It was a particularly chilly day for November.
The sun wasn't shining, and big grey clouds were taking up the sky.
This grim look didn't do justice to the otherwise beautiful city, but given the circumstances, it seemed rather fitting.
At least that's what James told himself as he made his way through the endless rows of mostly decrepit gravestones of Brompton Cemetery; the gentle rustling of the season's last fallen leaves being the only
sound accompanying his footsteps.
This late in the afternoon, the cemetery was rather empty; only a few isolated elders were standing at the occasional headstone, silently praying for a long-lost or recently departed loved one.
A strange, melancholic feeling took hold of him as he thought about the kind of loyalty that surpassed even life; the same kind of loyalty that was making him come back to her every single year on this
particular day.
Well, not exactly every single year. He had missed it last year because Mallory had sent him on a covert mission in Kabul; something about the disappearance of four British intelligence officers and a disc
containing sensitive information about present and potential future British-Afghan collaboration plans.
In the end, the mission had taken almost two weeks to be taken care of, and he had missed the date by only a few days.
He hadn't bothered to show up late then, preferring to bathe in regret instead. He knew what she would have said; was almost certain of what she would have to say.
Regret is unprofessional…
Maybe she would have been right, and in another life he might have even taken her word for it.
Regret could be very time-consuming, but everyone needed a hobby, and if he was being honest, he could bet he wasn't the only one being haunted by these kinds of regrets and old ghosts.
A few metres from where she was waiting for him, he noticed someone already standing at her grave. The person had their back turned towards him so that all he could make out were a long black coat and
a pair of matching boots.
The stranger's hair appeared to be of a deep brown colour.
Moving carefully, so as not to alert the man to his presence, he inched closer and closer, his hand resting easily on his Walther.
When he was just within touching distance, the stranger let out a low chuckle, not bothering to turn around.
'What a pleasant surprise to see you again, James. To be completely honest, I wouldn't have pegged you as the sentimental type.'
For a moment, James thought he was hallucinating, because he clearly remembered throwing a knife into this particular someone's back and the consecutive sound that that someone's lifeless body had made
when it had hit the chapel's floor.
'Life really does cling to you, doesn't it?' he said for lack of a better reply, letting his hand fall back to his side and stepping up to the gravestone.
The other man only let out a bitter laugh, his eyes still transfixed on the inscription before them.
Olivia Mansfield
December 9th, 1934 – November 1st, 2012
If love can fade, then so can pain
He didn't know who had chosen this particular quotation, but somehow it seemed fitting, like an ultimate reassurance on her part that the future wouldn't be so daunting after all.
He looked back at the man standing at his side. His hair wasn't dyed blonde anymore like he had already observed before, and he wasn't wearing the blue contact lenses anymore either; his eyes holding
their natural bright brown colour instead.
He also looked a bit older now, which was to be expected, the lines on his face a little more pronounced than they were what felt like almost a lifetime ago.
James wondered what else might have changed since their last encounter in Scotland nearly six years ago.
'So, Tiago or Raoul?' he asked, watching the other's face closely.
'How about neither?' the other replied, a small melancholic smile grazing his lips. 'Both of those names don't really seem appropriate anymore, don't you think?'
'Well, I don't know about that,' said James, deciding to opt for a more light-hearted approach to this otherwise sufficiently gloomy afternoon. 'To me, you look more like a Tiago.'
That response elicited the first real laugh out of the other that didn't sound forced or tinged with bitterness.
'I'm glad one of us can tell", Tiago said.
James didn't really know what to say after that. He hadn't seen this man in six years; what could they possibly talk about?
In the end, he decided to let his natural, inborn curiosity lead the way.
'So tell me, how exactly did you get out of the chapel? No, better yet, how are you even alive?' he said, his words barely concealing his incredulity.
'Mm, I don't know. Are you really sure I'm not just another ghost, another hallucination from a barely remembered past, coming back to haunt you?' Tiago said, giving James an amused look.
James studied his face carefully.
'Yes, I'm sure.'
That response elicited Tiago's own curiosity.
'Oh, James, please do tell. Don't you deem me important enough to torment you, after all?' Tiago said, letting one of his hands hover above his heart in mock hurt. 'You vex me, James.'
'Don't worry' James responded. 'You haunt me enough as it is, but I'm afraid I haven't reached the point of full-fledged hallucinations just yet. Besides,' he added, poking a finger at Tiago, 'you aren't
immaterial.'
'Ouch', Tiago exclaimed, playfully batting James' finger away, 'How hurtful.'
'You deserved that,' James said. 'Now that we have established that you are, in fact, not a ghost, let's get back to the question: How did you manage to get out of there alive?'
'Let's just say that we rats are surprisingly good at surviving," Tiago said.
'To the point of surviving a hunting knife to the back? Which, by the way, should have cut your spine in two or at the very least punctured a lung," James said with a certain amount of amused scepticism.
'Occasionally. You'd be amazed at how resilient we are," he said.
'But I do admit that the knife was quite an inconvenience. Sometimes I can still feel the blade grating against my spine, like a phantom pain," Tiago said, shuddering dramatically at the mental image the
description evoked.
'As for the exact way in which I managed to get out of that particular situation, I'm afraid you'll just have to live with the bliss of ignorance, as I would be incriminating some remaining few, very old and very
dear friends of mine who were so kind as to assist me in my escape and consecutive, practically miraculous recovery.
Or so I've been told,' Tiago finished.
Friends.
James had to stifle a bitter chuckle at that word. It had been a pretty long time since he'd had any of those; any real ones, that is.
The last one of them now peacefully rested just six feet below at his feet, oblivious to the world around her and its many deviations.
There would be no more suffering for her. At least not in this life. He wished he could say the same about himself. About the both of them, actually.
He took a pensive look around them. The cemetery was still mostly empty.
'Friends,' he said. 'You still have those?'
'You don't?' Tiago gave him a once-over look before he probably thought better of it than to push for an answer.
He wasn't even quite sure if James knew the answer to that. Maybe he was more the type to keep count of his bullets rather than his friends.
Everybody needs a hobby.
'Six years,' James suddenly said, ignoring Tiago's previous remark. 'I can't believe it's been almost six years since she's gone.'
Tiago felt a pang of his own sadness invade him at the realization. Despite what he had told himself and anyone who would listen all those years ago, he hadn't actually wanted her dead.
It was more the want of erasing the betrayal of what she had or rather hadn't done, than the want of truly killing her that had pushed him to the measures he ultimately took.
But being here now and staring down at her grave didn't give him the satisfaction he had hoped for. Rather, the opposite was true.
A sort of deep-seated sensation of twisted regret had taken a hold of him, and frankly, it all seemed a bit anticlimactic.
Regret is unprofessional…
If only she could hear him now. He was almost certain she would have found it quite laughable, the irony not lost on her.
'Time doesn't make it any easier. Sometimes I wonder if it doesn't make it worse,' Tiago said after a while, rereading the inscription on the gravestone for what seemed like the umpteenth time.
If love can fade, then so can pain
Maybe that was true. Maybe one day the pain would fade. But not the scars; never the scars.
Sometimes they were all that remained in the end.
'Do you ever think about how things might have been different if they hadn't played out the way they did?' James said, turning his face to look at him.
Tiago was looking straight ahead into the distance, not focusing on anything in particular.
It didn't take him very long to come up with an answer to that.
'It's easy to get sucked into the if-only game, James, and playing it is a short and slippery slide into despair.'
The answer sounded rehearsed, even to his own ears. He had told himself that many times before, maybe in an attempt to convince himself if he only repeated it enough times.
James seemed to have thought the same thing because he didn't let up.
'But do you?' James insisted.
Tiago's gaze fell back onto the headstone.
'Sometimes,' was all he said.
Dusk was approaching them now at a steady pace, and it wouldn't be long until darkness enveloped the decaying graves.
James figured that they should probably take the conversation elsewhere if it was to be continued.
Alas, he didn't know any good bars in West-Brompton, and he doubted that inviting this particular ex-00 agent and former wanted terrorist to his flat would be a good idea, no matter how much he might
appear to have changed.
Some things just stayed the same.
'So, are you currently staying in London or just passing through?' James said.
Tiago smiled at him.
'Why, James? Afraid I might be here on business? Well, let me assure you then that, to my deepest chagrin, the demise of MI6 has lost its appeal to me as of lately,' Tiago said.
'Good to know,' James said. 'But I actually asked because it's getting rather dark out here.'
At James' remark Tiago amusedly looked around them.
'Are you afraid of ghosts after all, James? Or is it the ghost of someone in particular you don't wish to see?' Tiago said.
'Neither, I just don't want to freeze to bloody death, is all,' James said, crossing his arms.
'Very well,' Tiago laughed at the other's antics. 'I'm currently staying at The Savoy Hotel, so if you would care to join me for a drink, this lovely conversation could be continued.'
The Savoy wasn't that far from his own place, actually, James mused.
'Fine, after you,' said James, holding out one arm to let the other walk by first, which he did.
Tiago started to walk towards the exit, but James hadn't caught up to him yet.
He waited a moment for Tiago to be out of hearing distance before he turned back to M's grave one last time.
'Goodbye M. See you next year.'
He gave a terse nod to the headstone, turned around and followed Tiago out of Brompton Cemetery and into the busy London afternoon traffic.