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♠ | 006 | Video
[When the video clicks on, Bond moves away from the screen to sit forward on his bed, scooping something off the comforter in the process. The communicator is propped up on a chair in front of him; the cushion is just barely visible at the bottom of the screen. Both his hands are full - in his right is a glass, with two fingers of a dark, orange-gold liquid; scotch, a gift from Pepper for Christmas. He doesn't have much more left.
And in his left hand is a necklace - specifically, an Algerian love knot. His thumb keeps running over it, his attention settled on the necklace like it's the only thing that matters. He isn't drunk, but he might be heading in that direction.]
Before I came here, I was in a bar, in Bolivia. The man I was meeting was CIA, and I suppose as close to a friend as I have. I don't make friends, generally. I have colleagues, and acquaintances, and enemies. Felix is a good man, though. The CIA had a capture or kill order on me, but he gave me the intel I needed. Greene was meeting Medrano at the Perla de las Lunas. That was my chance. That was our chance.
There was a girl, Camille. Former Bolivian secret service. When she was a child, Medrano killed her father, raped her sister and mother and killed them, too, all in front of her. He set fire to the house, and left her to die with her family. [This isn't just rote information; he sounds in control, but there's anger, under the surface.] Orphans make the best agents. She escaped, obviously. I don't know how long she's waited for this opportunity. [Because he doesn't know exactly how old she is or was, but.]
I wanted her to have her revenge. Because I don't think I'll have mine.
[He takes a long drink, glances down at the necklace, and stands to pocket it. On his way back down, he grabs the communicator, holding it up to eye level now. He holds up the glass - there's less than a finger left now - contemplating it.]
I think I've started drinking too much. That's part of being a double-oh, you know - drinking. So many covers require blending into high stakes environments. But it's different, here. Everything's sedentary. I feel it more.
[He knocks back the rest of the glass with a vague shrug.] But it's better than grieving.
Let's lighten the mood some, shall we? Ivy told me, on my first day here, that I'm featured in a series of books, and movies. Tell me about them. I think they might be absurd fiction, but I'm concerned there will be a degree of accuracy that I'm extremely uncomfortable with.
And in his left hand is a necklace - specifically, an Algerian love knot. His thumb keeps running over it, his attention settled on the necklace like it's the only thing that matters. He isn't drunk, but he might be heading in that direction.]
Before I came here, I was in a bar, in Bolivia. The man I was meeting was CIA, and I suppose as close to a friend as I have. I don't make friends, generally. I have colleagues, and acquaintances, and enemies. Felix is a good man, though. The CIA had a capture or kill order on me, but he gave me the intel I needed. Greene was meeting Medrano at the Perla de las Lunas. That was my chance. That was our chance.
There was a girl, Camille. Former Bolivian secret service. When she was a child, Medrano killed her father, raped her sister and mother and killed them, too, all in front of her. He set fire to the house, and left her to die with her family. [This isn't just rote information; he sounds in control, but there's anger, under the surface.] Orphans make the best agents. She escaped, obviously. I don't know how long she's waited for this opportunity. [Because he doesn't know exactly how old she is or was, but.]
I wanted her to have her revenge. Because I don't think I'll have mine.
[He takes a long drink, glances down at the necklace, and stands to pocket it. On his way back down, he grabs the communicator, holding it up to eye level now. He holds up the glass - there's less than a finger left now - contemplating it.]
I think I've started drinking too much. That's part of being a double-oh, you know - drinking. So many covers require blending into high stakes environments. But it's different, here. Everything's sedentary. I feel it more.
[He knocks back the rest of the glass with a vague shrug.] But it's better than grieving.
Let's lighten the mood some, shall we? Ivy told me, on my first day here, that I'm featured in a series of books, and movies. Tell me about them. I think they might be absurd fiction, but I'm concerned there will be a degree of accuracy that I'm extremely uncomfortable with.
[Spam]
She was mediocre. She wasn't exceptionally beautiful, she couldn't grasp the concept that people in other nations might live in poverty, she was an average lawyer. She was flawed. And I loved all of her flaws. Every last one of them, and would have gladly spent every night of my life with her.
But things went wrong... The Taelons put me under their control and- it's complicated, and I finally returned to my senses just to try and save her, have her torn away, and then told she was dead. I tried to get revenge for her.
One day I found myself in front of a tribunal with her telling me that I'd never loved her and that I was a monster. And the times that I was ready to give my life for her didn't happen. She was going to have me put to death for crimes that I did for her. That's what happened with my wife. [And all Narvin had to do was mention her to set him off.]
[Spam]
[He understands that, he understands it so well, and his brow furrows.]
I thought what Vesper did to me was the worst possible-- [He shakes his head, takes another drink] She lied to me. And I almost convinced myself that she didn't care for me at all, but I think she really did. She bargained for me, saved my life, and I didn't know. Not until after she was dead.
When I saw her here, I thought, somehow, she'd tricked me. That she really was with Quantum, that she'd faked her death.
[He cups his jaw, looks away.] I think she's depressed.
I'm sorry about your wife. Is the bitch dead?
[Spam]
[But he barks a startled laugh, delighted that James just called Deedee a bitch.] No. No she gets to go on. With her lying double agent of a significant other. [A hypocrisy he hadn't missed when she was insulting him.]
There's not much left for me to go back to.
[Spam]
[...] Or not. I watched her die, and it was terrible. She wouldn't let me save her. Even knowing she'd betrayed me, betrayed England, I wanted to save her. Was it like that for you? Did you still love her? I've spent every day since she died convincing myself that I never really cared for her, but I don't think I can.
[Spam]
I loved her until the moment she walked away from me and told me tricked me into saving her, and that I was nothing.
I don't know, after that.
[Spam]
I'm sorry. I think I like you enough to actually be sorry, too.
[Spam]
Well, you're probably the only one.
However- [He's quick to add.] You have a second chance with a beautiful woman whose love was not a lie. I wouldn't waste it. Those are valuable. I'm not cut out for love anymore. [Even with control over his own mind returned to him.]
[Spam]
[Spam]
But now I can.
It is fleeting. And it's an risk to someone that must gamble with their life. But lives don't matter here so much, and there's no country to defend. [Or planet to worry about.]
She is beautiful.
[Spam]
Shifting in his seat, Bond pinches the bridge of his nose before focusing on his guest again.]
You have a point. [And he smiles, wanly.] Very beautiful. And smart. Do you know, she lied to me, the entire time I knew her? And I never once suspected.
[Spam]
To destroy you? [A very valid question here.]
[Spam]
Something of an ironic story, I suppose.
Re: [Spam]
[Spam]
She loved me. She stopped wearing his necklace, before the end. Told me that sometimes, you can forget the past. [He shifts, reaching into his pocket and drawing out the Algerian love knot again, running his thumb over it.]
I tried to convince myself she didn't. I thought losing her would hurt less, then.
[Spam]
[Spam]
I thought she'd faked her death somehow. I thought maybe she really was working with Quantum. [His hand closes around the necklace.]
At home she's dead. Here she's alive. How do you grieve when the person you're mourning is next door? [How do you grieve at all should be the real question; James has never been very good about dealing with loss.]
[Spam]
[Spam]
[Spam]
[Spam]
I don't think she's in a position to handle anything right now.
[Spam]
[Spam]
She spends most of the day in bed. [Well, in her room. He can't be certain she's in bed, but it's a solid guess.]