This is the last chapter everyone. For this, you need to have actually read Scars Don't Fade. It's been fun, I hope you liked it :)

M

Eve clearly has no idea what to say, or indeed how she might go about saying it. She looks up at me, a look of pure horror and pity on her face. I've put my jacket back on, obscuring every one of the horrific scars those three days left me with. I'm tapping my fingers off the desk, staring into space. Eve seems to see that I've plugged my laptop back in, and have started typing something into an email.
"Agent Tiago Rodriguez is missing, presumed dead after a mission in Dandong, China... . . . . . . . . . . / / / / / / / /" I seem to have accidentally leaned on the full stop key, and then the forward slash, but I've all too obviously lost the heart to continue. Eve notices the tears in my eyes.
"I know I cut off at a bit of an awkward point, but I couldn't bring myself to remember any more of it in that much detail. You only really live if you want to. And there were times like when my husband abandoned me that I honestly thought about pitching myself out the window or something..." My voice tails off, and I place my head on my desk, my entire body shuddering with silent sobs and my face wet with tears that I don't want her to see. "And I suppose that now there's the thought that my M had tried to save me, and managed it at that. But it's impossible now for me to do that for Tiago. He could be god knows where and have had god knows what done to him, and I can't do anything at all. I feel awful..."

Eve puts her hand on my shoulder. "You did what you could. And if he's got half a brain then he'll know what the best thing to do is. And not meaning to be nosy or anything, but you said that the mission put an end to your fieldwork career. I have my suspicions, but what really made you quit?"
"Well, I suppose I should tell you. But what happens in this room stays in this room, do I make myself totally clear?"
"Crystal, ma'am."
"Well, the assumptions that people make are generally wrong. Most people think, well, that is if you count Gareth Mallory as a person," I laugh right there, then continue when I realize that I was trying to be serious. "that the ligament damage I suffered was too severe to continue doing what I did best, but that's utter rubbish. What really happened was...well, I don't know. I couldn't walk at all for almost six months, and I was on crutches for four after that, but when I could eventually do all the fitness tests and debriefings and all that malarkey, I turned out pretty well. Save for one thing. I was in a surprisingly good physical state considering what I'd been through. I was okay psychologically as well. But maybe it was simply a phobia brought on by my experience. Maybe I was afraid that I would do to someone what a Ms Camille Delacoire once did to me. But whatever the reason, I had to give up work as an active agent. Why? I couldn't shoot. And I mean any kind of gun aim totally down the pan. Now before I break down with twenty-year old PTSD, haven't you got something you need to be doing?"

"Well, I was meant to be at a debriefing/psychology test about ten minutes ago now."
"Then you're going to be in serious shit. Get a move on!"
Eve turns and leaves, and I slump at my desk, accidentally elbowing over the cold cup of double espresso next to me. Thinking about what I had just told Eve makes me want to remember maybe just a little more. Not the really bad, mentally - and physically, in some cases - scarring stuff. But probably just my final debriefing...

I dragged myself out of the pool, still completely soaking wet and totally shattered. I was quite a strong swimmer; not particularly fast, but I could go for ages. I trudged soggily over to my mobile phone, which was in my kit bag and ringing impatiently. "M?" I said, picking it up and holding it to my ear.
"Evelyn, where are you?"
"Swimming," I said, breathless. "But what're you calling for, our meeting's not for another fifteen minutes."
"How long have you been at it?"
"Three quarters of an hour; I was planning to keep going for another ten minutes."
"Right. How much have you done?"
"Just under four kilometers now."
"You're still on recovery, remember, don't overdo it. Look, the thing with the PM took less time than anticipated, can I get you as soon as possible?"
"Test results?"
"Affirmative."
"I'll be right there." With that, I snapped my phone shut, threw a towel around my shoulders and made my way towards the changing rooms.

"Right, you know why you're here,'' M said, as I took a seat, still wringing out my wet hair. "Now, I'm going to ask you. What do you think you got on your physical exam?"
"Forty percent?" I guessed, shrugging and investigating a random bruise on the back of her hand. I knew I must've been hopeless.
"Seventy-four," M said. "Psychology, now. What do you think came up?"
"All the general from someone who's been tortured. Mental scarring, chance of bad nightmares, possible alcoholism or substance addiction, that sort of thing."
"No less psychologically stable than you were when you left. All in all, Evelyn, I am very impressed with how you've turned out. With the exception of just one thing. Now, I very seldom call agents in here unless there is cause for concern or I think there is a need for them to step down, and you are no different. Why do you think that might be?"
"Search me," I murmured, looking up, completely drained of color. Okay, why the hell was I being told to step down after I had been *this* close to dying?
"Your self defense has gone completely down the pan. Your martial arts skills are severely lacking and your ability to fire a gun is totally nonexistent. I was intending to promote you to a 00, until these results came through. I am afraid that you have to leave MI6 unless you are willing to keep on as a mission controller or secretary. I've lost another agent as well; Bond, your rescuer, was demoted from 007 to a regular agent - I'd made it clear that I'd been intending to tell you that the mission objective had changed and that I needed Sauvage, Dealcoire and Sanchez alive for questioning and that he wasn't to kill them under any circumstances. But, for you, there is a silver lining. Look at this." M handed me an envelope. I could barely read it, due to the tears welling up in my quite a long while it had angered her, but the three letters at the top of the paper, in time, changed everything.

They say that every cloud has it's silver lining. And that particular dark cloud that had swallowed me up after that last mission has gained me not one but two things. My current position, as when the last M had retired, he had left the role in my well-capable hands. And the final three letters of my real name. MBE.

I stare hard at one of the scars above the inside of my wrist. Scars don't fade as I know by now, both physical and mental. But you have to let go. To quote Lana Del Rey, I know how I feel about Tiago;
There's no remedy for memory,
His face is like a melody,
It won't leave my head,
His soul is haunting me and telling me that everything is fine,
But I wish I was dead...

But I have to let go. I can't let my past haunt her forever. I sigh again, and start tapping into my computer the end of my Tiago - once an idiotic partner, once a slightly less idiotic toyboy, once a lover always a mutual friend's - final dossier.

Tiago Rodriguez was one of the best agents I have come across in my whole career. In a word; reliable. I would have trusted the man with my life. And nothing pains me more than to write these few words. Tiago Rodriguez is missing and presumed dead after a mission in Dandong, China. He leaves no known family, but was an enormous credit to this service. Today, MI6 lost a great agent...

But life goes on, I think now. Years have flown, tears been cried and my heart torn out and smashed against the hard ground by the husband who should have been there. I need to learn to live in now; in the present.

Scars don't fade. The sins of a murderess - La Péchés d'une Meurtrière - can't be erased from the memory. But life goes on...

-Fin-