James insisted on taking them to a tiny café a few blocks away in Kensington Square. Her son, sensing that the ice had thawed between his mother and this strange man, skipped along beside them, chattering away.

He had taken to James right away, as soon as he sensed he wasn't a threat to himself, or to his mother, and spent the four-or-five-block stroll babbling to the man. The boy quickly informed James of his name, his age, how much he liked London, and what they'd done so far today. And James was his middle name, too, did he know that? And his friend Felix had the same middle name as him, back in New York at his school, did James know that?

James turned to give Vesper a look after this confession by the boy, and she could see he was surprised, and perhaps even touched by this gesture of hers. The giving of a name to connect the two of them, mark her son, irrevocably, as his. She gave James a smile, a genuine one, as their son prattled on, because for her it had been an easy choice, an inevitability, the least she could have done for the man who had given her such a gift.

It was a strange sort of peace they'd found themselves in as they wandered past the tall blocks of million-pound flats, she still reeling from the shock of having James back, in front of her, close enough to look at, and speak to, or even to touch.

In truth, her son had been starved for male companionship in his short life, growing up surrounded by female caregivers, and it was clear he sensed a friend in this new man, who seemed patient and eager to listen to him.

Vesper smiled as they chatted, holding Henry's hand and catching James's eye from time to time, sensing his amusement, and she supposed, wonder, at this little being and his boundless energy.

Soon they'd reached Kensington Square and entered the little restaurant, sitting down and ordering. James sat across from Vesper and her son at their table next to the window, looking out into the square.

Vesper found that having her son there as a sort of buffer helped her to adjust to James's presence, as she could not think of what to say to him. So she was content to listen as her son spoke to them in between bites of his sandwich. James, it seemed, felt the same way, smiling and talking to the boy as they ate, still catching her eye from time to time, but not speaking directly to her.

She watched James occasionally when he wasn't looking at her. She had not had a chance to put much thought into how he would react to the revelation of her son's existence. She had been so focused on finding him, on uniting this little family, that she had not put much thought into what would happen when it was.

And now, as she watched James Bond watching his son, his eyes kind and patient, smiling at the boy, she couldn't help but feel that her decision had been the right one. And, she supposed, she wasn't entirely surprised. She'd gotten to know the man fairly well in the few short weeks they'd spent together, and although they'd never spoken of their plans for the future, so concerned with enjoying their newfound intimacy, she'd always suspected he was the kind of man who would have enjoyed and even flourished in fatherhood.

He was egotistical, yes, she'd had plenty of experience dealing with that, and carried out his duties to his country with a sort of mercenary detachment, but there was a James Bond that very few people got to know under all that, a side of him that she had been privy to for a few heady weeks. This James Bond was warm, and caring, fiercely loyal and surprisingly amiable. He was patient, and loving, and this was the James Bond she saw now, speaking with her son.

He had been surprised, yes, earlier, utterly bowled over by the discovery. He hadn't needed to say anything; his reaction had been clearly written on his face. But now, she caught the sort of wonder and amazement she sometimes felt about her son on James's face. The awe that came when she realised he had come from her, had once moved around inside her and now spoke and felt emotions and thought thoughts. She had had years to come to terms with it, had watched him grow and change and learn, and was still sometimes struck dumb by the thought that she'd brought this little person into the world.

And so she smiled as she watched him getting to know the boy he'd fathered, unknowingly, all those years ago, and smiled, as well, because she was, despite it all, just so very happy to have this man near her again.

Now that the shock of having him unceremoniously appear in front of her had begun to wear off, she felt a sort of relief start to settle in. She had found him, or, she supposed, he had found her, and now she watched as he and Henry spoke, the two of them building a relationship she hoped would only grow as time went on.

And, and she had almost been hesitant to admit it, despite the years that had passed and the obvious wear and tear he'd suffered she was surprised to find that that attraction that'd been there, that'd always been there, from the second she'd dropped into the seat across from him on that train to Montenegro, all those years ago, had not diminished. And as soon as the shock had worn off, she quickly found that desire, that feeling that had been absent all these years, atrophied even, so foreign to her, begin to rear its head again. And she was helpless to fight it off.

She revelled in it for a while, in that power he had to draw her to him, that laconic, easy charm. In all the years she'd been away she'd not felt this for any other man, hadn't met anyone during her sojourn in New York that she had even come close. It was not surprising, as she kept to herself at work and often spent any free time she'd had caring for her son.

But, she admitted to herself, as she sat there, watching James curiously, she had truly not even thought about other men in that time. There had been a few, the occasional coworker who'd shown interest, but she had quickly rebuffed them, as she'd been interested instead in getting home to her son, to those few precious hours she got with him each evening.

She had kept loyal to James's memory over the years, for James, but mostly for their son, on whom she had to be completely focussed and whom she could not and did not want to curse with having to share his mother's attentions. She just hadn't been ready to bring anyone new into their life, to upset their routine and the fragile balance she'd managed to put together and uphold.

She liked it with just the two of them, and Anne and Christina occasionally, and wouldn't have dreamed of bringing anyone else into the mix. And, she supposed, as she caught James's eye and she fought back that little twinge in her gut that quickened her pulse, she had never stopped loving James Bond, and, as long as he was alive, would be unable to love another.

But she fought to keep that at bay, to keep her feelings undercover, for now. She had come here to reunite her son with his father, and to allow them time to become accustomed to each other. She hadn't expected the intensity of the feelings that had come up, without warning, that familiar pull he had over her, that now, with her wide-eyed innocent son at her side suddenly felt so dangerous.

The boy saw everything and heard everything, and was incredibly perceptive for his age, and she was forever concerned with controlling what he was exposed to, with keeping him innocent as long as she possibly could. He had never seen his mother with a man, didn't yet understand that she had once loved as any other had, and she had no idea how he'd react to seeing that side of her.

And, as well, she didn't know quite where she stood now, in the life of this man that sat across from her. It was clear he enjoyed Henry's presence and had already forged an incipient bond with the boy. But where did they stand, after all these years, these two who had brought this boy into the world?

She'd held a romanticised view of James over the years, had treasured that short time they'd had together, but now that she was here, with him, with her beloved, impressionable son sitting next to her, she had been forced to be much more realistic in her interpretation of their relationship. She could not afford to be weak, to allow herself the luxury of giving in to what she felt, still, for this man. She had to be firm and unyielding to his charms, not just for her son, but for herself and for her heart, which was not as resilient as it once had been.

After he was finished eating, Henry leaned over to her.

"Mom, I have to pee," he whispered. Vesper smiled as she caught James's eye.

"I'll take you," she told him, but he shook his head.

"I can go myself," he whispered, his eyes wide and his expression resolute.

"Are you sure?" she asked him, but he was already getting down from his chair.

He nodded as he started walking toward the back of the restaurant, following the sign indicating the toilets.

"Make sure you wash your hands!" she told him, as he ambled off.

When she sat back down, alone with James for the first time in five and a half years, he was smirking at her again, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"He's trying to impress you," she told him, "he doesn't want you to think he's a baby."

James nodded, smiling. It was odd, speaking about this boy that they had created, that had been formed from their union but now was a separate entity, a little person, obstinate and willful. She looked across the table at him, the two of them acknowledging everything that had passed since they'd last been together, the years and the events, the heartache and the joy. Then she looked away.

"This isn't how I wanted you to find out," she said, after some time, because it was the only thing she could think to say. "I'm sorry," she said, looking at him. "For everything."

"Don't apologise," he said, suddenly adamant, his expression stony and his eyes cold. "It was her."

"M?" Vesper asked, and James leaned back against his chair.

"She wanted me back," he said, matter-of-factly, "and she knew that if I had even the slightest inkling that you were alive, I would have been at your bedside, not going after Quantum like she wanted me to."

Vesper was surprised, and he saw it, acknowledging it with an intensity that quickened her breath. He was telling the truth. Despite what she'd done, he would have been sitting next to her when she woke, had M not intervened. Because that was the kind of man he was. She had to look away from him, out the window at the square, as James began speaking again.

"She wanted to question you, as well, to find out what you knew, and when she discovered you were pregnant, she shipped you off to America, so that I would never find you."

Vesper was surprised, but not, and could only laugh incredulously. "How—"

"Because, Miss Lynd," he said, leaning forward, towards her, a tiny ghost of a smile on his face, "I think you remember that I am very adept at reading you." He looked into her eyes, recognising that moment, years ago, on a train, and all that had passed since. "I saw it all on your face," he said, and she smiled in spite of herself.

"He's a handsome boy," James said after a few seconds, and she could not help but laugh softly at him. At his audacity.

"I see your ego is still intact," she said, and he smiled.

"I meant," he said, leaning forward on the table, "that I think he looks a lot more like you than me."

"So you're saying I'm handsome?" she asked, and he chuckled.

"You know what I mean," he said, his eyes softening.

"I do," she said. Then her smile faded. She looked up at him. "I thought you would still hate me."

"I did," he replied, surprising her. "For a long time." She regarded his suddenly flinty expression curiously.

"What happened?"

"I met the man who gave you that necklace," he said. Her stomach dropped.

"Yusef?" she asked, stunned.

"Yes," he said. His tone was soft as he went on. "He was hired by Quantum, to seduce you and to gain your trust so that you would have had no qualms about betraying your country to obtain his release."

Vesper looked away, shocked. Of course he was, she thought, thinking back on those first days with him, how he had fixated on her so quickly, how he had been so insistent that they go out for dinner, how persistent he'd been in pursuing her; not like any other man had been before. I think I knew it all along, she thought, looking back up at James, shame clouding her vision, to find he was watching her with concern; I just didn't want to admit it to myself.

"Did you kill him?" she asked, suddenly, anger now rapidly blooming as she realised just how drastically that man had affected the events in her life.

"I wanted to," James said, "more than anything I've ever wanted to do in my life."

"Why didn't you?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said, and she could tell he meant it, "I suppose I thought you wouldn't have wanted me to."

"You were wrong," she said, breathing deeply, pushing back that rage that was making it hard for her to think, to breathe.

"He'll die in prison," James assured her.

"Maybe," she said, looking directly into his crystal-blue eyes. "But we'll never get those years back."

"No," he conceded. He broke eye contact, looking out the window, then back at her. "When I met him," he started again, "he was with a young woman, an agent with Canadian Intelligence."

Vesper nodded. Nothing could surprise her about that man now.

"She was wearing the same necklace," he went on. "And she'd had no idea. And I thought, if this woman, with all her training, had been so completely deceived by him," he looked up at Vesper, right into her eyes, "what chance did you have?"

Vesper laughed humourlessly, looking down at her hands, clasped on the table. She'd had none. She'd been young, and vulnerable and completely ill-prepared for this tall, dark and handsome stranger who seemed to know everything about her.

"I forgave you," James said, and she looked back at him, into his eyes, and an understanding flashed between them, a truce, she supposed, an absolution to the look they'd shared in Venice, when he'd first found her in the elevator car, and she had felt as though she would die from the guilt. And she felt that maybe, after all this time, the wound that that guilt had inflicted on her, that had once been so profound and palpable, could begin to heal. Finally.

James's smile was then back as he looked toward the back of the restaurant. He had heard the footsteps she'd just heard, and she looked up to see their son coming out from the lavatories, looking very proud of himself indeed.

He joined them at the table, and Vesper leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"How did it go?" she asked, brushing back the strands of soft blond hair that had fallen in his face.

"Fine, Mom," he said, turning to look at her, in a tone that brooked no further discussion. She caught James's eye, and they shared a grin at the boy's stubborn determination.

"So," he asked, after a few seconds, "what had you two planned to do today?"

And before Vesper could even venture a response, her son burst out with, "We're going to the Science Museum!" and she saw the mischief blossom in James's eyes, that lopsided, dangerous grin. It never bode well.

"Well, that sounds like fun," he said, and she tried very hard not to roll her eyes, "you mind taking along one more?"

Two nearly-identical blond heads turned to look at her expectantly. She sighed. Of course she could not deny either of them.