Thank you for the favorites, follows, and the reviews. I was not expecting so many, so thank you. I also plan on posting this story on Archive of Our Own. This site is being held up by bandaids. I don't get alerts anymore for the stories I'm reading or even my own stories. I hope the rest of you are having better luck than me.

Guest: I agree, we need more 00Swann stories. I have one more in you are interested. Click on my profile, it's called Secrets and Gifts.

Chapter One

Resemblance

A few weeks later...

Jamaica

Under a shaded palm tree, Gareth Mallory lowers his binoculars as he watches his objective from a distance.

A blonde haired man kicks back on his boat along the coastline. He is bathed in sunshine, clearly working on his tan. He is less than a mile, maybe half a mile away.

To starboard is the lush green Jamaican coast. Along the small beach there are a few dozen people. One group is playing volleyball around a threadbare net. One man is picking up trash. A few young couples are sunbathing. While families with young children run along the beach in the distance. They are collecting sea shells, playing in the ocean, and building sandcastles.

Mallory turns and his binoculars refocus in on the boat.

Looks like the man on the boat is returning home.

Mallory is thankful. He feels ridiculous in this green Jamaican shirt and blue shorts. It is not the typical way one meets a double-o or even the former. However, a suit and tie would have killed him in this heat. Also he had wanted to blend in. Though with his pasty legs, he imagines he looks rather conspicuous.

Also Mallory hates the thought of wasting his whole day here. This is not official business of SIS. He is technically using paid time off. He is hoping to enjoy his brief holiday and explore before his flight home tomorrow. Mallory might even convince him to catch a flight back home with him. Though he had no idea how this would all play out.

Looking down at his bag, Mallory decides to put his gear away. He puffs on his cigar a few more times. He hates to waste it. He promised his wife he would stop. Which he had to an extent. Mallory only smoked when he was out of the country.

He looks back at the ocean and the approaching small vessel. Nor did Mallory know if he would like him smoking inside his house.

The man on the boat soon arrives at the private dock behind his breathtaking water-side house. After securing the boat, the man grabs the pair of fish. They dangle in one hand, a speargun in the other. A small bag over his shoulder. He looks visibly relaxed. He climbs out of the boat and onto the deck, walking at a casual pace.

This is a side of him Mallory has never seen before.

The man reaches his porch. He stops, he is suddenly alert. He looks around. He knows he is not alone. He slowly places the fish and spear gun on the deck.

Several steps away, Mallory slowly approaches from the side. He exhales as he moves the cigar between his fingers. He is about to call out to him when James Bond whips his Walther PPK out of his waistband.

"Whoa," Mallory curses as his hands shot into the air. He drops his cigar in the commotion. He has no intention of getting shot again. As the Head of the British Secret Service, that would be embarrassing. Not to mention his wife would be furious.

Bond stares in disbelief, "Mallory?"

The two stunned men lock eyes.

Mallory curses for the lost cigar Then once more for being startled.

Bond lowers his weapon as he looks up at him in bewilderment.

Mallory lowers his hands, "Do not tell my wife." Otherwise Mallory would stay right here in Jamaica. He does not know whether she would be more upset for him smoking or nearly getting shot again.

After inviting him in, Bond goes to put his fish and spear gun away. "Care for a drink?" He calls from what must be the kitchen.

"Yes, thank you," Mallory answers back as he looks around and takes a seat. There are still a few packed and unpacked boxes. So Bond must have just moved in. He scans over the titles of the nearest stack on books.

A moment later, Bond brings out two glasses and a bottle of scotch. "So? What brings you out here?" He asks, sitting down in the adjacent chair. "Working on your tan?"

Mallory eyes him, "I was in America for a conference," he gave a small sigh. "It was rather long and dull," he mumbles. Nor did he believe they had truly accomplished anything, but that was not important right now. He would have to discuss everything with the Prime Minister and Tanner when he returned to the United Kingdom. "The plane took a bit of a detour."

About 1,500 miles.

"A detour?" Bond says with a hint of mockery in his voice. He knows Mallory is lying. He pops the bottle of scotch open.

"You know, bad weather," Mallory smiles and shrugs at the pitiful excuse. He wishes he had come up with a better cover story. Truthfully, he had not given it much thought. Those had never been his strong suit when he had worked in the field. Also, Mallory wants Bond to see he is leaving something out. He wants Bond to trust him. Then he hesitates. Where does he begin? Mallory is not ready to tell Bond the real reason he is here. He would get to that in a little while. Maybe they would share a drink or two. Then Mallory figures he would ease his way there. Nor does he know how the former double-o will react.

"Hm, must have been quite the storm." Bond says aloud as he pours them both a drink.

"Slightly," Mallory replies and thanks him for the scotch. "You seem like you're doing well," He changes the subject and starts with the small talk. It would help put them both at ease. "For a dead man," He adds.

Bond raises a brow, but did not seem surprised.

"We have not heard from you in nearly two years," Mallory replies neutrally. It was rather concerning. Especially after the SPECTRE ambush in Italy. "We thought you might be dead."

Laying low and licking his wounds makes more sense.

Bond remains silent.

"So, how are you?" Mallory is not sure what else to say or ask. They had worked together. Mallory knew they had some things in common from reading Bond's file. However, they did not really know each other.

Bond takes a drink of his scotch, "Enjoying death." He tells him about the fish had recently caught on his new yacht, the Happenstance.

Mallory smiles as he looks in that direction. "I saw it, looks amazing. Spirit 44?" He meant the model number.

"45," Bond answers.

Mallory nods, "Mind if I take look later?"

"Of course," Bond gives a brief, almost smile. Maybe after they finished with their drink. Bond seems almost a bit uncomfortable. Maybe he just was not used to having such a casual conversation with his former supervisor. "How about you?" Bond asks casually.

"Can't complain either," Mallory replies after taking another sip.

They kept the conversation casual and light. Between sips, they briefly discuss sailing, fishing, the Royal Navy, and even the weather. Mallory can sense Bond is trying to figure out why he is here. Maybe he is waiting to hear what Mallory will say.

Then Mallory tells Bond about his brother's new yacht. He could not recall the exact model. "He calls it the Lady. She is a small ship, extremely well-built though." She had endured a storm off the English coast. "I'm hoping he'll lend her to me in a few weeks."

Mallory stops for a moment. He realizes this is the longest and most intimate conversation the pair of them had ever shared. He would not say they were particularly close. It was more of a working relationship. Besides, discussing personal lives is forbidden at SIS. It keeps distractions at bay and loved ones safe.

Mallory also sometimes feels Bond had never fully accepted him as his supervisor, M. He suspects the former double-o's feelings on the matter has not changed. He also wonders if Bond feels guilt over his predecessor's death. If this is the case, Mallory does not find fault with the notion. This is something Mallory understands all too well after he and his supervisor fell into the hands of the IRA.

"Why are you really here?" Bond finally asks. He seems a little on edge and impatient. Maybe he is worried he is about to be asked to return to SIS.

Mallory sips his glass, the scotch is very good and rather spicy. He always preferred it that way. He pauses and puts his glass down, he does not want to drink too much. "Told you, I took a detour." He gives him a friendly smile. "Don't worry, I am not here to persuade you back to SIS." He could be here for weeks and he doubts Bond would change his mind. After seeing the lush country, he does not blame him. "Besides, I want to see my wife soon." He never slept well alone. He's hoping to to take her out for their upcoming anniversary. Mallory finds his opening and decides to go for it, "Don't you?"

Bond's mouth opens and his eyes widen. As if he could not believe what he just heard.

Mallory decides it is too late to turn back now. "I'm surprised you have not asked about her," He says cautiously behind his glass. Of course, he supposes he should not be surprised given Bond's reputation.

Bond seems almost confused, but quickly dawns on him who Mallory means.

Dr. Madeleine Swann.

His wife.

Though Mallory imagines Bond has tried to forget that detail.

After all, Swann had allegedly betrayed him to SPECTRE about two years ago. Perhaps they had dissolved the marriage, but not to Mallory's knowledge. As far as he knows, Swann had no contact with Bond since he left her in Matera.

As Mallory studies Bond, he could see a chink in the former double-O's armor. The one he wore to hide the past and all its pain.

Mallory momentarily closes his eyes. His mind flickers back to the longest three months of his life. The screams and the smell of iron. The blood castoff on the walls. It is something Mallory understands all too well.

Bond quickly masks his emotions. "Why?" He clears his throat. "What did you find?" He seems both curious and bitter.

"Nothing," Mallory says calmly and simply. He hopes that answer would satisfy Bond. That he might be happy to hear about Swann.

Bond stares at him in disbelief.

Mallory put his glass down. He puts his hands together. "We took your information seriously, but that was two years ago." He explains with a small shrug, "Nothing came up." He hopes that would be enough to convince Bond.

Bond frowns through his stiff body language.

Mallory's answers had clearly not satisfied Bond's beliefs.

Bond finally speaks, "Well, she's very smart and very good at hiding things."

Mallory holds back a smirk. "She is a useful asset."

Bond eyes him. "What do you mean?"

Mallory figures he will find out eventually. He may contact Q or Moneypenny later. "She is the only psychiatrist he agreed to speak to."

Bond's blue eyes narrow, he knows exactly who he means.

Ernst Stavro Blofeld, the former head of the mysterious terrorist organization, SPECTRE.

Bond stares at him in disbelief. "How convenient," He icily remarks.

Mallory is not an idiot. Even though they found nothing, he had still taken a risk. He remembers reading the report on his predecessor's bodyguard, Mitchell and other trusted allies that had turned out to be snakes.

Madeleine Swann is the daughter of the late Mr. White, a top-ranking member of SPECTRE. It would not be a stretch to wonder about her loyalties.

"I had to exercise my judgment," Mallory says.

"Your judgment?" Bond says in disbelief. Almost as if he is holding back laughter.

Mallory frowns, he considers a retort, but he decides to let it go. He decides to finally get to the reason he is here. Otherwise, he might miss his opportunity and start an argument. Mallory pauses and tries a new tactic. "You are right." That is what Bond wants to hear. That is what all double-O's long to hear. He has learned this over the last few years. Even Mallory remembers that feeling back when he was in the field. How the supervisor did not understand. How the field agent knew best.

The new approach shocks Bond, "What?" He clearly did not expect to hear this, but seems to be holding back a smirk.

"She is hiding something, but it is not what you think." Mallory pauses and touches his temple. "She... Well, that is..." He has gone over this part a few times in his head. It all sounded so much better in his head than saying it aloud.

A confused and irritated Bond shakes his head. "What is it? Why are you really here?" His eyes meet Mallory's eyes.

Perhaps Bond think this is all a game. He is clearly wondering why he is telling him all this. He is no longer an SIS agent. He plainly still believes Dr. Swann had betrayed him.

Mallory decides it is best to get to the point. He is already treading dangerous water.

"Look, I know it is none of my business," Mallory begins gently.

"You're right, it's not," Bond says in a quiet, bitter tone. "I don't work for you anymore." He pours himself another glass.

Mallory holds up a hand. He had not come here to fight. "I just thought you should know," He began and lowers his eyes. "If it were my...I would want to know," Mallory says as he looks up, meeting his eyes.

"Know what?" Bond sips his glass.

Mallory struggles for words. "Here," He pulls out his cell phone. "There is... there is something you need to see." He asks Bond for his mobile number. He had dumped his old phone outside of Matera two years ago.

Bond looks at him suspiciously, but reluctantly gives him the number.

Mallory navigates to a secure network, he clicks on three photos from the photo gallery. He pauses, he hopes he is doing the right thing, then he clicks 'Send'.

Mallory does not know how Dr. Swann would feel about him doing this. Revealing her little secret. He doubts she would like it. Maybe she would curse him. Maybe she would surely feel betrayed. He hopes he has not just cost MI6 and his country a valuable asset. The Prime Minister would be livid. It would be very difficult, near impossible to find another psychiatrist Blofeld would speak to. Mallory did not know. Maybe she would one day thank him. Maybe both Bond and Swann would.

Bond raises a brow but patiently waits. A moment later, his phone pings. He looks at Mallory suspiciously as he pulls his cell out of his pocket.

The first picture is of Dr. Madeleine Swann smiling as she holds a bundle. Mallory believes the child was a few month's old in this photo.

The second features her and the same baby on a swing in the park. The child is several months older here. Probably six to eight months.

The third and final picture is Swann kissing the baby. The sunlight in this picture really highlights the child's bright blue eyes. Mallory believes it is the most recent. It was taken a few weeks ago. From a distance, he has a few operatives keep an eye on Swann, but not to her knowledge.

Bond opens his lips and tries to speak, but he says nothing.

"The resemblance," Mallory points out, "The blue eyes." He nearly curses himself for stating the obvious. He has no idea why he said that. Maybe he does not like the silence. Who knew his weekly meetings with the Prime Minister would be easier than this.

Bond was not born last night. Obviously he would see where he is going with this. Mallory hopes he is doing the right thing. He has no idea how Bond is going to react. He could only imagine the shock he must feel.

Bond slowly finds his voice. "W—what are you saying?" He looks up from his phone. "What has she told you?"

Mallory does not like the look in Bond's eyes. "Nothing," He says gently. "We have never discussed the child at length." They did not need to. Between the child's age and the eyes, he never needed to ask.

"We...well, we pretend I don't know." Mallory believes Dr. Swann prefers it that way.

Mallory wants Dr. Swann wants her to trust him. Looking back, he supposed that was why he never pressed the matter too much. He had also taken liberties to ensure the child's safety and wellbeing. There is no mention of the child in any SIS network or file. He had helped Dr. Swann find a trustworthy childcare worker who was a former SIS operative. Those were the conditions Dr. Swann had for becoming Ernst Stavro Blofeld's psychiatrist.

"Yeah, you don't," Bond says coldly. He throws his phone down on the table with a hard thud.

"Bond," Mallory fears he is going to say and do something he will someday regret. Bond had already missed the first year of the child's life.

"Whatever you are insinuating, you are mistaken," Bond growls.

"Bond," Mallory frowns. He wants to say, "She is your daughter." It is on the tip of his tongue, but decides against it. He does not want to further agitate him. "Are you certain?" he asks gently.

"She is not mine," Bond immensely insists.

Mallory holds up his hand, "All right, my apologies."

Bond stares at his empty glass. "I think you should go." He replies as he pours himself another drink.

Mallory frowns and presses his lips together. Maybe he had approached this entirely wrong. He tries to think of a new tactic. Something to say, "James..."

Bond stormily glares at him. He does not need to speak.

"All right, my apologies." Mallory nods and lowers his head. There is nothing more he can do or say. "Good to see you." He lets himself outside.

Later that evening...

Glazed in darkness and sweat, James Bond is at the local bar. He thought jogging might take his mind off the conversation with Mallory, but if anything, he feels angrier.

Bond runs his fingers over his hair.

Unbelievable.

Bond had never been Gareth Mallory's biggest fan, but he thought they had at least come to an understanding. Some kind of mutual respect. They had even shared a drink and a brief, nice conversation. Bond thought it had all gone well until he brought her up.

Bond shakes his head. He rubs his temple.

Mallory had hired her of all people to be Blofeld's psychiatrist. Of course it should be no surprise. From what Bond knew about Mallory, the man loves to play with fire. That was how he wound up in the IRA's hands.

Bond could not imagine M, the real M hiring Vesper after her treachery. Then again, he would put nothing past the small cunning woman.

"Take the bloody shot."

Bond winces as he sips his glass. He could nearly feel the shrapnel penetrating his chest. There were times when it rained or he moved a certain way, pain stabbed through his chest and body.

Then to top it all off, Mallory implied he had fathered a child with her.

Bond scoffs. That is a new one. He is still wrapping his head around that one. Bond had figured Mallory would pull something to make him come back to SIS. Still, he cannot believe Mallory would really—Bond hears someone say something. He looks up to see the bar man staring at him.

The bar man studies him, "You look 'appy," said the thin ebony skinned bar man in his strange accent. There is a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Bond believes he is the owner of the bar. He has never known the man's name. Nor has he ever been able to figure out the man's accent. He thought about asking, but has turned into a guessing game. Bond has come to the conclusion the man moved a lot as a child. Maybe he even grew up in a mixed household. Each parent possessing a different nationality and accent.

"Hm," Bond takes another drink. "Long day."

"Man come 'ere earli'r t'day," The bar man sounds concerned. "Lookin' for you," he said as he dries off a pitcher.

"Yeah, I know him." Though Bond almost wished he had not known his visitor. He wished it had been some enemy he could have shot, but then he would have to move. Then again, maybe he should consider it. If Mallory knew his location, would others?

The bar man looks curious, "Ol' friend?"

Friend?

There were few people Bond considered "friends". Felix Leiter, Q, Moneypenny, and Kincade are his friends. Despite their past differences, he even considers the true M his friend.

Bond may have considered Mallory a friend for a moment earlier today. Now he is the furthest thing from one.

"We worked together," Bond shrugs, finishes his glass, and slams it down for another.

The bar man raises a brow, "Somethin' happ'n?"

Bond does not want to get into it, "He told me something completely...mad."

The bar man makes a face, "'Bout work?"

Bond wishes.

The bar man guesses again, "A wom'n?"

Bond meets his eyes.

"Ah," The bar man gives an all knowing smile.

Bond wonders how often men came in here to drink away problems relating to women. Probably most of them. Hell, many of the world's problems started with women. Eve was the first to taste the fruit in the Garden of Eden. The Trojan War ignited over the abduction of Helen of Troy.

"The best rem'dy I can t'ink of is..." He tilts his head to the side at the newly arrived guests. Most of them were young, attractive women.

Bond smiles, he always knew he liked the bar man here.

Bond's blue eyes flicker as he stares across the bar. He makes eye contact with a pair of women.

They smile and whisper at each other.

Bond tries to smile back at them.

The bar man smiles, "Wanna buy 'em a dr'nk?"

Bond considers it as he tries to smile. He would love to. Especially the tall brunette, even the dark skinned woman with long, curly hair, or both.

Then Bond looks down at his clenched fist. "Later," he does not know if he is ready for company. He worries his dark mood may scare them off.

The bar man smiles, he sees Bond wants to be left alone. He leaves Bond the whole bottle before he goes to serve the new customers.

Bond smiles as he looks at the bottle of scotch. Then he pours himself another drink.

Denial is not just a river. Please let me know what you think.

I hope everyone likes it. A lot of human things. Mallory missing and worrying about his wife. Bond and Mallory having a conversation like this. I hope it seems real and in character.

I hope it seems realistic and not super stereotypical. I don't think it makes sense for Bond to believe Mallory and suddenly realize he was wrong and set up. Mallory's M is like the stepfather Craig's Bond never got along with. I could also see Bond feeling that Judi Dench's M is the real M and Mallory is just Mallory.

Trivia: Some of the dialogue is from the film, No Time to Die. I had a hard time naming this chapter. I believe victims can feel gunshot wounds years after the fact. The conversation with the bar man was a later addition.

Coming up: More Bond. We'll also see Madeleine and Mathilde.

Please leave a review. Thank you for reading.