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Entry tags:
- [comm] lastvoyages,
- bond careshahahahahah,
- bond only cares sometimes,
- cut your losses,
- feelings????,
- god he needs therapy,
- healthiest lifestyle,
- i believe it's time to go,
- last rat standing,
- learn how to apologize you ass,
- leaving things unfinished,
- lets talk about how useless i feel,
- m : bitch,
- m would be really disappointed right now,
- professionals,
- yeah it's relief
♠ | 033 | Spam + Video
[Spam/Narration]
[He's been thinking about home a lot, lately.
That's an understatement: he's been thinking about it almost every minute of every day. He's been thinking of it every time he jogs in the gym, every time the CES shows him something like Regents Park or any of his other habitual running spots in London. Sometimes it shows him Skyfall, and even his reaction to that has changed.
He's been thinking a lot about his results for active duty, too. Not the false ones M gave him - not the ones she passed to him, knowing he would need to be buoyed for the coming mission. The true results, shown to him on a series of screens on an abandoned island while he was tied to a chair. It's always alarming when truth comes from your enemies, but recently Bond's found it more alarming when the truth comes from him.
He doesn't belong here. He hasn't belonged here since he graduated.
He knows that, and still he's stayed. For M, he told himself. He's been waiting six months for an inmate, six months hoping he'd have an inmate who didn't just vanish. Six months spent doing nothing but avoid floods or cope with the after effects at his liquor cabinet - he's even stopped going to the pub as of late. Elena was right, he's become a recluse. He hasn't bothered to meet any of the newcomers, really - he hasn't bothered to keep up well with any of the people he could still say he cares about. He hasn't been a presence in anyone's life - not even his own.
It doesn't help that he's sitting in his room now, with a glass of scotch in his hand. He's actually grown used to 50-year Macallan. That's disappointing all on its own, but of course, it makes him think of the psych eval. Substance and alcohol abuse indicated. He throws back the rest of the scotch and runs a hand over his jaw. He needs a shave.
Heading for the bathroom, he finds his razor and shakes his head quietly. Sometimes the old ways....well. Going back in time didn't help much, in the end. That's why he's here.
He thinks, as he drags the cut throat razor over his skin, that maybe that's just the excuse he's been using. Would M thank him for being here all this time, accomplishing nothing, turning into a hollow shell of himself? Silva asked him if there was anything left of the man he was - then, the answer was yes, unequivocally. Now, maybe it wouldn't be so clear.
After the shave, he shrugs off his clothes, kicks off khakis and tosses away his tee shirt. When he dresses again, it's in a tailored suit. Part of him thinks it's ridiculous: suits are for occasions, and there are none here. But as he adjusts his collar, he thinks that maybe it's time to make his own occasion.
He hates it here, he realizes. He really hates it here, where he is never on a mission, where he never has the ability to act. Where, left drifting, he acts badly.
In the end, he heads for the deck, for one last, long look at the stars. He's always enjoyed the view, though mostly because it makes him feel small. Now, it convinces him that this is the right decision. This is no place for a man like him.]
[Public]
[When he finally turns the video on, he's still freshly clean-shaven, still wearing a suit. He's leaning on the rail on deck, eyes on the stars before shifting down to the camera.]
I'm heading off.
[He's tempted to leave it there, even shifts his thumb toward the power button. But he pauses and straightens instead, looking around him.]
Never chose to leave, before. [Well, once, but he kept that a secret then and it still is. At least now he has the spine to say something, first.] To be honest, I never should have come back in the first place. Seems I'm not much for authority figures.
[Pathological rejection of authority based on unresolved childhood trauma. It hadn't really surprised him. He knows how he lives his life. He knows how he copes. And he is not built for making deals with unseen men. He's not built for trusting what he can't see.
Bond exhales through his nose.]
I haven't done any good here.
[James is not one to apologize easily, and he's certainly never apologized to his enemies. He doesn't start now, but the admittance is close, as close as he can come. He knows what he did, here, he knows who he hurt, and he knows he hurt people he never intended by failing to think things through. For that, he's sorry. But it's too general for him to put into words, requires more eloquence than he has to give.]
I'll be around, for a bit.
[A few hours at most, because there are only a handful he'll seek out, if they don't come to him first. He doesn't bother smiling, but he looks clearer than he has in a while. He's needed elsewhere.]
[He's been thinking about home a lot, lately.
That's an understatement: he's been thinking about it almost every minute of every day. He's been thinking of it every time he jogs in the gym, every time the CES shows him something like Regents Park or any of his other habitual running spots in London. Sometimes it shows him Skyfall, and even his reaction to that has changed.
He's been thinking a lot about his results for active duty, too. Not the false ones M gave him - not the ones she passed to him, knowing he would need to be buoyed for the coming mission. The true results, shown to him on a series of screens on an abandoned island while he was tied to a chair. It's always alarming when truth comes from your enemies, but recently Bond's found it more alarming when the truth comes from him.
He doesn't belong here. He hasn't belonged here since he graduated.
He knows that, and still he's stayed. For M, he told himself. He's been waiting six months for an inmate, six months hoping he'd have an inmate who didn't just vanish. Six months spent doing nothing but avoid floods or cope with the after effects at his liquor cabinet - he's even stopped going to the pub as of late. Elena was right, he's become a recluse. He hasn't bothered to meet any of the newcomers, really - he hasn't bothered to keep up well with any of the people he could still say he cares about. He hasn't been a presence in anyone's life - not even his own.
It doesn't help that he's sitting in his room now, with a glass of scotch in his hand. He's actually grown used to 50-year Macallan. That's disappointing all on its own, but of course, it makes him think of the psych eval. Substance and alcohol abuse indicated. He throws back the rest of the scotch and runs a hand over his jaw. He needs a shave.
Heading for the bathroom, he finds his razor and shakes his head quietly. Sometimes the old ways....well. Going back in time didn't help much, in the end. That's why he's here.
He thinks, as he drags the cut throat razor over his skin, that maybe that's just the excuse he's been using. Would M thank him for being here all this time, accomplishing nothing, turning into a hollow shell of himself? Silva asked him if there was anything left of the man he was - then, the answer was yes, unequivocally. Now, maybe it wouldn't be so clear.
After the shave, he shrugs off his clothes, kicks off khakis and tosses away his tee shirt. When he dresses again, it's in a tailored suit. Part of him thinks it's ridiculous: suits are for occasions, and there are none here. But as he adjusts his collar, he thinks that maybe it's time to make his own occasion.
He hates it here, he realizes. He really hates it here, where he is never on a mission, where he never has the ability to act. Where, left drifting, he acts badly.
In the end, he heads for the deck, for one last, long look at the stars. He's always enjoyed the view, though mostly because it makes him feel small. Now, it convinces him that this is the right decision. This is no place for a man like him.]
[Public]
[When he finally turns the video on, he's still freshly clean-shaven, still wearing a suit. He's leaning on the rail on deck, eyes on the stars before shifting down to the camera.]
I'm heading off.
[He's tempted to leave it there, even shifts his thumb toward the power button. But he pauses and straightens instead, looking around him.]
Never chose to leave, before. [Well, once, but he kept that a secret then and it still is. At least now he has the spine to say something, first.] To be honest, I never should have come back in the first place. Seems I'm not much for authority figures.
[Pathological rejection of authority based on unresolved childhood trauma. It hadn't really surprised him. He knows how he lives his life. He knows how he copes. And he is not built for making deals with unseen men. He's not built for trusting what he can't see.
Bond exhales through his nose.]
I haven't done any good here.
[James is not one to apologize easily, and he's certainly never apologized to his enemies. He doesn't start now, but the admittance is close, as close as he can come. He knows what he did, here, he knows who he hurt, and he knows he hurt people he never intended by failing to think things through. For that, he's sorry. But it's too general for him to put into words, requires more eloquence than he has to give.]
I'll be around, for a bit.
[A few hours at most, because there are only a handful he'll seek out, if they don't come to him first. He doesn't bother smiling, but he looks clearer than he has in a while. He's needed elsewhere.]
Spam
Young, angry, and no idea how to interact with the world in a remotely positive way. But she's learned a lot faster than he has. James wonders if that's what parents think when they look at their children: pleasure that they will do things better and faster.
Of course, he doesn't feel remotely paternal toward her, and he's not entirely pleased - but it's a brush of something like that.]
You weren't an utter pain in my ass.
[He smiles that half smile a moment, then holds out his hand to her to shake.]
Spam
I was off my A Game.
But it could have been worse.
[ Without Chris and Cassel, without the burst of violence, things might've been different. But they weren't, and she doesn't grieve. She doesn't have hope or faith here, and she doesn't particularly want to try. ]
[ In truth, she's jealous. He gets to leave, with most of his sharp, jagged edges intact. She should be so lucky to leave like he does. ]
Spam
[He remembers what he was like, after all. Her handshake is firm and strong, and he does her the credit of matching it instead of altering his usual grip. She stopped being a child well before she should have, in a harder way than he did, he thinks.
For a moment, after he lets go, he just looks at her, solemn and thoughtful. The smile filters back in before it stretches too long, and he shakes his head as he slides his hands into his pockets.]
Some advice that I know you don't want: when being here starts feeling bleakest, it starts turning around.
[Because you can't distract yourself forever. You can't run forever. You don't always have to grind down your sharp edges, but you have to know they're there. He had to learn how to maneuver with them.]
Spam
[ She says it like truth, and the weariness is there, beyond just teenagers who think they know everything. Her experience is beyond that. ]
Chris sat on my bed the other night going on about his deal, how Slevin's close, he thinks. He doesn't know what to do. All I could tell him was that I can't help him -- his timeline and mine are different, and he's not giving me back my Dad. I'm here, and I can't do anything for him.
[ She curled her fingers around the rail, tucking her feet in the one beneath it. ]
I don't really care if it turns around. I'm not ashamed. I don't think I'll ever be. That's the problem, isn't it?
[ He'd know, right? ]
Spam
Well. Maybe not everything.
Bond looks away for a moment, scanning the - well it's not much of a horizon - and shrugs.]
I'm not ashamed. [Of some things, yes. Of his life, of the good he's done, of the methods he's needed to do that good? Never.] I'm sorry that some people died who didn't need to.
[He doesn't feel the pang any more, when he thinks of M's last breaths. Not as hard and strong as it was when he first came here. You grieve, and you move on. He had to remember that.]
Who shouldn't have. [He looks down at her again, and offers more than he would have if he was staying, if she didn't remind him of an angry young man who stopped caring.] I told someone I loved her, and graduated. It's not always about what you've done.
Spam
It's kinda adorable that your nougat-y center was all 'I love you' bullshit though, really.
[ Because it is. ]
[ She looks out over the deck, still perfectly balanced. She's thinking of Arya, gone, of all the people who made it off over time, over things-- people going away, people coming back, Chris's huge bouts of stupidity. ]
It's okay.
That you're going.
I think some things...
They can't be fixed. Not like this. Rewriting some part of life, you're-- never going to not know that... they died or what it was like to lose them or that a world is gone or whatever stupid deal someone is after.
I have to be okay with Chris saving a world that isn't mine because he's not my Chris and that won't be my Daddy. I'm not going to graduate and go away to some reward. If I graduate at all, it'll be to-- to trying to keep Dave alive and going underground because Marcus is a cop and I can't destroy his life by living mine under his roof.
I'm not going to stay here and get a deal to change any of that. That's the shit I died with, that's the shit I'll live with if the Admiral doesn't just put me down the trash incinerator first.
[ She looks over at him, jaw set and hard. ]
You learned to live with it too, right?
Spam
Maybe it would do her some good to hear. But it's personal, and she has something to say.
Part of him still wants to laugh. The more familiar she sounds, the more he - well, the more he wants to pull away, but at the same time, he feels he ought to help her. Maybe it's making up for being a shit interim warden. Maybe it's just exercising his compassion. It doesn't matter: he won't examine his reasons for staying here, talking to her. He rarely examines himself.
He nods slowly.]
I came back because my-- [He's never entirely sure what title to give her, and the corner of his mouth twitches.] My employer died. I all but kidnapped her to keep her safe, and she died on my estate. [In my arms, he doesn't add. He's no good at adding the sentiment.]
I've been waiting all this time for her. But if she were here, she'd have me trounced for wasting my time.
[He exhales slowly, tilting his head as he looks at her.]
I learned to live with a lot. And I was lucky. [Vesper saved herself, after all. And sometimes, you have to accept that you're not the hero. That you can't save everyone. That sometimes, people need to be their own hero, and you have to live with whether they succeed or fail.
He nods decisively.]
You'll be okay.
spam; cw ; discussion of past criminal violence and murder/torture
Chris's Daddy put mine on TV. They beat him, electrocuted him, got stopped short of setting him on fire. I killed every last one of those motherfuckers in the building, and Dave got D'amico in the end, but...
It sure doesn't change anything. Just that they can't do it again. Not that someone else doesn't rise. Shit, our Chris -- he had Dave's daddy killed, and then raided the funeral. He had a chance to get out and be normal, but he wanted back in and so he stayed in and now we're fucking orphan twins. How's that for mentoring?
[ She purses her lips; it's safe to tell because he's leaving and he can't leverage this against her. It's easier to tell someone who can't turn around and hurt you. ]
I wouldn't bring my Daddy back. Maybe that's funny or maybe it make me a shit daughter. But if I were gonna wave my magical fucking fixit stick, it'd be for Dave's daddy. He was a civilian. It wasn't right to corner him, and beat him, and strangle him. All he did was love his son.
[ She paused, giving it a second thought, and adds: ]
Still not gonna, but... if I was.
[ It'd be for Dave. ]
no subject
He doesn't tell her well done, because even though that's not far from what he did, the difference is there. He wasn't pursuing revenge. He was protecting.
Years ago, he tried for revenge.]
It's usually the civilians who suffer. [Not always, with him, but more often than not - he can count them all,the women who shouldn't have been involved, who were pulled in because of him. The men he put in danger, the man who died because they counted him as a friend. He still thinks of Mathis, time and again.]
I won't encourage you to stay. [His mouth quirks. He's not that much a hypocrite.] But if that's you're reasoning, I don't think anyone would be worried about you.
[He pauses, and adds - maybe because he'll never say this to anyone else,] I went after the organization that killed someone I cared about. I killed a lot of them. And in the end, when I found the person directly responsible...
[He exhales.]
I let him live. It didn't change much. [But it changed him.]
no subject
[ This was an act of pure self-restraint, thank you. ]
[ She hops off the railing, light and spry. She pushed a hand through her hair, looking away. That's what she'll do then. Deal, and get out, one way or the other. ]
Didn't change much.
Anyway.
You have way more important people to talk to. Tell Vesper hello or something when you go home.
no subject
[He turns as she moves, staying where he is but watching her. It's a shame, they couldn't see these things sooner. He saw whispers of it, impressions, but if he's honest with himself, he didn't care enough. He doesn't care enough to stay. And they wouldn't be talking if he did.
Funny, that.
A smile ticks the corners of his mouth.]
I'd tell you good luck, but I doubt you'd thank me for it.
no subject
[ She shrugs, careless and flippant in the way that protects people like her (like them). Ponytail swinging over one shoulder as she glances back. ]
Don't get shot, Jimmy.
[ And then she's offer, smoothing down her shirt down as she goes (the gun at her back well secreted there, to all but the sharpest eyes). ]
no subject
Don't shoot anyone you don't have to.
[He calls it after her, shaking his head, then turns to look out at the stars again. It's a decent goodbye.]