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Chapter Text

Time stretched before her like a piece of string being pulled taut. Each second was agonising it is infinitude. All she could was wait, she was, as she always had been, at time’s mercy. It would enjoy toying with her as the knot her stomach grew and grew.

Mathilde’s eyes were filled with wonder as she look at the rockpool that formed at the edge of the island. For her it was her first experience of seeing the sea creatures up close. In the pool, a few mussels clung stubbornly to the rock while a single starfish swam aimlessly. It danced in the water of its own little world keeping Mathilde mesmerised. Madeleine kept a watchful eye on the small girl, all the while wondering where the hell that man who’s navy sweater was draped around her daughter’s tiny body was.

Madeleine gave a passing look to the third and final person on the island with them and was wondering what on earth she was doing there at all. They had only met the day before, a day that felt like a million years ago now. 

With only their thoughts for company they both wondered why she had allowed him to be the one to go? He was the more senior operative, but she would be quicker, more agile. He knew how to operate the ancient controls that operated the silo’s blast doors, whereas she would have to rely on Q’s instruction, and when every second counted that could mean the difference between success and failure, and failure wasn’t an option. Logically, therefore, it made sense that Bond should be the one to complete the mission. He probably calculated the odds and reasoned that she was young, with her whole life ahead of her and the best years of his life were very much behind him. Except that wasn’t exactly true was it? Had he really found a family?

When introducing Madeleine and Mathilde to her Bond had merely mouthed the word ‘family’, it was no more than a whisper that died on his lips so Nomi had to infer. She looked towards the girl, the longer she looked the more she could tell that they shared a resemblance. Not just her sparkling, ocean blue eyes but contained within her features was the subtle but undeniable imprint of Bond.
Maybe now he had something to live to. 
Come on Bond, fight for it.

Half a world away London was being kept awake wondering what was happening to their man in the field. Mallory, Tanner and Moneypenny hawkishly stared at the screen until their eyes were square. The air in the office was stale, it filled the nostrils with a nauseating scent of sweat and cologne and polish rising from the parquet floor.
Meanwhile, in a Boeing C-17A cargo plane circling above the island’s waters Q alone monitored Bond’s progress. He heard every grunt and breath the man took relayed from his earpiece into Q’s headphones. Every bullet fired and every explosion blasting his eardrums, without context, setting him on edge as he wondered what was happening to Bond, whether he was alright. 

‘Bond. Bond! Do you read me?’
Silence.
‘Bond. Repeat Bond do you copy?’
Q frantically typed on the keyboard. Everything was gone. The screen was blank except for two words: ’NO CONNECTION.’
Q froze. 
‘Q, talk to me, what’s happening out there?’ Mallory ordered.
‘Sir, we’ve lost radio contact with Bond.’ 
‘Is he still alive?’
‘I’m… I’m not sure, we’ve lost everything. Vital signs, radar…’ Q’s voice quivered at the thought.
‘Q, try to reestablish contact. If Bond is still alive we need those silo doors open.’

Nomi had quickly learnt the myth of James Bond when she had been assigned to the Double O Section and took up the 007 designation. The people of MI6 didn't hesitate to tell stories of the former 007, some of them true, some of them very untrue about just what a remarkable agent Bond had been. How he had survived nearly impossible odds with such regularity that it seemed he had a higher power on his side. 

From the porthole windows Q could see the island's jaws opening up. The water which hid the silos poured into the empty space. ‘Sir, I can see the island. The silo doors are open, if we’re going to fire the missiles it has to be now.’
‘But he could still be in there, we have to wait until he’s clear!’ Moneypenny protested.
‘His comms are dead, we don’t have time,’ Tanner replied.
‘Just pray he’s making a quick escape,’ Mallory said.

On Mallory’s command HMS Dragon fired its payload of missiles. They shot into the heavens, higher and higher. Madeleine’s eyes rose to meet them. What the hell were they doing? 
The missile stayed their course, snaking through the air until…
What comes up must come down. 
The missiles began to fall. Bond had seconds left. There wasn’t enough time. Finally the moment of the impact arrived. Madeleine Swann’s heart was torn apart. 

Sound and fury reigned down upon the island, fire and thick black smoke engulfed the area. Mercifully, Mathilde was still more interested in the exploits of the rock pool to notice what the happening above her head, her back was turned away from the destruction and the island was far enough away that the missiles sounded like the dull thud of cheap fireworks. She kept watching the rock pool, innocent to the horror that was etching itself upon Madeleine and Nomi’s faces. Chaos was replaced by silence. With every second that passed the likelihood of Bond’s survival dwindled. 

The air felt colder now, brittle and twisted. That was until it was punctured by a familiar sound.
‘I believe this, young lady, is yours.’ 
Mathilde turned around to find James Bond holding her cherished rabbit plushie before her. 
‘Doudou!’ exclaimed Mathilde, practically snatching it from out his hands and hugging her beloved toy tightly.
In the ensuing havoc no one had noticed that James had escaped the island. He had piloted the Q-Glider from the sub pen silently under the waves to dock on the beach of the island that the women had made their resting post. 
‘James!’ Madeleine cried with relief, wiping the tears from her cheek, she leapt up to hug him just as tightly. Then remembering the danger that had not passed. James was covered in cuts and bruises. She tore herself from the embrace, elation turning back to terror. 
‘Wait! Safin, he had a vial he took a strand of my hair, my DNA Heracles if it got on you—’ Madeleine was near hysterical. 
‘Madeleine, Madeleine, it’s okay. It didn’t touch me. I would never endanger you like this if I’d been infected. It’s over, he’s dead.’
‘Safin… You’re sure?’
‘I killed him myself. He died before the missiles even touched the ground. I told you I’d finish it and I did.’

As Bond ran towards the exit in front of him he spotted a flash of pink on the ground in the otherwise grey concrete jungle. He stalled his mad dash to a halt. Just as he thought, it was Mathilde’s doll lying there. He bent down and tucked it securely into his braces. As he got up he sensed the approach of a gun barrel. He slowly took his sidearm out of its holster and without missing a beat, turned and fired, hitting his mark with a single shot. Right between the eyes. 
Safin collapsed backwards into the water of his zen garden with little fanfare. 
Bond gave himself the briefest of moments to gently caress the crocheted rabbit’s ears, it was a sign, a good omen, Bond reckoned. Time to live. He resumed his sprint and found his way out.

Madeleine was still sobbing so much she couldn’t tell if her tears were happy or sad. L’homme masque est mort. Her brain repeated, over and over. Her childhood fear finally was extinguished. 
‘Maman? Why are you crying?’ Her mother’s tears were what got her attention. 
‘It’s okay, baby. Everything’s going to be okay from now on. You don’t have to hide any more.’
Mathilde didn’t understand what her mother was meant exactly, but she copied Madeleine’s wobbly smile. 

Nomi pulled James aside once all of their emotions had settled down. ‘Talk about making an entrance, 007.’
James’ expression turned a little cruel at hearing those three digits, ‘The mission’s done, and the bastard’s dead. That makes you 007 again, not me.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live up to that.’
‘I beg to differ. And honestly even if not that’s too bad, because I’m gonna need you to promise me something.’
‘Name it.’
‘Keep the world safe, for me and my family,’ he said, the words now hard as iron. 
‘I promise,’ she said, shaking James’ outstretched hand. 
Nomi reinserted the earpiece she had dangling around her neck, ‘M? Q?’ 
Q who hadn’t yet heard the good news was first to reply. His voice was tired and broken, ‘Go ahead, Nomi.’
‘Bond’s alive and well, apart for a few scrapes. I repeat Bond is alive. He here with us. We need an evac, ASAP. Get us the hell out of here. Over and out.’

Each second they spent together, arms wrapped around each other as Nomi piloted the RIB to the rendezvous point felt like a precious eternity, knowing how easy it was to lose each other. 

Chapter Text

‘Where the hell were you?’ was the first thing that came out of Q’s mouth once he and Bond were reunited. ‘Your vitals were so bloody faint, you should’ve radioed in—’

James took off his wristwatch and handed it back to Q, the precision-crafted Omega ticking away perfectly and with barely a scratch on her. 

‘Your watch Q, save one electromagnetic pulse. A pulse that shorted my comms. Sorry for not calling you back, dear.’

Q was so shocked at Bond actually returning one of his gadgets that he completely failed to register Bond’s provocative comment. Instead, he immediately tried to save some face.

‘Yes well, it might need some more testing after all.’ 

‘It saved my life Q, that’s good enough for me.’  

‘We thought we’d lost you,’ Q wasn’t ashamed to admit that. Minutes became moments and it felt like the earth being torn asunder had happened just as soon as Bond became silent, all thanks to his overconfidence in his unproven technology. 

And yet, here James was. Bruised and bleeding but still breathing. Q did his best to hide his emotions getting the better of him but it still didn’t stop him from thinking of what might’ve happened if things had gone differently. Q knew that he shouldn’t get emotional, but he wasn't an agent, let alone a double O. He had on most ordinary days a desk job, the realities of a job in the spying game don’t hit home until a man like Bond comes along.

‘Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,’ James said as a way of shrugging off Q’s concern, or maybe that was James’ way of consoling him. Q could deconstruct the most complex of technological systems but he could never, in nearly ten years of knowing each other, figure out how James Bond worked.

‘James,’ he said. Q had never called Bond by his first name before, something which took both men by surprise but he felt now it was time enough to forgo formality. ‘I’m glad you’re still here.’ 

Bond smiled and with typical arrogance said, ‘I never left.’ 

After a dressing down from the prime minister for his involvement in Project Heracles, never mind the fact that it was the prime minister himself who had ordered its creation, M left the meeting with his job intact if not his dignity.

Despite James’ declaration and much to his consternation they still had to be formally debriefed after getting patched up by medical the day before. 

They all assembled in M’s office. James and Nomi stood before Mallory, while Eve, Q and Tanner stood towards the back of the room.

‘I gather this really is the last time,’ M said already knowing full well it was not a question.

‘Yes, irrevocably,’ Bond answered.

‘Understood. Then hereby relief you of duty 007. It should go without saying that we thank your loyal service over the years.’

‘Hear, hear,’ Eve, Q and Tanner echoed softly.

‘Thank you, M.’

‘And good luck, James.’

M offered his hand which James shook more out of politeness than genuine affection.

‘Mallory.’

Next M turned his attention to the woman on Bond’s left, ‘So, Nomi. I hereby reinstate you as Agent 007 with immediate effect.’ 

‘Thank you, sir.’

With that over, M moved over to the table of drinks and poured the group a glass of whisky each. 

‘To 007. Whoever he, she or they may be.’

To 007.

James raised his glass to offer a toast of his own. ‘To new beginnings.’ 

To new beginnings.

‘Right then, lots to do.’ M said after the briefest of pauses, never letting pleasure get in the way of work. ‘If you don’t mind I need to speak to 007 privately.’

James far from doing a double-take was the first out of the four to leave the room, all of them still with their glasses of whisky in hand they kept up their small talk in Moneypenny’s office. 

Once James had finished off his whisky with ruthless efficiency he asked, ‘So what happens now?’

‘Oh he doesn’t like trying this on for size does he?’ Moneypenny teased.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Last time you retired with Madeleine you just waltzed off into the night without so much as a goodbye kiss.’ 

‘He came back for the DB5,’ Q said offhandedly.

Eve’s face turned to offended shock, ’You said goodbye to Q and not us!?’ 

‘Not sure if you can count skid-marks as a goodbye,’ said Q into his glass.

‘Right, well seeing as you no longer work here you can either go quietly out the front entrance or we were thinking of throwing you into the river out the back.’ 

‘You already tried that once and look where that got you,’ James said in riposte.

‘I like my job, and I’ve said I’m sorry.’ 

‘What are you going to do with your retirement?’ Tanner asked.

‘I have absolutely no idea, I imagine sooner or later I’m going to have to find an honest job, trouble is I still haven’t a clue what an honest job is.’

‘May I suggest demolitions expert?’

‘Very funny.’ 

‘Palaeontologist?’ Eve suggested.

‘Any more?’

‘Wine critic?’ Q offered.

‘Thank you,’ said James sarcastically. ‘First things first, I’m meeting up with Madeleine. She’s taken Mathilde to the Natural History Museum. Then it’s back to their home before I contemplate any more major life changes.’

An awkward silence fell upon the group, none of them wanting to move but all of them knowing that they had to.

James finally broke the fragility, ‘I guess I’d better be off. Listen, I… um… I’m not one for big speeches…’

‘Oh give over James. Just promise us you’ll keep in touch this time won’t you?’

‘For you Miss Moneypenny? You have my word.’

‘I’m going to hold you to that.’

Bond put down his empty whisky glass and went around the room to make his goodbyes.

‘Tanner.’

‘Bond,’ he said as they shook hands.

‘Moneypenny,’ said James, gently holding her in his arms as he gave her a tender kiss on her cheek. 

‘James.’ 

‘Q.’

‘Bond,’ he said holding out his hand. 

James didn’t offer his in return, instead he pulled Q in for a hug taking Q off guard and with it James became even more of an enigma to him than he was before.

James went for the door, opening it a crack. He hesitated and turned back around.

‘I couldn’t have picked a better group of people to work with through all these years and I’m grateful to have you as my friends.’

‘I think I speak for all of us when I say how touched we all are,’ Q said as the other two nodded. ‘Now do bugger off Bond and enjoy your retirement for good this time.’

‘Well, you’ve changed your tune.’

‘Go on, shift. I’ve got work to do, fixing a watch for a start.’

‘Speak to you later then.’

With that James Bond walked out of MI6, away from his old life and into a new one, not for a second looking back. 

Madeleine and Mathilde had by all accounts a pleasant morning exploring the grand museum as they waited for James to finish his meeting and join them. They entered yet another room of exhibits, the scale of this place seemingly never-ending, something Mathilde was loving and Madeleine was tolerating.

Mathilde bursting with the giddy energy that was typical of her age, she was already a few paces ahead of her mother, who was slowly pacing in comparison. 

‘Look, it’s a dinosaur,’ Madeleine pointed Mathilde to the old fossil. 

‘Who are you referring to, me or that?’

Madeleine jumped out of her skin seeing James’ reflection in the glass cabinet, ‘You have got to stop doing that.’ 

‘Sorry, couldn’t resist.’ 

‘Shall we go?’ Madeleine asked James, not entirely sure whether he would actually be okay with all the trials and tribulations that came with fatherhood.

James looked to Mathilde who was already off halfway across the room entranced in another exhibit. ’No, let her stay for a bit longer. We have all the time in the world.’

Chapter Text

James Bond felt like a ghost. 

Madeleine’s London home nestled in Holland Park was a cosy little flat that felt was it was purpose-built to fit only Madeleine and Mathilde. There was a subtle, yet refined elegance that reflected Madeleine’s personality to a tee. Everything was to Madeleine’s design and sensibilities and every step James took as he walked further down the hallway and into the living room the stronger his guilt became knowing that this was the home that Madeleine built without him. He had acted like a dead man walking for so long that there was not a single trace of him in this place. All except for the little girl who was already contentedly watching  Peppa Pig  on an iPad that was almost as big as her. 

James followed Madeleine into the tiny kitchen that was barely big enough to swing one of Q’s ridiculous cats. 

‘So, this is home.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘It’s lovely, it’s… um… very homely.’

Reuniting in Norway had felt like a dream. Now that they were actually here, neither of them had any idea of where to go or what to say.

James sidled up beside Madeleine, placing an arm gently on her shoulder blade but Madeleine recoiled, rebuffing his advance. James sensed her discomfort and backed away, not entirely sure what he was doing wrong.

‘I’m going to cook dinner, afterwards, we’ll tell her about you.’

‘And after that?’

Madeleine didn’t have an answer and instead merely said. ‘Just go and spend some time with your daughter right now. I’ll call you when this is ready.’ 

James was pretty familiar with the ins and out of  Peppa Pig  by the time Madeleine called them to dinner. The meal was simple just chicken, green beans and mashed potato but the adrenaline rush of his final mission made it feel like he hadn’t eaten for weeks and the way Madeleine had cooked it made it taste more exquisite than every high-class meal James had ever eaten.

After dinner, James offered to wash the dishes but Madeleine was insisted she was happy to do it herself and so James sat on the sofa doing nothing but waiting until it was time to tell Mathilde the truth. 

Owing to his Swiss-French mother Bond was fluent in French, although he was the first to admit he was more than a little rusty. Combined with the conversation they were about to have James was nervous for the first time in a long time. Bond was fascinated by danger, the adrenaline rush was something he spent his whole life chasing. He knew that fear was integral to risk, that urge to resist made the reward all the sweeter. The aim was never to remove fear, but to harness it and to never let it consume you. The problem was that fear is different every time it’s felt. Bond had no way to prepare himself, this was utterly unknown to him and so he fiddled with the cuffs of his casual blue shirt, an old habit he had developed to ground himself. 

Madeleine thought it would be best to dispense with this revelation in the comfort of Mathilde’s own home, and hopefully, with James being with them for the past few days her daughter would have acclimatised to her father’s presence, but the truth is she had no idea how Mathilde was going to react to the news of her parenthood and that set Madeleine on edge too. 

How had Madeleine reacted when her father told her he was a member of Spectre? Of course, Madeleine had no idea what that truly meant, her father lied about the organisation nefarious aims, but it was something just as seismic. 

Mathilde was sitting on the floor, playing with her toys. Madeleine felt loathe to tear her away but they had left it as long as they possibly could.

‘Mathilde darling,’ she said softly, attracting the young girl’s attention. ‘Can you come over here please we have something important to tell you.’

‘Okay, Mummy,’ she said. ‘Can Doudou listen as well?’

‘Yes, Doudou can listen too.’

Madeleine lifted her up and sat her on the sofa in between herself and James, Mathilde played with Doudou’s arms mindlessly as she always did as a way of comforting herself. 

Madeleine cleared her throat, ’The thing is, well… James is your father,’

Mathilde keeps silent, her features an enviable poker face as she processed what her mum had told her. Only after what felt like an eternity had passed did Mathilde turn to face James.

‘You’re my Papa?’ She asked simply.

‘Yes, I am.’ James responded in kind.

'So that's why you were kissing Mummy when I first saw you? And why you were sleeping in her bed.’

'Yes, your Mummy and I love each other very much.’

Mathilde looked up at James like she was sizing him up. 

‘Okay, that makes sense,’ she confidently pronounced. ‘And you did save Doudou and me from the nasty man. I knew that we had to be related because you cared about me like Maman does.’

‘I do care very much about you Mathilde, you’re a very special person to me.’

‘Then, where have you been my whole life?’

Madeleine and James knew the question was coming but it still hurt them to their core. 

‘I spent a long time, very far away because…’ James said as he struggled to finish that sentence, saying it was down to a mixture of stupidity and male brooding probably wouldn’t register with a five-year-old. 

‘Because we both made stupid choices along the way, and now we’re putting them right. We’re going to stay together from now on, as a family. Okay, Mathilde?’

‘Okay, Maman,’   she nodded.

‘Isn’t that right, Papa?’

‘That’s right.’ 

After a brief pause, Mathilde enquired, ‘if you are my daddy doesn’t that mean you have to give me presents?’

‘Presents?’ James asked.

‘Yeah because you weren’t here for my birthdays and I’ve had like five of them already. That’s…’ Mathilde counted on her little fingers and thumbs and held it up for James’ benefit. ‘Five presents.’

‘Mathilde! That is so rude,’ Madeleine scolded her daughter. 

‘Why though? Because I didn’t get any presents when he wasn’t here but now he is so he owes me, that’s fair.’

‘That’s not how it works, because Papa hadn’t met you yet. If you met someone today you wouldn’t have to get them presents for every birthday they’ve ever had.’

‘But that’s because kids don’t buy presents for grown-ups but grown-ups buy kids birthday presents.’

‘Mathilde, don’t argue,’ she said authoritatively. ’You should be grateful that he’s here.’ she neglected to say  because he very nearly wasn’t.

‘Okay, sorry Ja… Papa.’

‘That’s alright, lovely,’ James said before leaning into to speak into Mathilde’s ear. 

‘Don’t worry I’m going to buy you lots and lots of presents this year to make up for not being here, just don’t tell Mummy I said that okay?’ he said, still at a volume that Madeleine could easily hear. 

‘Okay, Papa.’

Madeleine gave James a cutting look but she let it slide for now, focusing her attention back on Mathilde.

‘Come on up to bed, teeth and pyjamas, please. You’ve had quite the couple of days.’

Madeleine ushered Mathilde off the sofa. 

‘You too, Papa,’ Madeleine said to James in English.

‘Me?’

‘It’s storytime.’

As Mathilde toddled off to her room Madeleine drew herself closer to James.

‘Don’t think I’m not going to have words with you later.’

‘I find actions speak louder than words,’ he said nipping at the base of her neck with his lips.

‘Don’t tempt me, Mister Bond.’

Chapter Text

“There are only two tragedies in life: not getting what you want—and getting it.”

— Oscar Wilde

James tucked a sleepy Mathilde and Doudou into bed and Madeleine told her a bedtime story from memory, with James chipping in with the occasional comment in French which served to frustrate her more than help her but it seemed to do the trick.

Madeleine kissed Mathilde on her forehead, 'Bonne nuit, ma petite colombe.’

‘Bonne nuit, Maman. Bonne nuit, Papa.’

‘Bonne nuit, Mathilde. Sweet dreams.’

The past few days had been an onslaught and now it was their first moment of actual peace and quiet.

After they had put their daughter to bed they went back across the flat to the living room. James popped into the kitchen finding two glasses and filled them with a generous helping of white wine from the fridge.

‘That went surprisingly well,’ James said as he returned. 

‘You have a bond, James Bond,’ she teased, doing her best impression of him, ‘with your daughter. It’s something special, I think she knew the moment you first met.’

‘She does have my eyes.’

‘I know. Those same beautiful blue eyes. Just promise me you won’t spoil her.’

‘I don’t know what you mean?’

‘Presents, James? I know you’ve lived most of your life with the finer things but I would like Mathilde to grow up with a little modesty.’ 

‘Granted. But she deserved to be happy. Those last five years can’t’ve been easy.’

Once they were settled on the sofa James carefully broached the topic that had been puzzling him, ‘What was that, with Mathilde? How we both made stupid mistakes?’

‘It’s true isn’t it?’ I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was pregnant, I was going to when we were in Matera, but then everything happened.’

‘We all have our secrets,’ James echoed, softer this time, ‘we just never got to yours.’

‘You’re not angry with me? I shut you out of her life James, all of that time you could’ve had.’

‘I told you, I should never have put you on that train. And I’m sorry. With all my heart Madeleine. I’m not one for regrets, but if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine for being too stupid to see what was right in front of me.’

‘Don’t misunderstand me, James, I’ve had five years to hate you and I  did  hate you, I resented you for not thinking, for a single second that I might be telling the truth, that they were shooting at my window and not yours,’ just the thought brings the same thudding sound of the bullets and the same fear it produced. 

‘You weren’t there, I was left to do all the nappy changing and sleepless nights my own. And as the years went on I hated that you weren’t there to do those things for a different reason. To see her first steps, to hear her first word. Then months became years and I knew I should’ve reached out but every day that went by it got harder and harder.’

‘I disappeared off the map, you couldn’t have found me if you wanted to.’ 

‘I could have found a way,’ she said wistfully fuelled by wine.

Madeleine put the wine glass down on the coffee table in front of her.

‘I hate drinking wine, it reminds me of my mother.’

Madeleine reached into her pocket to retrieve her phone and after pressing a few buttons handed it over to James.

‘What’s this?’

‘It is what it is, a little bit of solace maybe?’

James looked at the screen and read: 

Album de la petite Mathilde

James scrolled through the hundreds of photos and videos of the past five years that Madeleine recorded for posterity. Madeleine pressed on one of the thumbnails starting the video off. 

‘Peux-tu le répéter, Mathilde?’  the recorded Madeleine said from behind the camera.

‘M… ma… mama…’  the baby Mathilde spoke, her bright blue eyes are the only distinguishing feature that remains unchanged from the girl he knows.

‘Très bien, Mathilde.’ 

‘Thank you,’ James said. ‘Are you sure you’re okay Madeleine?’

‘It’s just a lot to take in, you being here.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I want you to be here for Mathilde, you deserve that much,’ said Madeleine as her voice turned shaky. ‘But I’m scared, to love you.’

‘What are you saying? You don’t want me to stay here? So what you said to Mathilde, that was a lie?’

‘I don’t… I don’t know.’

‘And Norway that was just a… a pity shag?’

‘That was in the heat of the moment, this is my life, James. And it’s not fast car chases and gunfights, and chaste kisses in safe-houses. It’s real and it’s hard.’

‘You don’t think I’m up to this?’

‘I don’t know, are you?’

‘I can’t go on being a spy forever, I can’t go back to Jamaica. My duty is to my family. Both of you.’

Madeleine didn’t bother to turn to face him, she kept her gaze fixed inward. 

‘Please Madeleine, let me in.’

She moved her head but only to look down at her feet. ’Sometimes I ask myself what you see in me?’

‘You were the first person who ever truly saw the good inside me.’ 

‘Not Vesper?’

James tries not to show how much Madeleine’s evocation of Vesper’s name hurts him, just like it did on their Roman holiday. 

‘Forget about Vesper. I made my peace with her, she’s in the past. You, you’re my future. You saw all my flaws and didn’t just accept them you taught me how to be better, how to be stronger. And in the end, I think that’s what true love is. It’s you, Madeleine, I only want you.’

His rugged hand eclipsed her delicate face, stroking it gently and wiping the tears from her cheek. 

‘Please, let us start again.’

Madeleine leaps forwards and kisses him. Because liars and murderers be damned. Because you cannot damage what’s already broken. Because loving him is worth the demons. 

She takes his hand and leads her to her bedroom, taking care to keep things quiet. James took off his shirt in a frenzy revealing his perfectly sculpted body. Madeleine followed suit, exposing her smooth, pale skin. 

Madeleine ran her hands through his hair as she plunged her mouth down into his, she parted his teeth with her tongue, finding his own she moved slowly until they were both intertwined before quickening her pace. 

James trailed his hands down her back slowly before stopping at her hips, he pulled her body close to his, her soft breasts pressing into him. Not letting go they made a fumble for the bed causing them to fall together onto its soft embrace, the two of them giggled at their clumsiness. 

‘Je t’aime.’ 

‘Je t’aime.’

Chapter Text

‘You're here where you should be

Snow is falling as the carolers sing

It just wasn't the same

Alone on Christmas day

Presents, what a beautiful sight

Don't mean a thing if you ain't holding me tight

You're all that I need

Underneath the tree’

- Underneath the Tree, Kelly Clarkson

‘Now pay attention, James.’

‘Sorry,’ uttered James, quickly ceasing his idle fidgeting.

Eve Moneypenny wielded the rolling pin and was decked out in an appropriately festive apron, ready for the task at hand. It was a week before Christmas Day but the sound of sleigh bells was already in the air. 

Mathilde’s nose, following the smell of sugars and spices, led the little girl into the kitchen. 

‘Bonjour, Tante Eve,’  she said.

‘Hello, Mathilde.’

‘What are you making?’ 

‘We’re baking some Christmas treats. I’m teaching your daddy how to cook. Aren’t I James?’

‘Trying, Eve. Trying.’ 

‘A bad student always blames his teacher,' Eve retorted.

‘Can I help?’ Mathilde asked.

‘Of course you can, lovely.’

Mathilde helped Eve measure the ingredients and instructed James on how to mix them to form a dough, and when James whinged about how much effort it was taking to bind the mixture together Moneypenny said, ‘Come on James, what’s the point in having those big old muscles if you aren’t going to use them.’

Moneypenny and Mathilde cut the dough and placed it in the baking tins. She helped Mathilde put a spoonful of mincemeat into each while James quietly stewed about not being given the fun and easy parts to do as he washed up. 

Once he was done he swivelled back around to the kitchen island where the girls were putting the tops onto the pies. 

‘Now don’t forget to poke a hole in the top,’ Eve said. ‘We don’t want them to explode.’

‘That makes a nice change,’ James added.

Madeleine returned home and she was immediately confronted with the aroma of the baked goodies, the unmistakable smell of Christmas.  

‘Hello Eve,’ Madeleine smiled at her friend whom she’d grown close to ever since James retired.

‘Hiya Madeleine, mince pie?’ Moneypenny said, offering a plate of their rustic pies topped with a dusting of snow-white icing sugar.

‘Oh no thank you.’

‘They’re homemade, freshly baked. Don’t you like them?’

‘No sorry, I really don’t understand how you English people can eat something like that. It tastes vile.’

‘Oh,’ Eve said, her mood a little deflated. 

Realising how that must’ve sounded Madeleine tried to explain, ‘I’m sure they’re lovely Eve, I just prefer Christmas patisseries I grew up with: lemon tart, chocolate madeleines…’

‘Luckily, we anticipated your continental snobbery,’ James said playfully. He held Mathilde in his arms so she too was eye-level with her Maman.

‘I’m not…’ she was about to argue but her brain reminded her of spotted dick and instead, she shuddered. Five years of living with English cuisine had taken a little bit of a toll on Madeleine’s delicate French palate.

'We made Christmas biscuits, Maman.'

‘Wow Mathilde, did you help Papa and Eve make all these?’

‘Yep. I cut them out and decorated them.’

‘Oh amazing, the trees are purple.’

‘Umm hmm, Auntie Eve showed me. Red and blue colouring makes purple. Purple trees are way better than green,’

‘And this one?’ Madeleine asked pointing to a biscuit with green icing in the vague shape of an animal. 

‘A reindeer… zombie.’

‘A reindeer zombie?’

‘Well, the antlers and one of the legs broke off so I improvised.’

‘Hmm, I might try one of the trees,’ she said, taking a bite out of the biscuit.

‘Up to your standards?’ James asked. 

‘It’s delicious,' she conceded. She turned to Mathilde,  'Merci, ma chérie .’

‘Papa, if you bite a zombie would it turn back into a person? Because zombies can bite us but no one ever tries to bite the zombies.’

Eve smiled at James’ look of utter dumbstruck at the question. ‘Um, I’ve never thought about it before, Mathilde.’

‘You wouldn’t want to bite a zombie though would you?’ Eve asked.

‘I would if it would stop me from becoming one. But you’d need to take them by surprise because they can bite you more easily.’

‘Well... obviously,’ said James, sarcastically.

Eve was relaxing on the sofa, enjoying watching the Bonds decorating their (sadly not purple) Christmas tree. 

‘Maybe a little higher?’ James said.

‘A minute ago you said lower,’ Madeleine said as she adjusted the piece of tinsel. 

‘No you’re right, lower is better.’

‘That’s it I’m done,’ she said to Eve as she slumped onto the sofa, ‘otherwise, I think I might kill him.’

‘You wouldn’t be the first to try.’

‘Mathilde, why don’t we put these white and gold baubles on the tree?’

‘I want to put the blue one on, then the red one, then the gold one.’

‘But it’ll look… odd.’

‘Let her do it how she wants James,’ Madeleine said.

‘He was always like this at the office as well. Every year the Christmas tree had to be decorated just so,' Eve explained.

‘It did, it’s not my fault none of you had any taste.’

‘Oof, look who’s the snob now,’ Madeleine took the chance to get one back at James.

Seeing that he was outmatched and outnumbered by the three girls he admitted defeat and let Mathilde go wild, as she got further up the tree James lifted her onto his shoulders as she directed Auntie Eve and Maman on what decoration to hand her next.

The four of them crashed onto the sofa when they had finished. 

The tree was filled with every single decoration Mathilde could find with absolutely no sense of cohesion, and yet it was that which made James find his daughter’s creation brilliant. It was completely and uncompromisingly hers. 

‘How do you like the tree Papa?’

‘It’s growing on me,’ he teased.

‘Don’t listen to him Mathilde, I think it’s wonderful,' Eve said.

Once they had said their goodbyes to Auntie Eve, Mathilde was getting ready for bed.

Madeleine knocked gently at her bedroom door before entering.

‘Mathilde lights out now, it’s time to go to sleep.’

‘I just need to finish my new year’s resolution list,’ she said furiously scribbling at her little desk. ‘There we go all done.’

‘May I see?’

Mathilde nodded.

‘“Maman and Papa will buy me a pony”, Madeleine read. ‘Mathilde are you sure you’ve not mixed this up with your Christmas List?’

‘Nope, one of my new year's resolutions is for you to buy me a pony.’

‘You do know that new years resolutions are things that you have to do yourself?’

‘I know but I could only think of a couple.’

‘Ah yes,’ she scrolled down the list. ‘“I will not let Maman and Papa annoy me” No, wait, hang on. We annoy you?’

‘You’re always nagging me to do things, like “eat all of your vegetables” and “don’t bring bugs into the house”. So I’ve decided I’m not going to let you get to me next year.’

‘But resolutions are about personal goals, things that you want to achieve in the year.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know, learn a musical instrument or I know you could start helping Papa do the chores around the house.’

‘Umm, no that sounds boring. And there isn’t anything I’d like to change about myself because everything’s just fine the way it is.’

‘Well psychologically that’s quite healthy I suppose.’ Madeleine conceded.

‘Although now you mention it… I could stop chewing on Doudou’s ears.’

Chewing on her rabbit plushie’s long ears was one of Mathilde nervous habits that now she’s a big girl seems extremely babyish.

‘Yeah that’s a good one, I don’t think they like it when you do that.’

‘Thanks, Maman.’

‘You’re welcome. Sleep tight, Mathilde,’ Madeleine said, turning off the light on her way to leaving the room.

‘I guess I should stop sticking my hands in the butter dish too,’ Mathilde said quietly.

‘What was that Mathilde?’ She asked, poking her head back through the door but Mathilde had shut her eyes already and pretended not to hear her mother’s concern. 

‘JOYEUX NOËL!’  

Christmas Day had arrived as did Mathilde, opening her parents' bedroom door, she leapt on James’ stomach. In one fell swoop waking both him and Madeleine up and winding him with the efficiency of a trained henchman.

James let out a groan as he eased Mathilde into the middle of the bed, sitting up and regaining his breath, ‘Merry Christmas, Mathilde.’

‘Joyeux Noël,’  Madeleine added lazily, still half asleep.

‘Look Papa, Santa did come after all,’ said Mathilde, whacking the cumbersome stocking onto James’ stomach for round two, which he shrugged off with only mild irritation.

‘See, told you,’ he said, happy that after the disaster of the Christmas party a couple of nights ago that Mathilde was on good speaking terms with him again.

‘Can I open my stocking now?’ 

James glanced at the bedside alarm clock,  6:01 am . Now he was well and truly a civilian and a middle-aged one at that. Gone were the days when he could wake up at a moments notice and keep himself awake long past the point of exhaustion all in the name of queen and country. James was adamant it was far too early to countenance anything but sleep. 

Mathilde couldn’t understand what her parents' problem was. She was being remarkably restrained. Having awoken half an hour previous she painstakingly waited until 6 o’clock to start the best day of the year. 

For lunch, Madeleine cooked a delicious roast turkey and all the trimmings which James paired with a well oaked Californian Chardonnay. For dessert, not wanting to be outdone she bake a  bûche de noël , a French Christmas cake shaped like a wooden log. A swirl of chocolate complimented with chopped raspberries sat inside a vanilla sponge, itself encased in dark chocolate and powdered sugar dusted on top. 

From Tante Eve, Mathilde had been given a colouring book. From Oncle Bill a play-set and from Oncle Q, well, he had given her a robot. 

‘You have got to be joking,’ James said after Mathilde unwrapped the present.

The robot was shaped like a mechanical spider. There were no sharp edges on it which Maman and Papa were grateful Q had the foresight to do that, and it was mercifully small — the footprint was about of a size of an A5 sheet of paper — but it was coloured in a charcoal-grey which gave it an aggressive look that Mathilde thought was incredibly cool. 

She thought it was even cooler when she found out the suction cups on each of its eight legs meant that it could climb up the walls, which Maman and Papa were less impressed with.

She had been given an assortment of presents from her parents and others and set about ‘stress testing’ them, any present she could still play with after a week was deemed good.

James always had a competitive streak, he simply had to excel at every task that was put before him. That instinct had served him well during his career but it also meant that he was quite happy to vanquish his five-year-old child at her precious video games. 

Bond got to grips with the Nintendo’s controllers easily enough, the gadgets from Q branch gave him ample experience in quickly getting to grips with strange new technology. Mario Kart should be a walk in the park.

At least that was the idea.

‘No, no, no how are you doing that?’ he said as Mathilde's virtual racer passed by his. 

‘One more race, just one more,’ James pleaded. He was always a sore loser.

‘No Papa, I've won five times now.' Mathilde said definitively. 

James and Madeleine put Mathilde to bed, eventually. And they sat on the sofa, cuddled up together in front of the fire that was crackling away. 

‘We did it. We survived our first family Christmas.’

‘What do you mean “we”? You’re not the one she used as a trampoline.’

‘Aww, diddums,’ she said drawing closer to him, wrapping her arms around him and using her free hand to stroke and soothe his washboard stomach. ‘I keep thinking, one day something will happen and it’s all go wrong again. Someone will find us…’

‘I know, so do I. Given our histories, I suppose it’s no wonder we can’t help looking over our shoulders.’ 

‘But today, I didn’t think about it at all. I was just… happy. Just that,’ Madeleine smiled.

‘Me too.’ 

‘Merry Christmas, James.’

‘Merry Christmas, Madeleine.’

Chapter Text

James Bond woke up with a start. He felt something… something poking him.

Mathilde’s cherubic face resolved in James’ view. He frowned, looking quizzically at her.

‘Petit déjeuner. J'ai faim,’  Breakfast. I’m hungry. Mathilde responded innocently like she didn’t just wrench her daddy from his slumber. 

The same demand as a few days ago in Norway. He guessed this is what life will be like from now on. The repeated rhythms of an ordinary life. 

Except none of this was normal to James yet. He looked over to Madeleine for guidance but her back was to him and as much as he wanted her help he didn’t want to have to wake her. 

‘Okay, let me get dressed,’ he whispered to Mathilde. 

Most of his things were still 4,000 miles away in Jamaica but he hastily put on a henley shirt and a pair of chinos. 

Unbeknownst to James, Mathilde had tried asking for breakfast from Madeleine first, but now that there was someone else who could handle it for once she slyly pretended not to stir so that she didn’t have to get up. Mathilde was therefore forced to wake James up instead. She slowly opened her eyes, lids only half open to check they’d definitely both gone. 

But James turned back to get a glimpse of his sleeping beauty and he could’ve sworn he saw Madeleine’s snap shut. Realising her ruse he considered calling her bluff but decided to let her be and went to the kitchen.  

James whipped the eggs and the butter in the saucepan vigorously until they were suitably scrambled and deposited them into what he could only assume was Mathilde’s special bowl. Its large polka-dotted appearance sticking out against the plain white crockery that could only be Madeleine’s, taking care to let them cool down before giving them to Mathilde.

Mathilde took a tentative first bite. 

‘How is it?’ 

Mathilde scrunched her face,  ‘D’accord. ’   It’s okay.

‘Oh, so that good,’ he quipped to himself in English, disappointed by the lacklustre reception.

Scrambled eggs were something of a particular delicacy to James, and one of the few things he knew how to cook well, even if they weren’t to Mathilde’s tastes. They were frequently ordered for breakfast in whatever part of the world he happened to travel. At this old home in Chelsea his elderly housekeeper, May, would cook them to a perfect creamy pillow-like consistency, and as such, she had imparted her wisdom onto Bond. They were a staple of his diet in Jamaica, often paired with slices of papaya, red bananas, tangerines, Jamaican marmalade and guava jelly.

Along with his own plate of eggs, Bond made himself a very large, very black coffee — another one of his sacred rituals — and sat down with Mathilde ready to start the day. 

‘I’m going to go with time travel.’ Madeleine heard James and Mathilde’s conversation from afar, making her way from her bedroom to the living/dining room. She stood for a moment in the doorway, watching them, like it was some theatre play that she daren’t break the illusion of. 

‘But teleporting would be fun,’ Mathilde countered. ‘You wouldn’t have to wait to go places.’

‘You wouldn’t have to wait if you could time travel as well, you could go into the future and skip the wait.’

‘Oh, that’s true.’

‘And you could go anywhere in history.’

‘Like Doctor Who, they travel in time and fight monsters.’

James looked over to see a sleepy Madeleine.

‘Pleasant dreams, darling?’ he said pointedly, but with no real malice.

‘Yes thank you, darling,’ she said, feeling a little guiltily for getting a few extra Zs at James’ expense.

‘What are you two doing?’

‘Playing “would you rather?”,’ Mathilde informed her.

‘I’ve got one for Maman,’ James said. ‘Would you rather… have to whisper like a mouse whenever you spoke or whenever you laugh you make the noise of a…’

‘A donkey!’ Mathilde exclaimed.

‘A donkey?’ Madeleine said. ‘Okay let’s think about this, if I had the voice of a mouse could I still use a megaphone?’ 

‘Yes, but your voice would be so quiet that using a megaphone would still be like whispering.’

‘I could still write things down, could I? It wouldn’t come out as really teeny-tiny letters?’

‘No, you’re still allowed to write.’ 

Madeleine pondered the weird hypothetical, ‘Nope, it’d have to be the laughing one. I don’t think I could deal with both of you if I couldn’t use my voice to tell you to do the things I ask.’ 

‘Gosh, I’m going to be late for work!’ Madeleine exclaimed, only now realising the time.

‘Oh, really?’ James asked, a little downheartedly.

‘Afraid so, time waits for no woman. Bye, bye, Mathilde. Love you,’ she said, kissing her daughter’s head.

‘Love you. Bye bye, Maman.’

‘What about me?’ James asked expectantly. 

‘Hmm, not sure. Have you figured out the worst thing about you yet?’

‘My… aftershave? I’m clutching at straws here.’

‘Keeping guessing,’ she teased, planting a kiss on his lips before heading for the door.

James followed her to the door. 

’I’ll be back around five, if you have any problems just text me, I’ve called off the nanny, should give you some time to get to know each other properly,’ Madeleine rattled off in a frenzy not giving James any time to process. 

‘What? When, wait, what…?’ 

Madeleine slammed the door shut and for the first time the two of them were alone together.

‘Okay, then. What am I going to do with you?’ He asked rhetorically. 

Bond had absolutely no experience in dealing with a five-year-old. The last time he had even spoken to a child properly was when he was a child himself, and right now he felt completely out of his depths. 

‘What do you usually… do?’

‘The nanny comes and looks after me when Maman goes to work. Maman doesn't like me going outside too much, because of all the bad people.’

‘Oh Madeleine,’  James thought to himself.

‘Well that’s something I can fix,’ James told Mathilde. ‘Are you worried about the bad people?’

‘Sometimes, because they showed up when we tried to run away. Right after you showed up.’

Mathilde hadn’t intended to damn her father, in her mind, he was the one who fought them off in the Norwegian forest. The one who came to her and Maman’s rescue on the island, just like the knight does for his princess in one of her fairy stories. And yet James resented the life he had carved for himself. He hated what MI6 had fashioned him into. The man who left nothing but destruction in his wake. Nothing but a machine, wielded by a government department.

‘Trust me, there’s no one left to hurt us.’

Mathilde looked into his deep blue eyes, but she quickly cut off her stare. She wanted to believe him but she wasn’t sure those eyes had a hint of coldness behind them. James could see she wasn’t convinced. 

‘Let’s go out somewhere.’

‘Really?’ Mathilde’s eyes lit up.

‘Why not? It’s a lovely day and I don’t know about you but I can’t stand being cooped up inside.’

Bond was an old-fashioned sort of a fellow. He took comfort in tradition. There are some things that you just don’t do. Like shaving with an electric razor, like buttoning the bottom button of a suit jacket, like drinking Dom Pérignon above 38 degrees Fahrenheit. He might have believed once that looking after a child was a woman’s job and it should be he and not her that should be the one going to work. But Madeleine had opened his eyes in so many ways that he was no longer sure where in this modern world he stood. But he did know that old-fashioned thinking was ridiculous, Bond’s greatest strength was that he adapted to whatever situation he found himself in. And with Madeleine, she had helped him to become more vulnerable. Now that was an asset, not a weakness. 

He wondered then, whether any of it was worth it. Not the saving the world bit, for once he could say that without his ego talking. The reward for that was self-evident. It was smiling at him. But giving so much of his soul to his country, James wondered whether he would ever get that back or whether he would always be in some way damaged. 

He supposed he shouldn’t complain too much. It was the generous pension that Six guaranteed he would receive for the rest of his life, along with his parent’s inheritance that meant he could afford to live in relative luxury without having to do another day’s work.

Even in his retirement Bond walked like a fired bullet.

‘Papa! Slow down!’ Mathilde said, holding onto his hand to dear life as she was being pulled along by him, feeling more like a keelhauling than a pleasant stroll. 

‘Oh sorry, ma cherie.’  

James stopped abruptly, almost throwing Mathilde off balance. 

‘Why don’t I give your little legs a rest?’ 

James bent down and hoisted Mathilde up onto his shoulders. His daughter quickly acquiesced to her new vantage point, comfortably sitting upon Bond’s strong, broad shoulders. 

It was a perfect English summer morning and there was barely a cloud in the sky. Sun shone down on James and he felt reborn. He had taken Mathilde to Green Park, the aptly verdant large open space was full of life. Londoners and tourists alike were enjoying the sunshine. 

James and Mathilde found a play area and Mathilde set about it with gusto while James sat at watched on the bench, holding Doudou in his arms for safekeeping. Sometime later Mathilde returned, out of breath, her face as red as a tomato. 

‘Having fun?’

‘Oui, merci Papa.’

Bond smiled, it was an odd feeling, he admitted, but a good one. He had never understood children before, or why people became parents but a child’s love is different. A more potent intoxicant than any alcohol. A euphoria higher than having the winning hand at cards. 

‘What kind of things do you like Mathilde?’ Bond asked, apropos of nothing.

‘What do I like?’

‘Yeah, what are interested in?’

‘Dinosaurs, but you already knew that. Unicorns, robots… What do you like Papa?’

‘Me?’

Mathilde nodded.

James had never exactly considered what he liked, there were things he did but most of those things were done out of necessity, even in Jamaica he’d never considered that he wouldn’t be returning to active service, as a result, those five lonely years were spent in preparation. Keeping his body fit and surviving for whatever came knocking. He went scuba diving most days as a hobby. He read infrequently, non-fiction mostly. He tried writing a novel but he didn’t have the patience. He kept very few friends, none of any particular closeness or length. Living was something James Bond would have to learn.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘You must like some things, are grown-ups really so boring?’

‘I like Maman.’

‘Well duh, I mean fun stuff.’

‘Maman isn’t fun?’

‘Maman’s too serious all the time.’

‘Well, she has her reasons, but that makes it all the more special when she does laugh. Like when we were travelling through France before you were born, we’d stopped in this little village and there was a stream with a line of old, jagged stepping stones. I thought I could make it across, and Maman said I couldn’t.’

‘Could you?’

‘I could not. I got halfway and then I lost my balance, fell in. I was covered in mud and soaking wet the first thing Maman did was laugh. That was the first time I ever heard her laugh. I didn’t know she could make sounds like that.’

‘Like a donkey.’

James huffed a laugh at that. 

‘Hey! You didn’t answer my question, Papa. What stuff do you like?’

James had thought he’d gotten away with that. What did James Bond, the man like?

‘Alright, I like cars.’

‘Cars? Cars are boring.’

‘Not my cars,’ he said knowingly, but Mathilde failed to be impressed. 

‘Something else.’

James knew what Mathilde was getting at. She wanted something that he’d never told anyone before, whether that was because of embarrassment or guilt. Something that wasn’t dictated by convention and pretence. Something from the heart. 

‘I like… birds.’

‘Birds?’

‘The animals,’ he hastily clarified though he was pretty sure the double entendre wouldn’t register.

‘Me too. What’s your favourite?’

‘The mango.’

‘There’s a bird called a mango? Like the fruit?’

‘Just like the fruit. It’s small with a long thin beak, almost as big as its body. There were a lot of them around my house in Jamaica. Maybe you could come out there with me to see them when I pack up my things.’

‘To Jamaica? Does this mean you’re moving in with me and Maman?’

‘Your flat is barely big enough for the two of you, we’ll have to get a new house.’

‘Now we have to move again?’

‘Just once more, I’m sorry Mathilde for all these changes happening so quickly.’

Mathilde huffed ‘I guess we will need more space for you, me, Maman and my nanny.’

‘No, Mathilde. I’m going to look after you from now on.’

He hadn’t discussed that with Madeleine yet but it was the logical next step. The future that he had wanted for them in Matera was finally here. Just not quite how James had imagined it. Maybe Bond had died on that island. A James Bond, 007, the secret agent. Would his personality change? Would having a child blunt his edge, his point, his identity? If he lost his ruthlessness, his tough personality then who on earth would he become? 

‘So you’re going to be my nanny and my Papa?’

James was many things but he drew the line at being a nanny.

‘I’m just your Papa.’

‘So what’s going to happen to nanny?’

‘She’ll go and look after some other children.’

‘That’s good, I don’t like her.’

James smirked, recalling his own miserable experiences with a succession of nannies and housemaids that were no substitute for his mother’s love. Besides he hated to be told what to do and having known Mathilde for a few days he could tell she was just the same as him in that regard.  

‘Does she boss you around?’

Mathilde nodded. ‘Plus she’s really old. Old people smell weird, like…’ Mathilde struggled to find the English word so she resorted to French, ‘ rutabaga .’

‘Old people smell like swede?’

Mathilde gave another nod. 

‘If you’re going to be looking after me does that mean you don’t have a job?’

James wanted to tell her the truth but legally he couldn’t, thanks to the Official Secrets Act, but he didn’t want to lie to her either.

‘I worked for the government but now I’m retired.’

Mathilde gave him a withering side-eye, ‘You do look very old.’

‘Come on, bet I can still race you to the end of the path,’ said James, sparring for an opportunity to prove he wasn’t a doddering old man.

‘Of course you could, you’ve got bigger legs, it wouldn’t be fair.’

Mathilde got up and skipped her way down the path at her own leisure, admiring the flowers. 

So she was smart. James pulled his shirt to his nose and sniffed it. Was his brain playing tricks on him or could he really detect the scent of a certain yellowy root vegetable? ‘No,’ he muttered, shaking his head with uneasy reassurance.

As Bond followed close behind Mathilde his phone pinged, he got it out to check it. 

The Ice Queen

Going to be late home. Sorry. Can you cook dinner for M? x

James felt a pang of guilt hit him in the chest. Because, despite everything, he still had feelings for Madeleine he hadn’t had the courage or the desire to delete her number from his phone all those years ago. All he had done was change the name on his phone to “The Ice Queen” in a particularly low and extremely intoxicated moment not long after they had parted ways and he’d forgotten all about it, thinking that their paths would never cross again. Not knowing that not only would she reappear in his life but that she was the queen of his heart after all.

James shot off a quick response:

Sure. Take care. x

Then he changed Madeleine’s screen name to something far more appropriate.

Mon beau Cygne

James’ beautiful swan was currently having a reckoning of her own. Spectre was an apt name for the organisation that had haunted Madeleine her whole life. Even now it was gone it still hung over her, she couldn’t imagine what it felt like to be truly free of its tendrils in every dark corner of her mind. Her life was filled with lies, her father had told her he was a doctor and so she had applied to read Medicine at Oxford. Madeleine was a shy, introverted person naturally or so she thought. How much of that came from having to guard oneself against Spectre? It would make her seem cold to someone who didn’t know her but she like James had loves and passions that she was slowly trying to explore. 

She had worked for Médicins Sans Frontières, travelling all over the world to help the most vulnerable of people. An inferior psychiatrist would conclude that she wanted to help others to distract from her own pain, or to balance the scales of Spectre’s destructiveness. But there was a simpler truth: she liked helping people, he made her feel good and that was she was doing something worthwhile. 

Now that Madeleine didn’t need to hide she even considered changing her speciality but she liked the freedom being a psychiatrist afforded her. She was supremely good at her job, over the past five years she had become one of the most well-regarded in the United Kingdom. Her offices in Carlton House Terrace on the Mall, just a few hundred yards from Buckingham Palace was a testament to that. 

When a bird spends its entire life in a cage it comes to think of it as natural, that there is a world outside it is as inconceivable to it as a computer is to an ancient Roman. That’s what Madeleine felt like, she didn’t feel free, not yet but there was time for that. She only hoped James and Mathilde were getting on alright. 

When dinner time came around Bond was at a loss. Living alone in Jamaica he contented himself with simply grilling the fish he had caught that day, together with steaming rice and vegetables to an adequate standard, but that was the limit of his culinary ability. Or it was just as likely he’d go to a street vendor selling jerk chicken. It was a wonder he stayed so fit. It was good enough for a military man like Bond who had been used to eating stodgy scran before he had the opportunity to dine out on MI6’s purse. He could already tell that Mathilde was not going to be impressed by such basic means.

‘Can I have ice cream?’

‘Mathilde, you can’t have ice cream for dinner.’

‘Maman lets me eat ice cream.’

Bond squinted, ’I don’t think that true. Good on you for trying though.’

Mathilde looked a little downhearted that her dad’s naïveté didn’t stretch that far. 

In the end, they reached an agreement to get a pizza delivered on the condition that this was just a one-off and James was still in the honeymoon ‘wanting to impress’ phase of parenthood.

By the time Madeleine returned home, James and Mathilde were slumped on the sofa.

‘You had pizza without me?’

‘It was something of a peace offering,’

‘We saved you some, Maman.’

‘Oh that’s okay then,’ she said, not at all in the mood to argue anyway. 

Madeleine grabbed a slice and fell onto the sofa.

‘Good day?’

‘Yeah, not too bad, just busy. My boss didn’t appreciate me hightailing it out of the country without a word of warning. So I had to do an abject grovelling apology’ Madeleine said.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ She said gratefully for his sympathy.

The three of them hashed out what their next move was. James adored Jamaica but Madeleine preferred the colder climates of Austria and Norway so as a compromise they decided they would stay in London. James conceded that it would be nice to stay close to Q, Moneypenny and Tanner. He hadn’t forgotten his promise to keep in contact. Madeleine would keep her job for now and if in future she decided to practice in a hospital then it would be easy enough to make the switch. And as for Mathilde, Maman and Papa decided that she should attend school in the new academic year, which she wasn’t exactly pleased about. 

‘WHAT?!’

‘You’re a big girl now Mathilde,’ her mother said. ‘And that comes with certain responsibilities.’

‘But I’ve only just met Papa. And now we’re moving houses and I have to go to school?’

‘We’re moving houses?’ Madeleine asked.

‘I may have mentioned it in passing,’ James told her. ‘I’ll still be here Mathilde, we’re not going to send you away to school. And we still have all summer to enjoy.’

‘No, I don’t want to go to school, it’s not fair!’

Mathilde rushed out of the room.

‘Mathilde!’

Madeleine swore under her breath.

‘It’s alright, I’ll go talk to her,' James said.

‘Are you sure that’s wise?’

‘I may have retired but I’m pretty sure I’ve kept my charm.’

‘On your head be it.’

‘Papa’s not at all like I imagined him, Doudou. He’s mean. One minute he takes me to the park to play and the next he’s going to send me to school. And I don’t think rabbits can go to school so I’ll be all on my own—’

James knocked on Mathilde’s door.

‘Mathilde?’ James said softly. ‘Can I come in?’

James opened the door to Mathilde’s best pouty face. 

‘I’m sorry we sprung that on you. You’re right it wasn’t fair. It’s like what we were talking about at breakfast, the thing I want most in the world is to get in Doctor Who’s TARDIS, go back to when you were born and start over. But I can’t, it’s not possible. So now that I’m here I want to rush into things and not waste my days. I want to see you grow up and do all sort of amazing things I know you will.’

‘I don’t want to grow up. You can’t make me.’

‘How about a bedtime story? Would that make you feel better?’

‘A little.’

‘Alright then.’

‘Can’t Maman read to me?’

‘Maman’s very, very tired Mathilde. You’ll have to put up with me I’m afraid.’

James looked through Mathilde’s collection of books, some in English and some in French and he was reminded of the times when his mother Monique would tell him some French lullaby to get him to sleep. He wished he could remember any of them now, but it had been so long that now he struggled to even remember his own  Maman’s  face. Now it was just a blur of memories.

Mathilde brushed her teeth and put on her jim-jams then she pulled out a big, thick book before getting into bed. James tried to steer her to a thinner one but she remained adamant. At least it was in English, that was something for James to cling onto. “The Lion Who Came to Dinner” was the title. Once Mathilde was all snuggled up he began reading.

‘“I’m going to eat you,” roared the hungry lion—“ ’

Mathilde immediately protested, ‘No, Papa you’re not doing it properly!’

‘What? What am I doing wrong?’

‘Maman does voices.’

‘Voices?’

‘Yeah, she gives a different voice to every character.’ 

‘Well I’ll try,’ said James. He set off again with not much difference except for affecting a gruff grumpiness to his performance.  ‘“I’m going to eat you,”—‘

Still not content Mathilde affected a deep, raspy onto her French accent,  ‘“I’m going to eat you”.’

‘“You can’t eat me!” said the little zebra”,’  James said the next line in a broad Southern drawl.

‘Nooo, that’s not how Maman does it.’ 

‘Well I’m not Maman, am I?’ He sniped. 

‘No, but that’s not how the zebra sounds. You’ve got to do it right. The zebra sounds like this,  “You can’t eat me!” ,’ Mathilde said loudly and shrilly which threatened to make Bond’s ears bleed.

James looked haggard as he stumbled through the doorway. 

‘How is she?’

‘She’s fine,’ he replied laconically.

‘The Lion Who Came to Dinner? ’ Madeleine asked.

James just nodded and she patted him on the back in a show of solidarity.

Chapter Text

Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia was where Felix Leiter’s gravestone was placed in lieu of a body to bury. Few came to the funeral anyhow. James was sad to see that Paloma wasn’t there, as if it were not for Felix he would never have met the utterly brilliant Latina. He figured that she was working and couldn’t make the time. 

James wore a simple black tailored suit and tie along with a neatly pressed white shirt and polished black brogues. 

He had met Felix’s family for the first time at the funeral, he didn’t speak to them because he didn’t know how to. And to them he was just another face in the crowd, a stranger who probably knew more about Felix that they did. What could he possibly say to comfort them? He felt guilty for not being able to tell them the truth about how he died. That he couldn’t save him now matter how hard he tried on that sinking vessel. 

James had returned later that evening, wearing another equally immaculate suit on what was a balmy summer’s evening.

Bond stood there for what felt like eternity before finally mustering up the courage to speak. 

’I’ve never been the superstitious type, I don’t think the dead care much for forgiveness but, well, Madeleine says this would be good for me.

‘Although given what happened at Vesper’s grave…’ he flippantly remarked. 

He was stalling and he knew it. 

‘We got back together, Madeleine and I. Which I’m sure will please you. You were right about her, she’s more than a match for me. Told you I had bad judgement, just not quite in the way I expected. Nothing’s ever quite like what you expect though is it?

‘I have a daughter, Felix. Mathilde, and I think she could have even melted your cold heart you prickly bastard. 

‘All those assignments together Felix… oh and I’m still not forgiving you for what happened in Chile, that was entirely your fault… It was a good life. The best. But I’m not sure I’ll miss it.

‘But I do miss you. You were my brother Felix and I miss you.’

Tears bubbled up in the corner of his eyes.

Come on James pull yourself together.

‘You were always there Felix. From the moment we met, you saved me from doing something really stupid. And you kept doing it, you accepted every part of me. I always had your back. I just wish you had mine. I’m sorry I let you down. I really don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Felix.’

James took out a hip flask from his coat pocket, inside which contained a Haig & Haig single malt. He poured a measure onto the soil of the grave. Then he took a swig himself. Next James pulled out the cigar he had intended to give to Felix just before his final moments. 

‘Your cigar. I hope you don’t mind.’ 

He clipped the cap and lit the other end with his trusty Ronson lighter. 

He walked behind the gravestone and sat down of the soft, yielding grass, not giving a shit about ruining his expensive suit and rested his back against the gravestone. James loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. He shut his eyes and for a moment he could imagine it was Felix’s back he was resting against, and that it was he who was smoking the Delectado, the scent of the cigar smoke conjuring his image in James’ mind. 

One of the security guards on patrol had intended to reprimand Bond but took one look at him and thought better of it. And so that was where James stayed undisturbed, reminiscing until the cigar was nothing but a stub. 

Chapter Text

‘So what’s your plan now?’ Bill Tanner asked casually.

‘Well, the first thing is to find Mathilde a decent school.’

‘I meant with yourself. What are you going to do now?’

‘You mean how am I going to spend my retirement? I have no idea. I spent so long being a blunt instrument.’

‘That’s the thing about blunt instruments, they can be honed.’ 

Tanner and Bond sipped their takeaway coffees as they walked through St James Park on their way to MI6’s joint headquarters in Whitehall. 

‘I was trained in hand-to-hand combat, interrogation techniques, data gathering. No one ever taught me how to raise a family. That’s why I thought I’d come to you. Moneypenny told me you’ve got kids.’

‘How long have we known each other Bond?’

‘I know, I know. But let’s be honest neither of us thought we’d be having this conversation did we?’

‘I suppose that’s true. In answer to your question though, I’ve got a boy and girl.’ 

‘How old are they?’

‘Charlie, he’s 11 now, about to start big school and Sam, she’s 8. But I can tell you Bond there is no training that can prepare you for being a parent. You can read all the manuals you like but actually doing it is something else.’

‘Well you’re a fat lot of good then aren’t you?’

Tanner laughed. ‘Sorry, the truth hurts. It is worth it though. All the sleepless nights and parents' evenings. You've still got that to look forward to.’ 

'Don't remind me,' James pleaded. But Bond knew Bill was right, these past few weeks had been without doubt the most blissful he had ever been in his adult life.

‘Do you think you will get a job?’

‘You’re not my mother, Tanner,’ James said petulantly. 

‘I only ask because you could always come back to MI6.’

Bond was struck by the offer. ‘I can’t go back, I’ll have resigned more times than I’ve been hired. What is it now five times? You might as well install a revolving door in that place. And being a double-O at my age?’

‘I didn’t mean coming back as a double-O, goodness no. But we could still use your insight. You could have a simple desk job, regular hours, and you’d be close to Madeleine.’ Bill pointed back to Madeleine’s workplace on the edge of the park as if James needed reminding.

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Whatever you decide, the option’s always there.’ 

He had hated working at MI6. Sure he loved the thrill of the adventure but he detested doing the paperwork afterwards. Except, now the thought of coming back was rousing. Maybe it was a case of the grass being greener. 

Crossing the park and cutting through Horse Guards Parade deposited them in front of the stone and copper building which housed MI6 and the MOD. It was certainly a monolith, large but completely nondescript. Sentimental though it was Bond missed “Legoland”, the emerald and cream Mayan temple on the banks of Vauxhall that used to be MI6 HQ. It was an architectural oddity it had to be said but one that had grown on his and the public’s imagination. Seeing it demolished was like losing an old friend. 

‘Well, this is me, thanks for the coffee.’ 

‘My pleasure. Have a good one Tanner. Give ‘em hell.’

Tanner gave a nod. 

‘Oh, Tanner?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you know a good place to buy a kitten?’

‘A kitten? No, why?’

Bond said with a weary sigh, ‘Kids.’

Chapter Text

Bond placed the pint of Heineken in front of Q and sat down opposite him. The pub wasn’t anything to write home about but it was cozy enough. Most importantly it was closest within walking distance of Q Branch which meant that it had become their regular haunt. 

A gallimaufry of antique tat lined the walls that marked it out as a London pub. They had chosen a quiet table in the far corner but the place was far from teeming in the lunch hour Q had taken. Above their heads hung a neon pink plastic elephant head, inexplicably wearing headphones. Bond took a sip from his own glass of lager and contemplated the sour expression on Q’s face.

‘Bad day at the office?’

‘You could say that.’

Q purposefully cast his eyes away from James.

The older man could sense the tension and attempted to coax him out of his shell. ‘Did 009 put his “Music to Kiss By” playlist on in Q Branch?’ Bond said playfully. ‘Or did Lil tease you about your cardigans again?’

‘You’re getting a cat?’ Q threw the accusation like a dagger. 

‘Ah, Q. Listen, I was just making conversation.’

‘But still. You asked Bill before you asked me?!’

‘Thanks Tanner,’ Bond said under his breath.

‘I just thought that as the proud owner of two delightful felines that you’d call on my expertise. Bill doesn’t even own a cat!’

‘First of all, I’d hardly call your cats delightful.’

‘What would you call them?’

‘…Unique?’

‘Ugly? You can say it.’

‘Yes, alright. Ugly. If I wanted a hairless pet I’d get a turtle and have done.’

‘That is so reductive. Just because they’re not your run-of-the-mill pussies you dismiss them. Oh don’t snigger, you’re not five, James.’ Q rolled his eyes. ‘My cats are regal,

it’s no wonder the ancient Egyptian used to worship them.’

‘Oh give me a break.’

‘I knew you wouldn’t understand.’

’If you must know, I used to have a cat back in Jamaica,’ James said, which had the intended effect of throwing Q off guard.

‘Really?’ 

‘Well not exactly, she was a stray. She came by the house whenever I’d caught a fish. Poor little thing, I couldn’t say no to her so I’d feed her a little of what I’d caught that day.’

Q smiled, ‘Underneath all those muscles you are just a big softie aren’t you?’

‘Keep your voice down. And don’t let Penny know, she’d have a field day.’

‘I just thought given how you felt about my cats that you weren’t a cat person James.’

‘I was a navy man, Q. Cats and sailors are natural companions,’ he said.

‘So it’s just my cats you take issue with. I’m trying hard not to take it personally.’

‘It’s not your fault, but I’m sorry they’re evil. Every time I even try to go near them they scratch me, and even for cats they are excessively pompous.’

‘Pot, meet kettle.’

Bond frowned. Who exactly was being pompous here?

‘Anyway it’s all sorted,’ Bond pronounced.

‘You bought a cat?’

‘No, Madeleine talked Mathilde out of it. Now she wants a pony.’

Q shot into a raucous laugh.

‘We’re hoping to talk her down to a gerbil.’ 

‘You’re going to have to properly introduce me to your little bundle of mischief.’ 

‘I’d love to but you’re never free for more than an hour. I agree though, it’s hard to make a good first impression in your pyjamas.’ 

‘She thought that was what I normally wear. I’d like to dispel the notion that I’m Arthur Dent if that’s quite alright.’

‘Just tell me when you're free for an evening.’

‘Sometime next week maybe.’

‘You’ve said that for the last three weeks.’

‘I’m sorry, you know how it is at Q Branch. Heads stuck in cyberspace, it’s hard to keep track of time.’

‘Workaholic.’ 

Q checked his watch, ’I should be getting back now to be honest.’

‘You’ve only just got here!’

‘R will kill me if I’m not back, thank you though, this was lovely…’ Q’s voice trailed off as left the pub. 

Bond sat for a while in the silence, ‘Brave new world.’

Chapter Text

‘So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.’

Paulo Coelho

James Bond knew that he would ask Madeleine Swann to marry him. It was only a matter of choosing the right moment. 

He told his plan to Mathilde first, of course. She was sad when he told her that she couldn’t come with them and be there when it happened, but Papa had explained to her that this was a dangerous mission, one that he would have to face alone. After so many false starts this would finally be the moment to do the right thing. 

‘How does Paris sound?’ James asked one evening as he and Madeleine were getting ready for bed. 

‘Like London, only with more accordion players,’ she said, only half-listening as she removed her makeup at her dressing table. 

‘I meant for a holiday.’

‘Oh. I thought you were taking us to your Jamaican villa before you sell it?’

‘I am. I was thinking this could be just for us.’

‘I’m not sure, James.’

‘Just one night. We can leave this Saturday morning in the Aston and be there in time for dinner.’

‘One night in Paris?’ Madeleine looked into the reflection of James’ lustful eyes, begging for her attention. ‘I’m guessing Mathilde doesn’t factor into this impromptu sojourn?’

James waved a hand, ‘I’ll ask Tanner to look after her.’

Madeleine eyed him curiously, ‘Just you and me?’

‘Just you and me.’

‘Why?’

‘Do I need a reason?’ James said as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, he leaned his head down to kiss the nape of her neck softly.

Unlike James she was not driven by impulse like he was, she needed rules and rigidity. Neither was Paris the enchanting destination it was for so many other lovestruck couples. She had spent a year there working on her post-graduate degree after a messy breakup and she had seldom returned since. But she appreciated the gesture and she conceded that it would be nice to take her mind off her work. 

‘Black tie?’ She inquired. She’d not failed to notice that James’ dinner jackets and her cocktail dresses had been moved into a more prominent position as if to ply her subconsciously for this moment. ‘Are we going somewhere special?’

‘It’s a surprise.’

Madeleine understandably hated surprises, but this at least looked to be a good one. A night of wild indulgence in the city of light. If James was going to be unpredictable then she would play him at his own game and pack some things they would both enjoy come Saturday evening.

The summer sun blazed across the landscape, mercifully undercut with a cool breeze which swept the verdant leaves through the air. Madeleine was grateful to be out of the hustle and bustle of London. She rolled down the car window, feeling the air on her skin — even if she had to put up with the sound of the engine ruining the tranquil scenery with its V8 soundtrack. Even when they were supposed to be relaxing James drove fast and well, weaving the car through the tight and twisting English B-roads. 

Madeleine wasn’t stupid, she knew what was happening. Or at least what could happen. Marriage was such an awfully big word. Fraught as it was with a danger and uncertainty all of its own. Was she even ready for such a commitment? Was James?

She could tell something was bothering him, and she guessed it wasn’t only the prospect of proposing. Something else was troubling him. 

James hadn’t been down here in a long time but as he drove deeper into Kent the memories came flooding back to him. He could drive on and she would never know the difference. No. Bond wasn’t a coward. Besides, he was growing hungry and was in need of a good rest.

The Duck Inn was one of only a handful of buildings that made up the sparse settlement of Pett Bottom, a name that never failed to give James a schoolboy smirk no matter how old he was. James had worked shifts in the old pub in the holidays off from Eton back when he was a boy, stacking crates and washing barrels to earn a bit of pocket money. 

The previous owners had sadly passed on and the inn was more gastro than pub what with its fine dining menu and plentiful wine selection. Thankfully it still retained the rustic charm that James remembered; mud from the boots of hikers and farmers scuffed up the floor, the smell of ale soaked into the pores of the building and an excitable, yet loveable mutt traipsed around the tables looking for if not scraps then at least attention. 

For their lunch, Madeleine had wild mushroom linguine while James went for the beautifully seared lamb cutlets with ratatouille, smoked aubergine and creamed potato. She contented herself with a glass of ice-cold pink lemonade to fortify her for her stint driving the Aston the rest of the way which left James free to pair a wine that was as red as his lamb. 

The food was delicious but Madeleine couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. Her thoughts drifted to Mathilde. She made a play for her phone that lay tantalisingly on the table.

‘I might just call and see how she’s doing.’

‘We’re in the middle of eating,’ James protested.

‘Just a text?’

‘You worry about her too much.’

James loved Mathilde but he was lying if he said he wouldn’t prefer that she was put wholly out of their minds during this trip. He wanted to recapture that same heady feeling they both had when they first did this the last time, driving the DB5 on a grand tour of Europe. Before it was cut short in Matera they had spent a glorious couple of weeks travelling, first the French Riviera: Marseilles, Cannes and Nice before crossing the border, after which they stopped off at Portofino and Florence before making their way down the spine of Italy to their date with destiny. 

‘You’re right,’ Madeleine said, putting the phone down decisively. She reasoned that she could always sneakily take the phone with her to the toilet. 

Over coffee, it was James’s turn to become distant.

‘Penny for them?’ Madeleine cut through James’s pensive staring out of the window.

He turned his head to meet her gentle face, ‘I’ve not been back here since… in a long time. Nothing’s changed, it’s like it’s frozen in time.’

‘You’ve been here before?’

‘This is where I came after my parents died.’

‘You grew up here?’

‘For a time. In a little cottage further down the road. After my parents died, my aunt looked after me for a couple of years before I went off to Eton.’

They both found it hard to talk about their pasts, and their families most of all and Madeleine decided not to press the matter. ‘It seems nice here,’ she did say, the rolling fields looked so idyllic in the midday sun. ‘I think if I lived somewhere like this I wouldn’t have a care in the world.’

‘It was a little corner of paradise. Anyway, nothing stays still forever, come on.’ James said abruptly leaping from his seat and throwing the Aston’s keys for Madeleine to catch. 

L'Ambroisie was the exact opposite of the Duck Inn. The restaurant situated on the Rue Vernet was the epitome of opulence. The dining room was inspired by that of the Grand Trianon with huge chandeliers hanging from its coffered ceiling. Madeleine’s heels sank into the thick, plush carpets. 

The drive through Northern France had been dull and arduous and Madeleine wanted nothing more than to simply rest but no sooner had they arrived were they both getting dressed in their evening attire.

‘A Negroni, with Gordon’s, please,’ James said to the waiter.

‘Make that two,’ she added.

Madeleine’s mind turned to the prospect of the proposal, she knew there was the infamous bridge of padlocks not far from the restaurant that young lovers place as a symbol of their undying devotion. Bond wouldn’t really be so trad and cliché would he? The idea of a public proposal terrified her. 

If Madeleine could’ve read Bond’s mind at that moment she needn’t have been so worried. Bond had put any immediate thoughts of popping the question out of his mind. Instead, by way of calming himself focused on the most trivial and banal of thoughts. All he was concerned about at the present moment was contemplating the difference between the bread roll he had had in England that afternoon and the one he was having this evening in France. Only in France and Italy do butter and bread rolls taste delicious, Bond noted, but the actual reason continued to allude to him. He tore off another mouthful and coated it with the delicious velvety butter. 

Bond felt the stab of interrogation in Madeleine’s eyes. 

‘Are you sure you can afford this now you’re technically unemployed?’

‘Monsieur Bond!’ 

Bond scrunched his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. 

The man was skinny and tall and although he was only a few years younger than Bond had a playful, carefree attitude that made him look much more youthful. As did his demeanour, he paraded around the restaurant with all the poise of a drunken gazelle on ice, but somehow there was a degree of purpose with which he exercised his gangly form.

‘ Mon ami , if I had known you were coming I would have given you a better table. And who may I ask is your beautiful companion for this evening?’

‘Madeleine,’ she said, making no effort to explain that she was not one of Bond’s casual liaisons. 

‘Émile Du Pont,’ the man announced. He stood behind Bond’s chair taking him firmly by his shoulders and kissing James on his cheek making him squirm, ‘this man, he saved my life. My restaurant is only here because of James Bond. Order anything you like, my dear, there is no question of a bill.’ 

‘That’s very kind, Monsieur Du Pont.’

‘Émile, please. Now, you must excuse me. Enchante, mademoiselle.’ 

Madeleine didn’t think it was possible for James Bond to blush, it was an impossibly rare event like the transit of Venus or England winning a major football tournament, but that’s exactly what James was doing. She was going to savour this.

‘That answers one question and poses many more. How exactly did you help Monsieur DuPont?’

‘It was nothing.’

‘He doesn’t seem to think so.’

Bond took a long pull from his Negroni for his parched mouth, ‘We met in a casino in Monte Carlo, about ten years ago. I was on a couple of weeks' leave from the office so I was minding my own business, playing a terrible game of  Chemin de fer  when a man sat down beside me.’

‘Du Pont?’ 

‘No, I never got his name, if I did I probably would’ve put it on Six’s blacklist.’

‘He beat you?’

‘Not just beat, he annihilated me. He wasn’t just good and he was lucky. I was scrambling to keep up, haemorrhaging chips, I finally decided to call it quits when I was down to my last 5,000 euros.

‘I was sick of cards so I went over to the Roulette wheel, that’s when I saw Du Pont. I could tell the moment I saw him that this man was no gambler. He must’ve picked Roulette because it seemed simple. Pick a number and the spin of the wheel decides your fate. Unlike poker or baccarat, there seems to be no skill involved. They’re wrong of course, you’ve got numbers from one to thirty-six, alternating between red and black with a green zero. That’s a one-in-thirty-seven chance. But you can bet on red or black, odd or even numbers and suddenly things get a lot more complicated. 

‘I lent Du Pont my last 5,000 euros. I told him to put it all on seven, my lucky number.’

Madeleine was taken a little by surprise, ‘You were being kind?’

‘My luck had run out for the evening, didn’t mean someone else’s had to,’ James said modestly. ‘Like I say I’ve seen gamblers, compulsive gamblers, rich industrialists with money to burn, syndicates of people counting the cards with expert finesse. He wasn’t a gambler, just hard on his luck. Doing the last thing he could think of.’

‘So he won?’

‘Lucky number seven. That 5,000 turned into 175,000 euros. Du Pont was ecstatic, even more so when I told him he could keep all of it. Over drinks, he told me he owned a boulangerie in Menton, but that the recession had destroyed what business he had, debts were piling up so he used what little money he had to rent a dinner jacket and enjoy a night at the casino. He promised me he would use it to make his dreams come true, to own the finest restaurant in all of France. By some miracle he seems to have done it.’  

Bond looked around the restaurant, admiring that he played some small part in the process when out of the corner of his eye he saw a situation was occurring. The man in his periphery was dishevelled and clearly agitated. He tugged at a waiter’s shirt. Émile’s entrance got the man to let go of the waiter but his expression didn’t seem to soften upon seeing him. Émile put an arm around the man, trying to give the impression to the customers that the man was his friend, he hastily hurried them into the back of house. 

Bond knew something was wrong. Best not to let it spoil Madeleine’s evening though. He took the napkin off his lap and placed it on the table, ‘Excuse me.’ 

Madeleine looked over her shoulder. If he was going for the toilets he was lost, but instead, James strode through the door that said “NO ENTRY”. 

The heat of the kitchen engulfed Bond as he tried to locate Émile and his companion, he pushed past the frantic hustle and bustle of chefs and wait staff to make it outside.

Bond open the fire exit and was met with a dagger to his throat. The knife was a stiletto, the long, thin blade tapering to a needle point and the man clearly knew how to wield it.

‘Who is this? Your bodyguard?’ The man spoke to Émile but kept his twitchy, bloodshot eyes on James.

‘He’s no one,’ Émile said. ‘This is between you and me.’

How would Madeleine solve this situation? Words and not action. James kept his nerve but held up his hands to show that he was no threat. 

‘Whatever Du Pont’s done I’m sure we can come to a peaceful solution.’

‘Your French is good, English . But I’m afraid I’ll still have to kill you too,’ he said, grabbing James by the lapel and yanking him away from the door and pushing him down onto the ground.

Bond almost wished he had his trusty Walther PPK under his armpit. He definitely wouldn’t have been able to draw and fire it before the man sliced through his carotid but just having it there at all, the weight of it would feel reassuring. Not that he would’ve wanted it, he had given it up and all the violence it represented for Madeleine, just like he did when he threw it off Westminster Bridge. Except now, gun or not, he was utterly defenceless, on his knees in a Parisian alleyway, about to be murdered by some thug. 

‘All this for a watch, Pierre? I have customers, staff. People will notice. You are being foolish.’ 

‘A watch? Is that it?’ James asked more out of incredulity than bravado.

‘He stole my watch!’ 

‘I did not steal it!’ 

‘It was not just any watch, it was my father’s pocket watch, it had been in my family for five generations.’

‘Then you should not have gambled it away like it was nothing. I won that watch, fair and square.’ 

‘You are a liar and a cheat, Émile.’

‘Enough!’ Bond interjected, with a forcefulness that knocked even Pierre off guard a little. ‘I’m sure we can solve this like gentlemen.’

‘I don’t think you’re right about that, English ,’ Pierre said. 

Madeleine seemed to come from nowhere, she swung the cast-iron pan hitting the man squarely on the side of his forehead. The man fell to the ground with a thud, the knife flying harmlessly down onto the pavement. He was out for the count. 

‘Idiots!’ 

Bond got to his feet and straightened his tie as if to hide his embarrassment.

‘Oh Mademoiselle, you have saved my life, for real this time. I cannot thank you enough.’ 

‘Get off me!’ Madeleine said, extricating herself from the arm that Émile had put around her and Bond’s shoulders. 

‘What are we going do about him?’ Du Pont gestured to the man lying on the floor.

‘In a few minutes he’s going to wake up,’ James said. ‘He’s going to be a little confused and very angry. You are going to give him his watch back.’

‘But…’

‘Did you cheat?’

‘No. I may have provoked him a little until the watch was all he had left to bargain with.’ 

Bond felt cheated, he didn’t know why, Émile and he weren’t exactly friends. Yet he had helped him out in the casino as an act of charity and he repaid that trust by becoming the very man Bond thought he wasn’t. 

‘No buts, just do it. As for us Du Pont, we’re finished. As a parting bit of advice, don’t ever gamble again, your luck has run out.’

Bond joined Madeline outside. He looked back at the mess of L'Ambroisie. The other diners having no idea of what transpired. He untied his bow tie and popped his top button in defeat.

‘Let’s get back to the hotel, I need a shower. We’ll order room service.’

‘I’m going to walk it off,’ Madeleine said brusquely. 

‘Then I’ll come with you.’

‘No, I… I need to be alone,’ she snapped. 

‘Alright.’ 

James watched Madeleine walk off into the dying light, the engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket. He had blown it.

It had only been a month. A month that felt like an eternity and a second at the same time. Rhythms and routines being locked into place with every repetition yet still malleable like wet clay waiting to harden and become solid. 

Maybe Madeleine was not finding the reasons to love James because she had never felt worthy of being loved. Her thoughts once again came back to her little bundle of joy. Almost all parents say they would do anything to protect their child, they’d even kill for them. Madeleine was one of the few that put that into practice. She and James were alike in that regard. 

The doctor who kills and the assassin who heals. 

James had been so good with Mathilde this past month like it had unlocked some part of himself he never knew existed. Fatherhood looked good on him, he had finally found someone who unequivocally needed protecting and nurturing.

Madeleine knew that if she was to marry James, Mathilde couldn’t be the only thing that tied them together. They had to love each other on their own terms. Because a little part of her brain would wonder whether either of them would be together if she had not been born. It wouldn’t be fair to Mathilde for that to be the only reason. 

She couldn’t stop what happened this evening, bad things were going to happen, whether or not she and James were together. Now, maybe they could weather the storm together. She had to believe it was worth a shot. 

They’d shared so much pain and pleasure over the years, she realised. She thought of what she might say to the younger Madeleine, the one stuck on an Austrian alp, hiding from SPECTRE. That woman couldn’t conceive of the life she lives now. 

If she hadn’t met James she would be dead, she would be buried in the debris of MI6 or bumped off by an assassin. That’s surely got to be a big tick on the list of positives. She thought back to younger Madeleine, scared and fragile, travelling in  his  Rolls Royce. James took her hand and just like that she wasn’t so scared. 

Five years she had waited to tell a man she loved him. Madeleine baulked at the parallel. Tom had been there for her since university, her first love, the first proper one at any rate. When it had all gone wrong in Yemen she fled back into the comforting arms of Paris. She felt like she was going around in circles (both literal and metaphorical). She couldn’t escape her past, nor could she move forward.

Madeline found the nearest dive bar ordered herself a small scotch and all but collapsed down on the stool at the bar. So much for a night of passion and sexy lingerie that she had packed especially for the occasion. The whisky provided a satisfying burn down her throat. 

‘If I may say, you look far too glamorous to be in a place like this.’ 

Madeline looked up from her stupor. The man who had sat on the stool next to her was an older gentleman with a sweep of silver hair and a neat grey beard. His voice was husky with an accent that was hard to pin down but his grasp of French was exceptional.

‘Thanks,’ Madeleine merely said out of politeness, she had no desire to talk to the man, she just wanted to drown her sorrows in the amber liquid and forget about this whole sorry night.

‘Why then, is a woman like you, here all on her own?’ He asked, his voice soft and laced with genuine curiosity. If he were merely trying to chat her up he would’ve been far more direct. 

Madeleine let out a sigh, ‘Because things keep going wrong.’

‘How so?’

‘There was… an incident. It wasn’t his fault, he was just trying to help. It doesn’t matter but it made me realise that I don’t think I’m ready for any of this. Not again.’

‘Your boyfriend?’

Madeleine let out a little laugh into her glass. James may act like it at times but he was far from being a boy. 

‘My partner. We came here for him to propose.’

‘You turned him down?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Will you?’

She downed the rest of her scotch. 

‘Nice meeting you.’

‘Wait. Let me walk you home. It is not safe for a woman to walk alone in Paris.’

Madeleine wasn’t sure why she had taken him up on his offer having only met this man thirty seconds ago but his tired eyes showed kindness and there was a charming affability to the man that made Madeleine feel comfortable without knowing why.

Madeleine and the gentleman walk along the cobble-paved bank of the Seine, although she was still aimlessly wandering. She felt guilty dragging this man along with her but she was glad of the company. 

If he seemed to mind he didn’t voice it, on the contrary, he seemed to take pleasure in every step they took. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve lived here, or anywhere…’ he left the thought incomplete. ‘It really is beautiful isn’t it?’

‘If you say so.’

They stopped in the middle of a bridge, hugging the balustrade Madeleine looked out at the ink-black water.

‘Have you thought more about your little dilemma?’

‘Not really. I never expected to see him again but then he just showed up out of the blue, like it was fate. Is that a sign? How I am meant to know if this is the right thing to do?’

‘It is only natural to have doubts, Mademoiselle. I believe we find each other for a reason. To find anyone through all the chaos of the universe is improbable, to find them a second time is a miracle. A third time?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘The fact that we have any time at all with the people we love is something to be treasured. Do not cry, Mademoiselle. Trust your heart, you’ll know what to do.’ 

Once she turned back around he was gone, not a trace, like he was a figment of her imagination. Maybe it was one of James’s friends from the French secret service who had been surveilling her and come to put in a good word for him, she wouldn’t put it past him. 

Five years she had waited to tell a man she loved him, except this time it wasn’t too late. Whatever tonight was it could be forgotten. 

Madeleine’s feet grew sore and blistered, she didn’t want to go back to the hotel though. 

Her phone rang in her clutch bag, she pulled it out and answered. 

‘Madeleine, where are you?’

‘I just started walking, I don’t really know.’ She looked up to take in her surroundings to give her some clue as to where she was. Did she cross the river? She couldn’t remember now. 

‘Come back to the hotel, please.’ 

‘I don’t want to, I can’t. Not yet.’

‘I’m worried about you.’

Madeleine could feel James’s concern down the phone line, maybe it was time to go back and face the music. 

‘Where are you?’

‘Um… near the river.’

‘Then stop.’ And just like that James Bond appeared in front of her as if he too was a mirage. But he was real, solid and tangible. 

‘Walk with me.’

‘I think you’ve had enough.’

‘Just a bit further. I’ve got my bearings now,’ Madeleine huffed a laugh at her subconscious guiding her weary body, or some base animal instinct of the call towards home.

Madeleine tread lightly down the Rue Tiquetonne, as if the pavement was made of glass, a footstep too heavy would shatter it and she would fall into the centre of the earth. The street itself was narrow and claustrophobic, filled all the way down with shops and restaurants. Madeleine would always know she was near home by the smell of onions and garlic mixed with the aroma of smoke and hot fat wafting through the streets. She had been overwhelmed by Paris when she first arrived, after a life spent in seclusion in a Norwegian forest, being in the heart of France was an overload of her senses, her first instinct was to revolt against it.

After what James’ had said at Pett Bottom it seemed only fair that Madeleine should do the same with her own past. They had slept in her childhood home in Norway, what else was left to keep hidden?

All the establishments that littered the Rue were shuttered for the night. She pointed up to the little apartment on the fifth floor in the second arrondissement that had once been her adolescent home.

‘This is where I grew up. After… my mother died. While Papa was off making the world a worse place, I lived here with my aunt.’

James took her hand, and she felt its warmth. She didn’t feel so scared anymore. 

Madeleine didn’t begrudge James not choosing the moment to get down on one knee, the street was one made of dust and dead memories. A sleeping lion best left undisturbed.

‘I’m sorry. For earlier, it was stupid,’ he said instead.

‘Yes, it was.’ Madeleine said. ‘You can be so reckless and immature at times even if you were only trying to help.’

‘I know.’

‘But doing what’s right, so much so that you completely disregard your own safety is what made me fall in love with you,’ she said, adding softly.  ‘J’taime.’ 

‘J’taime.’

Madeleine sighed, right now, just the presence of him was enough. She pressed her head to his chest, she would quite happily use him as a mattress at this moment. ‘Let’s go. But you might have to carry me.’

‘Au contraire, chérie.’ 

Bond stuck his thumb and forefinger into his mouth and blew, the loudness of the whistle was an electric jolt to Madeleine’s senses. 

As if on cue a taxi trundled down the narrow street and stopped neatly in front of them. James opened the door for Madeleine who let out a tired smile.

The journey home was mainly spent in quietude. After a long drive, James pulled up at a place which was not her flat. But he took the keys out of the ignition and got out, moving around to open Madeleine’s door. 

‘What are you doing?’

‘A little errand, won’t take a moment.’

An errand? That’s how James Bond of all people ends possibly the least romantic Parisian excursion of all time?

Madeleine tutted, ‘I’ll stay in the car.’

‘I need you. Come on, it won’t take a moment,’ James said breezily. 

Madeleine reluctantly got out and was confused when James rapped on the door of the Westminster office building. A few seconds later a burly security guard opened the door. James slipped the guard a few notes of cash and he let in, ascending up the building through the concrete service stairs. 

James had taken her to the rooftop of Whitehall Place, the same spot he had come to after M’s funeral. The sun was setting over London, painting the sky in majestic orange and lavender hues. The golden ribbon of light stretched as far as the eye could see. 

‘How’s the view?’ He asked.

‘It really is beautiful,' she smiled.

‘Still hadn’t noticed.’

Madeleine hit him playfully on the arm. 

‘Why are we up here James?’ She said looking back out towards the skyline. 

When she looked back around this time she found James on one knee, in his hand was an engagement ring. The ring was a thin white gold band topped with a diamond on either side of a sparkling jewel of sapphire. 

‘Mon Dieu!’

‘Madeleine,’ James said. ‘Will you marry me?’

‘Yes, James. Yes, I will.’

James carefully removed the ring from its box and placed it on Madeleine’s finger. He stood up and cradled her face in both hands, gently wiping away the happy tears with his thumbs. Then their mouths intertwined into a kiss without end.

Now many questions were racing through Bond’s mind, with the first part done he was already on to planning the whole affair. Where to have the service? Somewhere in Scotland, that was certain but not Skyfall Chapel. It was where his mother and father were married, along with five generations of Bonds, but too many painful memories lay in that place, not just M but his parents too. Keithly, perhaps, where he had spent many a happy summer as a young boy. Yes, Keithly would do nicely.

As they drove back home Madeleine studied the ring on her finger, admiring its beauty. The sapphire catching the dying light was the same colour as their family’s eyes, it must’ve been why James chose it. With it came so many new questions and responsibilities. The first of which she decided to broach with immediacy. 

‘Please don’t be mad, but promise me one thing?’

‘Okay…?’ James said tentatively, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel impatient at being stuck in the North London traffic jam. 

‘Mathilde should keep her surname.’

‘What?!’ He exclaimed. ‘What exactly is wrong with the name Bond?’ 

‘Nothing,’ she hastily clarified, ‘But Mathilde Swann sounds like an explorer. Mathilde Bond sounds like an accountant.’

‘Charming.’

‘I didn’t think you’d take it so personally.’

‘It’s my name, how could I not take it personally?’

‘Fair point, I guess I should’ve broken it to you more gently.’

‘I suppose if I’d been there we could’ve named our firstborn together. That’s another pleasure I’ve robbed myself of.’ 

‘If it’s any consolation, you wouldn’t have had a choice. Mathilde was the name of the aunt that raised me. I’ve been set on calling my daughter that since I first thought about the possibility of children.’

‘Okay you got your name, now I get mine. She’s changing her surname.’

‘Don’t you think she should get a say in that?’

James’s irritation grew, ‘This isn’t a discussion Madeleine, she’s taking my name.’ 

Tempers in the car grew hotter, and Madeleine wasn’t going to back down. ‘What if I say no? Better yet, why don’t you change your surname? James Swann, that has a certain ring to it.’

James Swann?  He grimaced at the preposterous notion. ‘The Bond family name goes back centuries. I’m not going to forgo four hundred years of tradition because you want to be a little progressive.’

James’ old-fashioned ways could be so irritating at times, why the hell shouldn’t she keep her name? 

‘My name means something to me too. I chose my mother’s maiden name, promised myself I’d do something good with it,’ she sighed.

‘So you don’t want to be Mr and Mrs James Bond?’

‘Mr and  Doctor  Bond, I think you’ll find.’

‘ Commander  and Dr Bond, if we’re being technical,’ James fired back.

Both realising their escalating pedantry was pointless managed to break the tension. ‘It’s been a long, and eventful day. Let’s just go home and sleep. We’ll deal with whatever comes another day.’

‘But I like my last name,’ Mathilde said the next morning, confused as to why she was even being asked the question.

‘Exactly, you don’t have to change it just because Papa would get upset.’

‘Yes she does, Maman ,’ James said to Madeleine firmly.

‘She can choose herself. Whatever you want to be Mathilde we’ll be there for you.’

‘We’re a family, so we’ll have a family name, okay?’

‘Don’t listen to him, Mathilde. It’s two against one.’ 

Bond let out a heavy sigh, frustrated that he couldn’t find the words to explain how much this mattered to him. James and Mathilde locked their sapphire eyes.

‘Mathilde, I don’t have a lot of things left to hold on to. Things that are really, really important. I’ve got you, and Maman, and my name. My name is all I’ve got left of my family. We’ve got a saying in my family “Nobody can hold a Bond forever”, and no question Mathilde you are a Bond. So will you do this for me? Please?’

‘Bond. Mathilde Bond… B-on-d. Bond.’ Mathilde rolled the words around her tongue to get a feel of how they sounded. ‘Okay Papa, I’ll change my name.’

‘Good girl, thank you,’ he said, pulling her into a hug and kissing the top of her head.

Madeleine was touched by the two of them. In her need to protect her she had forgotten that Mathilde was as much James’ daughter as she was hers. 

‘But you’re going to change your last name to Papa’s last name because that’s what girls do when they marry a boy?’

‘Some choose to and some don’t. The point is girls get to decide. But your Papa’s right, we’re a family and I choose you. Both of you, always. Forever and a day,’ Madeleine said before kissing James. 

Mathilde looked off put by her parents’ display of affection, scrunching up her face in disgust. ‘Will I get to wear a pretty dress?’

‘Of course.’

‘Okay then, I guess I’ll let you get married.’

Chapter Text

‘Bond? What are you doing here?’

James Bond swaggered into Q Branch in an immaculate blue Prince of Wales check suit, a purple knitted tie, matching pocket square and polished black brogues. It was clear Bond still followed the maxim of the Double O Section, that looks can kill.

‘Good morning, Q. I’m back.’

‘What!?’ the younger man spluttered. 

James unclipped the visitors’ pass from his top pocket and threw it into where one of the Q Branch technicians was testing an experimental hairdryer-cum-flamethrower. The flaming badge clattered to the floor.

‘I’m back in London proper. Madeleine and I have bought a new place together. Why what did you think I meant?’ 

Q let out a sigh of relief, ‘Very funny 00… Bond. You’re paying for that badge.’ 

Bond dismissed that with a wave of his hand, ‘So what are you working on?’

James went to pick up a small half-finished gizmo from the table but Q slapped his hand away.

‘That is classified,’ Q said.

‘Please Q, give me something interesting, just a taste.’ 

‘No, you need clearance.’ 

‘I can name all the  Teletubbies , that’s all I’ve got going for me now.’

Q folded his arms, intrigued he said, ‘Go on.’

‘Don’t make me.’

‘You brought it up.’

‘No, I’m not doing it.’

‘Alright, I won’t tell you.’

‘Po, La-la, Dipsy and Tinkie-Winkie,’  he rattled off with disconcerting speed. 

‘Who are you? And what have you done with James Bond?’

‘Get to the gadgets, Q.’

Q led Bond into the bowels of research and development. Q made no bones about the fact that he was more interested in the cyberintelligence angle of Q Branch, but the shadow of Major Boothroyd hung large over the department. The late quartermaster had been at Q Branch since its inception when it was founded to develop new toys to outfox the Nazis and latterly the Soviets, with compasses in brass buttons and lipstick guns and such. He was still running the place long after the Wall had fallen. As such this little corner of the office was left to carry on the Major’s legacy, undisturbed by the hackers and while as the department head Q kept abreast of their work he largely let them get on with it.

Q went over to one of the desks.

‘Wireless earbuds, very fashionable these days. Beats me as to why, terrible bass response and laughable battery life but this one,’ Q took the earphones out of their case and gently pressed the stem of one of them, shooting out a serrated metal blade, ‘conceals a lock pick.’

He led Bond to another desk. 

‘Vape kit.’ 

‘I gave up cigarettes years ago,’ James said.

‘Just as well, this is actually a smoke grenade.’ 

In the background, a couple of technicians were testing what looked like an ordinary cricket ball. The man with the clipboard took a step back as the woman holding the ball gave an impressive overarm throw towards a plastic mannequin and as it flew through the air it cracked open like an egg, all in tenths of milliseconds the wire that had been contained inside and like a traditional bolas twisted itself around the mannequin, the force of which popped the two halves of the plastic off at its waist. Bond enjoyed the display, although the woman looked a little sheepish, she was going for tied up rather than bisected. 

‘Bond,’ Q regained his attention. ‘Now, try this.’ 

It looked like an innocuous jar of hand cream. Bond twisted off the top and inspected it. The label said Floris and smelt like it too, with top notes of bergamot and neroli, Bond’s nose detected. For 003’s next mission then, it was her signature scent. The aroma conjured a Proustian moment as he remembered Harwood’s mischievous smile. 

Q brought him back to reality. ‘Put some on, trust me it’s non-toxic.’

‘Somehow you saying that doesn’t fill me confidence,’ Bond said but he complied, rubbing his hands together and letting the luxuriant cream soak into his skin.

’Now what? Or are you just telling me I need to moisturise?’ 

‘Slap your hands onto the desk, hard as you can.’

‘Still not seeing this as anything other than an elaborate practical joke.’

But with a loud smack that startled a few of the dozing programmers awake Bond’s hands met the desk. 

‘Now what?’ James asked but Q kept quiet. Bond went to raise his hands back off and a jolt of surprise rocked him as he realised he couldn’t move them. Bond pulled, harder and harder with all his considerable might but his hands remained stuck to the surface. 

‘Well done, you’ve invented superglue. Hardly cutting-edge, we did this prank on unlucky sods in school.’

‘So much for an elite public school education. This isn’t superglue, nothing so crude, this is my own formulation.’

‘I don’t care what it is, how do I get it off?’

‘Oh you can’t, it doesn’t come off.’

Bond’s eyebrows shot up. 

‘It wears off… after 24 hours.’

’24 hours?!’

‘Regretting coming back here now?’

‘Handcuffs would’ve been more dignified.’ James said. ‘Does it really not come off?’

‘It’s a non-Newtonian fluid,’ Q said as if that meant something to James. ‘Raise your hand,  gently  this time.’

Bond did so and his hands lifted like nothing, and let out an exasperated sigh.

In the distance there was a blip of the engine rolling into the shop and Bond perked up. ‘Did I hear what I think I just heard?’

‘… no…’  Q said weakly, knowing full well that he did.

‘Liar. That is the unmistakable sound of an Aston Martin V12 engine.’

‘No, Bond please.’

Free as a bird, Bond bolted to find the source of the noise. What he found left him speechless.

The car looked like a modern reimagining of Bond’s own V8 Vantage. This car however was bigger, wider and lower. Its body was pained in a pristine dark, almost black shade of green accented with black carbon fibre side skirts which gave it an aggressively imposing presence.

‘Bond need I remind you what you did to the last multi-million pound, one-of-a-kind prototype Aston gave us. If so much as lay one finger on this car I will tase you, or gaffer tape you to a chair or both.’

Bond held his hands up in a conciliatory manner, ‘Don’t worry Q, these hands aren’t worthy.’ He proceeded to put in hands firmly in his pockets and contented himself by slowly pacing around the car, taking it in with his eyes. Moaning in ecstasy with each new detail he found. ‘The DB10 was an ugly duckling compared to this goddess.’

‘Still didn’t give you the right to dump it into the Tiber.’

‘You’re  still  not letting that go are you?’

‘You weren’t the one who had to tell the very nice man from Aston Martin what happened.’

James smirked. ‘What are its performance figures?’

‘Fool me once, Bond.’ 

James being a car bore was one of his least attractive qualities in Q’s eyes. Many hours of his life at this point had been wasted by James on exactly this kind of conversation. Q could understand the objective beauty of this particular car but at the end of the day they were all just machines to him. He didn’t love them like James did.

‘Q please, my access has been revoked I couldn’t steal it even though I definitely want to.’

‘836 bhp, top speed over 200 miles per hour, 0-60 in 3.1 seconds.’ Q said. ‘There is one problem with it.’

‘Which is?’

‘It’s called the  Victor. ’

‘ Victor ?’

‘Hmm, as in conquerer I suppose but has the unfortunate connotation of sounding like a distant uncle. It certainly lacks the interestingness of a name like  Vanquish  or  Valhalla .’ 

‘Well, no one’s perfect. A rose by any other name and all that.’

‘So you’re not coming back?’ 

‘The car is very tempting, but no. Tanner offered me a desk job but I’ve already been tortured enough for one lifetime,’ he said dryly. 

Bond and Q made their way back to Q’s desk. 

‘Then, dare I ask why you’re really here?’

‘Q, I’m getting married.’

‘M-married?’

‘To Madeleine. You know; short, blonde, mother of my child. Unsurprisingly good spoof player.’

‘Uh yes of course. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you. I was wondering… Would you be my best man?’

Now it was Q’s turn to be utterly speechless. Like an overheating processor, Q’s brain fizzed as it tried to compute a hundred different emotions at once. Happiness was diluted with the bitter tang of jealousy. Q had always wondered as a passing fancy whether he and James could’ve had a life together, he found Bond infuriatingly backwards when it came to his work and yet he never found it more exciting than when 007 came for a playful tete-a-tete. But even if he had wanted to make a move Madeleine had come along and stolen Bond’s heart. In the long five years Bond was away Q had let go of the idea and moved on.

‘Has he frozen? How do I reboot him?’ James addressed the room. 

‘Q?’ the young woman whom Bond had nicknamed R on account of being Q’s unofficial second in command said. ‘Say yes you idiot.’

This was an untypically forthright outburst from R, or Ishani to her friends, colleagues and basically anyone who wasn’t called James Bond. She was often shy and socially awkward in the way that late millennial computer nerds are. The South Londoner often seemed to be engulfed in heavy oversized jumpers that she wore more for comfort rather than style, although she always made a point to have her hijab complement the pattern on any given day.

‘Uh… um… yes, well, yes of course I’d be honoured, James.’

James smiled, ‘Marvellous. I’ll let you know the details in due course.’ He turned to R, ‘Have a good day.’

Ishani gave a flustered little wave goodbye as James sauntered off. 

‘What just happened?’

‘Bond’s getting married,’ she said with amazement.

‘Yes, I got that bit.’

* * *

James Bond knocked at the door of a house in a row of Victorian terraces in the suburbs of Golders Green. An elderly woman opened the door. She was in her early seventies now, short and plump with iron grey hair but she was still wily and dependable as she always had been. 

‘Och, if it isn’t James Bond.’

And she was completely Scottish.

‘Hello May,’ he said with a big, bright grin. 

‘Don’t you “Hello May” me, young laddie. I thought you were dead…  again , you jumped up little bawheid.’

‘Oh… sorry,’ Bond said, the wind having been roundly taken out of his sails. ‘I thought I told you. I was going away with Madeleine.’

‘Aye, the French lassie. I remember. Said you were going away for a while.  That  was five years ago. I didn’t expect much but a wee postcard would nae gone amiss.’

Mathilde’s giggles erupted from behind James’ back.

‘Oh. Hello there,’ May said stiffly.

‘May, this is my daughter Mathilde. Mathilde this is May, she used to look after me when I was your age.’

May tensed up but said as politely as she could manage, ‘Well, youse better come in then.’ 

As May led her into the old house, across the ruby red carpet and artexed walls she said to James, ‘I’ll put the kettle on, I’ve only got Nescafe I’m afraid but there’s squash in the fridge for the wean.’

‘How about I do that? You sit down and say hello to Mathilde.’

May cut a stare at James. They both looked so innocent that she couldn’t refuse. ‘All right, lassie, follow me. And take your shoes off.’

May had been Skyfall’s housekeeper when she was in her twenties and James was a boy. Then when James first joined MI6 they became reacquainted. May tended to his flat off the King’s Road in Chelsea when he was away and kept him company when he wasn’t. She was more than happy to make the move from Scotland to London, the Bond and the Davidson families had been connected for generations and May always had a soft spot for the fiercely tenacious young James.

‘Sit your bahookie down there,’ May commanded, her eyebrows knotting together when Mathilde stared at her with a blank expression. ‘That’s Scottish for your bottom. Does your Da not teach you these things? You do at least speak English don’t you, lassie?’

‘A little,  Madame .  Papa  is helping me learn.’

‘Hmm, always has been a better Englishman than a Scot. Nochtie turncoat.’

‘Yes thank you, I heard that,’ James called from the kitchen.

‘Guid,’ May shot back.

Mathilde climbed up onto the sofa while May sat in her armchair next to it. May picked up her half-finished shawl and resumed the knitting she had been doing before the surprise arrival of the two Bonds. The sound of the needles clacking together was the only thing stopping the room from being silent. Mathilde awkwardly twiddled her thumbs, looking around the room for something interesting. She had never been to an old person’s house before, it was different from  Maman’s  flat. Everything looked so different. Even though she was only five she could tell that all these items had a history from the way the air smelled from the mustiness of old books, the natural wear and tear of old china or the patina on the candelabra. Nothing drew her interest except for a wooden statuette of an owl that sat on the side table. The figure of the animal was rough-hewn like it had been carved by an amateur hand. 

‘’Ay, don’t be touching other people's things, will ye?’

Chastened, Mathilde whipped her hand back. 

James returned and once he sat down Mathilde clutched his arm, turning her body into his chest.

‘Is May being a big meanie?’

May’s face softened in response. ‘Sorry, dearie. Your daddy’s right. I’ve never been good at meeting new people,’ May said, adding for James, ‘Especially when they come unannounced’. 

‘Sorry,’ James said. ‘May’s very sweet and kind once she gets to know you, Mathilde.’

Making an effort to prove this May pointed to Mathilde’s doudou, ‘Who’s your friend?’

‘His name’s Laurent,  Laurent Le Lapin . isn’t that right?’ Bond answered for the twice-shy Mathilde.

‘Your Da had one just like that, he used to—‘

‘ Anyway , how are you getting on May?’

‘Och fine, fine,’ she said. ‘Mathilde? I bet you don’t want to listen to us old people nattering. Mebbe you and Laurent would like to play some computer games, aye?’

Mathilde nodded. 

James helped set up May’s laptop on the dining table, it was easily the newest thing in the house, but May wasn’t completely old-fashioned when it came to all this modern technology. She may not know how to do the more technical bits and bobs but compared to her friends she was a dab hand at Facebook and the occasional Skype call, especially compared to Janice who accidentally spammed the chat with pictures of her prized Victoria sponge cake recently. Then again maybe it wasn’t fair to compare herself with Janice, after all, May had an ace up her sleeve.

‘That lovely lad with the specs has been ever such a help with all this technology lark. What’s his name? Quinn? Quentin?’

‘Q. Just Q, he’s a life-saver, when he’s not winding me up.’

James and May sat at the table to keep their eye on Mathilde, who peered above the laptop screen.

‘Merci, Madame  May .’

‘You’re welcome, luvvie.’

‘Do you live here alone?’ James asked. He could spot the telltale signs of solitude. Everything orbited around that rumpled armchair; the television remote that hadn’t left its side, the incomplete jigsaw puzzle splayed out. 

‘Aye, you know I do,’ she said 

‘There hasn’t been anyone else?’

‘There’s never been anyone but Alec.’

James had never really known May’s husband, he had left Scotland before May had met Alec but he had always heard good things about him that he wished he had.

‘We never had kids,’ she mused as she watched Mathilde’s darling face light up. ‘Never wanted them. We had each other, we were happy enough wi’ that. Never ye mind about me, what about you, James? You've clearly been busy.’

‘That’s partly why I’m here. Madeleine and I are getting married. It won’t be a large ceremony, but we’d love you to come all the same.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful James, congratulations. But you’re sure you want me there?’

‘Of course, you’ve done so much for me over the years. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.’

May and Madeleine didn’t talk much the first time they met. Two introverts in the same room, Bond was getting worried they were communicating telepathically so once again he went off and made the tea and coffee and sure enough once he returned May and Madeleine were getting on like a house on fire, laughing and sharing stories very much at James’ expense. 

The next time James came to May’s house alone, he had an important question to ask of her, something that had been weighing on his mind since the first time he had come here. ‘May, Madeleine and I have been talking things over and well, you’ve done so much for me over the years. If you wanted to stay with us then we’d be more than happy.’

‘Och, you’re always were a charmer, James. But I’m happy living on my own, I prefer my own company and my independence. Don’t you go thinking I’m some frail old lady. I’ve got my allotment which keeps me fit and I’ve got my friends at bridge club to keep my company,’ she said. ‘But thank you for the offer, James.’

‘Not at all, but anything you need, May. Anything at all you just ask.’

‘You could pop around more often for a start, bring wee Mathilde and Madeleine too. I’d like that.’

‘I’d like that too.’

Chapter Text

The wedding ceremony was, if one was being charitable, intimate but what was, in reality, a pretty meagre showing. Bond’s friends and colleagues from MI6 made a splendid show of force. They were all there save from Mallory, whose relationship with Bond had never really been the same since, well, since Mexico City all those years ago. At any rate, he had absented himself from any kind of frivolity on the grounds of national security. Whereas May of course wouldn’t miss this for the world. Add to them a few friends from James’ time in the Navy and that was all that came from his side. Madeleine’s contingent was just as small, containing a few friends from work and a couple from medical school who hadn’t been affronted by the fifteen-year gap in their relationship. 

Thankfully, this being a Scottish wedding in a small, tight-knit fishing village the local community were thrilled with the prospect of a ceremony in their little town and when the priest explained that James had relatives here (at one time, at least) then he was welcomed into the fold as if he had lived there all his life. 

The people of Keithly filled out the rest of the intimate chapel giving it life and atmosphere. The grey stone walls and dark mahogany pews seemed brighter somehow for their presence. The village sat almost hidden within the low hills of the West Highlands. James’ Uncle Max had a cottage a couple miles north of the town which he bought so he could fish in the river which ran past it. During his first Easter break from Eton Max taught James how to drive a car and passed on his worldly wisdom before by the end of the break he had passed away himself. That it happened only a couple of years after James’ parents died it seemed to confirm to him that he would spend his life grief-ridden and alone.

Even if Madeleine’s own father had been alive she would not have wanted him here but the moment the chapel doors open she instantly regretted the decision to walk down the aisle by herself. She felt lonely and exposed. She froze at all the eyes staring upon her, her dress suddenly felt like it was made of lead. She focused her gaze upon James at the end of the building, his smiling face a beacon in a stormy sea. 

Seeing her now reminded James of Madeleine walking down the aisle of the train carriage as it travelled through Morocco. Looking stunningly beautiful, knowing then that she was the woman he would give up his life for. 

Madeline remembered walking down the aisle of the train carriage towards Bond in a dress as simple and as elegant as the one she was wearing today. It was just as much an act now as it was then. Inside she was terrified. The memory threatened to overtake her, impossible to transcend. 

Mathilde for her part had been given the role of flower girl, standing at the head of the procession she was oblivious to her mother’s plight. She skipped down the aisle throwing the petals with gay abandon. Only when she had gotten to the end she realised that Madeleine wasn’t following in her wake.

Moneypenny had been an excellent maid of honour to Madeleine, her planning skills were invaluable over the past few months but with Mathilde handing her basket of flowers to her she was given a last-minute demotion. Mathilde headed back down to where her mother stood like a statue and took her hand. Mathilde’s touch broke Madeleine’s trance. Madeleine wasn’t sure whether it was for comfort or whether Mathilde just wanted the whole spectacle to be over quicker but it was her daughter that lead her down towards the bridegroom. Madeleine wasn’t proud of much in her life but she’s never been more proud to be Mathilde’s mother. James winked at Mathilde and in a hushed tone said, ‘Good job, kiddo’. 

Q took Mathilde’s hand and popped her on the front pew.

‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’ 

With that, James swept Madeleine into a tender, passionate kiss. The smiles of Q, Moneypenny and Harwood were twinged with a fleeting sadness. Fragile hearts take longer to heal but Bond knew that they would grow back stronger for having gone through the heartbreak. 

‘Well done, son.’ Kincade beamed as the congregation took the short walk from the church to the reception at the village pub. ‘I do hope she’ll make an honest man out of you.’

‘Well don’t hold out too much hope, Kincade. She may be a doctor but she’s not a miracle worker.’

Kincade’s trusty rifle had been replaced in his right hand by a walking stick. He was looking much more frail that when Bond had last seen him almost single-handedly defend Skyfall but that hadn’t stopped him from dressing to the nines for the occasion.

Mrs Bond. Doctor Madeleine Bond. She rolled around her new name in her head. In the end, it was a simple choice. After all, Mathilde was a Bond now, and as of an hour ago, Madeleine was as well. It may have been a slightly dull, and terribly English word but it was a word that meant a sharing of experiences in common and, simply, of connection and after all that was what Madeleine had always longed for. In that sense, there could not have been a more perfect word. 

Q took his role as best man with supreme seriousness. During the present giving he held a pristinely wrapped gift that by the way he was holding it seemed to weigh a considerable amount.

‘Congratulations!’

Like an eager kid at Christmas James went for the gift only for Q to guard it from him.

‘Uh, I think Madeleine should unwrap this one.’

James huffed, ‘If you insist.’

Madeleine carefully took it from Q and almost dropped to the floor, surprised that such a small thing could be so heavy. She carefully placed it on the wooden table before delicately unwrapping it.

Inside was a nineteenth-century French mantel clock. The gilt plating swirled majestically and was adorned with ornate heraldic symbols. 

‘Oh, Q you shouldn’t have.  Merci, c’est beau !’ Madeleine kissed Q on the cheek with heartfelt gratitude.

‘I was told it’s traditional for the best man to give a clock as a gift. But since I know how you treat your watches James now you can understand why I thought it was best to let Doctor Bond open it.’

The smile drained from Q’s face however when he saw the little glint in Bond’s eye.

‘Don’t say it,’ Q warned him.

‘What?’ Madeleine looked up to James and saw what Q saw. ‘Oh no, please don’t say it.’

James ignored their pleas, ‘Now we really do have all the time in the world.’

Madeleine and Q groaned in unison.

At the reception, the dinner and the speeches and the many drinks gave way to a traditional Scottish ceilidh. It was odd to see James in a kilt, his accent clipped by Eton and the years spent living in England. The hardier members of Keithly offered James the strongest of their scotch whisky to darken the hairs on his chest and bring out his clansman in his veins. By the end of the evening, James was leading the men in the traditional Gaelic hymns of his ancestors. 

Q was busily cooped up inside the pub being chatted up by the beefy ginger-haired barman and Moneypenny was dancing her heart out without a care in the world, glad to have a break from world-ending destruction.

Madeleine quickly made friends with Johanna Harwood, bonding over both being doctors, both being half-French and Parisians at that. Harwood was a serving Double O agent — 003, to be precise. Madeleine realised that she couldn’t completely cut out James’s previous life and with a woman like Johanna nor would she want to. She stood enraptured when with some light coaxing from James she told her the story of the time she had to perform an emergency tracheotomy with nothing more than the case of a biro pen while being shot at with only James there to provide suppressive fire. 

It had taken a lot for Johanna Harwood to come here. Johanna’s soul ached for a simpler life, a normal life with the man she loved. But that was not the hand she had been dealt. It was that tension that drove her and gave her life form. She took a gulp of champagne and blocked any thought of the past or future.

‘Congratulations, again,’ Harwood said, her accent was impossible to pin down from a life spent moving from place to place even before she got to MI6. ‘I never thought I’d see this, James getting married. Plus it was worth coming just to see him and the boys in a kilt.’

‘We’re as shocked as you are. I don’t think it’s quite sunk in yet,’ Madeleine said.

‘The kilt or the marriage?’

‘I don’t think I’ll ever get over seeing James in a kilt. I’m taking that image to my grave.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Harwood said, chinking her glass to Madeleine’s. 

The two women giggled.            

‘When he needs it, and he will, don’t hesitate to give him hell for me won’t you?’

‘Oh, I fully intend to.’

As the sun was slowly setting Bond noticed Mathilde was sitting alone on the grass facing the shallow stream that ran through the village. She was beginning to make a habit of aimlessly pulling out tufts of grass with her hands. James went over and sat down beside her. 

‘How are you doing, sweetheart?’

‘Sleepy.’

‘Hmm, it’s been a big, long day hasn’t it.’ He said. ‘Maman and I will be leaving soon, remember?’

‘Mmm,’ Mathilde murmured indifferently. ‘Why can’t I come with you?’

‘It’s tradition. Anyway, you’ll be having a great time with Uncle Bill and Auntie Zadie. You like playing with Sam and Charlie.’ 

‘I don’t want you to go.’

She had said it quietly but James heard it clear as day and his heart sank. He knew the feeling all too well, when he was Mathilde’s age his parents going away felt like the worst thing in the world. James and Madeleine’s honeymoon would be the longest time Mathilde and James would be spending apart since they had known each other. 

James took off one of his cufflinks. They were the ones he wore with his tuxedo on the Moroccan train. They were circular, made from mother of pearl and engraved with his initials. ‘Here, I want you to hold on to this. I’ll keep the other one and any time you’re missing us remember that I’m holding on to the half. I want you to keep it safe because when we return home I’m going to ask for it back.’

A couple hours later with the party dying down Madeleine and James made for their grand exit into the waiting 1953 Bentley R Type luxury saloon car. The two newlyweds waved goodbye to their guests and to their daughter who in one hand held Bill Tanner’s and in the other clutched tightly was her dad’s cufflink.