CHAPTER 2

When the plane touched the ground at Heathrow Airport it was well into the night and James Bond was well and truly drunk. He had spent the hours on board indulging on the Scotch that was so readily provided to the paying guest. The storm in his mind had not clamed in the slightest but it was dulled by the alcohol-induced haze that settled over his whole being and allowed his tortured mind to get through the flight and most importantly the closeness to other people it involved.

Bond stumbled out of the airport and was greeted by a cold drizzle and foggy London air. Home. Normally being on home ground provided some kind of stress relief for him but not this time. Every movement his eyes caught, every person walking by, every car – it all held a possible threat for him and made him want to attack. His fists were shaking from the effort of keeping still and acting as if he was not completely broken inside. A car honked and his whole body flinched. He guessed it was a lucky coincidence he was not carrying a gun on himself at the moment or he might have accidentally shot someone.

Bond made his way through the nightly London until he reached a comfortable large house in Kensington. He had questions that needed to be asked and they could not wait until daylight if he wanted to catch at least a whim of sleep. He approached the house form the back, climbed the wall into the garden and stumbled towards the back door, avoiding all security measures with practice but less graceful than usual. Getting inside took him maybe a couple more minutes and being inebriated like he was it was not the silent and smooth entering he was infamous for. The racket he made could be heard down the hall but his drunken mind did not register that.

She was still awake. She had known he would probably show up – he had a knack for doing that, disregarding any given order, any privacy she might have and being awfully disrespectful in not even accepting the boundaries of her own home. Or maybe it was a show off power for him – to prove he was indeed the best, being able to even enter the fortress that was her home and outwit her security personnel – who she really should have checked if they did not even manage to catch a drunk. Fools.

She was watching from the settee in the corner of the room as he entered her living room and stumbled straight towards the liquor cabinet. With the smell coming off him and his unsteady steps he had had more than enough but still he helped himself to a generous glass of her exquisite Scotch.

"Had a fun flight 007?" She asked and with a start he turned around, letting the bottle fall to the floor and shatter loudly into a million shards of glass. "Oh it was lovely, service on board is great. You should try it sometimes, it helps you loosen up." He said suggestively, downplaying the fact she had obviously scared him. His stance was rigid, ready to attack and his eyes darted around the darkness like a caged beast.

Before M could say much more and once again lecture her agent on the disrespectfulness of breaking and entering in her flat, a shadow moved from the stairs into the living room. Bond moved like lightning considering he could hardly stand up straight. His reflexes must have kicked in and he grabbed her poor unsuspecting husband and twisted his arm behind his back, bringing him to his knees. "Darling?" Nigel wheezed frightened as she stood up to keep Bond from dislocating her husband's shoulder. "Bond. Let him go. Bond!" she commanded in a stern voice but he did not react. His eyes were fixed on Nigel as if he was a threat to him, ready to break his neck. "James!" she tried again, using his first name and finally getting him out of his daze. He looked up and for a moment she caught a glimpse of pure agony and traumatising fear in these blue eyes before his walls slammed into place again. "This is my husband. Let him go." She repeated her order and Bond took his hands away and backed against a wall while Nigel collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"What is this about?!" he asked and he quickly scrambled to his feet and turned in the middle of the room, trying to face Bond but look at her at the same time. "Nigel, please calm down. He works for me." She said calmly while shooting daggers at Bond. "Works for you?!" her husband exclaimed. "He reeks like a liquor facility that one. And he attacked me – in my own home!" his voice took on a high pitch that she found extremely unappealing. "I'll talk to him. Please Nigel, go back to bed. It is alright. I am not in any danger." M said softly though a little voice inside her head asked if she was sure of that. Bond had never acted so erratic and out of turn before. He was disrespectful but he went to great lengths to make sure he was never seen in her flat by anyone else and he never outright attacked without very good reason. "Darling…?" Nigel voiced, trying to wrap his head around what his wife actually did if she kept the company of such dangerous men. An high-up office job in the foreign secretary seemed a little strange to him now. "I am sure. James would not hurt me." She repeated, using her agent's first name again with the hope of it having a calming effect on him. Nigel retreated slowly back up the stairs while absentmindedly rubbing his sore arm. M's and Bond's eyes never left him until he was out of their sight and a door was shut upstairs.

"What has gotten into that thick head of yours?!" M exploded a second later. "Attacking my husband in my home, breaking in beforehand – again, I might add. Causing a ruckus that I will have a hard time explaining to Nigel. Tell me Bond, do you like causing me problems wherever you go? Is this a hobby of yours?" He just stared blankly at her until she stopped, silently fuming. He had overreacted and badly misjudged. He had acted without thinking about it, his instincts taking over and his fear. Inside he was still trembling with nerves. The alcohol had taken the edge of his agony and calmed him somewhat but it kept getting harder and harder keeping the memories at bay.

M noticed that her tirade did go completely unnoticed by Bond who still stared into space like a deer caught in headlights. His fists were clenched at his side and he was trembling. She briefly closed her eyes. What had they done to him?

"Go home 007." She said slowly. "You are in no fit state to have this conversation." She told him but he did not move. "Is Silva dead?" his voice was hollow, devoid of any betraying emotion. M did not answer. "Is. Silva. Dead?" The question held a steely edge that made M look directly into her agent's eyes. "He… escaped." She admitted and watched her opposite for the tiniest reaction. It seemed like Bond's body stiffened and he moved further into the shadows. M shook her head. This was not the cocky double-00 she was used to. This was a frightened boy with a license to kill. She needed him to get his head back into the game. And first of all this meant getting him to stop drinking into a numb stupor. M purposefully moved past him into her kitchen and set the kettle to boil. She took two mugs out of a cupboard, milk and teabags and returned to the living room a couple of minutes later.

"Drink." M commanded as she pushed the mug into his hands. Bond took it and sniffed suspiciously. "It's just tea." She confirmed and he nodded. He moved back from her again, leaning into a corner, not touching the tea. She sighed lowly as she took a sip of the hot drink. Normally her handing him something as trivial as tea would have resulted in a flippant comment or innuendo, maybe him asking for something to spike the tea with. But nothing. He was like an empty shell.

"Drink." She said again and gestured towards the steaming mug. After moment she added. "This house is safe. Believe it or not, they still have not figured out who you manage to get in here every time." Bond stayed tense for a few minutes longer before he finally allowed himself to relax a little. His shoulders slumped and he slid down the wall, sitting on the thick carpet in the corner of her living room. He even took a small sip.

Bond felt weariness hit him like a wave once he allowed his body to relax the tiniest bit. Suddenly he wasn't able to stand on his feet any longer and slid down the wall until he sat on the carpet of M's living room in a pathetic, drunk heap. He stared into the tea she had brought him. So distinctively British, so comforting in its own way. After a while of sitting in the darkness his exhaustion finally got the better of him. His head was leaning against the wall and his eyes closed.

M watched Bond in silence while she nursed her tea as if it was a strong drink. He had finally given up battling his exhaustion and fallen asleep leaned against the wall. Deciding that waking him was not the best course of action, she simply took a woollen blanket from the settee and covered him with it. He flinched even at this small gesture but thankfully did not wake again. "Oh my boy, what did they do to you?" she whispered in the darkness before going back to her spot in the armchair to continue watching him.

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