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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]
When she does manage to find something, it's choked and quiet, and again she almost just wants to curl against him and cry.]
I hate myself too. I'm so sorry, James.
[Spam]
Whatever I am, he'd told her. Forgive her, Mathis had said. He closes his eyes, and swallows hard. She can cry, if she needs to, but he won't. Forgive yourself. He should have saved her. He shouldn't have trusted her. There was too much to swallow just now.]
There are people on board you could talk to. I think there are at least two psychologists.
[Spam]
I don't want to talk to anyone about it.
[Spam]
You can't keep staying in bed all day.
[Spam]
She manages a sort of throaty chuckle.]
I hate what you both turned me into. I'm the idiot woman everyone hates.
[Spam]
He presses his mouth against the crown of her head.]
If you start shrieking at every little thing, though, I may have to rethink that.
[Spam]
[She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, still curled up close to him, her hand flattened over his heart, trying just to breathe and relax, and not worry about when the flood was over, and what was going to happen afterward. She didn't know how many times she could do this, especially when she really only had herself to blame for the entire thing.]
I'm sorry.
[Spam]
So am I.
[Spam]
Will you stay? I don't- [She swallows, trying to keep her voice steady.] I don't want to be alone and I miss you. It doesn't have to be long, and I won't be upset with you if you say no.
[Spam]
So he doesn't answer aloud, not sure what will come out - but he stays.]