Author's note: Well, how long has it been?? I've been on a short hiatus, coupled together with a massive writer's block, but I'm back with yet another speechy chapter! Haha... gosh, I have to quite the habit of speechy chapters! Anyway, this is a little Christmas present from me to everyone who's reading this story... Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone! :)

Disclaimer: What, it's not like I'm gonna make any real money off them... pfft, REALLY...

Chapter 9: Trouble, Served On A Silver Platter

Dear Bond,

First and foremost, if you have received this letter from the hand of Dr. Leda Bertram, then you may be assured that you are in safe hands, and on the right track. Secondly, this is not a letter of apology. You may presume that I have wronged you, betrayed you, and put you through such pain that is unimaginable by me, a rich man's wife, but let me remind you that I am also an MI6 agent, and this is not the first time that I had to risk the life of another without preparing for the consequences.

Your little ruse at Bucharest, along with M's, has been reported to the British government, disguised as treason. Your lives are in danger. By the time you receive this, both of you will be wanted by the government as traitors to Her Majesty. There is only one thing you can do to and that is to clear your names. Here, you may smile to yourself wistfully. Yes, you and M are caught in a snitch that I had not intended to prepare, but it is a snitch that will benefit both you and me.

Enclosed are what information I have gathered regarding Sorescu's little project: all his associates and their affiliations. However, the most useful and recent piece will be the one regarding the Lebanese weapons merchant named Ahab Benjadeel, who I have met several times and is a friend in philosophy to Sorescu. During the writing of this letter, it occurred that Benjadeel had decided to withdraw from a contract that required him to supply weapons to Sorescu. Perhaps he knows something of Sorescu's project that has caused him to pull out of the deal.

I trust that you will take the necessary action. And please, try not to get killed.

Yours most sincerely,

Evelyn Foster

P.S. Your phone awaits you at a hotel in Mykonos. Dr. Bertram has the address. There is someone there that you should meet.

"So…" said Woodwick uncertainly as he handed the letter back to Bond. "What are you going to do next? Go to Mykonos?"

Bond's fingers were about to touch the piece of paper when, Leda, who sat beside him on the bed, snatched it out of his grasp, stared at him with an arched eyebrow and proceeded to read it. Bond sighed and eyed Woodwick, who merely shrugged. Truth to be told, Leda Bertram had been more of a nuisance than a useful accomplice. What she had been commissioned by Foster to do, that is to attend to his injuries and pass him her message, had been accomplished, and besides doing housework and cooking meals, all she had been doing was to annoy Bond and tease Woodwick to no end. And poor Woodwick, it seemed that he had developed some sort of affection for her.

Before Bond could reply, however, Leda beat him to it. "What? Are you serious? What if it's a trap?"

"Well you don't have to worry about it," he replied with gritted teeth, "because I'll be going alone."

"No, you're not, James," said Woodwick in a serious tone, "I'm coming with you."

"And I will too," added Leda.

"No," said Bond firmly. "This isn't some sort of high-seas adventure. This is a matter of life and death." He made sure to give each of them a sharp look. Woodwick's face clouded a bit, but Leda remained defiant. "I don't want to drag you in any deeper than you are now. Woodwick, you should head home to London and turn yourself in. Tell them that you're my accomplice, and tell them everything that's happened to you in Bucharest. The worst that could happen to you is a lawsuit by Sorescu," Bond allowed himself a dry smile, "which I believe you can weather through with the amount of money you have."

"And what about me?" asked Leda, her tone as if challenging the authority Bond didn't know he had. Her chin was turned up, her glare unwavering.

Bond quickly plucked the letter out of her hands, and she jumped, startled from his sudden motion. "You will go back to wherever you came from and not breathe a word of this to anyone."

Her nostrils flared and the pupils of her eyes widened, but she didn't say a word. Instead, she pushed herself off the bed and stormed out of the room, knocking down a lamp in the process. Bond didn't even bother watching her go. Good riddance.

"That was unkind, James," said Woodwick.

"I didn't have a choice, did I? You have to be blunt with women or else they think you actually care about them. Then they start caring about you and that's how things get messy. I don't like messy," replied Bond tartly, as he folded Foster's letter neatly and reinserted it into the envelope.

"Yes, but still," said Woodwick with a sigh, "How can you be so heartless? When did you learn to be so? Where's the James that I know? The James with such passion for life and people?"

"That man is dead," Bond said, as he looked past Woodwick and towards the grey, bland sea. He died with her, added his conscience dully.

No, it wouldn't do. He couldn't keep moping and brooding about Vesper like that. He had to get a grip on himself. If she could see him now, she would be laughing at the hole she had left in his soul. Yes, the only way to get back at her would be to fill it. Be whole again. But he wouldn't be the same, oh no. He would fill that hole and be a better person. He would make her regret her deeds.

God, what are you thinking? he thought to himself with an angry shake of his head, the woman is dead. No matter what you do, she's dead.

"Look," said Woodwick suddenly, leaning forwards in his chair. "Your idea of me going back to London and all is fairly well. But I don't want any of that. I'm not looking for thrill, James. I've thought about it: even if I go home and spill, I'm not going to be able to go back to the way I was. So the best thing to do is to stay with you and help you fix this mess, whatever that is. So, in short, I'm coming with you. And there's nothing you can do about it."

Bond couldn't help but smile. "Then so be it."

"There you go, gentlemen," there was an acidic quality to the way Leda pronounced the last word as she handed Bond and Woodwick their tickets to Athens, where they would take a connecting flight to Mykonos. They were gathered in the airport lounge in Constanta, which was small, dingy and smelt of stale cigarette smoke and cheap coffee. Woodwick tried to laugh, but the laugh died in his throat. Bond ignored it, but he couldn't help but notice that she was hiding something behind her back.

"So, I suppose this is it then," she said, in an unusually high-pitched voice, her back straighter up than usual. "It has been a good few days, and I absolutely enjoyed your – "

Bond abruptly leaned over and snatched the tiny booklet she was concealing rather unsuccessfully. He stared at it for some seconds before holding it up in front of her face. There was a little alarm in her expression, but she tried to look stubborn.

"What's this?" he asked icily.

"Quite obvious, isn't it?" she answered quietly. "Airline tickets to Mykonos."

Bond heaved a sigh of exasperation. "Your foolishness, girl – "

"I'm not a girl!" She cut him off with an angry hiss. She snatched back the tickets from him. Her eyes flared. "Just because I'm a little petite and cute doesn't mean that I'm stupid. I know the risks of going with you to Mykonos. Didn't it ever occur to you how absolutely scared I was when I was given that envelope by Miss Foster and told to give it to some stranger who coincidentally had to be rescued from some rural, abandoned warehouse and who had borne the most awful-looking wounds that were inflicted upon him by such an affluent and important man as Mikhail Sorescu?" She paused to take a breather. "I can't go back to Bucharest after seeing and knowing all that. My head will be had. I'm as good as dead."

"Then why did you do it?" asked Bond. Even Woodwick was staring at her intently now.

She gulped before answering. "He's my uncle. And he killed my father."

"No shit," Woodwick breathed, flabbergasted. Leda looked away, looking obviously distraught. Bond concluded that she was brave, brave enough to harbour revenge of that sort against Sorescu, but it was also a foolish sort of bravery. Why, she didn't look as if she could bear to see roadkill. However, she did have a point. Sending her back to Bucharest would do her no good. Besides, didn't he kind of owe the near-perfect convalescence of his appendix wound to her? Despite his better judgment, he said to her at last, "Come along then."

The moment her face broke into a wide and overjoyed smile, Bond turned his face away from her. Here was one of those people who thought that revenge was as simple as day and night, black and white. He felt the strongest of urges to put it to her face there and then, but somehow he could not.

Never mind, he would do it another day.

She lightly brushed the tip of her powder brush along the line of her cheekbone. Rumour had it that it would give a face a more structured look. And structured was definitely something she needed in her life right now. Her entire professional life was a mess – not only was she wanted by the government for some baseless, but unfortunately proven by means of manipulated evidence, accusation about betraying the Queen; the best part of it all was that she had stupidly agreed to play it to the way of James Bond.

She huffed with impatience and slammed her powder brush down onto the dressing table, then she proceeded to unscrew the cap of a tube of lipstick so forcefully that she dropped the whole damn thing.

That stupid bastard, she thought furiously to herself.

"Hon?" said her husband, Fred from the bathroom. "Is everything all right, dear?"

"I'm – I'm fine," she answered as she bent to pick the lipstick up and proceeded to apply it briskly onto her lips.

Fred emerged from the bathroom, smelling of fresh cologne. He put on his straw hat and slung his rather expensive DSLR camera around his neck as she . "Shall I go down to breakfast first?"

"Yes, yes, you go first. I'll come around later," she replied absent-mindedly. She heard him leave and shut the door. Then she reached for her handbag, took out the mobile phone that she had purchased yesterday as well as her well-worn diary, and dialed a number.

"Hello?" a tired-sounding male voice answered on the other end.

"Villiers? It's M," she said.

"M?" the voice sounded more alert. "Goodness, where are you? Everyone's been looking for both you and Bond. They've also questioned everyone who's been known to work with you, including Moneypenny, the poor girl. But they've got nothing from them of course." He paused for a second. "You… you didn't actually do it, did you?"

"Of course not! I've given my arse to the government for more than half a decade. If I wanted to turn traitor I would have done it during the Cold War, where I could still make decent money from the Russians at least. You didn't get the rap?"

"Of course I did, but they found me clean. They've also got everyone who worked on the same floor as you under tight observation, all their calls, e-mails and even letters are censored until you both are found."

M scoffed. "That's why I called you. Thank God you dropped out to MFI before any of this mess ever happened. Listen, you've still got friends in the Secret Service, don't you? Do you think you could keep an eye for me on the situation in London? See if things are worsening or improving. You've got my number now. If there's anything, anything at all, call me all right?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, and M couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Villiers," she said quietly. "I did good with you."

"And you're afraid you didn't with Bond?" he replied.

M shook her head to herself. "I don't know. Sometimes I think I did the right thing, sometimes I don't. Most of the time I'm sorry for most of the things he's been put through, though none of them are my direct fault of course. I won't say that he's too young to have experienced all that, but no one should have to learn their lessons the hard way."

"The thing is, ma'am," said Villiers, albeit a little cautiously, to his former boss. "Some people just have to. It's ugly, but, that's how the world works. You and I both know that." His voice faltered.

"How are your children?" asked M, also with a hint of caution. "Are they doing well?"

"Well…" said Villiers, and M could picture him smiling a taut smile on the other end, "I wouldn't know, of course, how they should feel, being juggled between my home and my ex-wife's every week. She's married again too, did you know?" He laughed.

M clicked her tongue. "Well then, Villiers, I've got to go. Thank you, again."

"No problem, ma'am."

With that, M ended the call, stowed her mobile away in her handbag, shouldered it, and left the hotel room. The hotel where she and Fred stayed in was a pleasant, five-storey establishment with a wide, marble-floored foyer and a fantastic view of the Aegean from every room. M had rarely taken vacations during the entire course of her career. In a way, Bond's little mishap had been rewarding in the sense that it gave M some quality time with herself and her husband. For the past few days, they had nothing but eat good Greek food, go for long walks on the beautiful sandy beaches, and, quite simply, slow down to smell the roses.

Perhaps I should consider retirement once this whole matter has boiled over, she thought to herself with a smile just as she stepped into the dining hall.

Then she stopped in her tracks.

She spotted Fred at their usual table by one of the many ceiling-to-floor windows that allowed natural light to flood into the spacious dining hall. Seated directly opposite him, with his back facing her, was a man who was chatting with him in a measured manner. And she knew who it was all too well.

How dare he?

She sucked in her breath, her blood boiled in her ears, and marched directly up to their table. Fred noticed her first. He broke into a wide grin and said, "Hello, darling! Look who just happened to – "

But she cut him off. "What the bloody hell are you doing here, Bond?"

Well well well! Haha, I can't even begin to describe how much I enjoyed delving into M's character, even though I've taken some liberties with it that might make her seem OOC. And you guys might find Leda Bertram's character a bit, well, ill-timed and odd, but I've got more stuff planned for her... so worry not, me hearties! All that you need to do is hit the REVIEW button and tell me what you think! Once again, Merry Christmas all of you and Happy New Year! ^^ (scuttles away in sheer excitement)