They find a new pub. It's tiny and dirty, but it's quiet and less than a block from James' Stratford apartment and James could be a Martian gorilla for all the owner cares.
Tiago insists they
He'd lost Tiago shortly after arriving, and when the complacent silence slides into the jaunty chords of Love Potion No. 9 he knows exactly what kind of night this is going to be.
Roger gives him a playful look across the bar and hands him two frothy glasses of Guinness instead of the gin and soda he'd asked for.
He turns to the small clear area in front of the jukebox and nearly laughs when Tiago sways toward him, mouthing along to the lyrics.
"She bent down and turned around and gave me a wink,"
He snatches a beer from James' hand and hip-checks him lightly, enough to jostle a bit of his drink onto the floor. James hears a snort and sees Roger behind the bar trying to look uninterested.
It's only then that he realizes they are completely alone.
"Roger?" He motions to the empty bar and upturned chairs with what he hopes is a questioning expression. The man shrugs and nods toward Tiago.
"Told me it was a private party."
James can't formulate a response and smiles into is glass until Love Potion No. 9 slides into Secret Agent Man and James chokes on his drink.
"It can't be helped that no one responded to my invitations."
"Maybe you should have actually sent them." James snarks, and Tiago nods thoughtfully, head moving in sync with his hips.
"I suppose that would have helped. Nonetheless," Tiago points an accusing finger and beckons James forward. "Agent Bond. Dance with me,"
He can't really decline, given they're the only ones in the building.
How did this become his life?
"I believe they are sending me up north for a bit. A hostage crisis or some such nonsense; you would think the IRA would have better sense after the last go around."
"Be sure to leave some alive to tell the tale of the great 009."
"I'll be home soon enough, and we will have something truly marvelous to celebrate."
"I'm going to hold you to that."
James lets himself sag against Tiago.
"Corazón."
"Love you, too. Try not to die."
"I'll do my best."
The flight manifest out of Hong Kong estimates an arrival time of 12:48 A.M. James knows this because Tiago knows this and has been unable to hide his enthusiasm.
So he picks up dinner from Tiago's favorite Italian restaurant in St. John's Wood and waits.
Two A.M. folds into four, fixe, then six, and James is back behind his desk, eagerly eyeing the hallway off the floor stairwell.
Nothing.
No emails. No phone calls.
Davidson confirms that the flight arrived on time, but Agent Rodriguez, the infamous 009, is nowhere to be found. The agents on the flight politely tell him Tiago never boarded.
He requests a meeting with Director Mansfield, and is of course denied, so he 'accidentally' runs into her outside the commissary. She looks at him in her nonplussed way and tell him flat out that 009 never made it to the airstrip and that they are 'looking' for him.
He asks to be reassigned to Section H, but the entire division has been downsized in light of the handover, and his requests are denied.
Days become a week. A month.
Tiago doesn't come home and custodial cleans out 009's office.
By the time James gets to Tiago's Double-0 flat, the doors have been rekeyed, so he breaks in. The place has been sanitized. The warm burgundy walls have been painted a stark white and nothing of the previous occupant remains.
James' spare sleep clothes are gone from the dresser. Even the floor safe has been cleaned out.
He leaves before security responds to the break in and sits in his car for almost an hour, staring at nothing until an officer taps on his window.
James wipes at his face and rolls the window down.
"You alright son?"
"Yeah, yes, I'm sorry, do you need me to move?"
"Loading zone, I'm afraid. You'll have to get a move on,"
James goes to start the vehicle and the officer says something he doesn't quite catch.
"Sorry?"
"I said, you look a bit down," the man tells him, eyes sympathetic. "Best you can do is soldier on."
James nods, throat tight, and pulls away from the building where he's spent so many sleepless nights.
Soldier on.
He can do that. For Tiago. For 009.
Epilogue
"Put the burgundy away." Silva drawls from behind the monitor, without pulling his gaze from the screen.
"Alright, what's wrong with the burgundy?"
"The shade makes you look like a thug. Completely undignified."
"It's Prada."
"It's tacky."
"Well, what would you suggest?"
"Tom Ford. Navy pinstripe. Brings out your eyes."
"It has a waistcoat."
"It has a waistcoat," Raoul mocks quietly, still absorbed in his task. "We're going to attend an assassination, not a opera."
"Tell me, Tiago, will this tie accent the inevitable bruising about your face and neck? We don't want to clash, now do we?"
"Threats will get you nowhere, Mister Bond. Navy Pinstripe."
Silva looks up suddenly with a wicked grin.
"Or I could toss you naked in the boot of the car. Your choice, really. I'll win either way."
James puts the grey jacket back on its hanger.
"Yes, I suppose you will."