James Bond doesn’t give a damn this early in the morning; thanks to the most recent threat to national security, nearly every available 00 had been called back to HQ. A handful of them stayed the night, cooped up in the bullpen, or the library, slumped over dossiers and classified debriefings.
007 needs coffee, and a shower. And judging by Miss Moneypenny’s mildly disgusted expression, when she popped in to snatch the folders in the OUT bin ( already shuffled through by the agents within, and signed at the bottom ) so do the rest of the lot.
“— Oh, piss off…”
It lacks her usual snap, but the night has been a long one and she’s disinclined to courtesy without a cup of good strong coffee to bolster her better nature; still, there’s something to be said for a little nostalgia in the morning.
All but fully reclined in her chair, she gamely threw a leg out from under the desk, tugging up her pant leg to flash a bit of ankle — and a crooked smile — at Bond.
“Now — why don’t you let the lady have a lie-in… while you fetch me Whoopi Goldberg —?”
he has been awake for a while.
early mornings are not new to him, for he finds his peace comes to him when the sun longs to greet the bright blue sky —- nevertheless, he understands the other’s inhibitions & obvious annoyance, but he speaks not. not at the moment, at the least. instead, in his hands lay a book about the history of morse code; simple light readings to him. he, however, can chuckle at 002’s quip, a small grim forming upon his lips. thus was their lives.
❝ James has finally awaken before another. —- this is an celebratory occasion for us all. ❞
"– if you’ve a craving, send James; he lives to please – the ladies in particular.“
& because he’s no one’s coffee fetch.
for his own part, Alec’s been up for some time – or ( more accurately ) he never went to bed; the others might have found the time ( & inclination ) to nod off, but Alec’s thoughts were latched on to their brief, already turning over perspectives and options. a rough plan ( or four ) had formed by dawn; he’d kept at them for a while more before tapping James wordlessly on the shoulder and making an obscure gesture that said ’bath’.
the cold, empty silence ( & scalding water ) of the deserted training-level showers had helped, at last, crystallize the images he’d been toying with all night.
he comes in now ( hair damp, his fresh shirt unbuttoned at the throat & clinging close to his shoulders and chest ) with a grin, clapping James on the shoulder and tipping a nod to Ainsworth in greeting.
"An’ once James gets back with breakfast, perhaps we can get down to business, mhn – ?”
viewtokillaa: [breaking muse:] "007's body has been found, just off the coast of Istanbul. We're sorry, Commander."
Love precedes a body count, or so the saying goes. And it’s not a lie. Love is ( & will always be ) as good a way to get a man ( or ten ) killed as any, & it can only be moredangerous if you mean it. Nothing good lasts long in their lives without being kissed by the specter of death, without brushing sidelong against bloodandbones, and being cast in the shadow of the things they’ve done ( & do ) and can nevertalk about.
Against all hope, they’d held outthis long, the two of them against the odds, against the inevitability of fate, he & James.
But that doesn’t make it hurt any less for Alec; doesn’t make his legs any stronger, or his back any straighter. It doesn’t loosen the pressurized fist his fingers refuse to unfurl from, his knuckles blanched to pallid white. His gut feels leaden, heavy; bile threatens to climb in his throat but he is far too professional( and too old a hand at loss ) to be so easilyovercome.
( He’d feel like a cold-heartedmongrel if it weren’t James’ own mocking in his ears, telling him that was the job, best to get used to it. James, saying I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. )
He lets it break over him like the tide; let’s it wash through him like sea water in his wounds, the sting sharp and undeniable and overwhelming for just an instant too long before it eases back. He can breathe( if barely ) and he’s still on his feet ( ‘bravo, Alec, old-boy’ ) and that’s something, even if he’s leaning into the wall behind him; even if he’s staring unseeingly across Q-Branch at the incoming foreign-feeds. The GPS coordinates are a scramble of digits in alphanumerics at the bottom of the images that his mind chews over absently as he processeseverything and nothing for one long, long moment.
When he speaks, his voice is steady. It does notwaver, or quake; it doesn’t break over what must be said; what must be acknowledged.
After all, they’re— —he’s a bloody professional.
“Understood,” he says, voice dry as scorched earth. His gaze is unblinking, unfocused, and far too cool; he breathes one slow, steady breath inward and tells himself he will mourn James properly. Alone.Later.
Preferably once he’s dealtwith the bastard who took him down.
That brings a bit of the light back into his eyes, puts a bit of that hellfire back in his heart.
”I’ll be honest, I’ve got no bloody clue what you just said to me.“
The boy’s tone is painted by his unexpectedamusement — James considers himself the superior linguist compared to the rest of the Danger Society back at school, but that flew right above his head. He laughs, softly, more at the turning of the tables than the other boy himself. More at the trainwreck of a situation this trip’s already become: Alexis Fairburn, his previous Maths beak [ professor ] is still missing, and he’s recentlyescaped from the local hospital. [ This suit and these shoes are not his own, though, strangely they seem to fit him perfectly. ]
His thoughts still spin, filled with crossword clues and the Apache revolver that damn near killed him [ the drivers of the Daimler vehicle, the car chase, the dive into the river, and the long wait beneath the bridge included] and yet, this stranger catches his attention, too, which brings his steps to pause.
”Have we —— met before?“ James asks, ice-blue eyes narrowed at the other, though he doesn’t expect an easy answer. In fact, he finds himself suddenly ready to fight, on the off-chance that something or someone aims to surprise him.
“I could repeat it, but what fun would that be?”
He draws to a pause beside the stranger, an easy, forgiving smile on his lips — just the sort of expression a young gentlemanshould have for polite company. ( It’s a trick that comes naturally to Alec, has always; he’s exceptional at pretending, a skill his handlers are never hesitate to make use of. ) And dressed in a tailored suit with polished shoes, he fitsin here, looks the part they wish him to play: young and well-bred but plain, unassuming, unexceptional. Nothingmemorable about him at all.
Except that he speaks seven languages fluently; except that he’s bored with this assignment ( baby-sitting, because he’s still too young to be given something worthwhile to do; because he’s the prodigy but they’re still testing him, alwaystesting him ) and if he has to spend too much longer at this soirée surveilling their asset, he may do something rash, like set fire to the god-awful ostentatious artwork Charnage seems to like so much.
( Of the many, many things Alec excels at, bearing boredom with grace has never been one of them. )
So what then, if he occupies himself for a bit? Of the gathered attendees, the boy with a cap of fine golden hair is the nearest his age, or so it would seem, and the stranger’s eyes are sharp and clever-looking—and the most striking shade of blue Alec has ever seen. Not cerulean, but a brighter, clearer topaz; nearly glacial. He’s well-dressed and good-humored ( if the tone of their impromptu run-in was any indication ), but not an obvious character, nor someone Alec recognized from the guest list. But that did not necessarily mean he didn’t belong.
( But it made it a possibility and that, at least, justified Alec in making small talk. All in the name of precaution, of course. )
Sizing the other boy up with a lazy up-and-down he doesn’t bother to mask, Alec rocks his shoulders in what passes as a shrug. “If we have,” he says in lightly accented English, “I don’t remember it. And I usually have such a memory for faces, so I’d say not.” He grins then, and tips his head in the direction of the balcony off the side of the hall.
“Do you smoke? I could use a break from all—” he wrinkles his nose, the image of boyishdistaste, "—this. And maybe some time in the company of someone a little less boorish than this lot.“
you have been cordially invited to the coronation of his imperial & royal majesty, albert wesker I at the honorable venue of the hohenzollern castle in stuttgart, germany, upon the second day of august, 2014 at 3:00 p.m. food and drink and entertainment will follow the coronation, as well as a celebration lasting for three (3) days thereafter.
we hope that you are able to attend. please r.s.v.p. by the 27th of july, 2014 using the tag “coronation invitation 2014.” thank you for your consideration.
To be utterly and completely fair, it was mostly James’ fault he’d gotten around to responding so late. Routine mission gone to hell because crazy women came after Bond like insects to honey. And also there was some entirely coincidental trouble with the train system in Belize that may or may not have resulted in a motorcycle chase through the tube tunnels. But that was nothing to do with them. Of course.
But dodging AAR’s was more difficult than dodging bullets (and speeding trains) by half, so now, two days after the deadline, here he was, getting around to at last RSVP-ing.
———Or, rather, here they were.
Holding the line for Wesker’s assistant, Alec traced the embossed seal in the middle of the invitation with a fingertip and flicked a sidelong glance at James, elbowing him lightly to get his attention.
"Remind me again why I’m the one doing this? —————You’re the one who blew up Belize.”
❝You don’t have to use your eyes, darling. They’re lovely, yes, but I believe if you speak Russian to a woman, she will gladly take her clothes off for you. You have that to your advantage. Any language will work—your French is lovely.❞
