Exams and essays are nearly over. I cannot wait to get back to writing this story. I'm still ahead and starting to plan the climax of this tale. I hope you all stick with it.
Scars. They haunted Ashleigh's life.
Alec's scars were a part of him, defining him. She would lightly trace them with her fingers, marvelling at the stark contrast between them and the smooth, perfect skin on the other side of his chest. They were him, she had never really known him without them. Alec without scars would not be her husband.
She had her own scars. The vertical white slash mark that bisected her upper arm. Lucinda Elliot had stabbed her, tried to kill her, the knife a burning hot blade under her skin. Her blood had been hot, and thicker than she had thought possible.
She traced it lightly, running her hand down her bare arm.
Other scars had happier memories. Her stomach bore witness to her motherhood, the faint silver lines had almost faded but would never be gone. She had adored being pregnant with Natasha, watching her stomach swell with life. Her stomach was gently curved, and she pressed her hand to it, thinking of her child.
Natasha. She knew she was getting closer to her. That out there, her daughter was waiting for her to retrieve her, to hold her, to bring her home.
She hoped she would have the opportunity to do just that. However, the nervous feeling that was a dull ache deep in her abdomen refused to go away.
She reached for the crisp white shirt that was thrown over the back of the chair, glancing once more at the scar on her arm as she slipped into the sleeves. Her hands were steady as she buttoned it up. Her suit jacket was tailored and expensive, habits she had certainly picked up from Alec.
In the mirror, Ashleigh Kain, the Ashleigh who she had once been, stared back at her, the consummate professional, the agent ready to take on the mission. She gave a small smile. Finally, it felt like something was happening. Something she could take control of.
The gun in her hand was a comforting weight, cold and smooth, and hers. An old friend. She slipped on her holster, and with almost a caress, she slid the weapon into it.
For a moment, she saw a look in her own eyes that she didn't like.
She turned away before she could see it again. It scared her.
The car arrived on time, non descript, black, leather interior driven by a nameless, faceless driver. Ashleigh and James swept down the stairs of James's house, throwing bags into the boot of the car, and sliding effortlessly into the back.
'You get used to it,' James murmured to her, leaning across the seat.
'Leaving in the middle of the night for unknown locations?'
'That and pandering to M's every whim.'
'There's more than that at stake, James,' Ashleigh stared out of the window.
'As everyone keeps reminding me.'
'Be grateful you can forget.'
Her tone was cold, tinged with bitterness, and James turned to her, suddenly grabbing at her, pulling her around to face him, his hand on her jaw, yanking her face around to him.
'I shall do my duty,' he snarled at her, his face millimetres from hers, and menacing. Anger flared up in her eyes, he felt the muscles in her face tense and he pressed harder, his fingertips digging into her skin hard enough to leave marks. 'As I always have done and always will do. You've secured a promise from me that I didn't want to make, but my duty comes first.'
She was in pain, he could tell, but she refused to show it and he admired that in her.
'You don't have to tell me,' she hissed. 'I know about your 'duty', I know all about it. I've seen how it rules you, how it rules Alec still, after all these years. I've been an agent too. I've sworn my fealty to my Queen and Country but right now my daughter's life is worth more to me. I'll do whatever it takes to get her back. If you think I'm here for any other reason other than that then you sorely mistaken.'
'He's changed you,' James said slowly, releasing her from his grip. 'You're not the woman I knew. The Ashleigh I knew would never contemplate what you're planning.'
'I've changed?' Ashleigh tilted her head, an incredulous smile on her lips for a moment. 'Are you sure about that, James? Maybe this is the real me. Maybe you've just never seen it before. Maybe you haven't wanted to see it.'
James shook his head. 'No. This isn't you. He's made you this way.'
'Perhaps I'm not the one who has changed,' she said again quietly, dangerously. Her tone was a challenge, and the look in her eyes was dark and accusing. 'You're not the James I knew. Perhaps, finally, we're all showing our true colours.'
'And what if I don't like this version of you, this 'real' Ashleigh?'
'Then be grateful you don't have to live with her.'
He shook his head slowly. 'I never thought I'd say this, but you deserve each other.'
'You've finally realised,' she seemed determined to get the last word, and contented that she had, she turned away from him, and James, in his fury, refused to reach out to her.
Instead, he remembered conversations with a man he had sworn to kill, a man he hated. A man who had become, ironically, an ally once more, in this twisted upside down world where you held your enemies closer than your friends, even your family.
'James?' the voice had been confident, but at the same time, almost tentative. He had rarely heard it like that, and it spiked fear into his stomach.
'How did you get this number?' he finally managed to get the words out through almost numb lips.
'A gentleman never reveals his sources…' Alec had started the old joke.
'But we're no gentlemen,' James finished it.
An uncomfortable silence. James had glanced over at Jasmin, naked in the bed next to him in the Parisian hotel suite and wondered how and why Alec had bothered to track down their location. He also wondered how asleep Jasmin was, and carefully, had extricated himself from the sheets and slipped into the lounge area of the suite, shutting the door behind him. Better to be safe than sorry.
'Why are you calling?' the question held more than just a simple enquiry. So much said in four words.
'Why do you think?' even across the crackling line, Alec's tension was clear. 'My wife…'
'Don't call her that!' James had snapped, the beginning of a tension headache snapping around his temples. 'I'm not ready to hear you … say… that, yet.'
'Ash, then, or would you prefer Ashleigh?' Alec was bitter.
'Don't fuck about,' James snapped again. 'You're calling about Ashleigh, so why don't you just say it?'
'I have no right to ask any favour of you. But I'm asking you as Ashleigh's friend, as her godfather, as someone who supposedly cares about her. Look after her. Please?'
It was the 'please' that shocked James more than the request. There was real fear in Alec's voice, concern for the woman who had drawn them back together.
'Don't you think it's a little too late to be so worried about her safety? You didn't seem so concerned when you left her alone in the house to be attacked.'
'James, I'm warning you…'
'You have no right to warn me about anything! Least of all about Ashleigh! Did you see how terrified she was? Did you see the cut on her head? The bruises? Or were you already planning your escape?'
'Of course I saw,' James knew that if he could see Alec now there would be a muscle twitching in the man's jaw, his classic 'tell' that he was struggling to control his temper. 'I was the one taking care of her, not jumping down her throat every time she dared to look at her own husband.'
'Taking care of her? By placing her in danger in the first place?'
The conversation was going around in circles, the tension building between the two men with every accusation, every bitter word.
Finally, unable to bear it a moment longer, furious at the intrusion into his life, Bond slammed the phone down.
Only to pick it up again two minutes later.
It was answered on the first ring.
'You know I will,' he said stiffly, awkwardly. 'She… she's my goddaughter,' he said, as if this explained everything.
There was an audible exhale of breath from the other end of the line, in relief, James thought.
'I know,' Alec said shakily, gratitude clear in his voice. 'And don't forget it.'
James gave a brief bark of laughter. 'She won't let me.'
In the half light, James shot a sly look at the woman who had brought so much trouble into his life. Not for the first time he wished she had never been born, wished that David and Emma had not been so stupid as to entrust their daughter's life to him.
She felt his eyes on her, he could see that by the way she fussed with the cuffs of her shirt, smoothed her hair from her eyes, from the way she stared out of the window refusing to turn and look his way despite not being able to see anything outside.
The phone was ringing. Interrupting his despair. Interrupting his desire to down an entire bottle of vodka and fall into merciful unconsciousness. Now the insistent ring pierced through his head, through the pain until he answered it, almost howling into it.
'What?' at the last moment he managed to control himself, snapping out the one word with as much viciousness as he could imbue.
'You've heard,' the flat, toneless voice was the last thing that James wanted to hear, and yet strangely comforting at the same time. If anyone would understand… perhaps he would.
'Yeah.'
'I'm sorry,' there was pity in Alec's voice.
'Really?' the edge of the vodka bottle clinked loudly against the edge of the glass.
'Yes.' A pause. 'Are you drinking?'
'Yes.'
'Good,' Alec was brusque. 'Make it a large one.'
'I wasn't planning on stopping at one.'
'One glass or one bottle?'
'Bottle.'
'Drink as much as you want, James, you won't hear any criticism from me.'
'Then why are you calling?'
'Jasmin.'
'Offering your condolences?'
'In a way, yes.'
'Jesus Christ, this is twisted,' James stared at the contents of his glass as if the clear liquid could provide him with answers. 'She was different, you know?'
In another country, Alec closed his eyes, and wondered how the hell he was going to find the words to explain, to make James understand.
'What have you heard?'
James swallowed, the icy liquor burning his throat. 'A harpoon. A fucking harpoon.'
'It's… it's not what you think,' it sounded trite but it would have to do.
'She's dead, Alec. What the hell else am I to think?'
'Am I dead?'
The words were said softly, so softly that James almost wondered if he had misheard.
Suddenly James hadn't felt drunk. He hadn't felt empty. There had been a sudden rage building in him, brilliant red, rising through him until it clouded his eyes and threatened to overwhelm him.
'James?'
'I'm here,' struggling to breathe, James had fought the words out.
'I wish I was wrong. She's a double agent. She's the double agent. She's the one who organised everything.'
Calmer now, the rage changing to simmering fury, James took another sip, his hand steady, his manner composed. 'I should have guessed.'
'None of us knew, James.'
'Except you.'
'Not until it was too late. I thought she simply worked for Le Loup. I had no idea she was MI6.'
'Is it just me or has everyone been faking their own death recently? Perhaps I should give it a go,' James had attempted flippancy.
'There's an art to it,' Alec had sounded weary at this point, strained. 'Do let me know if you need any advice on the subject.'
'Jasmin?' James had closed his eyes as the pain had washed over him, as a thousand hopes had crumbled in front of him, mocking him with their easy destruction.
'Jamsin,' Alec had confirmed.
The early morning chill bit into Ashleigh and James as they stepped from the official car at a local airfield. Their luggage was retrieved from the boot quickly and efficiently by armed soldiers, they were greeted by another.
'Sir, madam, your flight will be leaving shortly,' the young officer jerked his head towards a small passenger jet with absolutely no markings on its dark body.
Ashleigh took a deep breath as she tried to calm herself. In the faint light of dawn she could make out mountains all around them, could feel the thinness of the air as she tried to fill her lungs. They were hidden from all prying eyes, and preparing to fly into the unknown.
She wanted to scream, to throw herself back into the car and to refuse to carry on with this fool's mission a moment longer.
And then she thought of her daughter and knew she had no choice.
Ignoring the young officer, ignoring the curious looks of the men around her, and in particular, ignoring James, she walked to the plane, and up the steps.
Only if you had watched her closely would you have noticed her pause, and shiver, before ducking inside the fuselage.
