It's one of those nights. One of the nights he wakes up yelling, shaking and drenched in his own sweat. And he'll grab his loaded gun in his trembling hands, jolting about in panic. He's terrified of the darkness, the oblivion.
And then he'll look at her, heart pounding, with her wild curls and red-rimmed eyes and he'll begin to sob. One look and she's falling again, drowning in those wonderful, captivating eyes that surround her in complete calm yet sudden panic at the same time. And she'll hold him for a while, rocking him like an infant and whispering thoughts of the tranquillity he's searching for in his ear. That's why they need this intimacy, they cling to each other's bodies for sanity. They need each other.
Eve traces his jaw, searching for the answers with delicate kisses that dance across his stubble. His own kisses are moist and sloppy, he's tired, he's wounded. His shaky breath wheezes through the dark, sore and breathless. She tries to be gentle, fingers fumbling over his collection of scars. She touches what should be his collar bone, but it feels brittle and weak. Nothing is quite human about James Bond any more. His mutated shoulder-blade seems worse than ever.
She runs her fingertips along his chest, marvelling at his strength and the beautiful mess of his body. Every muscle tenses under her touch, as if she has a power he cannot control. He's weak but he likes it. He knows, this is the only time he doesn't have to fight back.
Every bone is fragile. It all tells a story, stories he wants to forget. He's a puzzle there's too many pieces missing that he'll never be whole again. And as he whimpers into her skin, he can't help but think about how radiant she is. He lists words to describe Eve, distracting himself from the ache. Alluring, mesmerising, bewitching...
And finally she reaches his poor grazed heart, blistering and bruised. Where he had struggled to conquer love and hate. His mind is dangerous too, trapped thoughts banging on the walls, searching for an escape and threatening to blow.
It's like a practiced routine, the same movements every time. And then she finds the heart-breaking wound in his skin as usual, which triggers something inside her. And she's crying again because it was her fault. M's harsh words scream inside her head, telling her to shoot, to take the bloody shot. And she does. And she hears the ringing in her ears from the gunshot and then absolute deafening silence.
And at the last minute his hand traces her spine, reaching up to her like a reflex as if to say 'Eve, don't think about it.' He'll kiss her just as he falls back into his innocent slumber. She struggles to hold back the tears. She's not stupid. She knows he doesn't love her. But god, she wants him to. This dark mysterious man has had her heart for a while now. She wants all of him, but she's just a life support. His life support that he's slowly killing and doesn't realise.
She can hear his heart beat through his chest as she settles back down and it feels so natural. She's terrified, scared he'll walk out the door and never come back. And she knows it could happen. Endless torture, a miserable sacrifice or a merciless death. And that's why nights like this put her at ease. Because he's here, with her. Safe. For now at least.