lastrat | ♠ | 002

[Much different from the man who posed skepticism and disbelief a few days ago, Bond is now smiling. He looks at ease, and for once like he isn't constantly on guard. It erases some lines from his face, makes him look a little younger, a little lighter.]

I never was much for Christmas, you know. Can't understand why now. It's nice, isn't it? The coming together, the gaiety of it all. I think I've been rather rude since I got here, and I'd like to apologize to you all. I'm sure you've only been trying to help, and I ought to have been more receiving. That's what this season's all about, isn't it? Setting aside your disbelief and believing in miracles.

[Another warm smile, and he nods.] I think I like that.

[Private to the Admiral]

[This list will be angrily replaced later, but for now, happiness and good will towards man and all that.]

Haven't written one of these since I was a boy, but if you insist:

For Ivy, a beautiful dress. Green, naturally. With a leaf motif, since she seems so fond. For Castiel - I think he could use a halo, don't you? For Lark - Mm. I'm not very good at this. Aftershave, or cologne, something expensive that he'll enjoy.

And for Vesper-- [He trails off, thinking hard.] A necklace, I think. With a key on it. [A pause, then a smile. Yes, that'll do nicely.]

[Spam for Vesper]

[When he ended the post, he realized he was just sitting here alone, with Vesper only next door. Why shouldn't he believe miracles? She was dead, and now she was alive. And he'd attacked her. James hung his head for a moment, and reached into his jacket pocket, where he could turn her Algerian love knot over in his hand. This was stupid; he ought to apologize. He ought to go and enjoy her company. He ought to let her soothe the ache in his chest. Why shouldn't he?

So a moment later, he was at her door, knuckles tapping against the wood quickly.]

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[He could hear it when she spoke, and stroked her back slowly, letting her take her time, giving her something solid to lean on. He didn't shudder to remember that particular questioning. His mouth went tight around the corners, that was all, but it was an unpleasant memory, all of it, from what Le Chiffre had done to him to hearing her cry out in the next room.

He decided to die, to let her die, rather than give up the password. She'd done the exact opposite, and he could feel some quiet guilt squirming in his stomach as he decided not to bring it up.]

I never thanked you. [He kissed her shoulder lightly, and there was a silent apology there, too, for what he couldn't tell her.]

[She put her hand on his chest, feeling his pulse, and it was almost like they could pretend it had never happened. They were both here, they both seemed alive, but they weren't, not really. At least, she wasn't. She still didn't know how James had gotten here.]

You don't have to. I'd do it again, if I had to. [Not that she hoped she would, but she meant it. She'd do anything for him, even now.

She lifted her head carefully to kiss his cheek.] I love you.

[He reached up, covering her hand on his chest, fingers curling between hers. She was warm, breathing. They both had pulses, as far as he knew, and she'd forgiven him for scaring her. For attacking her. Cupping her face, he ran his thumb over her cheek, gentler and more tender than he has been since - well, what has it been now, near three weeks since Venice? He exhales slowly, a little smirk playing across his lips.]

I know. [And he leans in to kiss her, full of the quiet affection that he hasn't felt since he realized she'd betrayed him.]

[She was still sad. She still knew that this wasn't going to last, that things were never going to be the way they had been between them, but she did love him, more than anything, and she couldn't have pulled away and told him to stop if she wanted to.

So she kissed him back, even as the logical part of her mind kept insisting this was a terrible idea, this was only going to make it hurt worse when this was over and she'd hate herself for being like this when all was said and done. But for the moment, she didn't care, mostly able to block it out.]

[There was no logical part of his brain, not now, flood addled as it was: all James knew was that he loved her, and he missed her. So when she didn't pull away - didn't cry, Christ - he held her close. It was like trying to drown in her, and he liked that much better than what had happened. He'll never want to see her near the pool.

It feels like a long moment later, though maybe it's only a second, that he slides his arm under her knees again, and stands in one fluid movement, already starting toward her bedroom.]

♠ | 002 | Video

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