Bond awoke feeling severely dehydrated. It was like his skin had gradually calcified and fell away with the wind. He attempted to open his eyes, but was met with the sharpest pain he'd yet to experience. Honestly he wasn't sure he could see. For all he knew he was blind. Or dead. Maybe in purgatory. A seagull barked somewhere to his right and with it came a rush of memories so overwhelming, his head sparked a headache. He was in Laos on his last official mission for the MI6, that Mallory begged him to take short notice. Q tracked Silva to Japan and he flew to Tokyo, trained to Kagoshima, sailed to hell knows where. A storm, there was certainly a storm. Lightening and thunder, waves like miniature tsunamis' and wind so like the howling gales on a Scottish marsh. Silva and him in a cabin, not nearly large enough for two people rolling around like bugs in a match box, bumping, falling, touching, rolling. Feeling.
Blearily opening one eye bought into focus rushing water on pale sand. There was a clump of seaweed uncomfortably close to his face. He made to move it and found his arms blessedly cooperative. Abandoning the task for a better one, James rose and with but one stumble managed to walk a few paces towards dry land. The island itself was strangely empty. There was a clump of trees joining the sand, a rather large looking hill or mountain behind them and then nothing. He looked around and saw what might have been a floating piece of Silva's boat, drifting some distance away. Silva. James scanned the beach. Did he survive? It would be just like the smug son-of-a-bitch to go and die before James could collect on his revenge.
"Silva" he shouted, or tried to but the words came out somewhat croaky. Clearing his throat James tried again, but although this attempt was much better, no reply was forth coming. Suddenly a shock of white caught his eyes. It was strangely out-of-place in a small mountain of seaweed debris. Jogging over Bond could see a body, lying beneath the crab infested plant nest.
"Silva" he whispered and kneeled to aid the other. He might already be dead but no one deserved this kind of burial. Pulling away clumps of molting green and more than a few snappy crabs, James was strangely relieved to see the bare chest gently rise and fall in rhythm. Than a miniature crab slipped from between Silva's lips and James grimaced in sympathy. The ex-agent didn't stir once all the while James was rescuing him and after he more-or-less cleaned the other, Bond took note that the tide was filling in at an admirable rate, already reaching Silva's chest when what seemed like minutes ago it barely lapped at his ankles. Considering that it might be a good idea to move, James grabbed the unconscious man under the arms and dragged him over to the dry sand beneath the tree's. Far enough from the water. 'The shade couldn't hurt either' he thinks, studying Silva's face, brown from exposure, bottom lip cracked in two with a line of blood running black and calcified down his chin.
"Mmm" Silva stirred, then made a woeful sound that strangely reminded James of the time he had to comfort younger boys at the orphanage, during those nightmare inducing summer storms.
"Silva. Wake up," he ordered, but helped the other into a sitting position against a nearby tree.
"James?"
"Yes."
Chocolate eyes blinked warily in confusion.
"What happened?'
"We were ship wrecked or boat wrecked, that's not important. We are stranded that's all you need to know. Nothing else made it on land."
Silva's eyes widened marginally in what James could assume was shock, but he knew better, the Spaniard was terrified.
"What do you mean nothing?"
He desperately patted his pockets, but realized a moment later that he was bare above the waist.
"Where are my clothes?"
James snorted, "What, now you're suddenly struck by modesty?"
Silva shot him a wide-eyed look before scurrying off the ground and down towards the water. James groaned but followed the other man, knowing in his current, mostly delirious state he would likely drown, and as much as that would please him, he didn't know how long he would have to face this exile, and maybe company would be preferred to complete isolation. 'No man is an island,' he smirks. Silva had breached the water and was wadding through the crushing waves towards the floating speck of white James saw earlier.
"Don't be a fool," he called out, "It's not worth the effort."
"That's the boat, the hull. I must reach it."
"Why? You can't honestly tell me you have food or water that could have survived this."
"I don't know, that's not important. Help me damn you!"
"And what do I get out of it? I risk my life so you can fetch a piece of memorabilia?"
"Their might be a radio."
"Bull! Nothing electronic could have survived that storm. Our best chance is to stay here, get some wood, start a fire and maybe roast a couple of those crabs. The boat will gravitate here naturally with the tide, it will probably be ashore by morning."
Silva sighed and slumped his shoulders, standing waist deep in the clear water.
"You're right. I wasn't thinking," wadding back on land he approached Bond with a sheepish grin.
"Come on lets set up camp," he said cheerfully, and James noted it was only a little bit forced.
He regarded the shorter man with an even look, not giving anything away, than simply turned and marched off into the forest, Silva trailing behind.
"Let's play a game James."
"No."
"I think it could be fun…"
"I don't care, eat."
Silva sighed and idly poked at the wood in the fire.
They had no luck with meat and saw but a few rabbits and squirrels that looked somewhat edible but were a migraine to catch. Wood was not an issue and the two easily gathered enough to sustain them through the night. A small under ground gurgle, located under a rotten tree stump, proved a solid source of fresh water that was by far the most appreciated find. By the time they made it to the beach the crabs had all gone to sea, but James managed to find a fish trapped between rocks in shallow water. They built a fire, and Bond masterfully skewered the bass, frying it to perfection. Now having settled with two plates of food and a hull of water they carried back using a small fragment of waterproof sail they found tangled in the trees earlier, Bond thought it was high time they ate and kept to themselves.
"I can't."
"Why?"
Silva smirked, "I'll tell you if we play the game."
James snorted, pretending his curiosity wasn't getting the better of him; but after a moment of silence, during which he could feel the other man's stare burn into his head, James let himself succumb and nodded mechanically.
"Fine. What game?"
"The question game."
Bond gave him a blank look.
"I ask you a question," Silva drawled patiently, with an air of a pre-school teacher. "You answer truthfully, than ask me a question and I do the same, and we keep going."
The blank look was still there, now complemented by a condescending smirk.
"You do realize that I know, that you know, that I know" the agent said, "you already know everything about me."
Raoul gave a Cheshire grin.
"Not everything James. I don't know for one your motivations, your loves, your interests beyond MI6, your dreams for the future and so on."
James frowned, "and you're interested, why?"
"I'm a curious man."
Bond popped another piece of fish into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, shrugging he swallowed.
"Alright, we'll play. I go first. Why aren't you eating?"
"Ah, ah, ah," Silva wagged his finger from side to side while simultaneously reaching over for a log to throw into the fire. "We play paper, scissors, rock, to see who starts."
James rolled his eyes but reluctantly stretched one arm forward, he waited for Silva to do the same and then shook his arm three times in sync with the other, swiftly crushing the ex-agents scissors beneath his all-powerful rock of doom.
"Ha!" he couldn't help but proclaim in victory and watched the other man's face fall in defeat and something else James couldn't quite analyze.
"Ok James, you win," Silva sighed and sagged forward, placing his forearms on his cross-legged knees. "You heard me tell our dear mummy about what happened in China I presume? Well the cyanide hydroxide didn't just cause cosmetic damage as you saw. It travelled down my throat and into my stomach, dissolving everything in its path. By the time a sweet tourist couple found me, half-dead by the side of the road and drove me to the local hospital, it was already too late. I was somewhat fixed with prosthetic stomach lining where the poison burned through the tissue and an incision was made here," he used his fingers to pull apart the skin of one scar just over his naval, revealing a thumb-size crevice, "so I could feed myself using a G-tube." He looked up and couldn't help but smile at the shock on the other man's face.
"Does that answer you question Mister Bond, or should I go into more detail?"
Shaking free from his stupor, James gave no physical indication that the story had moved him. But a part of him still felt like shit, and the remaining fish in his mouth suddenly tasted bitter. He spat aggressively into the bushes and threw the remains aside. He knew what was coming. Silva must feel exposed, it's only natural he'll lash out with some personal enquiry. Though Bond knew he could lie, he also knew his consciousness wouldn't let him. Not after this unwarranted display of trust. Plus the ex-agent was trained, not unlike himself, in the arts of lying and detecting a lie. If he picked up on Bond's fibbing, he'll likely return the favour. And as much as it pained him to admit it, he truly was curious about this man. Cleaning his hands with sand, James prompted the other man without making eye contact.
"Ask me something."
"What's your favorite place in the whole wide world?"
James startled and looked up, Silva simply regarded him in amusement and something akin to understanding. He knew James expected the worst, and threw a curve ball when he least expected. Not hesitating a moment, Bond answered.
"England"
Silva smirked
"How patriotic. Care to elaborate?"
"No."
A shrug quickly followed a yawn.
"Suit yourself. Though you have a point, we should put the game on hold for the night and get some sleep."
Stretching out the ex-agent rested his head on his arms and shut his eyes. Across from him Bond followed suit and they were soon asleep.
The wind was what woke James. Only then did he hear mewing beside him and quickly spun his head towards the sound. Silva lay next to him, pressed firmly into his side. Face slack in deep slumber. Completely unfazed and peaceful; taking steady lungfulls of air and exhaling in little mews. He not so gently shook the man.
"Silva, what in hell are you…"
"Body…warmth," was all the other managed to drawl out before fading out again. James sighed and closed his eyes.
At dawn Silva woke to the screech of seagulls and the barely there touch of sea mist against his face. Beside him lay a small waterproof briefcase. He would recognize that case anywhere. It was his G-tube and nutritional supplements kit. Just behind it he could see Bond struggling to pull ashore the ship wreck they saw yesterday, shirtless and glistening with sweat. He paused to swipe one hand across his brow and turned his gaze at Silva, face giving nothing away.
"I could use a hand," he said brusquely.
Silva nodded mutely and found himself getting up. The case stayed by the burned our fireplace, like an unspoken promise.
