He was just about to leave the office, bidding one last farewell to the desirable Moneypenny, when she reached out.
"Bond," she was patting the edges of her stack of papers. "Seeing anyone?"
This was a pleasant surprise. "Penny," he grinned at her. "You know me better than that."
She smiled. "Maybe I can know you better," she slung her coat on. She pulled a cream-coloured scarf from the coat pocket and began tying up her hair.
He stared at her. The words "toffee" came to mind, with her smooth skin, her soft curls, and her irish mouth curled into a smile. When she smiled, he almost expected her to wag her finger at him, before turning and curling it inward. It was a bit sweet for his taste (he preferred his coffee black), but he never passed on the opportunity for a free meal and a drink.
Miss Moneypenny would have been desirable but for her eyes, which were cool, direct, and quizzical.
He would admit that he dreamt about stealing her away. He wasn't ashamed to say that. He saw the looks of some of the men in the office, a lingering gaze that was filled simultaneously with disgust and awe. It wasn't the same type of fantasy, but that changed when Bond started calling her "Penny" and planted kisses on her cheek.
Bond wasn't afraid to say that a part of him enjoyed the attention. 007 walking down the hall, Moneypenny adorning his arm, with the baleful gaze of all the secretaries and operatives in the office following them. With every other step, he felt her hips swing to the side and lightly tap his. He glanced at her, only to be met with an innocent smile.
"I thought that was beneath you," said Bond.
Miss Moneypenny gave him an odd look, before nearly doubling over in giggles. "And here I thought you were fun," she sighed heavily, head thrown back in her mock grief. "I suppose I'll have to ask someone else to accompany me tonight," she gave him a forlorn look. "Maybe the lovely Major?"
"Now look here, Penny," he reached out. "I never said no. You just caught me off guard."
That was the right thing to say. She pouted, "Did I really?" Her pout faded into a smile. "You poor boy. I'll make it up to you."
He stared at her, flushed with angry amusement. He hoped that the heat under his collar was just the office. "Perhaps you could."
She smiled, extending her elbow in his direction. "I'll buy you Bourbon," she leaned in with a grin. "And I'll pay for dinner."
That was it. She took him to a warm restaurant in a former prole district, a bit run down, but functional. Bond saw the grimy doors and held it open for the secretary. He was rewarded with a smile.
They got a table at the corner, Moneypenny shoved up against the wall. Amidst the sooty clothes and flushed faces, Moneypenny wasn't a novelty to be gawked at.
A white-aproned boy in a cap came up. "Evening, guvs." He grinned. "What can I get ya? He handed them small menus on cards.
Bond stared at her for a bit longer than he should have. "Two ham sandwiches and Bourbon on the rocks." She smiled at him when the waiter left.
Their drinks came first. She sipped it black. "How was M?"
"What's to say?" Bond shrugged, emptying his glass. "He's still an ass," he waved the boy over, asking for another glass. "How's the office?"
"Oh," Moneypenny shrugged. "We're welcoming new hires, people to deliver papers and coffee." She sipped hers. "M has a new favourite," she smirked and leaned in. "Did you meet Mary?"
His brow wrinkled. "Mary?"
"Mary Goodnight," she pouted. "The pretty one. Black hair, blue eyes?"
Bond found his voice just as the food arrived. "Maybe you could introduce us."
After a decent meal and some Bourbon, he drove her to a hotel. The Secret Service knew his address, but they didn't need to know where every speck of dust was in his room. He liked Miss Moneypenny, even admired her, but he wasn't reckless enough to bring her to his flat. Besides, he wasn't sure that he liked this new face of hers. He'd like to think that M wouldn't resort to such underhand methods to keep Bond in his grasp, but even so, he figured that he could take Moneypenny on a bad day.
The night had a biting cold, giving them more than enough reason to run indoors.
They got a small room on the seventh floor, furnished in a cheap French style. It was dressed to be a bedroom and living room at once, with a large bed taking up much of the space and a low table shoved against the foot of the bed, leaving only a sliver of floor to move on.
"How charming," Miss Moneypenny gave him a secret smile. She threw her bag on the table and pulled out a bottle of rye.
She smiled and held the bottle up like a model. "Will this do?"
He grinned. "It's perfect."
She gave him the bottle and began untying her hair. "Listen," she whipped her head as her hair flowed freely. "I want you to turn around, and don't look until I tell you." She took her bag with her to the bathroom. She gave him a final grin before the door shut.
Bond climbed to the other side of the bed, bottle in hand. He stared at it. There was no glass available, and he didn't think Miss Moneypenny would appreciate tasting cigarettes and bourbon with rye, but it seemed inconsequential compared to what they would be doing. He didn't think she would be so fond of him afterward.
He finally shrugged and took a deep swallow from the bottle. It left an oddly bitter tang as the burn settled in. He stared at the bottle for a second before taking another sip.
The door creaked, "You can turn around, now."
He turned around, and his jaw almost dropped.
Miss Moneypenny was wearing a semi-transparent teal nightgown over a pair of deep blue zippicamiknicks. Her hair was loose, tumbling to her shoulders in tight coils. She wasn't wearing any stockings, instead wearing simple blue slippers with pointed toes. She smiled, pressed one hand to her breast, the other to her navel, causing the nightgown to slip off one shoulder.
She looked like Venus.
She lifted a hand, extending and curling a finger in his direction. He corked the bottle and climbed over the bed, landing a few feet before her with a soft thud.
She turned off the light, letting the moon from the window light the way. It took him a while to adjust to the darkness as her footsteps approached.
"Penny, I—"
She held a finger up to his lips, shaking her head. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him in. He pulled her close, burying his face into her neck and hair. The fresh scent of bluebells greeted him.
He pulled back. Her face was darker in the moonlight, with the shadows filling the crevices of her cheeks and brow. The darkness shifted into a silhouette of a smile as she pulled him in for a kiss.
Her tongue slipped into his mouth, pushing a tablet past his teeth.
Moneypenny was a traitor.
He woke up, hot and cold at the same time. The desk called, telling him that his employer wanted a word with him. He picked up the phone.
"M, I—"
"Don't bother. Come and see me in my office when you're done." He hung up.
Bond gave a sad laugh, a pathetic bark that withered before it even left his mouth. Miss Moneypenny, the one good thing that M brought into the Secret Service, a traitor. The girl who laughed with him, laughed at him, snapped him out of his haze when he drank too much. Her father died earlier that year. She wasn't weeping when she told him. The bottle of whiskey he brought seemed to have dried up her tears.
Bond shook his head. When M called him into his office, the first shock was seeing a young lady with blue-black hair and striking blue eyes in Miss Moneypenny's seat.
"Mary?" He tried to keep the confusion out of his voice. "Good to see you."
She smiled, "Mr. Bond." Her eyebrow tilted up in a slight arch. "Expecting someone else?"
Was he that obvious? He pressed a hand to his temple, rubbing the area to soothe the phantom headaches. What did Penny do to him?
Mary buzzed him in. "Mr. Bond is here—"
"Send him in," snapped M. He must have been in a mood to interrupt Mary like that. Bond couldn't truly blame him. One of Miss Moneypenny's greatest strengths was her ability to stay silent, after all.
He opened the door, and a cough from behind drew his attention. A young man, a redhead in his twenties, with a pair of wire spectacles on the bridge of his nose, stood there, eyes flitting from Bond to the door. "S-sorry. I-I have a message for M," he glanced at the door for a second longer. "May I…"
Bond stepped aside, letting the man through. He followed the man soon after.
M saw the young man and smiled cheerfully. "Morning, George." He gave a wave of his hand as he reached for his breast pocket. "Get us a cuppa, would you?"
The man, George, nodded, almost bending for a bow, then paused. He glanced nervously between Bond and M. "I, uh," he coughed. "I sent for Night and her god-father, as you asked."
M nodded in an almost sage-like manner. "Good, show them through when they get here." He waved again, a bit more forcefully. George left soon after.
Bond watched the boy leave, almost envious. "M, I—"
"Come in, sit down, and shut up."
Bond did as he was told.
"So, Jimmy," M lit a cigarette, took a drag, and glared at him. "Anything you'd like to share?"
Bond stayed in sullen silence, glaring at him. He wasn't going to play this game.
M watched him for a good minute, then sighed and leaned back. He would have kicked up his feet if he was five stones lighter. "We're teaming you with Hugo Drummond and John Night's daughter."
That made Bond pause. "Night the industrialist?" This was a new low. "H-he died, didn't he?"
That brought a smile to M's face. "Yes. Earlier this year. The daughter runs Night Industries now," M yawned. "She also works for us occasionally."
Bond stared at him, incredulous. It was one thing to have Bond kill a man at his own table. The man designed and sold weapons to SMERSH operatives, of course he would take care of it. It was something else entirely to ask Bond to work with that man's daughter, especially after they had the doctors lie to her face. "Harry, I don't need her or Drummond. They're—"
"Jimmy," M stood up. "You can call me M. Behind my back, you can even call me Mother," he took a deep inhale from his cigarette, then blew a ring towards the heavens.
"But Harry," he stared at Bond. "Harry died a long time ago, in the sewers of Vienna. Let's leave it like that, shall we?"
Bond froze. "Sorry, M. Won't happen again. But I mean, Drummond. I thought he'd retired."
"He had. Still, I knew he'd want in on this." He smiled in that oddly paternal manner. "I just thought that this time," he took a deep drag from his cigarette and leaned back. "You would help him make that retirement a bit more permanent."
"Um," George's voice cracked on the intercom. "They're just arriving. Will you receive them here?"
"No," M stood with a ponderous sigh. "Let's go and greet them. And Jimmy," he fixed Bond with a hard glare. "No more objections. Not after last night."
"M," Bond stood up to leave. "I can't… I'm not—"
"Jimmy," M's voice had a hard edge. "After everything you did, we're all terribly grateful. That's why we haven't… retired you yet.
"But please, don't overestimate your own importance, eh?" He smiled cheerfully. "I mean, let's face it, Jimmy. You're no Sidney Reilly. You're just a bit of fun."
He guided Bond to the underground, where two figures stood. The man was as wide as he was tall, bordering overweight, with a face that was both ugly and fascinating, like a poorly bred and maltreated species of bulldog that raised questions on how it became that way.
The woman was short and slim brunette, with a cold delicate nature that contrasted with her warm colours. She saw Bond, and her lips curled into the slightest of smiles, the smug smirk that Bond disliked. He reminded her of Miss Moneypenny, though she was too young and catty to be his friend.
"Hallo, hallo, hallo! Lovely to see you again." M waved at them. "Jimmy, you remember Miss Night."
"Pleased to see you again," said Emma.
Bond nodded. "Likewise." His tone made Emma's smile falter.
M continued obliviously. "Sir Hugh you know, of course."
"Well, of course he bloody does, a bloody face like mine!" Hugh gave a barking laugh that made Bond cringe. "Once seen, never forgotten, eh?"
How could Bond forget? It was a face he wanted to break, to make it far uglier than even before. The voice didn't help, either. Miss Moneypenny once compared it to a strangled walrus trying to imitate a seal. That almost made Bond laugh, which he stifled with a cough. M and Emma glanced at him, but Drummond droned on.
"Scared the life out of little Em here," he clapped a heavy hand on the woman's shoulder. "First time she met me."
"Uncle Hugo," Emma blushed. "I was five…"
"Yes. Helping your dad, wasn't I?" Drummond gave a dreamy sigh, his eyes glazing over. "Clearing all them kikes and commies out of his factories…"
M's smile began to look a bit forced. "Look, we'd best get down to business."
That shook Drummond awake. "Of course. Sorry, old boy. You know me. Living in the past."
"Not at all," M waved at them to follow him. "Come on." He made eye contact with Bond as he passed. Bond responded with a nod.
"She can't have gone far. In fact, we think we have the cab driver who ferried her away last night. We got her in interrogation just along here…"
M led them into the elevator, taking them to the ground floor. In the back, a stiff-necked guard saw them, bobbed his chin in acknowledgement, and opened the door. M cheerfully waved them down the stairs, leading them deeper into the ministry. They passed a makeshift office from the Q branch, where a new car was being assembled. Down another flight of stairs led them to a hallway with glass examination cells embedded in the walls.
M brought them to the second cell on the right, where two men were questioning a wretch in a chair. He waved at the officer at the door. The officer nodded, and pressed a switch on the intercom, letting them hear a staticky recreation of the scene.
"… Hear it again, all right? And this time, keep your knees together, you little pro."
The sobs increased. "O-oh God. Look, please, I've told you everything…" the tears came up again.
Bond watched the others. M seemed rather proud of himself, even clasping his hands and tilting his head back, like he was listening to a particularly lovely piece by Vivaldi. Drummond was staring ahead like a senile fool, slightly grinning, humouring M's depravity the way a father would his brat. Emma, on the other hand…
Bond scowled. She was pale, wide-eyed, and practically shaking in her shoes. Did she think that the wretch would answer happily and thank them for taking her into their custody? Did she think that the bitch would play nice? He should have expected this. She didn't belong here.
"I-I dropped her in Brookgate. She said she was leaving today. S-sh-she said she was heading North."
"North, then." Bond lit a cigarette. "She'll know we have public transportation covered. My guess is she'll try and hitchhike her way through."
"Thinks she's cunning, does she?" Drummond gave a thundering laugh. "I don't think it will be too hard to track her. We know her kind, after all." He clapped a heavy hand against Bond's back, making the smaller man drop his cigarette.
Bond stared at him. Drummond stared back with those baleful eyes, the one beautiful feature he prided himself on. How Emma could stand this bastard was lost on him.
"Now, then." Drummond clasped his hands together, smiling in that uglily pleasant manner of his. "Time to go!"
The Birmingham Spaceport was flooded with faces, some white and freckled, some dark and smooth. There was a Martian family of five, tall, slim, darker than her and golden-eyed. There were little green men waving tickets and calling gutturally for a travel agent. A porter was wheeling away a giant glass bowl filled with the corpses of some unfortunate Lazoons, but she could smell them. Even the flies were trying to break the glass in vain.
The air smelled faintly of diesel, gasoline, and that odd Martian fuel that smelled like water in the back of the nose. She almost gagged, pushing the heel of her hand into her mouth.
She looked around. There were Jeepets and Gyros running all over the place, kicking people out and pulling others in. Her eyes fixed on the X-L's propped up at the end of the runway.
There were three models. The Shrapnel X-L was fast but crowded with departing passengers. The Mushroom Cloud X-L was heavy and might take too long to take off. That left the Pancake X-L. Fast, easy to pilot, large enough to clear the roaches when it took off.
She smiled.
She slipped into the crowd, keeping her head low. Amongst the green faces, the tentacled-heads, and the misplaced eyes, she almost felt normal. She glanced at the crowd, vaguely taking in the number of snouts, suckermouths, and hundred-toothed grins that bobbed in and out of the crowd.
There was a familiar face, small and pale. A pig-like snout resting above a cupid's bow pressed into duck lips. She wore pointed heels with a tight dress made of shimmering green viscose. As elegant as she looked, her bolero jacket made her look smaller, almost dainty.
Some madness must have seized her, that was the only explanation for what happened next. When she saw the Princess of Cliff House in her silver acetate silk cloak, she made eye contact with the girl, and rammed right into her shoulder.
"Sorry," she averted her eyes, no towards the floor, towards the space ahead of her.
"Quite all right." The girl moved on, none the wiser.
"This is it?" Jimmy dropped his cigarette and stamped it out. "There's no other way out?"
"No, other than straight up to ruddy Venus." Uncle Hugo grinned, nodding at the entrance. "Come on. Let's have a butchers, shall we?
They walked in. The crowd was heavy, colourful, and loud. The stench of Martian rust, Venusian sulphur, and Lazoonian decay filled the air. Emma saw Jimmy's mouth move, and she could barely hear him from a foot away.
Uncle Hugo planted his fists on the railing. "Stone the crows! What a spread, eh?" He grinned at her, as if sharing some old joke. "Still, I thought there'd be more green immigrant bastards. We'd better split up. I'll take this side." He sauntered off.
She tried not to notice Jimmy's glare. They had this conversation too many times for her comfort. When they first met, Jimmy had tried to stay civil, and Uncle Hugo saw a simple Scotsman who had yet to be moulded into a fellow sportsman. Then, Jimmy had the discourtesy to share a story about his Nazi skiing teacher, to which Uncle Hugo responded in a less than kind manner. By the end of it all, Jimmy told her that Uncle Hugo was "a case."
"Oh," she had shrugged dismissively. "He's very sweet really," she shrugged again, a bit more ungainly. "If you don't get him started on the Jews."
"Ha," Jimmy's bark carried not a gramme of mirth. "He probably misses Goldstein and the Two Minutes Hate and all that." He glared at her, daring her to object, to prove him wrong.
Emma never did. She sighed. She couldn't make sense of Bond. The curmudgeonly spy who earned quite a reputation amongst the secretaries. She also heard his thunderous rants against Germans and Soviets, but wept for a gestapo officer who escaped justice. He could spit in a Korean's face, but heaven help you if you decided to tell Rhonda to curtail on the drinks.
It didn't help when Emma revealed that she and M's private secretary were old school "friends" from Cliff House. After that, Bond had been cold to her, not even bothering with civilities.
She shook her head. This was not the time. Right now, Little Miss Moneypenny was trekking across England to her Eurasian chaps. She had to focus.
It shouldn't be that hard. She went to Cliff House with the girl. She'd recognize the girl in a heartbeat.
A body bumped into her, "Sorry." The woman walked ahead.
"Quite all right." Emma moved on.
She paused.
"Wait a minute," she whirled around. "You're Moneypenny!"
The girl broke into a run.
Emma leapt and grabbed her throat. "All right, that's it!" She took steady steps backward. "The game's up, Dolly. You're coming with…" A mass of hair, followed by a skull, met her forehead.
"OH," she whirled the girl around. "Oh, you little Madam…" A heavy heel met her ankle, causing her foot to tilt and give way. She collapsed, letting Moneypenny escape.
"Get back here!" Rhonda broke into a run, with Emma on her tail. Emma had to admit, her own pointed heels were hindering her. It didn't help that Rhonda was grabbing other civilians and throwing them in the way.
"Come here!" Uncle Hugo ran up, his heavy footfalls accompanying his wall-shaking bellows. "Come back here, you blinking traitor!"
Rhonda stopped, whirled around, and clocked a running Emma in the jaw, sending her over the rails. She resumed her running.
"Uncle!" Her hand caught the rail, rubbing painfully against the bar. "Uncle! UNCLE."
"Oh, Hell's Bells and buckets of blood!" Uncle Hugo came up and grabbed her arm. "Don't worry, Em."
"Uncle, I'm slipping…"
Her god-father's sturdy grip managed to steady her. "Don't worry. I'll soon have you up."
Bond observed from above and groaned. This was why he didn't work with women, especially amateurs. Emma had barely spent an afternoon on the field, and she had already fogged it all up, and Drummond was coddling the wretch.
"Right," He swung over the rails and onto the ladder. "Here we go."
He slid down the ladder, landing hard against the pavement. He ran to a nearby red Jepeet and pulled it over.
"Security!" He pulled the man out of his seat. "I need this car," his Walther silenced whatever protests the man had.
He climbed into the seat and shoved his foot against the accelerator. The car lurched violently, first back, then sped forward.
The crowd parted quickly after that. Men cursed as they leapt out of the way, knocking into others who traded curses in return. Women shrieked and pulled children close, with some of them demanding that the crew do something about it. Bond jerked the wheel from one side to the other, screaming for them to move. When he saw Moneypenny, he slammed his heel into the accelerator.
Bond stood up, heel still on the accelerator, and took out his Walther. It was an awkward position, one hand on the wheel to keep himself steady, one foot under the board on the accelerator, but he managed to get a couple of shots.
They weren't clear shots, just enough to draw Moneypenny's attention. When Moneypenny first whirled around, he called out. "That was a warning shot!"
She turned around, smiling. She pulled a gun out from her purse, and fired at him.
The right side of the Jepeet exploded, melting the windows, and engulfing the side and backseats in flame. The car began to skid from left to right, drawing screams and swears from the crowd. Bond leapt out, just as the hovercar gave way and sent him tumbling to the concrete. He groaned, pushed a hand up to his pounding skull. He felt around, nothing wet, so he wasn't bleeding. His leg was numb, causing needles of pain to shoot up to his hip with every groan.
There was a gasp, and the clumsy clicking of heels on concrete. "Jimmy!" Emma knelt beside him. "Jimmy, are you all right?" She saw his leg and reached towards it.
He groaned and glared at her. She didn't pay him any mind until he dragged himself away from her. She saw his glare and cringed.
Drummond was at the foot of an X-L, screaming at the crew. Bond squinted at the cockpit, seeming a slim silhouette running its hands along the dashboard.
"Open the hatch," demanded Drummond. "Open that bloody hatch!" We're MI5. Open it and let us on." He shook a fist at the X-L and at the crewman's face.
The crewman shuddered. "W-we can't, guv'nor." He pointed a shaky hand at the cockpit. "Lock from the inside, these things do."
Drummond gave a roar that was filled with rage and disappointment, shaking his fist at the figure in the cockpit. "Oh, for crying out loud! We'll have to smoke 'em out, then! It's not as if it can take off anywhere."
The crewmen gave each other odd looks, then looked back at Drummond with a look Bond often wore when dealing with the dog. "Yes, they can, gov. These are American jobs, these. All Mod Cons an' that."
The fins of the X-L began to stir, slowly and steadily spinning. The crewmen saw this and began to scatter.
One was brave and stupid enough to try and assuage Drummond. "They're going to take it up, sir. We 'ave to scarper." He ran off.
Drummond stared at the running man, then back at the X-L. "What?" He roared over the noise. "What's going on?"
Emma ran up, trying to pull her god-father away. "Uncle Hugo, come away!"
"Blast it, we can't just let them go…"
"We can track them on radar." Her voice was filled with tears. "Look, Uncle, please…"
Drummond was about to argue, only to be cut off by a steady chopping. The X-L lifted off the ground clumsily, turning around towards them. The head dipped, and for a brief moment, the lights flared up, as if ready to fire. Bond instinctively reached for his Walther, but what good would it do?
The X-L lurched back… and flew away with a shock that sent everyone tumbling.
Drummond roared, shaking his fists at the sky.
Bond fought a smile. "Damn." That was one thing he would grant Penny, she knew how to make an exit memorable.
Emma was still pleading with her god-father. "Look, we can commandeer a helicopter once we have radar find out where she's going." She took off. "Come on, before she's out of sight."
Bond rolled his eyes. Women.
Emma managed to convince the office to loan them a SF17 Helijet. A quick phone call, a mention of the government, and they were seen soaring over the cities. Bond almost scoffed. Whenever he asked M for some help, all he got was a chiding look and a finger at the door.
Bond and Emma were in the back seats. Drummond in the front passenger seat, occasionally barking at the pilot next to him. After the past hour, the pilot was barely holding it together, nervously glancing from the window to the passenger seat. Drummond was sitting right in front of Bond. In fact, if he reached forward, Bond could easily reach out and shove the gun in the back of his neck. He glanced to the side. Emma was fervently glancing out the window, not even noticing Bond's intense glare.
The explosion from ahead interrupted his thoughts.
"Gordon Bennett," Drummond growled. "What the deuce has been going on here?"
"It's the rocket, the X-L. She crashed the bloody thing," Bond almost laughed. Driving was never one of Moneypenny's strengths. It was why he feared the sight of her Fiat 500, no matter how reassuring her smile was.
Drummond's eyes were practically flaming. "Yes, well, we can see that, can't we. What I meant is where is she?"
Emma glanced around. "Let's put down by the wreckage. She could be dead." Her hopeful tone almost made him want to scream at her.
Drummond shook his head. "Bless your heart, Em, but no such ruddy luck I'm afraid. That looks like a parachute down there." He waved his finger vaguely at the distance. Bond leaned over and squinted out the window. There was a small square slowly descending to the moors,
Drummond turned to the pilot. "Why don't you set us down near them?"
The pilot did as told. "Should I hang on here, sir?" Emma and Drummond ignored him, hopping out as soon as the helicopter touched ground, and began running up the hill.
Bond sighed and shook his head. "No, you're not cleared for what comes next." He climbed out, met facefirst with a blast of Scottish chill. "You hop it, and we'll radio when we want picking up." The pilot nodded and, when Bond was at a safe distance, took off.
"Uncle Hugo, Look!" Emma pointed like an excited child at the fair. "I can see her! There!" In the distance was a figure climbing up the mountain to the crumbling castle on top, barely a few miles away.
Drummond was already panting. "Got the blighter?" He wheezed, "You two young'uns get after her," he waved off Emma's concerned hand. "I'll catch up."
Emma paused, glancing at her god-father, then at her old schoolmate. "Well, if you're sure…"
Bond rolled his eyes. "Come on!" He grabbed Emma and took off. "She's not getting away again." He wanted his answers, and Moneypenny was going to give it to him.
Emma shook off his grasp, glaring at him. "I can walk, Jimmy." They ran uphill, steadily shivering as they climbed the mountain. Moneypenny was closer, but the castle was just within her grasp. She reached out, almost as if she was willing the gates to open and save her.
Bond almost scoffed. He took out his Walther and fired. It ricocheted off the castle wall, barely two arms-length in front of Moneypenny.
Emma gasped. "Jimmy, what are you doing?" Bond ignored her. Moneypenny had paused for a second, before breaking into a sprint.
"That was a warning shot!" He called out. "Get back here!" Moneypenny barely glanced back, pushing open the door and shut it behind her.
All right, if she wanted to play hard, he saw no reason to hold back.
They entered the castle. It was dark and musty, probably abandoned since the Great War. Moth-eaten tapestries clung to the wall, desperate to hold on their last vestiges of pride. Mould slime hugged the corners and seams of the bricks. The vacant windows were weeping mossy cracks that trickled down the walls to the floor.
There but that wasn't what bothered Bond. What was itching in the back of his mind was where Penny would have run.
"Split up," Emma took off before Bond could protest.
Bond sighed. If Emma made it out of this alive, it would be a Godsend.
He ran in, trying to focus on her faint footsteps. They were barely taps on the moist ground, fading as they bounced off the walls and floor. Barely ten minutes passed before he heard a scream and a thud.
Bond cursed under his breath and quickened his pace. This was exactly what he was afraid of. That blithering little amateur thinking she could do a man's work. Bad enough he had to put up with Drummond. Why did M saddle that girl on Bond as well?
He found her in a small hallway, facedown on the floor, limbs thrown out awkwardly, head turned to the wall. Bond knelt down and turned her over. Her skin was clammy, her eyes were wide and flooded with tears, and her lips were opening and closing in a hushed stream of blather.
"Emma?" Bond shook her. Her head bounced up and down as she continued to murmur. Tears continued to stream from her heavy eyes like water from a faucet. "Emma!" He shook her again. No change. She didn't even stop her babbling. Bond cursed, knelt down, and listened.
"… la… oi… la… Freud… line… oi… la…"
Bond cursed and dropped her on the ground, helpless as her eyes finally shut. It was no use. He stood, still cursing, dusting off his hands on his trousers.
A heavy breathing and a guttural cry made Bond whirl around. "EM," Drummond rushed over, throwing himself over his god-daughter. "Em? Em, are you hurt?" He gave the girl a couple of pats on the cheek to no avail.
Drummond's face wrinkled into something resembling grief. "Oh, bloody hell. Come on, lovely." He heaved his god-daughter up in his arms and placed her against the corner. "You're all right, eh?" He held the girl's face in his hands. "You're all right?" When Emma didn't respond, Drummond's face went red.
Bond rolled his eyes. "Drummond…"
"That bloody paddy-whore done something to my god-daughter. Look after her. I'm going to have her throat out. Bloody mick." Drummond lumbered his way in.
Bond groaned. At least the girl was out of the way. Now, he just needed to worry about Drummond.
Come to think of it, Drummond was occupied. Emma was unconscious.
He slid the Walther back in place and took off in Drummond's direction.
The spiral staircase led into a cloud of shadows. The steps were small, crumbling away to green ledges that jutted out of the stone. Bond made his way up, keeping one hand on the wall in place of a bannister. Bond squinted at the darkness, toeing out for the next step and digging his nails into the wall. When the last step gave way to the threshold of a door, he almost sighed in relief. The door was partially open.
It might have once been a bedchamber, but now it was for storage. Light came from the cracks and window, filled with dust dancing in the air. Tall, rusted candelabras littered the room, each filled with some half-softened stumps of wax. Boxes were shoved against the wall, leaving heavily against the damp shelves. Heavy tarps were strewn on the floor, half clinging to their original posts. There were two sets of footprints in the dust — one small and slim, the other wide and heavy— leaving layered and distorted shapes in the dirt.
Bond took in a breath, and wheezed.
"Christ," he coughed. "Christ, what a dump." He entered. "Drummond?" He kept his Walther hidden behind his thigh.
The man was standing by the wall in the corridor, his back facing Bond. Bond almost stepped out, then paused. Drummond turned around, lowering a fist with a piece of paper clutched in his hand.
Bond stepped out, and Drummond backhanded him. Bond fell back on some boxes and gasped, lost in a cloud of dust. Pain shot up his back and down his hip. He opened his mouth, only to cough as the dust kicked back up.
Drummond stood over him. "Get up."
Bond paused. "What?"
Drummond reached out. "Get up, you little rat!" He grabbed Bond by the shoulders and threw him against the door.
Bond choked and writhed. "W-what was that for? I swear I haven't touched her…"
"Get up. I'm going to make you eat your own shit before I finish you!"
"You killed Johnny Night," his roars were filled with something that almost seemed like sadness. "He was my best mate." He pulled Bond up and backhanded him into the stairs. "What was it, eh? Poison? Needle in the neck? You cowardly little bastard. It's always tricks with you young fuckers, isn't it?"
Oh, Christ. Bond tried to sit up, slipping on the mould and falling on his back. Drummond came up, kicking him further down the spiral. Every kick drew a cry from the man writhing on the stairs, sending him down by three steps each time. Eventually, his head hit the floor, and he scrambled back on his hands.
Drummond was still ranting, face now purple. "Trick cars, trick pens, trick cigarette lights… why can't you just fight?" He lifted his foot to aim another kick.
"I don't know," a silky voice echoed off the walls. Drummond looked up, fury now mixed with confusion. "Tricks seem to work pretty well for me."
"Show yourself," Drummond's head snapped from one side to the other. "Show yourself, you little whore!"
A blithe laugh rang heartily through the halls. "No, thank you." Drummond's face was turning red. "On second thought, why don't we let Emmie decide?"
"Uncle!" The familiar screams broke the stalemate. Drummond froze up. "Uncle! UNCLE."
He roared, thundering through the halls, leaving Bond a crumpled mess against the wall. The distorted giggles and bellows pounded against his skull. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ignore the dancing colours and sounds.
A slender hand pressed against his mouth, another to his forehead. "James," a soft breath brushed his ear. "Stay silent."
It wasn't like he had a choice. The pair of hands move to his underarms, pulling him up and over Moneypenny's shoulder.
She grunted. "Can you walk?"
He tried to stand, succeeded, and nodded.
She smiled and led him away. She pulled him into an alcove he hadn't noticed before, prying off the wall of wood and dirt, revealing a priest hole. She shoved him in, shutting the door behind them.
The musty smell made him cough, which his chest pains did not help. Drummond must have broken something, as every shift caused his chest to creak and pain to shoot out from his ribs. She shoved her hands over his mouth, muffling his coughs, and forced him ahead. The thundering barks of the bulldog above faded.
He walked ahead, running his free hand along the side of the tunnel to keep himself steady. His other hand, and the entire arm, was in the grasp of Miss Moneypenny, who used it to keep him steady.
"We're almost there," whispered Moneypenny. She sprinted ahead, carefully pushing up the door. She climbed over and heaved him up to the surface. He groaned as it jostled his ribs, but she only shushed him and pushed him forward.
They emerged, and before them was a small church, worn by time. It barely seemed like a church, with its stained walls and torn roof. It seemed more like a crudely fashioned dollhouse, made with a rusty tin that had a thatched roof made of shredded paper. Bond only knew it was a church when Moneypenny dragged him in and pushed him against the furthest pew.
He gasped when his back hit the wood. "Fucking hell…"
"Hold still," she took a small flask from her purse, popped it open and held it up to his lips. He let it flow down his throat. It was whisky, maybe cold once, but the entire day running had made it warm.
"There," she smiled. "That's better."
While she tended to him, he took in their surroundings. It was a church, rotting, but still very there. The paintings were reduced to dust long ago, leaving only the pews and some vague impressions of holiness. The walls were coated with moss and dirt, which was slowly sliding to the floor and puddling at the corners.
Bond groaned. "Where's Emma?" Those screams were too much for him. Whatever her faults, Emma didn't deserve an ounce of his pain.
She smiled, that playful little smile. "Oh, where you left her." She held up her right hand, flaunting the recording-watch wrapped around her slender wrist. "I just wanted the mad dog out of the way."
Bond chuckled, then winced. He tried to say something, but all that came up was a series of coughs. His coughs were eventually drowned out by Moneypenny's flask. She looked around, her head turning like a nervous bird's.
"Stay down," her hands pulled him down, shoving him behind the furthest pew. He groaned, crawling under it. She ran to the window, just as Drummond came charging in.
"Rhonda," he growled.
"Miss Moneypenny," she chided him in an almost motherly manner. She tsked. "Where are your manners, Hugo?"
"I save them for a decent sort," he huffed. "A waste on your ilk."
Moneypenny laughed, "Such a pity," her footsteps began to lead away from Bond. "If you had extended that courtesy to me, I would have shared Bond with you."
That made Drummond pause. "You killed him." Moneypenny laughed at that. "You little bitch. He loved you."
Moneypenny's delicate footsteps made their way around the church. "You must think you're quite a hero," the footsteps paused. "Worried about big bad Bond while your god-daughter lies in limbo."
Drummond snarled. "Where's Em?" His heavy pants filled the room. "What did you do to her?"
"Em?" Moneypenny's voice had an oddly musical tilt to its edge. "Which woman was that?"
Bond tried to slow his breathing. Drummond wouldn't hit a woman. The old dog thought he was too good for that. Drummond was also a jingo who thought that the quack scientists had the right of it, just the bad luck to fall in with the Germans. Moneypenny was competent and fiery, but she never had to deal with a rabid bulldog in the form of a senile gorilla.
Bond closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. Moneypenny had a plan. She managed to make it this far. He had to trust that the former secretary wouldn't get them killed. Maybe if he was lucky, Drummond would trip over his feet and crack his skull against the floor.
He almost snorted. Maybe if he was lucky, he'd wake up in his bed, nursing a headache from last night's bourbon.
"We should take this outside," her footsteps started again. "I wouldn't want to insult the Lord Above."
Drummond grunted, his heavy footfalls accompanying Moneypenny's delicate footsteps.
When Bond heard the church door swing shut, he let out a sigh that swelled into a cough. His pain seemed… lesser. Moneypenny must have slipped something into the whisky.
He crawled over to the window, and watched.
Moneypenny was standing only a few yards from Drummond, well within tackling distance. Drummond's back was to the church, hands outstretched, fingers flexing into and out of fists. Moneypenny barely glanced at Bond in the window before returning her attention to Drummond.
Bond crawled to the door, keeping his gaze on the duel outside. He took his Walther, replaced the cartridge, and made his way to the door. At every window he passed, he glanced outside, careful to move as soundlessly as possible.
Moneypenny smiled and said something that made Drummond point and bellow unintelligibly. She laughed, and said something that made Drummond snap.
He lunged at her.
Bond rushed at the door. The rush of blood to his ears barely blocked out the sound of Drummond's roars and Moneypenny's shouts. He felt the sharp pain of fear slam into his chest, nearly sending him to the floor in a coughing fit. He caught himself on the wall, only able to push himself out the door at the last minute.
He ran out just as a shrill cry hit his ears.
Moneypenny was caught, her arms trapped in Drummond's grasp as he lifted her up. He leaned back as she kicked and screamed, lifting her up as she continued to squirm.
Bond raised his gun and fired. A spray of blood cut through Drummond's knee, sending him to kneeling over with a high-pitched shriek. Moneypenny slammed the back of her head into her captor's face, breaking free as Drummond clutched at what Bond presumed to be the remains of his nose.
Drummond looked up, and Moneypenny whirled around, kicking the jaw. Drummond fell with a grunt and Moneypenny got cocky. She came up for another kick, and Drummond caught her foot and tripped her up. She went tumbling with a scream. Drummond lurched up and forward, only to fall when Bond shot three more times at his back and shoulder.
Bond walked up. A sudden numbness flowed over him. He came up around Drummond, watching the man's face contort. Bond kept his eyes fixed on the man as Moneypenny found his hand and pulled herself up.
"You fucking slimy Boche-loving piece of…"
He pulled the trigger. That was the last straw. No one insulted Hannes Oberhauser, and no one did it twice.
Moneypenny stared at the corpse for a moment, before turning back to Bond. "Meet me in church," she spun around like a mechanical doll.
Bond stared at Drummond's corpse. His face was forever twisted in that hateful sneer, eyes almost rolling about, a flattened nose lost in the blood and wrinkles, a mockery of a bulldog. His shoulders hunched over in a slump that made him look like a kicked hound, with his legs twisting as his great weight dragged him into the moor.
Bond rather liked him this way.
He kept his pistol on hand as he walked back into the church. Inside, Moneypenny managed to make herself comfortable on the pews, stretched out like a cat, one hand musing her mass of curls, the other rubbed at her face. When he entered, she sat up.
"There you are," she yawned. "It's rude to keep a lady waiting." She slid over and patted the place next to her.
Bond sat down, keeping his gun in hand. "What happened, Penny?"
Miss Moneypenny smiled. She unbuttoned her shirt, revealing two papers folded to squares that were pinned to her zippicamiknicks. She took the top paper, unfolded it, and held it out at Bond's direction.
Bond glanced at her. She was just staring at him with those cool and quizzical eyes of hers.
He took it.
O'B. is dead. Program no longer useful.
Eliminate MONEYPENNY.
R. K. C.
Bond looked at her. "No pockets?" He tried to smile.
"No," she gave a weak laugh. "They haven't invented those yet." She unfurled the other paper, more crumpled and filthy. "I also found this."
Bond took it and smoothed it against his thigh. He held it close and squinted at the faded writing. There were two kinds of handwriting on it, one using blue ink, the other using black.
NIGHT says quota is impossible. Not accepting money. No good. End him. — Q.
Sending 007 — R. K. C.
Note: say SMERSH
The paper crumpled. Bond didn't remember squeezing it or slamming his fist into the wall. He came to, suddenly, sitting on a pew, with Moneypenny nursing his scraped knuckles. HTe paper was little more than a bloody scrap on the floor.
"You really should take better care of yourself, James." She chided in an almost motherly voice. She dabbed antiseptic on the wounds, ignoring his winces, and bandaged them shut. She studied her work, nodded, and set his hand on his lap.
She stood, stretched, and rebuttoned and tucked in her shirt. "You, I can understand." She turned away and unzipped her trousers, folding her shirt underneath. "Even Emma to some extent," she zipped her trousers up. "But why Drummond?" She whirled around, her mass of curls bouncing with her.
"You were always the smart one," he took out his cigarette case and took out a stick. "You tell me," he offered up the open case.
"He wanted you to kill Drummond," she leaned against the wall. "He was a security risk," she accepted a cigarette. "But I was a flight risk," he held out a cigarette lighter, letting her get a spark on her stick. "He was already lining up secretaries for the position."
He reloaded his Walther PPK.
"He wanted you to find me."
There was a click , the slide.
"You were the backup," the cigarette was halfway done. "If Drummond failed, you'd kill us both. If he killed me, you only needed to end him. I would have just softened him up for you." She threw the stick away. "If I succeeded, you'd finish me off."
He didn't respond. He looked at her. She looked at his eyes, how blue and cold they were. She had seen eyes like his before, on corpses.
She sighed and turned around. She closed her eyes.
He lifted the gun and fired.
"She's dead?" M took a drag from his cigarette
Jimmy nodded. "The castle burned down with her and Drummond in it," he took a drag from his own cigarette. "We weren't able to recover the bodies."
"No matter," M shrugged. "The deed is done," he waved at the door, preoccupied with the ashtray. "You may go, now."
Jimmy left without a word. He saw Emma sitting at the door, garbed in a black dress with a veiled hat on her head. She seemed more approachable when she was crying. She was murmuring into her handkerchief, clutching her stomach, gasping and coughing as Bond approached her.
"He was very protective of you, y'know." He took another drag. "Warned me off, at any rate. Said he'd murder me."
She sniffled, wiped her face, and looked up at him. "He did what?"
"When we first met," he grinned ruefully. "He told me not to touch you. I'd just made an innocent remark about you being a bit of all right…"
"Oh, had you?" A mirthless smirk strained at her lips. "Well, even so, he'd no right to say that." She glared at him.
A shock of pity went through him. "I'm sorry."
She sniffled, wiping her face again. "It was his way of looking out for me, I expect. He thought that I was rather vulnerable to older men." A wistful smile crossed her face.
"You don't have to worry about that," he smiled. "Not with me, though." He took another drag, and chuckled. "Steed, on the other hand."
Emma looked up at him. "Steed?"
"We went to Eton together," his jaw still ached at the memory. "I'm sure he'll tell you all about it."
Emma gave him a wry smirk. "I'm sure he will."
He offered to escort her home, or at least pay for the cab ride. She declined, so he took the cab alone.
Tired, cold, and a bit bored, Bond decided to step into his office. Maybe he thought he could get some paper-work done, just to get M's eyes off his back for a while. He almost laughed. Without Moneypenny, M would actually need to work. Maybe that would slim him down some.
He stepped into his office, and froze.
There was a card on his table, coated with yesterday's dust.
He picked it up and flipped it over.
He laughed.
Trying something new. What do you think?
XOXO Penny