Still No Time To Die
The pain from Bond's shot abdomen dissipates to almost nothing as he watches the missiles hurtle towards him. He doesn't care anymore. He's been fighting his whole life, and for what, to be alone yet again? Life without Madeleine and Mathilde is too unbearable a situation. Real pain it would seem, doesn't come from wounds, but from feelings… feelings he'd cut off years ago to survive. It's all too cruel that to live, you have to hurt. Let the bombs finish this shitty existence.
Several missiles hit their targets nearby, the heat of the blast warming his face, before he sees one heading straight for him. He stands taller, straighter, ready to meet death, but on his terms, showing strength and dignity for one, last, time. A slight fizz hits the air around him as flames engulf his surroundings, wrapping and swirling, but never touching his body. The heat and energy of the blast however, knocks him back.
Darkness is his savior.
Is this really the time to die?
All of Bond's past foes flood his dying mind. Dr No, La Chiffre, Scaramanga, Goldfinger, and of course, Blofeld are all laughing at him. Even his old friend, 006, Alec Trevelyan, once came back from the dead to try and kill him, and now stands by their side.
Beeping interrupts these images however, sounding like a bomb about to go off, but then there is something that Bond recognises, almost reassuringly, like an old friend that has saved him in the past.
His eyes flicker as out of focus beings, hover around his outstretched horizontal body. He knows this place. He's been here before, when shot on several missions. He's in hospital.
He's alive!
Bond flickers in and out of consciousness for the next few weeks. In the few moments of clarity that he has, he remembers conversations, telling him he is lucky to be here, that he was too precious to be left behind. His bitter heart snarls at the thought of being a valuable asset to queen and country. How long has he been fed that patriotic bullshit?
Curtains are drawn open as if for the very first time, letting the sunshine burst through, setting off a mild flashback of the missiles exploding. Bond winces.
"Steady there James." A warm, reassuring hand grips his. Moneypenny, accompanied by Q and M, smiles at him with that pretty face of hers. He wonders for a second why he never dragged her to his bed, and knows the answer in an instant. He respects her too much, one of the few women he ever did, and she would have always been too smart to go down that path with him anyway.
"How"? Is all he can utter, still weak.
"How you're still alive?"
"Yes."
Q steps towards him. "With a new prototype force field I've been playing with. I just managed to fire it at you in time. Doesn't stop everything of course, but enough to protect you. Still needs a lot of work to be honest, as the radiation levels are quite high, but no more dangerous than all the smoking and drinking you used to do. I thought it was worth the risk."
Bond grips the side of the bed to try and push himself up a little higher. "I didn't ask you to help Q."
"You never were the thankful type Bond, but it was a good chance to try out my new toy."
M, looks over him like a concerned Victorian parent, strength and composure trying to hide any compassion. "Can you both wait outside for a moment, Bond and I need a little chat?"
Moneypenny and Q respond instantly. They know what he is going to say.
"No, I want them here."
M rolls his eyes. Even on his deathbed, Bond is proving to be difficult. "Very well. Listen Bond, I know you're angry at the world."
"Angry? I'm confused and bitter and broken M. All I've ever tried to do was try and save the world, and yet what do I get? Anyone I've ever loved has died, but that's okay, because I can leave them behind, but with Madaline and Mathilde, I'm always going to be reminded that I can't see them."
"For the moment Bond, but nothing is certain." Jumps in Q.
"It bloody seemed certain with the whole of Spectre dying. I didn't ask you to save me Q because I've had enough of fighting. I just want to… sleep."
"Q was doing his job, Bond. If you have a complaint, then aim it at me, I'm the one who messed this up with Project Heracles."
Bond looks his boss straight in the eye. "I do blame you sir, so can I please, respectfully ask you to fuck off and let me die?"
M, gives a little cynical laugh, "Man up Bond, and let me fill you in on the story. That woman that you are so hung-up about has been playing you all these years, just as your step-brother, or whatever he is, Blofeld did."
"What are you talking about?"
"Think about it. Madeleine Swann is a psychiatrist and a daughter of Spectre. She got into your head years ago, played on your orphan complex and found your most vulnerable spot. She was able to provide you with the family you never had. So now you've lost a woman, who frankly everyone can see you had no chemistry with, and a child you never knew existed 10 minutes ago, but that's enough for you to give up is it? She's planted all of that crap in your head."
"But Mathilde."
"Mathilde is not yours. We've since found out that the father was a Swiss banker, killed straight after her birth in a skiing accident, just like your parents. Tell me that's not too much of a coincidence?"
Bond feels like he has been shot in the heart once more. "But she looks like me."
M gives out an exasperated breath. "She has light blue eyes Bond, just like half a billion people on this planet. You were right in the first place. She did set you up in Italy, and when that failed, they wanted to hit you in the worst way possible. They wanted to destroy you from the inside out."
Moneypenny sees the horror in Bond's eyes. "I'm so sorry James."
Bond can hardly breathe. "Where are they now?"
M looks at his hands, embarrassed. "We don't know, but latest intel indicates that she may well be reconstructing Spectre, with her at the head of it."
"We must have some clue to where she is."
"002 and 008 are working on it."
"That's not enough sir."
"Then you better get a grip, recover quickly and find Madeleine Swann for yourself 007."
Bond gives out a long breath, pushes himself into a sitting position and pulls the saline drip out from his wrist.
"Reporting for duty Sir."
Bond will return
