A/N: Haven't updated this story in awhile. Major Spoilers for "No Time to Die" now out in theaters. Which as a Bond fan, I recommend you go see. This chapter will not be the last vignette, I have some other ideas formulating in the back of my head for future ones. Perhaps to be posted some day in the future.
The missiles struck the island. A world was saved. An agent was lost.
Halfway across the world, another agent was knee deep in undercover work. Attempting to stop a group of rogue investors from destabilizing the world's economy. At the moment they were at a fancy luncheon enjoying the food and chitchatting with the members of this group in an attempt to gain more intelligence to bring an end to their scheme.
-Flash-
A strange unbidden feeling washed over the agent from no discernable source thereby interrupting their conversation. Pausing a moment, despite having been engaging in conversation, the agent looked over to the open windows and stared out of them for several moments in silence.
When asked shortly thereafter if they were alright, the agent wrote it off as nothing. But internally a feeling of both sadness but also a sense of closure washed over them.
Time passed.
As M and his small group of colleagues mourned the loss of Britain's most celebrated agent-and their friend-he couldn't help but notice a conspicuous absence. Samantha Stone, Agent 008, was not amongst them. Not because they couldn't reach her or that she was on assignment (her latest had recently concluded), but that had purposefully declined their invitation. M reminded himself that he shouldn't feel offended at that, after all she had known Bond far longer than any of them had, and that hopefully she was mourning in her own way.
Distance passed.
In Matera, Italy at a police impound lot, the master foreman had a look of incredulousness on his face. Years prior, a silver Aston Martin DB5 had been impounded after causing devastation to one major city block, as well as passive damage when racing through the city streets pursued by armed thugs.
As a result of the carnage, the vehicle had been severally damaged and was riddled with bullet holes and gouges all over. The vehicle had been abandoned near the city train station and was subsequently towed to the police lot. But no investigation into the matter ever occurred. Rather it was written off as an international incident and the police were given instructions to never voluntarily remove the vehicle from their possession to be sent off to a junkyard and scrapped.
The expression on the foreman's face was not in regards to the vehicle's continued presence here-he had long since gotten over that-but that to his surprise someone had come to claim the vehicle. At 9:00 hours opening that morning a middle-aged woman with soft brown hair had come up to the desk and presented a copy of a written will that indicated the vehicle had been bequeathed to her upon the passing of its owner. She also had proper clearance from the government for the vehicle's release. What hadn't been anticipated was needing to pay the necessary Euros to cover the towing and storage fee. But after a moment's dismay the woman gave a light smile remarking that it was yet another thing the deceased owner now owed her. And so she paid the sizeable fee with no questions asked.
And so the foreman had walked her to the vehicle which was still in its damaged form. He had warned her that they had no ignition key but the mysterious new arrival had waved it off saying she had been given one by the owner years prior which she now produced. Looking at the car she took stock of it, damage and all. Upon inquiry into whether the woman wanted the name of a good body shop in town, she had waved that off also. As far as she was concerned, the vehicle was in vintage condition and she planned to make no alterations to it.
Twisting the key in the ignition the DB5 fired up first try. And then when being told that the vehicle may or may not be street worthy, the woman had simply slammed on the accelerator and peeled out of the lot. The sound of squealing tires and the roar of the engine drowning out any further words.
Looking down at the paperwork, the foreman had no idea whom the previous owner was, a man named James Bond; and even less so the new owner, Samantha Stone. But as he looked over at the now empty slip, he realized that in his own way he was going to miss the constant sight of the vehicle. Perhaps, he reasoned, like how the new owner may have felt regarding its previous one.
Moments passed.
The DB5 was parked at a point in the city with a beautiful view of the valley below. Its owner for her part stood leaning against the side of the vehicle looking out at the grounds deep in thought. A million feelings washed over her as she stood contemplating the passage of time and that for all the few constants in her life, one was now truly gone. What did that say about the world? What did it say about her? Samantha Stone had no answers.
But as much as she would like to have been completely lost in her thoughts, her training did not afford her that luxury. She was constantly honed in on the outside sounds of the world scanning them for any sign of danger.
But what she heard now was not a sound of danger but rather familiarity. Twisting her head, she noticed an Aston Martin V8 Vantage come to a stop nearby. Narrowing her eyes, curious, she saw a younger blonde woman that she slightly recognized emerge from the driver's side and then walk over to the passenger's side and open it. A figure emerged unseen but then once the two were beyond the front of the car, the Secret Agent was taken aback to see a young child had been the mysterious occupant. With the older of the two presumably her mother.
As the two were prepared to go into town, the mother noticed the damaged DB5 and stopped in her tracks. Its appearance as much a familiarity to her as well. Looking up she saw the secret agent and a small sense of relief came over her. With nothing to say to her, Stone tipped her head in acknowledgement and was prepared to return to her thoughts when her eyes met with those of the young girl.
Something about the eyes brought back an intense feeling of déjà vu for the agent. But as much as she wanted to connect the dots on who this young child reminded her of, her mind was seemingly refusing to make the connection.
Rather than dwell on it, Stone gave the other woman another brief smile and then resumed her contemplation by returning her attention to the city below. She was almost immediately thereafter broken out of her reverie as a tug was felt on her stockings and she looked down and saw the little girl standing right next to her. Her mother right beside her.
Stone regarded the two of them still in a state of foggy confusion but decided to squat down and more closely reflect on the child who had gotten her attention.
-Flash-
It was only then, upon looking deeply into the girl's eyes, that recognition set in on Samantha Stone on just whose eyes this child reminded her of. It hit her like a diamond bullet to the brain and Stone nearly spilled onto the stoned path before her training kicked in and she remained upright.
Looking at the mother, an unasked question came across Stone's face and the mother gave a slight nod of her head. Cautiously holding out her arms, Stone was relieved to see the girl accept the invitation and give her a hug. The MI6 agent enwrapped her arms around the girl and held her as closely and gently as she could as a thousand emotions washed over her.
After a few moments passed, MI6's secret agent 008 let go and stood up with a renewed purpose on her face. Time moved on it always did, but the legacy of the past would always continue to inform our future. And that was enough to keep going forward.
"Mathilde,"
"Stone, Sam Stone,"
Time enough at last.
A/N: My original plan for this was to involve more dialog and actually had Stone and the DB5 overlooking the Bond Estate in Scotland and later crossing paths with Madeleine and Mathilde. And possibly ending with a coda involving Stone first meeting Nomi but I think that part may be for a future chapter. I like the way it ultimately played out once written.