Death or Paradise?

[speedgeek]

Title: Death or Paradise?
Author: speedy
Fandom: James Bond
Rating: PG
Summary: Now you'll never see me cry / There's just no time to die
Notes: For the record, I started this when the first trailer and promo images and spoilers came out for No Time to Die way back in the before times. It was originally planned to be a longer story, ending with Bond telling Olivia Mansfield the truth and then retiring, but the muse has run out of steam and I think it works as a short story.

Safin stopped the inevitable monologue and pointed the gun right at Bond’s head. He was close enough James could see inside the barrel, but not close enough to wrestle the gun away without getting shot, either by Safin or the men who already had guns aimed at Bond’s back.

Something else was said; the blood was rushing in his ears.

He saw the muzzle flash and then…

Nothing.

There was a faint voice in his ears. Vesper.

He forced his eyes open. Vesper was leaning over him, calling his name, concerned.

The world came back into clear focus and all his senses assaulted him at once.

Sweat. Heat. Pain. Bile and iron. Heart pounding. A parking brake digging into his shoulder. A cool breeze. Something stuck to his chest. A voice besides Vesper in his ear- Cameron, who died years ago when Silva blew up MI-6 headquarters.

Montenegro.

Was he dreaming? Was this Hell? Reliving his failures would certainly qualify. Or had he dreamed the future in a near-death experience?

He pulled himself together enough to let Vesper lead him back to the hotel without looking like the complete mess he felt on the inside.

Knees were pain-free. No twinges in the shoulder. That was a plus.

He spotted Mr. White in the casino and forced himself to look away. A glance at Vesper told him that she had seen him and she was sacred.

If he was reliving his past, he could save her this time. But he would have to report her. Now, before Le Chiffre or Mr. White could get their hands on her. She wouldn’t love him, but she would be alive.

He made his decision.

James detoured to the bathroom, leaving Vesper outside. He cleaned up in the sink as quickly as he could. Leaving the water running, he made sure he was alone and pulled out his mobile.

He’d actually forgotten about the burners Six used to issue on missions, before smart phones. Those wouldn’t be a thing for another year.

He made a note to himself to invest in Apple once he got back to London. Google, too. And get out of real estate before the bubble burst in 2008.

Actually, he should just make a list.

He dialed the number he knew would get him directly to M.

“007, how are you feeling?”

“Better now that I’m not dying.” He didn’t bother to sugarcoat it. “Lynd’s compromised.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The woman who had died in his arms at Skyfall would’ve trusted his word, waited for a more convenient moment to demand an explanation. But this M only knew he was fresh off several arrogant and reckless actions.

God, he’d been an idiot at 36.

“Le Chiffre has information I only told her and he used it against me. By the way, you might want to give your cousin in Langley a call. They backed me when Lynd wouldn’t.” How to explain Mr. White? “There’s a man called Mr. White. All I’ve heard are whispers, some grainy surveillance photos, he’s a ghost, but I’m sure it’s him. Lynd is scared of him. I suspect he’s who Le Chiffre answers to.”

“Bond, I need more if I’m going to accuse a Treasury official of treason.”

“You said you needed to know I know who to trust.”

Olivia Mansfield was a sharp woman. He was trusting her to get the message. He waited for the soft exhale that meant she was giving in.

“If you’re wrong, I won’t hesitate to reassign you to the most remote part of the Highlands I can find.”

She threatened to have him killed more times than he could even remember. Just days ago, when he broke into her flat, if he remembered correctly. She had threatened to send him to Siberia more than once and Antarctica on one memorable occasion.

Threatening him with Skyfall was both new and incredibly low.

“Lynd’s got a lover, someone who gave her an Algerian love knot, that she won’t talk about. I’d start there.”

“You’d best get back to the game. I expect you to win.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He won, same as before. He didn’t celebrate this time; the job wasn’t done yet. He left Vesper alone with Mathis in their suite and helped Felix capture Le Chiffre instead. He was unsurprised when he returned and she was in custody. He didn't speak to her; he didn’t expect she’d want to see him. He was just as unsurprised when Mr. White got away. He hoped the very mention of his name made Franz impotently angry.

---

James had watched the initial interrogation with a heavy heart. He’d had to piece things together after she died last time, every revelation colored by anger and grief, and never a complete picture. Now he had the full truth- he had no doubt she had told the truth; she knew there was no way out- all the ways she had already betrayed him.

He wanted to hate her all over again, but all he could see was her desperate, remorseful face as she drowned in Venice.

A bottle of Macallan 12 sat open on his desk, an empty glass next to it. He’d already drained one measure; he wanted nothing more than to drink the entire bottle. His report was up on his computer screen- he thought they’d done away with the ancient CRT monitors by this time, he was wrong- and written, all he had to do was submit it. It was half lies; the truth would’ve gotten him a date with the bitch in Psych and not in the good way.

Instead, he was staring at an empty glass.

The shrill ringing of the desk phone lanced through the fog in his mind. The screen identified the caller as Villiers, rather than a number. Did he set that? He honestly had forgotten about the phone; he’d used it so rarely in his time as a Double O.

He hit the speakerphone. “Yes?”

“Vesper Lynd has asked to see you.”

His heart was in his throat. “I’ll be right down.”

It took everything in him not to run down the stairs. He submitted his report. He calmly walked to the secured elevators and took one down to the detention level in a subbasement. He passed through the security checkpoints to the interrogation room was Vesper was being held.

M was quietly speaking on the phone in the outer room, ignoring him entirely. Byron, the Chief of Staff, was taking notes. James nodded to Tanner and Villiers. Villiers, M’s much maligned assistant, had died in Silva’s bombing. If he remembered correctly, Tanner had just been appointed Deputy Chief of Staff this month, and wouldn’t be Chief of Staff for another 18 months after Byron had a massive heart attack and retired.

Villiers opened the door for him. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. That was as much privacy as they’d get, between the surveillance and the one-way glass.

She was out of the black dress and was in blue sweats. Her eye makeup was no longer running down her face, someone had allowed her to at least clean up a little bit, but her face was a bit red and puffy, clearly having been crying.

He wanted to hate her, to be angry. Those emotions just weren’t there.

She looked up. “James.”

“Vesper.”

She stood up and stepped in front of him, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. “I wanted to thank you.”

He’d expected anger or regrets, not this. He was taken aback. “Thank me?”

Her eyes teared up. “They tell me Yusef doesn’t exist, at least not as the man I loved. I believed him. I believed he was going to die. It was all lies. I feel like such a fool. I never wanted to betray my country.”

Tears silently fell down her cheeks. She sniffed, wiped away the tears and pulled herself together. “Yes, I want to thank you for stopping me doing something I truly regret.”

He nodded, unable to respond.

“I’m on the black list now, of course. No security clearances of any kind. Probation. I've agreed to give evidence if he’s ever brought to trial, so it’s witness protection for me. It’s a far better outcome than I deserve.”

“I’ve got a place in the Highlands you could hide,” he said, feeling like he wasn’t in control of his mouth. “You could learn to speak Gaelic.”

She chuckled. “I’m thinking Wales. I already speak Welsh, thanks to a boyfriend at University. He wasn’t worth the effort learning the language in the end, but being able to actually say Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch has won me a lot of drinks at the pub.”

“I’m sure any hitmen will take one look at that village name and say hell no.”

A genuine smile spread across her still teary face. “Sounds good to me.”

He reached out and cupped her cheek. She leaned into the touch. “I’m so sorry for hurting you, James."

“I forgive you.”

He meant it. He’d nursed that hurt for years, even after he’d moved on. But he’d let it go long ago.

“Take care of yourself, Vesper.”

She hugged him. “You too. Don’t get killed. You deserve more than this life.”

He pulled away and stepped back towards the door. “We’ll see.”

“Goodbye, James.”

“Goodbye, Vesper.”

In the outer room, Tanner and Villiers were very much trying to act like they hadn’t been paying attention. M and Byron had switched places on the phone and she was staring him down with a raised eyebrow. He’d gotten worse from her before; he simply held her stare until she was satisfied.

“You can go as soon as your report is done,” M told him. “I’ll debrief you first thing in the morning. We have a great deal to discuss.”

“I’ll bring breakfast.”

“You will not.”

James smirked as he left. He’d missed getting under her skin. He’d absolutely bring her favorite pastries in the morning. She’d have a scathing comment and wouldn’t let him have one or so much as look at them until he left the room. But she would say “damn him!” and eat every single one before lunch. They’d done that song and dance often. He’d enjoy doing it again.

He’d missed her more than he’d ever admit.

He had saved Vesper; he could save M too. He knew where Silva’s island hideout was; he could convince the future Q to come with him as tech support, maybe Moneypenny and Leiter as well. Camille would if he delivered her General to her on a silver platter; he could get Greene again at the same time. He’d made a lot of allies over his career; he may not know them now, but he could make those connections again. He could blow Spectre wide open years early.

James needed time to think and to plan. A place to safely figure things out and put the ghosts of the past to rest.

Maybe he should take a trip to Scotland.