♠ | 025 | Voice

[lastrat]

[No video, this time, because he's still fucking angry. He can control the edge in his voice just barely - he can't control the glower. And he has yet to clean up his shattered Item, the second time he's broken it against a wall of his flat.

When he clicks on the audio, he sounds angry, but you might believe that he's managing it just fine. Might.]

Ellie's vanished.

[And that's all. He's not one for elaboration.]

[Private to Natasha]

Busy?

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[patheticvillain]

[His mouth curves into a little smile, though he hides it against the fabric of Bond's knee.]

I am better. I'm better than I've ever been.

You helped me get better. Why wouldn't I want to be like you?

spam

[lastrat]

Better than me.

[And he is refilling his glass again, don't you dare say a fucking word.

He didn't join the military or MI6 to be idolized. He didn't do it to be a hero. He did ti to take advantage of the security budget, to curb his violent tendencies with his noble ones, to do work that needed to be done. He's lived in the shadows all this time, and Cassel wants to be like him.

It is, he thinks, more frightening than an outnumbered shoot out has ever been.]

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[patheticvillain]

[Cassel goes silent, still. He is pretty sure anything he says will be the wrong thing to say.]

[The thing is, Bond isn't a hero to him. Not like that. Just - a man who does bad things, but does good things, too. Who tries, most of the time, and never forgets how to try even when he isn't trying right at the moment. Someone to respect, even if not idolize.]

[But he can't put any of this into words. He struggles, almost speaks, and then sighs, letting his head rest still on Bond's knee.]

[Eventually:] Sorry. [Quiet as a mouse.]

spam

[lastrat]

[James just grunts a non-response, turning his wrist slowly to watch what's left in his glass shift and sheen. It's been almost thirty years since he had a father. He doesn't really know what it means to look at your father and respect him as a teenager, and he certainly doesn't know what it is to be one, against all the odds he's laid himself in a dozen different countries.

His hand stays on Cassel's head, almost as if he doesn't realize it's there. If he thinks too hard about the way his thumb occasionally moves over the back of the boy's skull, he'll run.

That's all it is, really. He always runs.

He ought to say something else. He knows the words he could say, but they feel too powerful, too big to fit across his tongue. So he lets those words float away and, as ever, says very little.]

It's not the best way to get things done.

spam

[patheticvillain]

Yeah.

[Just yeah, like it's a word that means anything rather than just being a couple of phonemes slammed together because it's convenient. Cassel doesn't know if he agrees or disagrees. He doesn't know any other way to be, or any other way to want to be.]

[He does know, after a few more moments, that he's falling asleep, in that fuzzy, distant way that people realize their own exhaustion. He should probably say something to Bond before the weight of his head gets too heavy, before he gets shoved away. Before Bond runs.]

[He doesn't say a word.]

spam

[lastrat]

[It's so much easier, saying nothing, and without Cassel forcing the conversation, he lets it slip through his fingers, discomfort fading away. But he keeps his hand on Cassel's head, only moves enough to sip at his drink, and his thoughts wander.

He is tired, but not in the bone-aching way Cassel is. He is tired of being here. He is tired of being useless. He is tired of being forced to confront things about himself that he left dead and buried for reasons, good reasons. Before coming here, he hadn't thought about his parents in decades. Before coming here, he didn't allow himself to entertain what if scenarios. Now they intrude on his thoughts, worm there way into his mind like insidious tendrils of everything he has forbidden himself.

He wonders what it will be like when he leaves. He wonders if he will stay long enough to fulfill a deal, or if he will give up and run. He wonders if he will remember it all, or if some other reason for Vesper's presence will be left in his mind.

He wonders if Cassel would come live with them, if he asked. He wonders if Vesper would be okay with that. He wonders if he would.

His stomach twists in a way that is not very different from nausea, but he doesn't feel sick. He feels as if he could tremble apart into nothing, but he doesn't shake. He sits with Cassel's head on his knee, and has no idea how to merge the life he had with the life he now has.

He almost doesn't notice as Cassel drifts off.]