lastrat

[There aren't many who would bother to know the travels of one explorer, even if he fancies himself a little more important than he really is. There aren't many who would know that he was gone months longer than he was meant to, or that half his expedition returned empty handed weeks ago, claiming that the other half was dead, and Bond with them. They called him mad, and some of them were shocked to make it home alive at all, but there was admiration in some others, even when they spoke of his undoubted insanity.

Of course, James doesn't know about any of that, so when his video feed clicks on, he's looking as arrogant and cocksure as ever. The fact that there's a bandaged wrapped around his head, only half hidden by a hat meant for colder weather than Oxford is experiencing, doesn't seem to bother him - that or the makeshift sling his right arm is in.]

You heard north for a few months, and somehow you forget how damnably crowded streets here can get. I don't suppose anyone would care to treat a poor explorer to a very fine drink? [Anything to put off settling back in at the College; he's not a man for being closed in anymore.

[Backdated to Saturday! James is looking p l e n t y pissed when he clicks on the camera, and for a moment there is just an incredibly pissed off face - and then he focuses the feed on his other hand, which is holding a book (naval war history). Except on closer inspection, he's not holding it at all. It's actually stuck to the palm of his hand.]

Parker, if you don't get in here and tell me how to turn this off, I swear I'm going to wring your neck.

[It was a lot funnier when he was just hearing about it happening to Peter, okay.]

( spam for vesper )

Valentine's Day in prison. Not very cheery, is it? Perhaps we ought to organize a celebration in the bar; I'm sure our guests would appreciate the change of pace.

[Private to Gwen Stacy]

[He's putting on his most charming look and voice. You're welcome.] Don't suppose you could do me a favor, could you?

[Spam for Vesper]

[With his mission accomplished - and with the hope that the pub will be crowded tonight and their hall empty and quiet - James walks down the sixth floor corridor, two bottles held in one hand, two champagne flutes in the other. Opening Vesper's door is something of a balancing act, but he's always been good at that. Easing the door open, he closes it silently behind him, and heads for the table. The last time he'd seen liquor on it, there had been a broken glass of wine.

Now, he set down the bottles of Dom and Veuve, the glasses, and set to uncorking the Veuve as he looked around the suite. He didn't call out for Vesper; she'd come soon enough.]

[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.

[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.]