Bond couldn't breath.

Water filled his lungs, his brain, his blood burning from the lack of oxygen. He reached an arm through the bars of the gate, trapped and submerged in the cool waters of the Adriatic. From beyond and just out of reach, Vesper watched him as he drowned, a smile on her face, a peaceful expression in her eyes.

Why is she smiling? What's wrong with her? I'm drowning. Dying, dying, lost…

Don't leave me, Vesper. Please. Don't… The words went unheard from his cooling lips, until they floated towards the sky, broke the surface and—

James woke up tangled in sweat-soaked cotton sheets.

Damn.

He tossed back the cover sheet and strolled over to his penthouse window to watch dawn break.

I miss you, you fucking traitorous bitch. The sun pierced the horizon. Bond wrapped his arms around his bare torso against the chill in the room.When the hell are we going to let each other go?


"M asked me to keep a surreptitious eye on him and report if I clocked anything unusually. I mean what am I supposed to report, Tanner? Bond - or any Double O for that matter - by the very definition, is hardly usual." Villiers was absent-mindedly leafing through the file in his hands as he spoke. "And I mean, it's not like he's going to confide anything personal to me. I'm hardly his type."

"Well, you may not be his type, Villiers, but he is everybody's type."

"Funny, Tanner. And completely unhelpful."

"M is merely concerned. Agents are very good at fooling even MI6's arduous psych evals. From what I've heard, the loss of Vesper Lynd hit him as hard, if not harder, than even the loss of his wife. All I can say is, good luck to the next unfortunate that falls for his charms. That'll be a rebound hard enough to cause a shift in the planet's orbit…"

The unnervingly calm sound of the Quartermaster's voice interrupted their quiet conversation. "Found those files I asked for yet, Tanner? If you have time to be standing around gossiping like a couple of old washerwomen over a picket fence, I'm sure I'll find them waiting on my desk were I to return to my office this moment?"

"Yessir, nosir, right away, Q," flustered Tanner, gathering himself and the contents of his arms with a quick withering glance towards Villiers before heading out of the file room.

Clearing his throat, Villiers didn't wait for a reprimand. "Must get these files to M, Sir."

"You do that," said Q.

Q watched the back of the men retreat as he backed deeper into the file archives. Evidently, there were aspects of Bond's past that remained firmly under lock and key, and he himself was not yet a familiar enough presence in the bricks and mortar of MI6 to be privy to historical gossip of such nature. Gossip, he thought to himself wryly. For all their gadgets and clever methods of intelligence gathering by subterfuge, gossip truly was a brand of intelligence sharing one could genuinely rely upon. He reached the door to the private room and keyed in the access code. He would have to lobby M for access to that information, he thought to himself as the door slipped shut behind him. How on God's green earth could he be expected to keep the agents safe in the field if he wasn't completely familiar with aspects of their personality that might jeopardise a mission, or worse still, get said agent killed?

No. Being kept in the dark on such matters was unacceptable and he'd make damn sure he'd convince M of the same.


"Italy…"

"Yes, Bond," M said, barely glancing up from the report on her desk. "Is that going to be a problem?"

Of course it was a bloody problem. "Of course not. Ma'am."

"Good." She gave him a cursory glance and a dismissive wave of her hand. "Off you go then. Villiers will furnish you with the information you need and you can digest it on the flight."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Bond said turning on his heel to exit her office. Bond wondered if M had children.

Poor bastards.


"You'll be overseeing 007's mission in Venice, Q," M's voice was crisp and clear across the internal comms. Everything, it seems, comes at a price, including wanting to know the deepest, darkest secrets of the men and women you were expected to keep alive.

"Venice, Ma'am?"

"Yes, Q. Venice. Unfortunately, MI6 cannot dictate the movements and operations of other intelligence agencies just so we can pander to our own."

Q bit back a retort. It wouldn't do well to voice what he was thinking in that moment unless he wanted to end up face down in the Thames with his cats clinging to his back. "Of course not, Ma'am. I'm just wondering would it be less of a risk to the success of the mission were another Double-O assigned."

"All our other operatives are engaged," she said sharply. "It's Bond's responsibility. And he is yours. Consider the exercise a test in his ability to continue be an effective asset and yours to ensure he remains that way," she said, cutting the call.

Q wondered if M had children.

Hapless little sods.