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When one thought about a financer of international terrorism, they usually imagined old men with too much money on their hands and smiles so sharp that it lent a whole new dimension to the expression "loan shark" - especially one who was rumoured to have financed Al-Qaida or who had at least profited from their attacks.
Certainly, despite having seen all kind of people dipping their toes into evil, James had expected to face off someone experienced.
Instead, Le Chiffre didn't seem to be older than a boy fresh out of college with his youthful face and a mop of unruly curls that fell in a wavy halo around his angular face; he couldn't see even the shadow of a beard on his pale skin and while tall, he looked like he still had to grow in his wide shoulders.
The only detail that was keeping James from having a good laugh and demanding for the real deal to stop being a coward and show his face was the other man's eyes: bright and brimming with intelligence, they looked around the room with a calculating edge that belied the analytical mind of someone who was used to standing straight in a war room, brain whizzing as he thought about how to move his resources around.
And despite the fact that James had thrown quite the wrench in his plans, Le Chiffre didn't seem too concerned with the fact that he'd lost millions' worth of money and that if he didn't get it back fast, it was his neck that would be on the chopping block: was he genuinely that confident or was he just wearing a mask?
"You're wrong"
James turned towards Vesper, an eyebrow arched in a manner that invited her to elaborate on her statement.
Vesper nodded towards Le Chiffre "I might not be a spy but I've seen people like him" she said, watching as the young man dabbed at his left eye with a pristine white handkerchief that came away spotted with a pinkish red "Nerves of steel and a serious addiction to adrenaline"
"Maybe" James conceded: he truly hoped that it wasn't the case, he was counting on being able to read Le Chiffre for any tells that would appear any time he was bluffing. James took a sip of his martini as he observed Le Chiffre move around the room, cosying up to the other players in the room - like a lion stalking around its prey, studying the weak points and waiting for the right moment to pounce.
Only that Le Chiffre looked more like a snake rather than a lion: all lithe and hypnotizing beauty, hiding under the Shakespearean flower - ready to strike the unaware hand and blacken its flesh with poison and decay.
Slowly, James made his way to the table even as he shot Felix Leiter a pensive glance: he didn't need the CIA to make an already difficult mission even more complicated; while James wasn't a bad poker player at all, after hearing the rumours about Le Chiffre's talents, he wasn't so sure that beating the other man would exactly be a walk in the park like he had hoped.
James went through the motions: he sat down and listened to the rules of the game, fingers hovering briefly over the small keyboard as he thought of a suitable password.
Then the game started.
"A full house to monsieur Le Chiffre - deuces full of nines"
Call.
Fold.
And call.
Vesper scowled as James kept losing money "I told you"
"It was worth it to discover his tell" James whispered, looking over Le Chiffre and his inhaler "The twitch he has to hide when he bluffs"
"Bluffs?" Vesper inclined her head to the side "He had the best hand"
"Which he got on the last card" James was sure of it.
Maybe he could win the game.
Maybe.
If only he hadn't had to hide a couple of bodies and soothe an hysterical Vesper during the break.
"You changed your shirt, Mr Bond" it was the first time Le Chiffre directly talked to him "I hope our little game isn't causing you to perspire"
James had to grimace at that, even as he straightened up against the back of the chair: he had to remind himself of what he had heard during the intermission - that Le Chiffre was in trouble, no matter how cool he wanted to appear "A little" he admitted.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if everybody's ready, let's continue the game"
James watched the younger man closely, more focused on the almost imperceptible ripples of expression on his face rather than on his own cards - and when he saw the tell, he was ready to attack "Call"
"Gentlemen, please, showdown"
The agent put his cards on the green table with a satisfied smile, blood thrumming with amounts of adrenaline he only had experienced in the middle of a shooting.
"Full house. Kings and aces" the dealer called out "Monsieur Le Chiffre"
The younger man didn't smile, his face seemed to have frozen into a funerary mask: slowly, one card after the other, he revealed his hand.
"It's four jacks. Monsieur Le Chiffre wins"
"You must have thought I was bluffing, Mr Bond"
James barely noticed Vesper storming away as he looked into those eyes; they weren't the shade of green poets visually sang about: they were of a mossy green that reminded James of the moor in the summer.
That reminded him of home.
Even Skyfall was tainted by the man's grin.
Le Chiffre had to bite down on his tongue to avoid screaming with frustration when Bond sat back at the table in time for the last round: the man should have been dead - or agonizing and unable to play, at least. But there he was, making jokes about having brushed shoulders with Death and taking his cards in hand with a self-confidence the man hadn't displayed since before he'd bought his way back into the game.
He didn't think he had ever cursed someone's name as vehemently as he had cursed Leiter's: the CIA always had to ruin everything - they were even worse annoyances than the MI6 and Le Chiffre had dealt plenty with both of them.
In a bout of irritation, he drew his handkerchief out of his pocket and soaked up the bloody tear dripping down his cheek before it could land on his white shirt and ruin it: unlike Bond, he wasn't going to be anything but pristine.
Afterall, he had to look his best for when his winning hand would be displayed on the table in front of those arctic blue eyes in which danced way too many emotions; for being MI6' top agent, 007 was so... emotive.
So passionate.
Much to his chagrin, it tickled his curiosity like nobody else had managed to do in a while.
But he didn't have time to mull over that because suddenly Bond's straight flush beat his full house; he could feel his blood beating in his temples, furiously like the rapids of a waterfall rushing to crash against the rocks at the bottom of a lake, and it made his stomach roil with thick waves of nausea.
Le Chiffre rushed out of the room, mobile plastered to his ear: he had some planning to do.
James gritted his teeth as he heard Vesper scream behind the wall that separated them and he looked up at Le Chiffre, glaring hard at the young man who clearly was concerned about his safety now: all the masks had fallen and now James could see just how scared and young the other was - all of his mistakes unfolding in front of those bewitching eyes and pianist fingers sinking into the last chance to save his hide "You don't have to do this"
"Mr Bond, you have no idea about what in have to do" Le Chiffre spat out, stalking closer to the agent and he bent down over him, bringing their faces close enough to smell the dryness of the martini on the other's breath "But you can choose to get out of this room with your limbs all attached"
"So can you"
"I'm not the one bound to a chair"
James inclined his head to the side and the emptiness between their gave became a lot less "True. But you're the one with quite the number of criminal organisations breathing down your neck"
Le Chiffre tapped a finger against Bond's chest "This is me taking care of that pesky issue"
"Pesky? I like your optimism"
"And what is this suppose to be a display of? Bravery?" The younger man inquired "Last time I checked, bravery was just another word for stupidity"
James let out a chuckle "That's creative" then he sobered up and shook his head "But no, it's not bravery: I have an offer I think you might find tempting"
"Oh?"
"Come to London with me" James said "MI6 is open to offering you a job as a consultant or as a mole - certainly a better option than being killed and left for dead? Forgotten"
"And what do you get in exchange?"
James leaned in and closed the remaining gap between them, chastely kissing those soft lips "I get the chance to get to know you better without committing treason"
When James raised his eyes from the painting he had been contemplating, he barely could repress his natural reaction at the sight of the younger man strolling towards him and grinning at him as if he had never seen him cry for his life - as if he had never poisoned him, threatened to end his life over amounts of money that would have made anyone else's heads spin "You must be joking"
The younger man shrugged "I have many other talents"
"I know: you give blowjobs like nobody else ever gave me"
The younger man rolled his eyes "Don't be crass, 007: I'm wearing a wire, you should apologise to the agency for making them listen to that truly cringeworthy compliment you just paid me"
"They're used to it" James replied cheekily "So, how should I call you now?"
"Q" the other scoffed "I'm your new Quartermaster, afterall"