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The vents of Safin’s bunker were claustrophobic, a twisting maze of tunnels, and Bond was the rat in the maze. His hands burned with every movement forward, and he could smell his flesh burning against the searing-hot metal of the vents. A voice in his head told him to stop, to pull his agonized hands close to him and curl up in a ball - but he knew that would mean death, a terrible death from heat exhaustion trapped in the walls of Safin’s bunker. He had to keep moving forward.
He tried to focus on what he was fighting for, on the people who would die in Safin’s mad plan if Bond didn’t stop him - but when he closed his eyes, he couldn’t see Madeleine, or Leiter, or Nomi, or Paloma, or Mallory. Only Safin’s face, creased with cruel amusement as he mocked Bond’s weakness.
That was motivation enough. He wouldn’t let Safin win.
Hours in the vents, climbing through the maze, wondering if he would die before he got out, if Madeleine would even care, if anyone would care. They wouldn’t, and Bond was thinking neither would I when a draft of cool, fresh air brushed past his burned skin. Bond drew in a sharp breath, and sped up, and then he was kicking a vent covering out and falling out, out of the maze, into fresh air, into freedom -
And he heard applause.
With a feeling of despair, he looked up to see Safin looking down at him from a throne-like chair, sitting with his SPECTRE henchmen - waiting for him to come out of the vents.
Not an escape attempt at all, then. Just a test. It was all just a test.
“The rat has escaped the maze,” Safin said, in his soft, accented voice. “Very good, Mr. Bond. Now.” His eyes flicked dismissively to his henchmen. “Shoot him.”
And as the gunshot echoed through the underwater bunker, Bond looked up at Safin and knew that the brutal, scarred face of his deadliest enemy would be the last thing he ever saw.
“No!”
Bond woke with a start, the cry of fear still on his lips, and the first thing he saw was the grey concrete ceiling of Safin’s bunker, and fear shot through him as he jerked bolt upright. Still trapped, still trapped, he thought, his mind still fuzzy with sleep.
Safin was sound asleep next to Bond, the blankets over his cold body. He had never been able to sleep peacefully before he met Bond. Knowing that Bond was by his side, he knew he was safe in his arms. Tonight things were different. He was chilled, freezing even, as the warmth of Bond holding him from behind disappeared. It was only then that he felt the bed jerk, causing Safin to flutter his eyes open, making sure an alarm wasn’t going off or that he wasn’t having another sleep paralysis nightmare. Suddenly, he heard the breathing of Bond by his side and Safin could sense the fear in the room.
Rubbing his eyes, Safin pushed himself up. He propped the pillows up behind him and rubbed his eyes with the loose silk sleeves of his robe. Taking in the sight of Bond sitting bolt upright in bed, Safin let out a breath. The villain decided he needed to use his words. He had cut himself off from empathy a long time ago; words were the only kind of comfort he trusted himself with. But when it came to Bond, he began to feel something like empathy.
“Is everything alright?” Safin asked, his Russian accent heavy.
Bond stared at Safin for a long moment, and slowly recognition came into his eyes. “Safin,” he breathed, and slumped back against the pillows, catching his breath. Safin. Yes, he remembered now. He was in Safin’s bunker. Of course he was; he lived there now. He had been Safin’s second-in-command for months now, working at his side during the day and sleeping in his bed by night. The trial of the vents was in the past, and he was safe.
Bond let the tension drain out of his body. “Just a nightmare,” he said, softly. “I’m sorry to wake you.” He knew Safin didn’t sleep well, troubled by nightmares just like Bond.
In the darkness, Safin could only hear Bond, not see him. The only visible light was filtering in from the outside, bioluminescent jellyfish, shining, flickering fish, sea lions, anything and everything swimming through the depths of the sea just outside his window. His sea life friends. There were benefits to living in an underwater base. He reached over to the side of his bedside table, flicking on the lights. He knew it took two claps for the lights in the room to flicker on, but he wasn’t ready for bright lights to hit his eyes. Instead, he turned to Bond who lay back against the pillows, clearly exhausted from the nightmare. Safin sighed, shaking his head. “Would you like to talk about it?” he offered.
The golden light of the lamp illuminated the room, and Bond took a moment to admire the familiar lines of Safin’s angular, scarred face. In the warm light of their shared bedroom, Safin looked handsome and vulnerable, no longer a terrifying villain but someone beloved. It was hard to think of him as the man from Bond’s nightmare, as the masked assassin who had hunted him through the dark woods and forced him to crawl through burning hot vents.
Bond reached out and brushed the palm of his hand over Safin’s cheek. The texture of the scars was comforting to him, soft and familiar. “I was dreaming about you,” he said, quietly.
Safin leaned his cheek against the calloused palm of Bond’s hand, nuzzling his cheek against it. Humming softly, he became intrigued. “Good or bad?” Safin asked without hesitation. He wanted to know whether he was the villain in Bond’s nightmare or not. It could have gone either way, either a nightmare about Safin killing someone, or being killed. He never knew when it came to Bond.
Both of them had a rough start, Safin chasing Bond through the woods only to escape by helicopter once he realized Bond’s strength, finding his way back to the drawing board which led him to a ventilation maze. Now, it was the two of them together, sleeping in the same bed, Bond protecting Safin day and night. Bond was his second-in-command as well as his partner. Safin joined Bond on the bed, his head now resting on the older man’s chest.
Bond breathed in, and wrapped his arms around Safin. Safin’s slight frame fit perfectly against his, safe and warm in Bond’s arms. Not for the first time, Bond promised himself that he would die before he let anyone harm Safin. “It was about the vents,” he said, quietly.
Safin knew this was bound to happen, Bond having nightmares about that very night. Yet he couldn’t seem to be offended that he was the villain in Bond’s nightmare. The events of Bond’s nightmare had happened after all. He sighed, pulling the blanket over himself. “Do you want to talk about it?” Safin asked cautiously, as if not wanting to upset Bond by talking about his nightmare.
Bond shook his head. He hated talking about his fears - it made him feel weak, useless, indulgent.
Safin understood Bond not wanting to talk about his nightmares. The villain was the same way. He’d never admit he had fears, that would make him seem weak and unfit for his job. He had to be strong, tough, closed off even.
Bond nuzzled Safin’s messy black hair, silent for a few moments. "Can't do that very often," he commented, irrelevantly. "Without getting hair gel all over my face."
A sigh of contentment escaped Safin’s lips at the feeling of Bond’s face in his hair. “Are you saying you don’t like my hair all done?” Safin asked, making conversation until Bond was ready to talk about his nightmare.
Bond chuckled. “It suits you,” he said. “But I like . . .” He trailed his fingers through the messy black strands. “I like this too,” he said, his voice soft. There was something precious and intimate about being allowed to lie in the darkness with Safin like this, no mask, no expensive clothes, that Bond treasured.
“I think it really pulls the look together if I do say so myself,” Safin mumbled, purring softly as his hair was played with. It was something he enjoyed more than he would like to admit. “You’re the only one allowed to see me like this, if anyone else caught me like this, I may just have to kill them,” Safin said, nonchalantly.
Bond chuckled again. “You’re a vicious little creature, Lucy,” he said, his voice fond. It was his personal nickname for Safin: Lucy instead of Lyutsiferr.
“But I’m your vicious little creature, James,” Safin said. Safin called him Bond when he was working and when he was talking to Bond as a partner he would call him James.
Bond shut his eyes and lay there, with Safin in his arms, peaceful and silent for a few moments.
There was something special to Safin about laying in Bond’s arms. It made him feel safe. Even as he lay in the arms of the man who was sent to kill him, he felt warm, safe and protected. The sound of Bond’s heartbeat was music to his ears. It was a reminder that Bond was really there and he wasn’t hallucinating.
Very quietly, Bond said, “Thanks, Lucy.”
At the sound of Bond’s voice, Safin’s eyes fluttered open, staring up at the agent through his long lashes. “Why are you thanking me?” he asked curiously.
“For being here with me,” Bond said, very quietly. “Just being here. And - understanding.”
“It should be me thanking you for being here with me,” Safin mumbled, quietly. “The things that I put you through, I’m truly still surprised that you even talk to me, let alone protect me and sleep in the same bed as me.”
Bond chuckled, his arms tightening affectionately around his lover. “Well,” he said. “I did shoot you. Among other things . . . we’re even.”
Safin knew Bond was right. After everything he went through, he knew that they were even. “You have a point there,” he said, chuckling. He lay in silence for a moment, beginning to trace shapes onto Bond’s bare chest, humming softly to himself as they lay in the dim lighting of the lamp. “How long have you been having those nightmares?” Safin asked, very quietly.
Bond was silent for a moment. The nightmares about Safin, or the nightmares in general? For his part, Safin himself wasn’t quite sure exactly what he was asking for. The villain had his own fair share of nightmares, and he could understand where Bond was coming from.
“All my life,” Bond admitted. “Or nearly. It started with the climbing accident . . . The faces change, but the nightmares keep coming back.They've just gotten more inventive over the years.” He wanted Safin to understand that the nightmare had been about him - but not only about him. The fears that disturbed Bond’s sleep were older than Safin.
Safin nodded his head in understanding as he began to trace circles on Bond’s chest. “And the one from a couple minutes ago? What about that one?” Safin asked, hesitantly.
Bond let out a breath. Safin’s fingers are soothing on his chest. “When I got out of the vents, and I saw you there . . . I thought that was the end. I thought you were going to kill me. And in my dream . . . you did.” His arms tightened around Safin, holding him close. He was, he realized, afraid Safin would pull away from him, feeling rejected by Bond - or disgusted by his weakness.
Safin’s heart dropped. It hit him that maybe this was how Bond saw him. The man he was that day outside of the vents, the masked assassin, the evil mastermind. He let out a shaky breath, trying to collect his thoughts as he snuggled closer to the agent, feeling even safer as he was pulled closer against his chest. “It was never in my plans to kill you. It was a test, or a torture technique if that’s what you’d like to call it. For me, it was a test, a test of your ability, mind and strength. When I was an agent at SPECTRE, there wasn’t anyone like you, ever.” Safin sighed. “If anything, when you were finished, I was ready for you to attack me, to kill me right then and there, sort of as a prize for making it through. Rewarding yourself with what you deserve, which in this case would be my death.”
Bond sighed. He knew already, had known the moment he fell out of the vent and saw Safin’s face, that it had been a test. It was clever, in a way, and far from the worst thing an enemy had done to him when he was at their mercy. But he didn’t like the image Safin presented, of himself killing Safin, strangling him, perhaps, with his burnt hands. “Can I ask you something, Lucy?”
Safin could remember that day clearly, the anticipation in his chest as Bond stared at him, preparing himself for burnt hands around his neck, cutting off his breathing. Safin wouldn’t stop him one bit as he knew it was what he deserved. He truly was ready for Bond to be the last thing he ever caught sight of before blacking out into his death. He was pulled out of his thoughts by Bond’s groggy, deep voice, nodding his head. “Go ahead.”
Bond hesitated. He knew there was no way to ask what he was wondering without being blunt, harsh even. But he wanted to know. “You said that before - when we first got together. That you were expecting me to kill you. And then, before that, you tried to get me to leave you to die . . .” Bond knew that Safin courted death, more so than even Bond himself. And yet - “But in between, you’re making all these plans, playing with people’s lives - mine, everyone’s. And there’s Project Byzantium, too. The cloning machines, the immortality . . .” Bond trailed off. He wasn’t certain what, exactly, he was asking. “I never made any plans,” he confessed, quietly. “I never even saved any money. I never expected to live long enough to bother.”
Safin took a moment to himself. He expected questions like this to come. Questions dealing with his inner conflict with death - something the villain avoided talking about with all of his heart. He felt it wasn’t anyone's business, but when it came to Bond, something in him wanted to be honest. He drew in a deep breath. “I was expecting you to kill me. It was the most logical ending to the story. You were sent to kill me, I gave you the opportunity, but you never took it. And then that day I tried to get you to leave me to die - that was another chance, another opportunity we both had.” Safin took in a deep breath once more. “There’s many things sitting on my desk, perched on the top of my brain that I know I can’t give up on, it just isn’t like me. I have this,” he paused, “I have this opportunity to bring these things to life and I can’t quit on them now, it’s too early.”
Safin thought back to his own nightmares. The two most common ones dealt with his father or the day he received his scarring. “I have nightmares, too,” Safin said. “I think back to my scarring. How painful it was. I was pretty sure I was going to die. I think that was the first time I wasn’t ready to die. I remember the burning sensation. Sometimes I feel it when I’m sleeping. It's the same with the pain. It’s engraved in my mind, a memory that I can never cut out of my mind,” he whispered, his breath shaky. That was something he and his scientists were working on, a cure for the memories that haunted his mind. Someday . . .“I think about what was worse, the scarring or my dad, and it always comes down to the scarring,” Safin admitted. It was something he felt he would never admit, but he felt so close to Bond in this moment, so safe and vulnerable in his arms.
Bond swallowed, and soothed a hand over Safin’s scarred cheek, following the scars down his neck onto his chest. “Somehow,” he said, “It’s always easier to be tortured. When there’s someone to blame, someone to resist . . . it’s worse when it’s just you, and your body, and some faceless, nameless malady.” That was a guess, really, but an educated one - the scars on Safin’s cheeks looked like pockmarks, like the survivor of some ancient pox, not knives or acid or any of the weapons of a torturer.
Safin drew in a breath, a shiver going down his spine at Bond’s touch. It was a different touch, Not like the way Bond touched him before he made love to Safin, but a kind of touch that was comforting without being sexual. A touch that Safin wasn’t familiar with before until Bond found his way into Safin’s life. “That’s the worst torture I’ve ever experienced in my whole life,” he whispered, softly, almost as if he was afraid it could happen again - but he quickly shut that thought down. He was with Bond now. Bond was going to protect him from the evils of the world. All he needed was Bond’s arms around him like a shield.
Very quietly, Bond asked, “How did it happen?” His fingers kept stroking over the scars, soothing both of them with the soft touch of skin on skin.
Safin stared at the wall, his head on Bond’s bare chest, Bond’s heart beating in his ear, Safin’s fingers tracing shapes into his chest, creating art that only he could see. “I’ll tell you when the time's right,” Safin whispered, very quietly. Talking about it frightened him every time, ready for the memories to flood back and trigger a panic attack that he would spiral into for too long, unable to find his way out.
In the darkness, Bond smiled. “Something to look forward to,” he said. “For both of us.”
Safin lay once more in silence, taking in the soft breathing from both of them, letting the silence fill the room before speaking up. “I never imagined I’d make it this far . . .” he mumbled, quietly.
“Me either,” Bond said, softly, and he leaned down to kiss Safin’s cheek. “I’ve been lucky . . . luckier than I deserve.” Very, very lucky, to not only have survived all of this but to have somehow found his way into Safin’s heart. Safin, the terrifying SPECTRE agent, the villain, the mass murderer . . . the man who was somehow perfect for Bond, and who against all odds and all logic loved him back.
Safin leaned into Bond’s kiss, sleepily, a slight blush on his cheeks. “What do you consider lucky?” Safin asked, looking up at the agent through his lashes.
“The life expectancy of a 00 agent is three or four years after taking the position,” Bond said. “I don’t know what those numbers look like for SPECTRE assassins . . . but I’d imagine it’s much the same.” His hand slipped down, across Safin’s jaw, to cup his throat, two fingers pressed into the hollow of his collarbone to feel his pulse. Beat, beat, beat, beat, beat. Familiar, soothing, uninterrupted.
“Sometimes,” Bond admitted, very quietly, “I have nightmares where I did kill you. Where you didn’t come back.” He swallowed, his other arm tightening around Safin again. “I think about how easy it would have been. I’ve killed men like you before . . . and you’ve killed men like me before. We would never have regretted it, either of us . . .” He leaned down to press his face into Safin’s hair again, wanting to hold him as close and tightly as possible, as if the comforting weight of Safin’s body could banish the nightmare. “I know,” he said, quietly. “I know I don’t deserve any of this. I don’t deserve you. But I’m damn lucky to have you.”
Safin nodded his head in understanding. Bond was correct when it came to their life expectancy. Safin himself never imagined he’d get this far, that he was able to take over after Blofeld was imprisoned - it was the last thing Safin ever expected. The villain leaned his head back, allowing the agent to have access to his neck. In the past, he would’ve jumped, but now they’ve been together a few months. The reaction no longer existed in his mind. Fear never found its way back into his life. Only when Bond would yell, or Safin was on edge, in a deep state of PTSD. “You know,” Safin started, “I think it may actually be me who’s lucky. After everything I’ve done to everyone, even to you, the only thing I deserve is death. No love, no happiness, just the barrel of a gun pressed into my skull. Yet here I am, finding myself in love and happy.” He snuggled closer to Bond for comfort.
Bond smiled. There was a kind of contentment, lying here with Safin, that he’d never quite known with anyone. Maybe he was just getting old - ready, after all these years, to settle down. Or maybe it was something about Safin - beautiful, cruel, vulnerable, captivating Safin - that made him feel that way. “Then it’s a good thing we don’t live in a just world,” he said, his eyes sliding shut, sleep starting to return to the edges of his mind. “Because I’m never going to let karma catch up with us.”
Safin hummed softly, nuzzling his head against Bond’s chest, his eyes fluttering shut as sleep overtook him. Safin never expected to be this lucky. He had a man who loved him, protected him, and loved him not only for his looks, but for his personality and who he was as a person. Every night, Safin felt he’d wake up alone to find that this was all a dream, but if it was, he wanted to enjoy these last moments, the rise and fall of Bond’s chest luring him into slumber. “I love you, James,” Safin mumbled, sleepily, his body shutting down as the darkness took over and he lay in the arms of his savior.