. Tiago felt tingles as the feeling slowly came back to his skin. He wanted more. More warmth, more contact, just…more. He nuzzled his head into James' neck and wrapped his arms around him. If he could, Tiago would have just melted into James right then and there. But James soon tore them apart. He began to wash Tiago's hair, and he couldn't help but feel a small amount of resentment. He finally brought himself to look at James face to face. Why did he have to be babied? Why couldn't he do this himself? He thought to one of his other moments of clarity earlier in the day, his strain to do even the most basic practice of feeding himself. Why did days have to be like this? His mind clouding up and blacking out. It hadn't been like this before, when he had a goal, a task, a life's mission and obsession. He should have died with Mother. He wouldn't be in this state now, a damaged being with a faulty mind. James had done this to him, but, he was also doing this now. He looked into James' impossibly blue eyes. Here he was, caring for him, standing by him, loving him. Sure, it was maddening to have whole days where all his actions were either a needlessly tiring chore or a blackout autopilot. But at the same time, when he didn't have those horrid days, he had happy days. Missions, games, food, sex, companionship. Things he never had before. This relaxed state brought on by the warm water and James' presence only served to remind him how tired he was, and Tiago broke away to end this day and go to sleep. He wandered out to the bench at the end of the bed and sat down. James was out of the bathroom soon enough and was trying to hand him a towel. Tiago only looked up again, that resentment coming back, though he wasn't sure why. It wasn't until James began to dry him off that he spoke.
"I'm not an infant you know."
"Well, you're making a puddle." Good. "Then dry your own damn self off. I'm going to get ready for bed."
Once James retreated to the bathroom, Tiago dried himself off and tossed the towel at James, since he was so damn particular about the floor being wet, he could hang up the damned towel.
Tiago was struggling more and more by the second, this time his body failing him instead of his mind. He must have put it through the ringer today, but how would he ever know. Only small pockets of the day's events were clear in his mind, one event in particular.
Once James crawled into their shared bed, Tiago gathered himself and moved closer to his lover. He noticed the fresh, dry bandage on James' arm and tried to caress it as gently as possible. When he felt James tense at the touch, he leaned in and kissed the wound.
"I'm sorry." He truly was.
"It's not my first." James was trying to be as nonchalant as possible, ever the gentleman.
"But my fault none the less."
"Couldn't be helped." James turned to face him now, and Tiago felt such an overwhelming feeling of love right then and there, and when he reached an arm around to draw him in, Tiago didn't bother to put up a fight. Not today, tomorrow would be a day for games and sarcasm. Tomorrow would resume their continued struggle for dominance. But not now. This moment, the moment Tiago always looked forward to after such a day, was just for him a James. Stripped of their egos and barriers. Tiago finally let his eyes close and allowed sleep to embrace him as well. In those last few moments between dreams and reality, Tiago fancied he heard James whispering something in his ear. Something that was never verbalized, but always felt.
Tiago didn't know how fragile this life with James was, but he did know what he would do if James ever left. He would finally and truly go home to Mother. And maybe, this time, she would welcome her monster with open arms.