Title: A Well Deserved Respite
Author: Matriaya
Rating: PG
Dedication: To my dear Glorious Clio, who helped me conjure this lovely idea of Bond on his days off.
Summary: Bond has slept with many women, but on his days off, he goes home to only one.
Sunday morning. Bond strode with lazy intent through the swinging door of the white picket fence that lined the small house, and walked up the dirt path to the door. That door, painted red against the white of the house, never failed to put a smile on his face. It felt so… homey. It's what this was, he had slowly come to realize – his home.
He didn't bother to knock on the door, but turned the brass knob and stepped into the quaint little kitchen. Not a single pot or pan was out of place, there were no dishes piled in the sink, waiting to be washed. The only evidence there had been someone recently in the room was the dirt that streaked across the windowsill, remnants of a war with a potted plant that apparently the plant had won. He shook himself off right when he stepped in, so that all the raindrops would land on the matt, then took off his brimmed hat, and threw it at the coat stand, a few feet away. It landed perfectly. Flawless.
His shoes were next to come off – there would be hell to pay if he tracked muddy footprints into the spotless house. It felt odd to walk around in socks, it was either shoes or bare feet for him. Bearing that in mind, he padded quietly up the carpeted stairs, slowly loosening his tie has he went. He had only one destination in mind. The bedroom. To be honest, it was almost always his destination. When he wasn't beating up bad guys, or shutting off nuclear reactors, he was seducing the world's most beautiful into whatever bedroom happened to be nearest. Hell, sometimes they didn't make it as far as the bedroom – restrooms and the back seats of cars often sufficed.
Not for the girl in this particular bedroom though, he thought with a smile. His tie was loosened, and he began to unbutton his very expensive suit jacket. No, she was something special. As he reached the threshold of the bedroom, he rested against the door frame, and peered through the open door. Well now, he thought, isn't that just a pretty sight.
Jane Moneypenny lay beneath a perfectly pressed floral duvet, one hand curled around the edge of her pillow. Beside her bed was a white china vase with exactly one flower in it – a white daisy. Her favorite. He smiled, and crossed the room. With practiced fingers, he snatched the little white flower out of it's vase, and then leaned down to kiss her forehead lightly. This roused her from sleep, and she opened her large blue eyes, and blinked up at him. A small smile flitted across her lips, still stained with the remains of yesterday's lipstick.
"James," she murmured, "when did you get in? I didn't hear you."
He smiled down at her, and made a point of handing her the daisy. This drew another beautiful grin from her lips, and she shifted to sit up in bed.
"How was work?" she asked, making to get out of bed. She and he both knew, it was time to begin their routine. It was a routine they'd worked out over the years, both tired of being alone at the end of it all. He glanced over at the photo on her bedside table as she shuffled over to the closet to get her dressing gown. It was their wedding photo. He in his classic black tux, she in a simple white dress. M had taken the photo, as she had been the one to marry them, and was the only other person with the knowledge of their union.
"You know, the usual." He said light-heartedly. They both knew, of course, that "the usual" meant gunplay and sex of every variety. Unlike every other woman on the planet (excepting M) Moneypenny hadn't wanted Bond for his prowess in bed, nor had he married her to add her to the many many notches his bedpost had already collected. They got married to fill up what was lacking in both their lives – a good old fashioned domestic partnership.
"How do eggs sound?" she asked as she pressed the smallest amount of powder to her cheeks, and then sashayed towards the doorway.
"Eggs sound perfect," was all he could say in reply.
The morning proceeded is a pattern they had perfected over the span of almost a year. Moneypenny poured Bond a glass of orange juice in a martini glass (their own private joke), which he sipped slowly while alternating between reading the newspaper and watching her bustle about the kitchen, cooking them breakfast. They even had a cat, 009Lives, but it was affectionately nicknamed Moo. The cat made a point of rubbing against Bond's pant legs with the intent of getting as much fur on them as possible.
"What shall we do today, sweetheart?" he asked, setting down the arts and leisure section, and turning to Moneypenny, who had just finished the eggs and now put them down in front of him. She sat down on the chair, and raised her own orange juice-filled martini glass, and clinked it knowingly against his.
"Well," she looked at him from the rim of her class, "the DeBose across the street are having a garden party this afternoon, if you are feeling up for it. Otherwise I wouldn't mind lazing around and reading. I've started re-reading Jane Eyre."
"I like the second option best, I think," he told her, trying not to shovel the eggs in his mouth too fast.
And so they ascended to the bedroom, and in a rare moment in his life, Bond lay side by side with an attractive woman, and they simply read books. He put on their record player, Frank Sinatra, her favorite. Occasionally, Moneypenny would get to a particularly romantic part in her novel, and snuggle up into him, throwing an arm across his chest. As the day wore on, and twilight slowly covered the light, she cuddled against him, laying her blonde curls against his broad chest. His fingers worked through her hair as he finished up the last couple of pages of his crime novel, then set it aside and stared down at her now-sleeping form.
In a few hours, he would have to leave her, slip into his shoes, re-tie his tie, and step back into the life of a 007 agent. For just a little while though, he could hold his wife in his arms and listen to old Blue Eyes sing them to sleep.
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