A/N: Thank you for all the recent follows, the love, and the reviews for Tessitura. You are all cherished and very much appreciated.

VIII

A Rabbit Box

Altaussee, Austria

"...Whyte?"

The agent's lips curved slightly at the sound of her name, her eye peeking into the scope of her sniper as she followed the figure of a middle-aged man who stood outside his winter lodge. It was one of many yet generously distant winter cabins across the spread of white, blessed with both peace and calming isolation by the Austrian winter. Because of the narrow timeframe she has been given with, she only had little time to scout her surroundings and observe her target. Rachel Whyte was not one to refuse a challenge, but having so little time to prepare for something a little more on the higher profile had its own headaches. It irked her, but these days, almost everything did.

"The one and only." she replied casually, but from what she was hearing on the earpiece, Q was having a harder time in the conversation. "It's a blocked call, yet you just knew. Have you missed me so much?"

She heard him clear his throat awkwardly, "...Where are you?"

"I don't know either." Whyte spoke thoughtfully, moving her eye away from the scope then returning to it once more. She positioned herself more firmly as she lay flat on the cold snow, her hand over the trigger as she held her breath to a steady, "But I do think I'm home."

With her finger hooked over the trigger, Whyte pulled and took her shot with the gun. The rifle cracked a small sound as the bullet swam across the thick of winter wind, diving its long form into the man's forehead. It pierced his skull as it passed, exiting into the other side of his head before hitting the wooden wall behind him. The man collapsed into his quiet death, toppling over the railings of his porch balcony falling face down; the snow stained red by his blood. Whyte watched it unfold through her scope, promising herself the complete assurance which is the perfection of her shot. She pulled on the bolt handle to discharge the spent cartridge shell, before taking a moment to look around her. The radius was a comfortable distance, but as lonely as this place seemed, Whyte knew she still had to make sure.

"Right, home..." Q agreed, but sounded more like he was assuring himself. She had a silencer on her rifle, but she only hoped his worries took his mind away from whatever sound was left. "Where else would you be..."

"It may not be obvious, but I am a homebody at heart." Whyte added to his thoughts, slipping off the white blanket she had draped over her as she slowly rose from her spot. She slung the sniper rifle on her back, and dusted the snow off her leather-lined jacket with a gloved hand. The winter wind stung where she stood, and being in such a state made her immediately miss the gloomy, wet, London breeze.

A mild buzz nudged at the agent's wrist, and she glared at her sleeve before she reluctantly rolled the thick layers back to see her watch screen come to life. A black square filled the tiny computer screen, as a simple message drew itself for her to read:

Time is up. I hope you have done our little favour in due time.

I expect you have found Mr. Hinx to be something of use.

Whyte rolled her eyes at the garbage Oberhauser took the time to write, knowing well that the man knew working alone was her ethic. Mr. Hinx was presented as a courtesy, but in reality, his presence was Oberhauser's form of insurance. That man will never trust her, and she couldn't blame him after everything that's happened. Q's voice droned on as she read the message again, saying lines that bordered between assuring himself and poor attempts of casual conversation. Whyte rolled her sleeve back and pulled over her fur-lined hood, deciding to ignore the message as she pulled out her MK 23 MOD 0 pistol from the inner pocket of her coat.

Q sighed from the other line, most likely realising her lack of attention. They were going in circles, and they were both aware of the fact, "The hell are you doing there, 009?"

"Photography. You know, shooting people." she replied, feigning ignorance to the connotation of his question, her free hand fishing for a cigarette tucked in the inner breast pocket of her coat. Winter wear was comfortable, but the layers can be nuisance.

"Photography... Photography..."

After several attempts of lighting the stick, Whyte threw the cigarette into the snow with heightened irritation. She cursed to herself, visibly frustrated as she stomped her boot over the patch of snow in which where she buried the cigarette. Q dragged on with his own spells over her ear, but the situation at hand made her very good at tuning him out of her current interest. She raised the MOD 0 to her eye level, examining it carefully before scowling at the obvious and excessive addition of a laser aiming module. Oberhauser was fooling around with her equipment, and despite this charade being played on his 'exclusive terms', Whyte will take her liberties.

"Is it so strange to have a hobby, Q?" she said after a moment, pinching the module with two fingers and slid it off the the gun. Whyte gave it one last look, sneering at the extent of how much of a Oberhauser wanted to frustrate her. They played a game, the two of them, but she knew he would be a little more petty.

Lifting the boot that buried the failed cigarette, she tossed the module at the same exact place but crushed it more firmly with the solid-toothed heel of her boot. When a satisfying crack was heard, Whyte lowered the gun but held it more firmly; her other hand tugging lightly at the strap at kept the sniper rifle latched onto her back. As she hiked further away from her shooting position, the long dark form that was the watchful figure of Mr. Hinx became more apparent. The black-clad, monolithic form of Mr. Hinx became larger as the distance narrowed. A few kilometres back in a well-established position, she could have shot this oaf dead if she wanted. She did not like him, not at all. But she had her loyalties with Oberhauser, and she was willing to hold off killing Mr. Hinx until she felt like she earned enough to misbehave. She slowed her pace relatively, aware of Q still being on the line, watching Mr. Hinx who looked far into the distance.

"Only if it's you."

There was something in the way he said it that made Whyte smile weakly, especially like a fool considering her situation. She began taking each of her steps with time and leisure, her grey gaze watchful of Mr. Hinx, "If you're flirting right now, then I must tell you that you're succeeding."

"I - What are you-" the quartermaster stopped himself as he cleared his throat, inevitably caught off guard by her words. She could almost imagine him tugging at his clothes nervously, something that seemed almost like a habit that happened because of her, "You are not being straightforward, 009. Will you stop avoiding my question? Are you... Perhaps... With someone?"

Her brows furrowed, curious, "Should I play the guessing game with you, or do you know something that I don't?"

"Well!" he reasoned, but his voice stammered and became breathy against her earpiece. Q was many things, but being an efficient liar was not one of them. Whyte knew she had caught onto something, "I was simply under assumption. You did say you were home, and you are being a little... Dodgy."

Just as when she was about to inquire who this 'someone' might be, Mr. Hinx's distant eyes turned to her direction, seemingly more than aware of how long she had been staring at him. He did not move much, but she knew she was now obligated to walk a few paces faster. Whyte pursed her lips, her eyes directing slightly to the side where the earpiece was attached. She readjusted the rifle strap again, holding it more firmly as she stomped along the thick snow with her boots. It was easy to tell that this was not the 'rabbit box' Oberhauser was referring to back at her living room, and knowing how he is with his words, it may be a little bit more figurative than she imagined.

"Come off it, Q. We both know I'm not in London." she whispered to him, lowering her voice as she brought a gloved hand up to the earpiece and ended the call before he could react. Mr. Hinx was a few steps away, still watchful. "Bugger."

When she reached him, they stood at a comfortable distance. He was a man of few words, choosing to speak more with his gun than his mouth. The behaviour irritated Whyte more than she thought, because with his role as a 'guardian' of sorts, he was not very useful in anything else than visibly threatening her. It was during these moments in the few hours that they are together that made her wish she had taken the chance of shooting him. She glared at him for a few moments to compete with his beady black gaze, before shrugging him off completely - choosing to walk past him and towards the path where Range Rover was parked. Any moment from now, Oberhauser will send her another patch of instructions, and she can only hope that this time it was the 'rabbit box'.

The agent was stopped with what seemed to be a black, solid, cylindrical object pushed firmly against her chest by one of Mr. Hinx's large arms. Whyte shot him another glare, but he only pushed it further to drag her into a backwards motion until she was in front of him, "Alright! Alright! What is it you want? What is this? We're not exactly running a relay here, are we?"

Mr. Hinx held up the cylinder to show her the entirety of the cylinder which was, now that she finally saw it, emitting a glowing blue light from a rectangular lengthwise slit marked in the middle. He began speaking in his deep gruff voice, "The client wishes to have a bioscan of the corpse. For proof."

Whyte eyed the cylinder, now revealed to be a portable 'bioscanner', spitefully, "What do you take me for? Only a fool would go back to the scene of crime unless it's part of the process, and as to my knowledge, I'm only here to have his head shot."

"The client wants a bioscan." Mr Hinx said more firmly, now with the intention to intimidate her. It may have worked once back in London, but they were of equal advantage now - and well armed.

She folded her arms, defiant, "Do it, then. Franz told me you are to be useful to me, yet all you have done is to stand there straighter than a tree - all piss and wind, really."

A growl escaped the burly man, wishing to attack her but restrained by his own orders. He lowered the bioscanner, but gripped it tightly. He threw her a venomous look, which lasted even after he finally turned away and grudgingly dug his thick, muscular legs through the snow as he made his way to the cabin. Whyte turned herself to watch him, arms still crossed but now with the triumphant smirk on her face. It was through the Oberhauser's orders that they have found this bitter civility, and as unpleasant as it was, it was definitely something bearable. But most of all, who was this certain client? How is he so pompous to even demand a bioscan of his own victim? It felt pretentious. A dead body is a dead body, and an assurance from her is worth more than anything. Yet, this client felt otherwise and it insulted her ego.

Whyte made her way on the path where they parked the Range Rover, which was a few kilometres away from the site. Although she has a dislike for him, Mr. Hinx was bearable compared to the Quantum agents who would aggressively trailed her way. They had their uses, but one bothersome brute was more bearable than a cluster of agents hiding in the dark. All this work and all this stalling with clients on the side was making her impatient, and all she wanted was to get a move onto the next and bigger prospect.

A half hour later she reached the Range Rover, sinister in black and dusted with speckles of snow falling from the dead trees that camouflaged it from ordinary sight. Whyte looked around, wary by nature, pulling on the handle of the door leading to the passenger seat before seating herself in the wait. The clever Mr. Hinx kept the keys to himself, but Whyte had no plans to escape him. She wished to shoot him dead, yes, but escaping was not part of the picture. She simply hated chaperones.

She pulled off her hood, revealing the chaos of bright wavy blonde hair popping against the dark leather lining. Her watch vibrated softly under the layers, indicating that someone was calling her. Whyte rolled her sleeve lightly, familiar with the numbers scribbled on the small screen, "Finally."

A gloved finger found the button on her earpiece.

"Are you ready?" Franz Oberhauser's voice chimed into her ear, rolling the words in his peculiar accent. There was a hint of impatience in his voice.

"I am in the wait until your little pet finishes the bioscan." Whyte responded promptly, leaning back on the premium seats as she placed the sniper rifle standing between her legs. She dragged her eyes across the landscape, unamused with the eery quiet, "Who is this client? I don't like him already. A bioscan! Really, now..."

"Now, now, my dear. You have been gone a long time, occupied with... Other interests." Oberhauser tried to assure her, but she only shrugged silently, "The client just wants the assurance that you are, eh, still as efficient as advertised."

"I don't like being mocked, Franz."

"You don't have to be, Rachel. The chopper will arrive in 2."

"Just what are you on about?"

Her question was answered in perfect timing, as a gunmetal black helicopter of intelligent design swooped down elegantly right before her eyes. She held tightly to her weapons by reflex, ducking down from her seat as she observed the aircraft carefully. It was no ordinary helicopter, but Spectre was no ordinary group. From first glance, Whyte thought it was army technology, but the exquisite aerodynamic curves and the fragmented fashion of the glass shield made her think otherwise. The helicopter was beautiful, it looked armoured and it was armoured, and - as she stared at it longer - its shiny build seemed to reflect against the snow and absorbing its image. A dynamic, mirror-like camouflage.

On the right of the aircraft, Mr. Hinx's large figure surfaced slowly from the inclining hike up to the surface. His eyes were fixed on the helicopter, understanding more of the situation than she did. But at this point, Whyte was no longer watching from within the Range Rover. Out of her own caution, and out of her intrinsic suspicion of Oberhauser's words, she took advantage of the arrival to slip out into one of her vantage points located within the proximity. Shortly after they parked the vehicle, she made notes in her head about possible vantage points. It was a rush estimate, and in a more delicate situation, she would have assessed these preparations further. Spectre gave her such little time, and so did the MI6. They simply do not understand what made her work better.

Peering through the scope of the rifle, she continued to watch the scene unfold with her trigger at the ready. A vertical, rectangular outline popped out of the smooth surface of the black helicopter and slid open slowly - producing two security personnel in black parkas whom arranged themselves to stand on each side of the opening. Their faces were blank and their gaze seemed empty, both armed with a full-autos. Followed by these assumed-goons was a tall man refined by his stature, and from the fitted silhouette of his dark-olive shearling peacoat, Whyte could tell that he was built to some degree. He stood there, still, looking up as if inhaling the winter with his brown hair brushing aggressively against his face; his two bodyguards unblinking.

"Where is she, Mr. Hinx?" he asked, still keeping his position, while his two bodyguards rotated to the burly man's direction at the same time. Her earpiece doubled as a long-range hearing device, which made her careful watching easier. Yet even so, she couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable with how synchronised his bodyguards were. It felt almost abnormal, mechanical.

Whyte moved her scope to Mr. Hinx, whose gaze directed itself at the open door of the Range Rover. He was not impressed and grumbled under his breath, and the man in the shearling peacoat understood as much. He nodded to himself, taking his eyes away from Mr. Hinx as he rolled up his sleeve to reveal his wrist. A few seconds pass, and Whyte felt her watch buzz softly. Reluctantly taking her eyes off of her scope, she rolled up her sleeve, revealing a message from a blocked number:

Don't you want to see the rabbit box?

The agent eyed into her scope again, and saw the man in the shearling peacoat looking around the open with a satisfied smile on his face. He reached inside his sleeves and revealed his pistol, throwing it metres away from his grasp before holding his hands up high; his brown hair blown across his face, "I'm ready when you are, Ms. Whyte."

Oberhauser will make another call if she took too long, and even if it stirred her the wrong way, she had to trust this obvious prick. There was no doubt that he was the client, and she did not like meeting clients. Time, however, is fickle. Quickly, and in chained reaction, Whyte took aim and cleanly shot his two bodyguards that stood behind him before rising slowly from her position. Mr. Hinx raised his firearm at the ready, but the man in the shearling peacoat raised his gloved hand as he started laughing hysterically, maniacally. He took amusement in the death of his men, now shivering back and forth against the helicopter. When he turned once again into the open, Rachel Whyte stood by the front of the Range Rover, unwrapped from her hood and her ski mask with the MOD 0 in her grasp. Like a ghost in the wind.

"Well, if it isn't the woman herself." the man in the peacoat proclaimed with some excitement, eyeing her up and down with invested interest. Mr. Hinx grumbled at the side, the bioscanner still in his grasp. "You are just like what they say. Jakob Albrecht, your not-so-chaffeur."

"Albrecht Technologies being involved in a worldwide criminal syndicate hardly surprises me." Whyte rolled her eyes, silently wondering how she had not picked it up all this time. The helicopter itself was a telltale sign. She did not read enough of the news to be familiar with his face.

"Oh, no no. I am not the client, and I am not part of this... Thing, either. Think of me as a friend, with some favours here and there. Ah, which reminds me, the bioscan?" Albrecht spoke in an accent that straddled German and American, turning towards the moving figure of Mr. Hinx who placed the cylindrical object on his grasp, "State-of-the-art, and a prototype. Your client is a friend, when they told me about this... Job, I thought it would be a perfect time to test this little precious before I launch it to market. Imagine all the world government money flowing in! Access to a person's biology through interactive, projected, three-dimensional reality."

He spoke too much for her liking, that the agent's eyes instead watched the two men she had previously shot. They were shivering when they should have been dead, it was a strange and disturbing sight, "Why are they doing that?"

"What? Oh. Them. That is just brain implant malfunction, they are wearing prototypes that allow me to control them. Organic, improved drones powered by neuro-nanotechnologies. Still in the works. They have never been shot in such a way before, and I am assuming they are experiencing some electrocution from the bullet damage. Nothing to worry about, just more room for improvement." Albrecht remarked calmly, waving a hand to dismiss his dying men as he pocketed the bioscanner. He pulled out a black box from his coat and opened it, revealing a luxurious set of black cigarettes with gold-coloured filters, "Before I take you to your destination, may I interest you with a cigarette?"

She stared at his offer, maybe a little more than she should have. Remembering her failed attempt earlier, this was a hard offer to refuse even from a man like him. Looking to Mr. Hinx, then to Albrecht, Whyte moved slowly across the snow and reached into his open box for a stick. The man smiled, appearing fascinated that she took him for his offering, and proceeded to light it for her with his zippo lighter. The frustration of earlier disappeared slowly, and her mood slightly unhinged. Unknown to her, Albrecht watched this unfold as he pocketed his lighter, a misplaced smile on his face.

"I see you are a smoker too." he said after a moment, cutting her peace from the moment.

"Only when I am vexed."

"Then," Albrecht thought about it for a moment as Whyte pulled her hood over her head, while Mr. Hinx gestured for her to board the helicopter with him. He smiled again, widely, like he knew a secret that only the both of them understood, "Am I vexing you?"

The agent gave him a blank look, "No, you just happened happened to have a pack of Sobranies."

She moved past him and into the aircraft, a stupid grin still on the man's face. He was a strange one, with strange interests. But Rachel Whyte was beyond entertaining him, client or not, this whole arrangement is still beyond her work ethic, and Oberhauser isn't so keen in letting her work alone yet. It will take time, but she had to swallow the excessiveness of all of this. Everything would be much quicker, easier, if the people above her did not insist to chaperone her like a child. She thought about the things that Q hinted to her earlier, and it was all she could think about.

When we meet again, Rachel Whyte,

I hope you wouldn't be so stubborn with me.

Whatever it was Jakob Albrecht was expecting from their encounter, Whyte couldn't care less and his audacity to send her such message ensured she shouldn't care at all. She rolled her sleeve over her watch, regretting the wasted time she spend reading the message. Oberhauser's 'rabbit box', was a two-storey wooden house in the middle of nowhere. It was a structure that stood between the lake and the unpredictable wilderness, with an appearance of abandonment than a formidable rest-house. Albrecht's helicopter dropped them within the proximity, but she and Mr. Hinx had to hike the rest of the way.

When they were about a few hundred metres away from the house, Mr. Hinx raised a large arm to put her to a halt, its abruptness took her off her guard. "What is it now, you big brute?"

"The door is open." he told her, looking slightly over his shoulder without any effort to meet her gaze. Whyte glared at him for a moment, and then at the door ajar before pulling out the MOD 0.

Mr. Hinx followed suit, his pistol at the ready as they cautiously approached the decaying porch, wary of their footsteps. It was no use worrying about footsteps, their presence will be known either way, and preparation mattered more than the quantity of people present. Whyte eyed the doorway and traced her gaze from the door and the snow, observing the markings left by an obvious trail that came from the docks. One person, she noted to herself. One person led himself either in or out the house, and should that be an intruder or the owner was another story. Open doors are as misleading as they are telling.

"Male, likely built, and perhaps with a vengeance." Whyte commented as she placed her boot over the intruder's trail on the snow, adding that last bit for her own humour.

Mr. Hinx raised a brow, not expecting her input with the situation, "It is just a footprint."

The agent gave him a condescending look, brushing around his large figure, one hand on the ajar door and the other holding her pistol, "This is clearly why you're the thug, and I am the professional. Cover me."

The man hissed lowly but said nothing, and from the heavy footsteps the followed her, Whyte knew she had his cooperation. As they stepped into the poor excuse of a home, the place felt barren despite all the furniture that tried to simulate a lived-in home. There was little to no light to be found, with walls and corners defined by shadows and the bleeding trails of light caused by the reflection of the snow outside. This was the rabbit box, but who was the rabbit? Why is it, that of all places, Franz thought it would be something that she would look forward to? Whyte kept these thoughts to herself, gesturing a hand sign to Mr. Hinx with the suggestion to split and look around. He simply nodded, disappearing slowly into the corridor that led to a staircase - a place with undoubtedly more light.

Despite it being her plan to divide and conquer, Rachel Whyte found herself fascinated with the living room. It has the illusion of life, yet to her - seeing all the dust that has gathered - it seems to have tried preserving a point in time. An immortalisation of a moment, a forgotten relic of the past. Just at the top corner above the curtains, almost unnoticed to an unwatchful eye, was a blinking red dot that belonged to a security camera mounted against the wall. Textbook. She simpered at the sight, ignoring the camera after giving it her attention, grabbing a gold-plated picture frame on top of the dead fireplace. It was a portrait of a family of three, and not a very recent one. The husband had a long face with a young and sharp gaze, his wife was demure and brunette with some sophistication, and their pleased young daughter with yellow blonde hair. It was an ordinary photo, but Whyte didn't care too much about the family - she had her attention at the husband. His face... She had seen this face before.

"Whyte." echoed Mr. Hinx somewhere in the house, booming. She looked away from the picture frame, tracking where his voice came from with his eyes. "Kitchen."

The agent looked down at the picture frame on her hand, squinting her eyes at the man one last time before tossing the frame onto the dusty sofa. She held the MOD 0 with both hands, still mindful of precaution as she made her way to the kitchen while passing through a random series of blinking red cameras. When she reached the kitchen, Mr. Hinx was hovering over a table in front of him, his body blocking her some of her sight of what seemed to be a seated man and a chessboard. The cold air might have tried to hide the smell, but there was a faint trace of it within this part of the house. When the revelation happened, Whyte could only stand still, slightly wide-eyed, with a funny look on her face.

"What a disappointing catch." she managed to say, but with slight light-headedness. This was something she thought about for some time, only to be met by the ironic twist of faith. Mr. White and what was left of him, laid chest-out with his back rested against his seat. By his chin and just above his throat was the gunshot wound that ended his life, his rotting existence, "The rabbit is dead."

Stepping a foot forward, Whyte brought herself closer to inspect him. The hand that held her pistol trembled slightly not because she was terrified, but because in her mind she felt she should have been the one that killed him. Not that it was obligatory, but it would have been satisfying. The agent circled the scene of the crime, his gun nowhere to be found and his wallet wide open and scattered. It was undoubtedly a suicide, but the White had a guest that gave him the favour - an unfortunate favour - of a death on his own terms. When she turned away from the mess and towards his bloodied neck area, Rachel Whyte inspected the wound and immediately felt more ridiculous. Of course, but of course - and she should have known. Q had said it without saying, but her arrogance got ahead of her. He was here.

Bond.

"It seems as though 007 came for tea." she concluded, looking up at Mr. Hinx who was watching her the whole time. He didn't appear to be as interested, rather, he looked like he was waiting to tell her something. She straightened herself, putting some distance between her and the corpse with folded arms, "What is it?"

"He has a computer in the basement."

Whyte swept her eyes across the open space, greeting the blinking reds she could see, "A side-effect of paranoia."

"Come with me." Mr. Hinx waved a hand for her to follow, motioning towards one of the narrow corridors that opened from the kitchen. Whyte trailed behind him, intrigued, as he budged open an unruly door that opened to a descending staircase, "After you."

She gave him one glance and proceeded down the steps of the basement. Just like the rest of the house, the basement was a mess. Yet unlike the living room, it was a characteristic chaos of wires, disassembled guns, and flashing mounted computer screens. In the middle of it all, a ragged armchair piled with blankets was angled watchfully adjacent the computer screens. An omniscient, dirty hub. This was what has become of White, the Pale King, as he lived the end of his days. She could not help but feel disappointed that someone like him decided into a pitiful retirement, should this even be fitting of the name.

"Can you open it?" Mr. Hinx spoke again, standing just a metre behind her. His question brought her attention towards the monitor in the middle of a rectangular desk, the only monitor unmounted and filled with a black and grey screen prompting for a password.

Whyte snorted at him, "If White had the security system of an amateur, then he does not deserve his legacy. However…" she tapped on the screen of her watch which rung a number into her earpiece, "…I know someone who can."

After a few rings, a voice answered from the end of the line, "Q-Branch."

"Happy and glorious, long to reign over us, God save the Queen." she recited line-by-line, silently convinced that the anthem was something people only knew to say but not to sing. This was true, at least, to her experience. 'Queen and country' was barely her dogma.

The other line was momentarily silent, before the voice spoke again, "Understood."

A click was heard and the line was dead, followed by three timed beeps. While this process made perfect sense to her, it left Mr. Hinx in perfect confusion as the call was restricted to her earpiece. Not long after, a machine female voice surfaced, "Authorisation: cleared. This call is now encrypted and unrecorded for high confidential purposes."

Another beep and another click. A man's voice greeted her, "009."

"Patel." Whyte greeted in the same nature, leaning her hands against the edge of the table, her eyes glossed on the resilient computer monitor. The contents of this computer may or may note be disappointing, but Oberhauser will certainly want every little thing, "I think I'll be needing your help at the moment."

A/N: Thank you for reading the eight chapter of Tessitura. Reviews/thoughts/follows are always welcome.