This was inspired by Tumblr user solarmorrigan.
I wrote this in a few hours, and it is un-beta'd and not Brit-picked.
Any mistakes found are my own.
I do not own these beautiful characters.
Bond stepped out of the decrepit, barely-functional car masquerading as a cab with a malcontent twist of his typically pursed lips. He took a moment to eye the run-down motel before him with visible disdain, shoving a hand in the front pocket of his cream-colored trousers before ducking back into the still-running vehicle to seize his travel bag. With a cavalier jerk, he yanked his hand from his trouser's pocket, clutching wrinkled gourdes. He caught himself just shy of tossing the tip at the driver and instead placed it firmly in the man's outstretched hand with an exhaled breath through his nostrils.
He retreated hastily from the backseat, the stale smell of cigarettes irritating him, with travel bag in hand. He set it on the ground before him, uncaring that the supple brown leather could possibly be damaged by the swirling dust at his ankles, and held up his wrist to check the time on his watch.
The painted yellow car lurched forward with a loud bang! as the engine predictably backfired, but while a handful of denizens jerked in alarm, Bond did not so much as twitch. He bent at the waist, curled his fingers around the handle of his bag, and strode forward into the door-less entrance with a casual roll of his broad shoulders.
"Bienvenue!"
Bond felt the droll twist of his mouth slowly melt into something a little softer. He offered the sable-skinned woman a closed-lipped smile as he approached the counter she stood behind. While he felt particularly tetchy that afternoon, after a nearly twenty-four flight that came directly on the heels of a decidedly tricky mission, he didn't believe the woman warranted his full ire.
"Vous enregistrez-vous?"
"I am," Bond replied in his succinct, clipped English. "The name is Somerset, David Somerset."
The alluring woman didn't so much as bat an eye as she smoothly transitioned from French to a lightly-accented English. "Welcome, Mr. Somerset. Let me just-" Her purple-lacquered nails flew over the keyboard set before her in a way reminiscent of the Quartermaster. Bond felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward in a more honest smile at the thought. "Alright, and may I please see a form of identification?"
"Of course," he offered her a more charming smile, one that creased the skin at the corner of his eyes, as he pulled the MI6-issued ID for one David Somerset. If this mission turned out to be a bust, he could at least have a little fun with the utterly beautiful woman before him. He didn't miss her appreciative glance as she plucked the card from his proffered fingers with a sweet smile of her own.
She glanced at the photo and back at him, her dark-brown eyes twinkling with mirth and an evident desire before she returned it to his outstretched palm. "You should be all set, Mr. Somer-"
"Set." Bond's grin widened as she ducked her head. The usually bellicose agent was beginning to feel a little lighter at the prospect of a night not spent alone.
"Here's your key card. The room is on the first floor, down the hall, and on the left."
"Merci beaucoup," he drawled in his most roguish voice, and he reveled in the light blush that pinked her high cheekbones. He tapped the laminated key card atop the counter, flicking his eyes down in what he presumed was a bashful manner before raising them to meet her eyes. "I'll be seeing you soon."
He took a careful step back, glacier-colored eyes trained on the receptionist before he collected his bag and traipsed down the sole hall of the motel's first floor. He got to the end, turned left, and felt his earlier merriment drain from him in one fell swoop as he glanced at the number on his card: thirteen.
"You must be joking."
He felt the hard edges of the plastic card dig into the meat of his palm as he subconsciously tightened his grip. He inhaled deeply, slowly, then let it loose with a suppressed roll of his aching eyes. With the prospect of a hot shower and a mattress to lie upon mere inches from becoming a reality, he turned back around and strode down the hall back into the receptionist's area.
The woman, who had not yet left, straightened with a pearly-white smile when she caught sight of him. He offered her a closed-lipped one that did not reach his eyes.
He let his bag drop audibly to the wooden floor.
"Yes, I need to change my room."
A brief shadow of an emotion Bond was too exhausted to parse flit across her face over his brusque tone. "I'm sorry, sir. Is something the matter with yours?"
"Yes."
She blinked. "May I ask what, sir?"
He flicked his ice-blue eyes to meet hers; the previous warmth he had interlaced within the pale irises no longer visible. "No."
"I'm sorry?"
"I just need another room." He could feel the palpable annoyance from earlier beginning to seep into the back of his mind. He squeezed his eyes closed before opening them and deliberately shifting his penetrating gaze over the woman's left shoulder. "Look, I need another room. Please."
Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, her dark brows furrowed in confusion before she began typing. After a moment, she offered him a bemused, lopsided smile that was clearly plastered on. "I'm sorry, sir, but all the other rooms are taken."
Bond shifted his stance, unknowingly squaring his shoulders as he jut his lower jaw out; if he had been paying attention, he would have reigned in the lower lip. "Not acceptable."
"Sir? I," she glanced at her hands, then back up again, "I can't make a room available that isn't."
Bond peeled his leather bag from the sticky floor with a silent sneer, turned on his heel, and marched directly to his appointed room. He swiped the key card, let his bag drop in the doorway, and rifled in his back trouser pocket. He pulled out a weathered matchbook that contained his contact's number in scribbled pen, neatly stripped a match, struck it against the yellowed book, and clambered atop the made-up bed a scant few feet away. He held the lit match to a sprinkler head, waited patiently before it erupted into a burst of water that immediately soaked him; the rest of the sprinklers following suit.
Bond grinned, ash-blond hair plastered to his skull, as he hopped down, scooped his travel bag, and sauntered down the hall and back to where the receptionist was hurriedly trying to cover her desktop computer from being ruined by the onslaught of water.
Shrieks of surprise echoed in other rooms, and one male voice, in particular, could be heard as he fled his room in an uproar.
"We are leaving!" The man was partially dressed; bare-foot, linen trousers were clearly undone, and shirt haphazardly buttoned up incorrectly. "This is unacceptable!"
"Hm," Bond murmured over the cacophony. He gently laid his key card atop the counter, sodden clothes audibly squelching with every movement. "Excuse-moi? Yes, I need to change my room. It appears mine has sprung a leak."
The woman, slack-jawed, stared at the white plastic as if offended. She gulped, rivulets of water streaking down her skin, as she snatched the card.
"It looks like a room has just opened up, sir."
Bond offered her his most disarming grin.
"Lovely."
A vibration against his thigh had him pulling out his cellphone in a fluid movement, grin not faltering as he drawled: "Hello, darling."
"Don't you darling me, OO7. If there was something wrong with your room, you could have rung. I would have handled it."
"No need."
"Well, what was wrong with it? Bugs, unauthorized cameras?"
"It just didn't quite feel right."
"What does that even mean, OO7? What reason could you have for causing a scene as you just did?"
Bond plucked the new key card from the now disgruntled woman, her beauty hardly marred by the visible frustration on her face. He threw her a wink because he could, as Q squawked in his ear.
"It wasn't just any one reason, my love."
Bond sauntered toward his new room, phone pressed to his ear as he smiled patiently at the occupants scrambling to gather their things in the downpour of tepid water. He leaned against the doorjamb, tilting his head toward the camera in the hallway trained on his position.
"I had thirteen reasons."
Bond ended the call with a rough chuckle over Q's onslaught of choice words.
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