A/N: Ok I read somewhere that Bond was born 1923 or something and that would make him over 80 in the movie. Since that is beyond terrible I gave him and Silva a different age, cause when I get to writing smut I can't do my thing visualising 80 year olds going at it like bunnies :P
James was staring again. It intrigued the other man, how often he was doing so lately, without ever being consciously aware of it. Silva smirked and cast a knowing look at his companion. Falling backwards into the sand, he rested his head atop two folded arms and gazed plaintively at the stars.
"Just ask James."
If the other man startled he didn't show it.
"You're a good hacker…"
"Thank you."
"You hacked Q and he's the best."
"Clearly he's not."
"The best in England,"
Silva made a derogative noise.
"How did you manage to get so good at cybernetic technology, in just a couple of years?"
Silva didn't answer for a long time. Eventually Bond sat up to poke at the fire, assuming the conversation was over.
"How old do you think I am?
James went by appearance
"I don't know late forties…"
"Oh Mister Bond I know I'm handsome but that's just blatant flattery."
James rolled his eyes at Silva's overt delight. The other man sobered soon after and made a show of stretching, with both hands over his head. Reaching too far and accidentally scratching the side of one clothed thigh. James shivered. Silva scratched a couple more times for good measure. This was no accident.
"I'm 54 James. Do you still love me?"
Bond snorted and moved away a couple of inches, the disappointed sigh bringing some relief.
"Still you only recently escaped…"
Another snort and Silva moved his arms to once more fold behind his head.
"James, James, James. I'm disappointed, I truly am. All this talk about you being mummy's special little boy, and than you go and say something like this."
James considered throwing a cock-shell at him.
"Tut tut," Silva continued not sensing the danger, "I guess I'll have to educate you, again. But you're such a charmer, I really don't mind."
James bit his bottom lip to hold in his retort.
"What year do you think I got traded to the Chinese?"
"Just tell me already?" James growled sick of being made out to feel like a clueless fool.
"1996, I was 38 years old."
James nodded, than realised the other man couldn't see him.
"So when did you escape?"
Silva broke in to manic laughter.
"Escaped? Oh Mister Bond you are priceless…"
James just waited out Silva's outburst. Knowing he needed a release on the pressure valve to keep from falling apart.
"I was dumped James. Can't blame them. Who wants a girlfriend who can't write because all her fingers are broken? Or talk because her esophagus melted into her stomach? Now that my secrets would die with me, I was useless to them."
James threw another log in the fire.
"So you were left to die."
"Yes, and you already know the rest of the story."
"So when did they…"
Silva made no physical sign of being effected, but James could have sworn the other man's body convulsed from head to toe.
"Eight month."
"Eight month." James repeated, and didn't bother to hide the unspoken accusation in his tone of voice. 'Only'.
Silva bristled like an angry cat. Sitting up he spun around and glared hatefully at the other man.
"Yes Bond, eight month. Would you like to see their handy work?"
Not waiting for a reply the ex-agent got up and began to unbutton his pants. James sighed in exasperation.
"Look Silva I believe you."
"No" he growled, "you don't." Pulling his belt free he struggled to step out of his pants. Bond struggled not to laugh.
"Yeah so my chest is a little scarred, so what. Not like yours is any better. Is that what you're thinking James? All agents end up getting a few scuffs and scrapes. Part of the job description, really."
He managed to free his legs and stepped back into the light of the fire.
Bond couldn't hold in the gasp. Every inch of Silva's legs was horribly mutilated. Like a grotesque collage an array of scarring melded together to tell a story of unimaginable horror. Just above the Spaniard's left thigh was a gash so deep, a hollow had formed in the side, making his entire frame look unbalanced. Under it a circular pattern of old stitches surrounded the kneecap, a tell-tale sign that the sheen had been surgically altered. Beneath it the upper calf looked melted and raw, like it was torched until the skin melded with muscle. The toes on both feet, barely visible against the sand, looked skewed and misshapen; as if they were broken too many times and never quite mended right. On the right hand calf, hundreds of puncture wounds left the skin pocked and bumpy, above it what looked to be a prosthetic knee cap lead the eyes to a mangled thigh, where patches of skin were missing, revealing dry, red muscle and mangled scarring, leading upward towards the hip bone and around the back.
Silva turned and displayed the back where the legs were similarly mutilated. There was what looked to be a brand hiding behind the grey jock briefs. Silva turned his head to one side and cautiously pulled the fabric down a few inches until a Chinese symbol, protruding like a stamp, glowered angry white against the tan skin.
The entire time he was appraising the extent of the damage, James held his breath, but after seeing the Mandarin symbol for "whore" he forced his lungs to inhale deeply. Inflicted in just eight month. 'My god,' he thought and let his eyes drop to the fire. Silva dressed slowly, struggling even more than earlier.
"They say Chinese are very efficient. Wouldn't you agree?"
The older man walked back to the fire and sat himself cross-legged opposite Bond. James looked up and nodded. What could he say? What's done is done and nothing he could say would change that.
"So I spent 4 month in intensive care, than a further 10 month in therapy. I left China and moved to Spain. I stayed with my cousin 6 years and studied advanced cybernetics and IT over the Internet. See I was already very proficient in cyber tech. When I entered MI6, I was offered both positions, that of an agent or the quartermaster; but you know me Mister Bond, I love to live it up so to speak. I took the double-oh post. However after 12 years I needed to refresh and improve so I managed to obtain a doctorate from MIT and started practicing my hacking skills on major banks and large financials firms with the best in modern IT defense systems, moved on to protected government facilities and finally managed to break into a few national treasury's to fund my 'mission'. Than I studied up on little scrabble boy, knew everything about him by the end of the fortnight. I studied his defense systems, smashed through them with little effort and made some minor improvements of my own."
"Q will be glad to hear that…" Bond said, uncharacteristically sarcastic.
"I'm sure," Silva smirked. "I believe mister Bond," he drawled licking his bottom lip and leaning back on his arms to study Bond down the tip of his nose, "that this game of ours has been very one-sided."
Letting a handful of sand sieve between his fingers, James rolled his eyes.
"Ask away."
"When exactly did you start sleeping with that darling boy?"
James recoiled.
"What?"
"You heard me Mister Bond," the other man remained silent, "oh don't pretend. I know everything remember? And your quartermaster has an interesting collection of data entries in his computer journal..."
Bond glared.
"That's none of your business."
Silva laughed and tilted his head mockingly to one side.
"Of course it is. You are my business."
This confused the younger man beyond reason.
"How so?" he finally asked
"I like you."
James chuckled and replicated Silva's pose, dropping his head back to stare vacantly at the stars.
"Right..." he dismissed the statement like so much useless nonsense.
"You don't believe me. Why not?"
"Game time is over."
"No, it's not. I want my answer."
"You asked so many questions I can hardly keep up."
"Don't get smart with me Mister Bond. I assure you, you'll fail miserably."
James snorted but decided the damage was done. He might as well 'spill the beans' so to speak.
"We've been together since a month after you shot M," James placed particular emphasis on the words 'you shot M'.
"And you are serious about him?" Silva asked, completely ignoring the under-handed attempt to raise his temper.
James sighed, "Not really, I'm a double-oh agent, as you were. You should know we are incapable of getting involved long-term with anyone. It's always a risk. People get hurt; people die around us all the time. Sometimes the people we care about most."
Silva studied James for a long moment.
"You weren't responsible for Vespers death James. One cannot save the damned," he finally said. Bond jumped as if an electric current suddenly shot through his body and glared murderously at the other man.
"Shut it!" he spat. "You don't know anything about it. Anything!"
"I know enough," Silva whispered, somehow managing to placate the younger man by simply patting the sand. James sank down as if that emotional outburst cost him all his strength. They stayed silent a long time, watching each other. Every little movement. Every hand gesture, muscle spasm, blink or twitch of the lips was caught and shared, until they finally found the courage to simply dwell in each other eyes.
"He loves you, you know," Silva whispered.
"I know," James frowned, and just like that the moment was broken.
That night the wind once again awoke him from slumber, but Silva's presence was nowhere to be found. Letting his eyes adjust to the dark, James spots a huddled form, some distance away; curled in on himself and visibly shivering. Not saying a word, he simply crawls the distance to the other man and spoons him gently from behind, melding their bodies together. Silva made no indication that he felt James. 'Maybe he's still asleep', he thinks, but takes pride in the noticeable decrease in shivers.
"Why?" asked the accented tone, heavy with sleep and slightly muffled without the prosthetic in place to support the jaw.
"Body warmth," was his simple reply.
