Hello! Here's the update! Thanks sooooo much for all the reviews!!!!!!!!
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M was back at her desk, already wishing the day was over. Telling Villiers was possibly the worst part. First was the news of the death of her youngest double-O, and that was difficult to take. Granted, she barely knew him personally, but he was an admirable agent and fairly easy to work with when he felt like being so, and so close to a son it was dangerous. He'd died honourably, yes, he'd completed the mission and doubled the glory attached to his name, but that wouldn't fix anything. She'd known the mission would be dangerous- and he'd known, too. The only one who hadn't was Villiers, and when she'd accidentally mentioned it only hours after Bond had left, the barely-concealed horrified look had crushed her heart. She'd hoped so desperately that it would prove to be a groundless fear, but the report, early in the morning, had changed that.
M and head of S, the department were Villiers had worked before coming to M's office, had fought over who had to tell Villiers, for the better part of an hour. She'd lost.
And she knew, she could see it, that the news had just killed him.
From the looks of it, Bond was the one who'd gotten off easy. It hadn't taken her long to figure out what was going on, especially after the incident by the pool. And, she realized belatedly, the other voice she'd heard when she'd called Bond in at four in the morning, that irritated, sleepy voice, had been Villiers, who had undoubtedly been woken up by the call, and when Bond had said- what was it? She'd thought it so strange- oh, "sorry, love", it had been,she'd never thought that he was talking to someone else... That was the call to tell him about the job, which he'd taken. I wish I hadn't called him, M thought desperately, I wish I hadn't stolen him.
She heard a soft sob from the other office, and wished that there could have been something, anything, to have disconnected that call before Bond had picked up. That something, she knew, could have been a conscience, could have been guilt, could have been anything.
She hadn't just unknowingly sent Bond to his death, she'd also delivered the fatal blow to the only person he'd ever loved.
The guilt, she knew, would never leave her.
*
Nearing two in the morning, Amherst hadn't slept at all. Every time he'd tried, he'd remember, and the pain would start all over again. Everything had a memory attached to it, and made it that much harder to forget, even for a little while. M had given him an undefined amount of time off, and the last time he'd seen her was at the funeral, an impersonal gathering where no one knew much more about Bond than his name and favourite drink; the truly knowledgeable knew the car he preferred, but that was the extent of anything. The fact that it had been empty-casket made it that much worse. Amherst had hoped that the finality of it would help him to let go, but it only made him rediscover just how much he'd miss James.
After a week, Amherst forced himself back to work, but even with M's best attempts to avoid speaking about Bond, it was nearly impossible, and out of sympathy, she sent him home again.
"I understand what you're going through" she'd said, in a tone that was strikingly motherly, the compassion present nearly making him cry, like she knew better than he did how much heartbreak hurt, "go home, Amherst. Don't come back until you can." And back home he'd gone, although he doubted that was much better for him. At work, everyone had to speak about Bond, he'd been involved in everything. At home, every moment reminded him how much he needed James.
At M16, M was realizing, yet again, how much she relied on Villiers. She was searching through files, seeking the finance report, which he usually left on her desk. But he hadn't been there, hadn't for the past two weeks because she'd forced him to go home, and she'd left the report somewhere, and couldn't remember where.
"How're you fairing without an aid?" Jeremy asked. The head of S had come in that morning, along with his assistant Jeremy, who had seen the empty desk and known nothing of the circumstances behind it.
"Pitifully" S answered for her, handing M a stack of files.
"So why give him a vacation if you need him?" Jeremy looked up from the clipboard in his hand. M stopped flipping through the papers she'd been given, looking towards the empty desk in the other room.
"He was involved with Bond." When this didn't lift the bewildered look on Jeremy's face, she sighed. "They were living together, too, as of recently."
"Oh" Jeremy drew in a sharp breath, looking away. He, as everyone else in M16, was seasoned in the heartbreaking aftermath of an agent's death. He'd been there for long enough. "I'm sorry to hear that." S sent him back to the third floor to retrieve something, and when he'd gone, turned back to M.
"So how fares M16 without 007?"
"I never thought he'd die" M said, her voice hollow, staring at the computer screen, Bond's picture stamped with the dreaded deceased mark. "It didn't seem possible. He always came back, I never even thought…"
"I suppose it was just time for him to find another life." M didn't reply. "Did he have family?"
"No." M turned away from the screen.
"Friends?"
"Hardly." It sounded increasingly dismal, discussing Bond's private life.
"Anyone?"
"Yes" from her office, the empty desk was obvious, including the corner Bond had claimed as his own, so he could tease Amherst, and, as was discovered later, flirt and charm his way into the first heart he'd ever found a place in that he wanted.
Your handwriting is atrocious.
Are you going to mock me all morning?
Yes.
"They were that intimate? How's he taking this?" M went over and pulled the door shut.
Want to go out for a drink?
Why?
Because I'm asking you to.
"Not well. But nothing else could really be excepted of him, in this situation."
"Have you done anything?"
"I sent him to the gravesite today, like you recommended. He's there getting some closure, hopefully."
Amherst wasn't. He was looking down at the tombstone, fighting tears. Maybe you were right, he thought, you knew I'd get hurt and you knew that you'd end up dying someday too soon. But even if he'd known it for sure, he supposed he would have stayed anyways. Nearly a month already and I still can't even think about getting over you. Staring down at the grey stone, blurred before his eyes, M's words began flooding back to him, words he hadn't been meant to hear.
His body hasn't been found. The warehouse was consumed by flames at that point. No, we're certain he was there. They found his watch and phone. Yes, we had put that chip in his arm... he took it out a while ago, unfortunately. Yes... Well, someone said he'd gone back in for someone, yes, unusual hero-like behaviour for him, unfortunately. No, there were far too many bodies to be able to tell which-
It wasn't fair. Amherst knew he hadn't been promised anything- not even that Bond would be there the following day, but it was almost that worse. He hadn't broken any promises by dying, so there was nothing left to connect him to Amherst, not in any realm of imagination.
He said we'd have another morning.
But he hadn't, not word for word. Perhaps Bond had gotten his own morning, in the freedom death warranted him. Amherst had forgotten what it was like to need someone so much, if he'd ever known it to such an extent. It had been a long time since there had been anyone he loved, and never to such a painful extent.
You're a dreadful cynic, do you know that?
Yes, but it's been a while since anyone's told me that.
No goodbye should be forever, and Amherst wished desperately that theirs hadn't been.
Goodbye, love.
The irony was paralyzing.
Someone more cynical than Amherst would have enjoyed it.
*
"Vi-lliers!" M tried again. Amherst's head snapped up.
"Sorry, sorry. Yes?"
"Please call Janine Murphy and tell her she can come in an hour earlier today." After Amherst had followed the instructions under M's watchful gaze, she closed her office door again. Amherst tried to hold his attention to the appointment book, tried desperately. But he kept hearing that voice in his head, worsened because of how it used to be whispered from right next to him, quiet, just for him. Amherst dove back into his work, trying to attach his attention to the words on the page, as if the long, technical sentences could somehow serve as some sort of anchor.
You don't mind if I stay?
"Hello… I'm here to see M" A woman stood in the doorway of the office, who he'd spoken to on the phone the previous day. Amherst hadn't even noticed the door open.
"She's in her office." He opened the door for her, slumping back in his own chair after the door had closed again.
Yes, but it's been a while since anyone's told me that.
A month and a half had gone by. It felt like twenty minutes. Sometimes it felt like there'd never been a time before it that was tangible enough to hold onto.
See you then.
After work had ended, Amherst had hoped he would somehow find a way to escape the memories, if just for an hour or so. Any hopes he'd had were dashed, however, when the ringing phone turned out to be his sister calling.
"Hi, Christie..." He tossed his jacket across a chair, going to stand by the window so he wouldn't be able to see the kitchen, which made him think so vividly of James.
"Hi! What's been happening? How's James?" He'd told her when James had moved in. He'd neglected to call her since. "Amherst?" He sighed, leaning against the wall, looking down at the street. He could see the place in front of the building where they'd fought, the fight that had made James cry, for the first time in a long time.
" He... he died. While on a mission." Tears burned at him, but he tried to fight them. "About a month ago."
"Amherst" Christie gasped; he could almost see the sympathetic look in her eyes. "Honey, I'm so sorry... why didn't you call me sooner?"
"I just... I don't know. I couldn't really talk about it, it's just... I talked to him right before... and he said he'd come back..." he trailed off.
Christie spent the next few minutes attempting to comfort him, until the subject rolled around to the future. "Maybe you should find someone else."
"I couldn't" Amherst put his head in his hands, almost wishing he could just hang up and make the suggestion disappear.
"Why not?"
"Christie… once you've been with James Bond… there's no one else who could compare."
"He was that great?" She asked, a little dryly.
"No." Amherst closed his eyes, forcing away memories. "It's because… he didn't love anyone before. He didn't let anyone know him. Except…"
"He loved you" Christie's voice was soft with sympathy.
"No one else could be that kind of lover. It was like he wouldn't share himself with anyone else in the world… no one else would be able to be like that." It was because Bond loved no one else, and whether Amherst had ever realized it or not, Bond had needed him, wholly and deeply.
"Maybe there'll be someone else" Christie offered softly. Amherst shook his head, although she couldn't see that.
"Not after him." Not after hearing his voice, after seeing his real smile and hearing his honest laugh, making him cry and kissing him better, not after making him scream from pleasure and then from the agony of caring and worrying and blaming himself, all too much, not after hearing I love you for the first time from him, screamed and snarled and thrown to the wind because, really, he'd never honestly said it to anyone else before… not after loving him, never after that.
For Amherst, even the thought of waking to someone else beside him was chilling, because he knew there would never be anyone that warm again.
*
Amherst had been certain that nothing could make it worse for him. Then it started to snow, reminding him of how nice being warm would be… how the crystal-blue eyes filled with amusement at the mention of a certain temperature, reminded him of a thousand things, right up to the second copy of his key, which was… he didn't even know where. That was one of the worst parts of it, not knowing where.
But if he were to truly dwell on it, as he had so avoided doing, the worst part was something far more impossible to move past, made it so that nothing meant anything anymore.
The worst part was that he'd given James his heart, and it had died with him...
Their morning would stay forever on the horizon, never reachable, leaving him in the coldness of the moments before morning, taunting him with what could have been, had that warmth lasted the whole night through.
Amherst would stand forever gazing at the horizon, waiting for their morning that would never come.
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