Thoughts on a Shaken Martini
By NatalyasLament
DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything to do with this story, excluding the
dialogue and basic story line. All characters and persons are the work
of another author.
It had become somewhat of a running joke about MI6. You know, "Bond
always gets the girl."
And it's true, I have a habit of shagging almost every woman I cross
paths with.
Nobody really knows me. Valentin took great pleasure in ridiculing my
drinking preference, as did others, but they didn't know me.
The one person who came closest was Alec Trevelyan. His knowing smile
was the only weapon to take down my confident smirk, his soft gaze
alone could defeat my steeled jaw, and his gentle touches could
destroy my cocky quips.
I loved Alec. The playful banter, the secret kisses, and the witty
dialogue all spelled out a beautiful relationship. I remember the
Arkangel mission, our last mission together. The last memories I have
of Alec involve a kiss in a dark storeroom and a gunshot from a
Russian commandant named Ourumov. No matter the debriefings, the
counseling, the lectures from M, I will always know that his death was
my fault, and mine alone.
His last words never cease to echo in my head. Every time I see a
fellow agent fall, I hear Alec's last cry of 'For England, James!' It
has haunted me for all those seven long years.
The only person to find out about our romance was M (back then a
male). He was a good friend, and trustworthy--he carried our secret to
the grave.
All this brings me back to the running joke. Since Alec's death, I
have always 'gotten the girl'--just trying to fill the hole that Alec
left in my heart.
It never works. I always end up sneaking out after countless one-night
stands. Maybe I'm too young to think about death, maybe I'm too much
of an agent. Or maybe I'm just afraid to love someone that completely
again.
In my early days as a 00 agent, it didn't matter what my sexual
preference was, short of pedophilia. Once I became known, it was like
an image I had to uphold. Alec and I shared a good laugh over it
often, just before he would brush his lips across mine and slide his
hands up my back, stopping to rub my shoulder blades...
But that is another story.
It was with great hesitance that I accepted the Janus mission from the
new, woman M. Of course I never let on that there was any resistance.
It just wasn't done.
I got the usual speech from Q about 'make sure to bring it back in one
piece', blah blah blah. And then I was off. It was a normal mission
right up until I met Valentin at his headquarters. He promised to
arrange a meeting with Janus, at least, that is what I heard over the
awful strains of 'Stand By Your Man' sung by his best--and most
expensive--prostitute.
I went in to the Statue Park as I usually do--with no expectations. It
had cost MI6 a fortune to arrange this meeting, and I didn't want to
waste it.
Janus stepped out, shadowed by a blinding light. And then my fragile
world collapsed.
"Hello, James." A voice spoke, and with it came a wave of guilt, pain,
loss, and longing.
The rest of the evening went in a blur. I was at a loss until
regaining consciousness with a rather unattractive Russian woman
swearing at me while I was chained to the pilot's seat of a doomed
helicopter. Using my MI6 skills (don't leave home without them) I got
us out, and proceeded to be arrested by Defence Minister Mishkin.
Not one of my best days.
It was always little things that made Alec who he was. He would never
have forced himself on anybody sexually, never in his life.
It was with surprise as I found out he had made several passes at the
Russian girl, Natalya. It was totally uncharacteristic of kind, sweet
Trevelyan to try anything on anybody.
It was another sign of how much he had changed, a fact I was
constantly reminded of by the scars on his face from the gas explosion
so long ago. His face was marred. The soft skin that I would shower
with kisses was now rough and twisted.
Alec was always the master of irony.
He even had the nerve to bring up those 'six minutes', or so he called
them, as he left me and the girl to die alone in his armored train.
Another point of how much of a monster he had become.
His eyes were still the same as always. Those piercing ice-blue eyes
could crack you open and see your innermost thoughts. How many times
had I fallen under the spell of those eyes as we lay together, bodies
twined into one, joined in every possible way...
Betrayal is the worst form of evil. Betrayal brings about horrendous
consequences. I think Alec finally realized it as it was too late, as
he was hanging off the edge of his masterpiece, looking mournfully
into my eyes.
For a moment, I considered bringing him up, sparing his life from certain end.
Then he said those three little words.
It was so faint, so innocent, that my heart fell to my stomach.
"...For England...James...?"
I couldn't take any more of the torment. I ended it there. "No. For me."
It still burns in me, the way the martinis used to, back when I
started. Back when life made sense. Back when all I needed to do was
take Alec into my arms and everything would be meaningful again.
Rumour has it that I'll be heading to a mission in North Korea soon,
the DMZ. Before I go, I'm responsible for cleaning all the leftover
paper trails and memoirs from Alec's apartment. Ironically, perhaps to
increase the betrayal, he listed me as next-of-kin in his will. MI6
never activated it, in hopes that he might return, and God knows he
did. But now that we have a body--Christ, this is Alec I'm talking
about, my Alec--we can be sure he really has died.
I'm doing a lot more work around the office lately, to catch up after
the Goldeneye incident. As such, I've gotten to know some of the
up-and-coming agents better than usual.
Two caught my attention specifically. One is a suave gentleman from
Scotland, and the other seems to be of Cossack descent. The boys are
close, very close. Half of me is smiling and remembering while the
other half is telling me that I should warn them before it's too late,
before one is dead and the other can't handle his life. Before one
tries to take over the world and the other tries to drown his sorrows
in women and martinis.