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Chapter Text

For a War Memorial

G.K. Chesterton.

(SUGGESTED INSCRIPTION PROBABLY NOT SUGGESTED BY THE COMMITTEE)

The hucksters haggle in the mart
The cars and carts go by;
Senates and schools go droning on;
For dead things cannot die.

A storm stooped on the place of tombs
With bolts to blast and rive;
But these be names of many men
The lightning found alive.

If usurers rule and rights decay
And visions view once more
Great Carthage like a golden shell
Gape hollow on the shore,

Still to the last of crumbling time
Upon this stone be read
How many men of England died
To prove they were not dead.

Bond knelt down slowly. He could practically feel the guards’ guns trained on him, yet Bond found that could not take his eyes off Mathilde on the other side of the low table, seated practically in Safin’s lap. Despite what Madeleine had said, he could not shake the feeling that she was his. It was something in the blue eyes that watched the world far too closely. Here was a child - possibly his child - clutching her stuffed animal as she was held in the arms of a megalomaniac terrorist. Her presence was more than enough to guarantee Bond’s good behavior. 

Safin had been starting to talk in that self-satisfied way that villains always did - something about himself and Bond being similar in some way, about people wanting decisions to be made for them - then suddenly cut himself off and looked at Bond narrowly. He smiled slightly, scars crinkling just a bit. “She’s not yours, you know. She can’t possibly be.”

“Oh?” prompted Bond. He wanted to get Safin talking, it would give Bond more time to figure out how to get out of this mess. He still had a couple of weapons hidden on his person. If he could just get the child away from Safin....

“I’ve seen some of Spectre’s records. You were poisoned with digitalis. My family’s very particular formulation, specifically. It is designed with an additive to leave a person sterile - on the off chance someone manages to survive it.” 

Bond blinked, genuinely surprised by that. After Le Chiffre’s torture the doctors had told Bond that it was highly unlikely that he would ever have children. It had not bothered Bond as much as he was sure they had expected it to, and to whatever extent it had bothered him he had long ago moved on. Nonetheless, it was unsettling to realize - especially in the face of Mathilde’s existence - that by the time Le Chiffre tied him to a chair he had already lost that possibility, and all unbeknownst to him. 

“Another way in which we are alike, I suppose,” mused Safin, “Forever alone. Family long gone. No hope of building a new one.” It was probably meant to sound creepy, to get under Bond’s skin. For some reason, it only made Safin sound very young and sad. Maybe Bond was just getting old. 

“I’m not trying to commit genocide over the loss of my family,” Bond pointed out, the words dry and brittle. 

“Genocide?” Safin seemed genuinely taken aback. “Oh, no. No. Just Spectre. Surely we can agree that Spectre deserves to be wiped off the face of the planet. Everything they have taken from me - from you .”

Bond was rapidly running out of patience for this moralizing. He wanted Spectre gone too, but that wasn’t why he was here. “If you unleash Project Heracles on the world-”

“Unleash it? I’m trying to destroy it!” exclaimed Safin, his sudden vehemence making Mathilde flinch slightly, which in turn made Bond sway forward, adrenalin sparking through his muscles. “I’m trying to end it, and the person responsible for its creation, the person who is trying to use it.”

“You’re going after M then-”

“Why would I do that?”

Bond and Safin stared at each other, equally perplexed. “Who-” began Bond, paused for half a breath, then asked “Who do you believe is responsible for Project Heracles?”

“Madeleine Swann, of course. Spectre’s child through and through. I should have drowned her when I had the chance.”

Now Bond was entirely confused, and his knees ached from kneeling on the cold concrete, and a sick feeling was crawling through his guts. Madeleine...had he been right about her all along? All those years sure she had betrayed him, only to spend the last few days hating himself for throwing away something good. The emotional whiplash was dizzying, so Bond did what his training had always dictated - he latched onto the mission.   “Back up,” he said slowly, “What do you want to do with Heracles, exactly?” 

“I’m going to destroy it,” said Safin immediately, gaze and voice uncompromising. 

“That’s what I am here to do as well.”

Once again, the two men stared at each other silently for a long moment. “You came here with Dr. Swann to take back Heracles…” For the first time, Safin sounded uncertain. 

“I came here to rescue Madeleine and Mathilde, and to destroy Heracles. I’ll destroy this whole bloody island if I have to.”

“What the-” Safin began, then paused, covered Mathilde’s ears, lowered his voice said with great feeling, “What the fuck .” It almost made Bond smile. “Madeleine is Spectre! She wants to use the nanobots. You...but- Oh. Oh . You didn’t realize she is Spectre.” 

Something about that phrasing struck Bond as odd, but his mind was too full of other things, spinning with truths and lies and suspicions. It was a truth that slipped out as he answered Safin’s question. “I...I don’t know.” Bond had doubted her until Blofeld had tied her up at the Vauxhall Cross headquarters and then tried to bring it down around her ears. Those doubts had come roaring back, confirmed in his own mind when Vesper’s tomb had blown up in his face. Apparently, despite the evidence of the last few days, those suspicions had been correct. Unless, of course, Safin was playing him just like so many others had tried in the past. Le Chiffre. Silva. Franz. Bond wanted to scream. 

Safin continued talking. “She followed in her father’s footsteps, only she was better at it than him. She was ambitious. Blofeld’s protege.” The words were like nails into Bond’s skull, into his heart. “They wanted to take you off the board; you’re too powerful a piece and were disrupting their little game. What better way than for you to fall for one of them.” 

Bond’s instincts were screaming that Safin was right. It fit with little details that he had consciously ignored until now. He had wanted so badly to see the best in Madeleine. He should have known better. Damn it. Damn it . His eyes drifted again to Mathilde. Safin noticed, of course, and a peculiar expression settled onto his face, an unsettling mix of curiosity and calculation. He set Mathilde back on her own two feet and said gently to her, “Go on. You can go sit with James if you want.” She glanced between them, then padded around the table. Bond gathered her into his arms. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, trying to keep his voice soft and even. She nodded into his shoulder. Bond raised one faintly trembling hand to the back of Mathilde’s head and resisted the urge to clutch her tightly, afraid that he would accidentally hurt her if he did. Finally, Bond looked back to Safin, who was still watching him with the same odd look. 

“She’s not yours,” Safin repeated, words slow and deliberate; there was an unspoken question in his eyes. 

Bond answered it. “I don’t care about that.”

Safin nodded seriously, then abruptly rose to his feet. Bond tensed, instinctively pulling Mathilde closer and curling his body around hers. He’d just revealed a weakness, Bond realized belatedly, mentally cursing himself, but Safin didn’t seem to notice or care. “I do not have with me the capabilities to destroy Project Heracles. I did not realize how thoroughly Spectre had infected the island until I arrived, and there are things I wanted to salvage before proceeding. This was my home, you see. But Madeleine called for her allies; they are on their way now to retrieve Heracles. You and MI6 led them right to it. Tell me you have a way to destroy this abomination.”

Bond considered the situation for the space of two heartbeats, then made a decision. The most important thing was ensuring that Project Heracles was ended once and for all. If Safin was an ally in that, then Bond was willing to work with him. 

Bond got to his feet without letting go of Mathilde, rocking onto his heels and then straightening his legs. His knees protested the motion, especially with the weight of a five year old in his arms - protested, but took the stress as strong muscles lifted him smoothly into a standing position. Bond shifted Mathilde into one arm, oddly comforted by the feeling of her legs around his waist, then said, “I have an idea, but I’ll need to get closer to the surface so I can contact my people and see what exactly the options are. The best case scenario is that a Royal Navy vessel is in range and can shell the island.”

Safin’s lips thinned and his face paled a little beneath the scars. 

Bond reached for some sort of empathy. “I’m...I know it was your home…”

Safin squared his shoulders and smiled. “Don’t worry, I got what I came for. This place has been desecrated. The beautiful thing about plants, however, is that I can take the seeds and rebuild my parents’ gardens anywhere in the world. I can even re-grow my father’s mango tree. 

Bond swallowed down an unexpected swell of emotion at that sentiment, then took the plunge. “I have a colleague here with me. I need to get in touch with her. We’ll need her help.”  I need her to get Mathilde off the island , he added silently. 

Safin nodded, started to turn away, then paused and faced Bond again. “Ah, two things.”

Bond raised one eyebrow pointedly, shifting Mathilde a little more so that he could reach one of his hidden guns if necessary. 

Safin went on, “My personal guards you see here are entirely loyal to me. Many come from families that have served mine for generations. The rest, however, are Spectre’s goons. You know what they say about keeping your enemies close. Besides, I knew Spectre would infiltrate my men regardless of what I did, I simply decided not to fight it.” Bond decided he could respect that. “Second thing: You can take your guns back, if you like. Consider it a gesture of good faith.” It was in fact the second such gesture so far; the first was already securely in Bond’s arms. 

Bond looked down at Mathilde, who was silent, clutching her stuffed animal in one hand and Bond’s jumper in the other. “I need to put you down for just a second, sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out entirely unintentionally, which would have bothered Bond - double-0 agents did not do things unintentionally - if he had not had so many other bigger problems already. Mathilde nodded seriously and Bond set her down. 

He felt immeasurably better with all of his own weapons again on his person. Then Bond picked Mathilde up again. He shouldn’t, he knew. He should keep his hands free, especially as they were still surrounded by Safin’s supposedly loyal guards. Bond picked her up anyway. Knowing she was not biologically his made no difference in how he felt about her, protectiveness still coiling beneath his ribs, tight and warm and almost painful. Bond wanted to hold this child and never let go; the fact that he knew he was about to have to leave her only made the compulsion stronger. 

Bond tried to focus on what needed to happen next. Nomi. He needed Nomi. But just as he was trying to figure the best way to get back in touch with her when the comm in his ear crackled. Bond raised a hand to it so that Safin would realize he was wearing one when he said, “Q? Nomi?”

“It’s me,” said Nomi’s voice. “On my way up.”

“What happened with-?” Bond started to ask. 

Nomi cut him off. “Obruchev got a little too chatty for his own good. I kicked him into the acid.”

Bond blinked, considered that, then decided he did not need to know what had pushed Nomi over the edge like that. She was a double-0 and was entitled to her violent tendencies. And frankly, the man had given Bond the creeps. “Good riddance,” he muttered. 

Nomi laughed darkly. There was a moment of silence, during which Bond tried to formulate a way to tell her that Safin might be their ally - and then it was too late to do so because Nomi was coming up the stairs, rifle raised. Quick dark eyes took in Bond and Mathilde in his arms, then her head cleared the edge of the stairwell and she spotted Safin and his guards. Bond threw up his free hand. “Wait!” 

Nomi paused, grudgingly. Bond could see her finger twitch on the trigger. 

“Safin wants to destroy Heracles.” Bond quickly caught Nomi up on what Safin had told him about Madeleine, and added, “I believe him. It fits with things I’d noticed but- but didn’t want to see. About Madeleine.”

“So what, we’re working with him now?” asked Nomi curtly, gesturing at Safin with a sharp jerk of her head.

Safin spoke up, “I destroyed Spectre. In Cuba. That was my plan which Obruchev carried out. I only kept him around afterward to try to understand the nanobots better. All I’ve ever wanted to do is destroy Spectre and their weapon. You don’t have to view me as an ally, but I assure you: we are not enemies.” 

Nomi looked appropriately doubtful. 

“He gave me Mathilde back. And my weapons. Once we realized that we were not in fact working at cross purposes.”

“He managed to disarm you?”

Bond grimaced. “He threatened Mathilde.”

“I am sorry about that,” said Safin softly, “I would never really have hurt her, I assure you. She’s just a child after all.” 

Nomi looked monumentally put upon. She sighed gustily, and took her finger off the trigger, straightening into a more relaxed stance. “Alright then. Fine. But if you or your men make a wrong move, I’ll shoot you,” she told Safin bluntly. 

“I would expect no less,” he replied with perfect politeness.

Nomi turned back to Bond. “I assume you have a plan.” 

“Ah. Yes.” Bond knew his tone would convey the unspoken You aren’t going to like it . And indeed, Nomi’s narrowed eyes told him that she heard it. 

Explaining the plan to shell the island was easy. It was the other part of Bond’s plan that was trickier. He held Mathilde a little tighter and said, “I need to get the truth out of Madeleine. I don’t know what to believe, but I do know how she works - how people like her work. If I can convince her that I’m dying then, if she is part of Spectre’s plot, she’ll gloat about how they’ve won. If she’s not, if- if she feels anything for me, then I’ll know.” He swallowed and looked at Safin. “You’re supposedly the master poisoner. Is there something you can do to make it seem like I’ve been poisoned?”

Safin tilted his head to one side slightly, considered, then nodded. “Yes. I’ve something in my workshop. I need to go there anyway to get the seeds I salvaged.” 

Nomi was shaking her head in disbelief - or possibly disgust. “That’s the best you can come up with?”

Bond swallowed down a flash of hot anger. “Can you think of something better?” he shot back. “She’s been working for Six. If she’s really an agent of Spectre then she has everyone fooled. She’s- I would have married her, I think, if Vesper’s tomb hadn’t blown up in my face. I’m done playing games. I need to know.” 

Nomi looked uncomfortable but didn’t argue. Safin on the other hand was smiling slightly. “It’s a clever idea. Trickery is often useful - I used it myself earlier to keep Madeleine compliant. Even to get you to give up your guns,” he added, looking at Bond.

“What did you do to Madeleine?” Bond asked automatically.  

Safin produced a vial on a chain around his neck. “I told her I had coded a sample of the nanobots to her DNA. And thus to Mathilde’s.”

Bond involuntarily took a step back, away from Safin, eyeing the vial full of scarlet liquid. Safin made a placating gesture and actually laughed, “No no. Don’t look like that. Remember, I said it was a trick . It’s food coloring. I got it from the kitchen. I used Heracles to destroy the rest of Spectre, but never again.” He said her name like a curse. Bond swallowed hard, and met Safin’s gaze. The man was still smiling, eyes surprisingly soft. It occurred to Bond that under those scars he was a good deal younger than Bond had first assumed. Older than Madeleine, but perhaps not by much. The smile was innocent and self-satisfied. Food coloring from the kitchen . 

“If we make it out of this, there’s someone you need to meet,” Bond said, thinking of dark hair and thick rimmed glasses and half-truths about the volume of the alarm on his watch.  

They reached Safin’s private workshop shortly thereafter. Safin retrieved a tightly sealed bag from the desk and tucked it inside his coat, then fussed around with a few things. 

Bond leaned his head closer to Mathilde’s and murmured quietly in French, “Do you know where your mum is?”

Mathilde shook her head slowly.

Safin answered, “I locked her in a room one level down. She has probably managed to get out by now - if she wanted to.”

Bond made a mental note that Safin spoke French, but he kept talking to Mathilde. “Did anyone hurt you?”

This time the head shake was vigorous, defensive. Bond let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. " Très bien, ma petite étoile." The words fell easily from Bond’s lips, his mother's voice echoing in his mind, the endearment she had used when he was small. Saying them now felt like coming home. 

The moment shattered as Safin turned back to Bond, holding a small, delicate cup of tea and a white pill. He held up the tea. “I’ve put a small dose of a synthetic neurotoxin in here, something special my family developed which I perfected years ago. It starts working almost immediately and, ceteris paribus, it’ll kill you in about five hours.” Safin held up the pill, starkly white on the palm of his black-gloved hand. “This is the antidote in delayed release form. If you take them at the same time, you’ll start feeling the effects of the toxin after about 15 minutes. Weakness, dizziness, blurred vision, some muscle pain, uneven heart rate. There may be a brief time later on where you can’t walk. The antidote will kick in approximately 45 minutes after the toxin. An hour later the toxin will be neutralized and by tomorrow there should be no indication that it ever happened.”

Bond eyed the cup and the tablet. “How certain are you?”

“I’ve used this exact combination on myself twice.”

“You’re an idiot if you drink that,” said Nomi flatly. 

Bond put Mathilde down and took the cup and pill gingerly from Safin’s hands. “I have to see this thing through. Spectre. Madeleine. They’ve dominated too much of my life. Ruined too much of my life.”

Nomi just shook her head in disbelief. 

Bond contemplated the tea for a moment, then put the pill in his mouth and washed it down with the liquid. Two swallows and the cup was empty. Bond had tasted nothing but mild jasmine, which was slightly terrifying. 

Taking a steadying breath, Bond stripped off his jumper and knelt down to wrap it around Mathilde. “My friend Nomi is going to take you somewhere safe,” he explained, “But the trip might be a little cold, so I want you to hang onto that for me.”

Mathilde clutched at the jumper and whispered, “ D'accord .” 

Bond resisted the urge to hug her again. They didn’t have time. Somewhere in the back of his head a clock was ticking. Instead, Bond got to his feet, picked Mathilde up, and thrust her into Safin’s arms all in one smooth movement.

“What-” Safin began.

“Consider it a gesture of good faith,” Bond told him, then he glanced at Nomi, “Besides, 007 is going to need her hands free.”

“I thought I gave you the damn designation back.”

“Well, if we both survive this we can fight about it then,” Bond said with false levity. “In the meantime, good luck.” He held out his hand, serious now. “It was a pleasure working with you, 007.”

Nomi shook his hand firmly. “Likewise, Commander Bond.” They shared a brief, private smile, then parted ways: Nomi, Safin, Mathilde, and the guards down to where a motorboat supposedly waited; Bond, alone, up to the control room. He needed to talk to Q. 

Bond didn’t look back. He knew himself well enough to know that if he did, it would just make it that much harder to leave and do what needed to be done. What mattered now was survival - Mathilde’s survival. 

Of course, it could not be as simple as just following Safin’s directions to the correct flight of stairs. The Spectre-affiliated guards were there, and determined to stop him - whether on Safin’s orders or Madeleine’s or someone else’s he did not care at the moment. All Bond could afford to care about just then was surviving . 

About two thirds of the way up, Bond’s earwig crackled back to life.

Chapter Text

After perhaps the most nerve wracking half hour of his life, a crackle of static alerted Q that at least one of his agents had moved back into a place where the radios were working. “007?” he asked, subconsciously leaning toward his desk. Almost immediately, Q heard what he guessed was a grenade go off, followed by a spate of gunfire. Then a few beats of silence. “007?” Q repeated, heart sinking. 

“Q.” It was Bond’s voice. Rough, but distinct. 

“007. Bond. I’m- I’m here.”

“Nomi is on her way off the island with Mathilde. And Safin. It’s a long story but it seems that he wants Heracles destroyed as much as we do.”

“But- but he-”

More gunfire, and Q stopped talking to let Bond work, listening to the chaos of the fight and to Bond’s breath loud in his ear. 

A few moments later, there came the sounds of a heavy metal door opening and closing, then Bond explained, “Safin claims that Madeleine is responsible for Heracles. That she has been working with Spectre.” 

“Oh, shit,” breathed Q. Then, “But we- we vetted her. Repeatedly.”

“I know. I don’t- I don’t know what to believe. But I do know that we need to destroy this island.”

“Destroy- the whole-?”

“Yes. We don’t have time to bring back the volume of explosives we would need to bring it down internally. Spectre is on it’s way here now.”

Q started typing, eyes skimming frantically around his screens. He paused, pushed his glasses up his nose. “Two assault-style power boats. Twenty to thirty minutes out. M, did you get that?”

“We’ve got you, Q. And you Bond.”

“There is Royal Navy vessel in the area,” said Q, fingers flying, anticipating Bond’s next question.

“They need to shell the island,” said Bond. 

M swore softly. “I’ll get on a call with the Admiralty. And the PM. But I can’t imagine anyone is going to be comfortable launching a strike on-”

“Too fucking bad,” said Bond, uncompromisingly. “Q, this place is an old missile base. I need to open the blast doors or anything the Navy throws at it will just bounce off.”

Q swallowed hard. “Alright, it’s likely to be a complex system of-”

“I know how to do it, Q. I just need you to let me know when Nomi and the others get off the island, and when the missiles are ready to launch.”

“What are you going to be doing, Bond?” asked M.

“I’m getting the truth out of Madeline, once and for all. I...I could use your help navigating this place again, Q. And someone needs to be recording whatever it is she has to say for herself.”

Something about Bond’s tone sent a shiver down Q’s spine. “I...of course, Bond. I’m going to drop you off the conference call so we aren’t interrupted. And now that I have you back I think I can boost the signal to help our connection.” They had worked like this many times before, Q playing intermediary between moving parts.

“We’ll monitor things here and keep you in the loop,” offered Moneypenny from M’s office in London. 

“Thank you, Miss Moneypenny. Now…” Q straightened in his seat, pushed his glasses up his nose, and began. Bond was nothing more than a blinking letter psi on his screen and a voice in his ear, but they had plenty of experience working together like this, and returning to it felt perfect . 

Q directed Bond back down to the level where Safin had said Madeleine might be. He thought Bond’s breathing sounded a little heavier than usual, and a glance at the SmartBlood readouts revealed an elevated heart rate - well, slightly more elevated than Q would have expected given past observations of Bond in similar circumstances. Of course, Bond was in his 50s now, and had been retired, but that theory did not sit right with Q. ”Bond, were you injured fighting your way in?”

“Not seriously,” Bond muttered. Gunfire prevented Q from pressing further.

****

Bond started checking the rooms along the long, curving hallway on the garden level. By the time he found Madeleine in the fourth one, he could tell the toxin was beginning to take effect. He was out of breath, heart pounding, and was beginning to feel a touch unsteady on his feet. Perfect timing. 

Madeleine looked surprised when Bond opened the door, then she gasped, “Oh, James!” and threw herself into his arms. It knocked him back a step, and Bond had to steady himself with a hand on the door. Yes, the toxin was definitely working. Madeleine drew back slightly and looked up at him, her hands still resting on his chest. “Where’s Mathilde?” she asked frantically.

“With Nomi. They should be off the island by now.” 

“You came back for me.”

“I did.” It was true as far as it went. “There’s just one thing we need to do before leaving.”

“What’s that?” Madeleine was looking up at him with those big, dewy eyes which always seemed to be brimming with emotion. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her because it gave the impression of honesty, the impression that she wasn’t hiding anything.

Bond looked down at her, trying to keep his own emotional turmoil from showing on his face. “We need to open the blast doors. The Navy is going to shell the island, destroy Project Heracles before it can do any more damage. But it’ll only work if we open those doors.” 

Something in Madeleine’s eyes flickered, then she nodded and grabbed his hand, already stepping through the door, “Come on then.” 

They were half way back up to the control room when the toxin hit Bond’s system in earnest. He staggered and leaned against the wall as the world tilted unexpectedly on its axis and a ripple of pain ran through his muscles. 

“James?” asked Madeleine from two steps behind him. Then, closer, touching his arm, “James, are you hurt?” 

****

Q hated that he did not have cameras inside the base. All he had was the blinking light on the screen, and the sounds coming through the headset. When Bond suddenly grunted, a soft sound of pain which Q had heard too many times for comfort, Q tensed. He opened his mouth to ask if Bond was alright, but Madeleine beat him to it. Anxiety stirred in Q’s belly. The SmartBlood, however, showed no alerts. Perhaps the earlier fight was catching up with Bond? Q had seen it happen a handful of times, with Bond and with other agents. They thought they were fine until the adrenalin started to wear off, and then suddenly broken bones, torn muscles, or internal injuries made themselves known.

“Bond?” he prompted before he could help himself. 

“It’s alright,” Bond breathed out, “We have to keep going. There’s- Safin has people on the way to the island to buy the weapon. We don’t have time…”

“Spectre?” asked Madeleine, Bond’s earpiece just barely picking up her voice.  

“We think so,” agreed Bond. 

Q shook his head a little, impressed. Bond was playing her. He’d said he was going to get the truth out of Madeleine and clearly this was how he planned to do it. 

Q comforted himself with that thought when, a few moments later, James groaned again, louder, and Madeleine cried out, “James! What’s wrong?” 

Bond made a sound that might have been a pained laugh, little more than a huff of breath. “I um...Safin…”

“No,” breathed Madeleine. 

“It was just a cup of tea.”

“He poisoned you.”

“Yes.” 

Q was beginning to smile. Bond was brilliant. They were in the lair of a master poisoner; Bond and Madeleine both knew the story of how Safin’s family had died. Of course, Bond would never actually be stupid enough to drink something given to him by a man like that - tea least of all, considering Safin’s backstory. 

The SmartBlood pinged. Q glanced at it instinctively - and the smile dropped from his face as his heart dropped out of the bottom of the plane. A blinking red message told him neurotoxin detected . Q stared at it for long, precious moments, before his brain kicked back into gear. Shit. Shit shit shit . 

Q thumbed the comm over to the conference channel with Mallory and the rest. “We have a problem.”

“We have several,” grumbled M, “Not the least of which is that the PM isn’t going to-”

“Bond’s been poisoned.”

****

Mallory felt the world stop for a moment. It was entirely unfair that, after all this time, bad news about James Bond could still have that effect on him. It was entirely unfair that, with the fate of the world hanging in the balance, this was the thing that threatened to tip Mallory over the edge from stomach-churning stress into full-blown mindless panic. Threatened, but did not quite succeed. While Mallory fought to get a grip on himself, Tanner leaned forward slightly, “Do we know what it is, Q?”

“As yet unidentified neurotoxin,” replied Q a little unsteadily, “Probably synthetic since the program doesn’t recognize it.”

“What else is happening?” asked Moneypenny, “We’ve been a bit preoccupied with the politics here I’m afraid.”

“Bond is...I thought he was tricking Madeleine into thinking he was poisoned so she would be honest with him. But...it seems he’s just taking advantage of a situation. They’re nearly to the control room. If they can get the blast doors open-”

“We still haven’t convinced the PM to launch the missiles,” Tanner said almost apologetically. “The potential geopolitical repercussions-”

“We have to do it,” said Q urgently, “If we don’t do this, there will be nothing left to save. So, with respect, Sir, fuck the PM’s concerns.”

“It could start a war with Russia,” pointed out M, launching himself back into the fray. 

The words plunged the room into heavy silence, broken suddenly by Nomi’s voice. “Q? Do you read me?”

“I’ve got you double- 007. Nomi.”

“I’ve got the kid. And Safin.” She sounded unhappy and a little perplexed, but not distressed, “We’ve cleared the island. What’s Bond’s status? Was he able to reach you?”

Silence again, then Q, ever the professional, said, “Yes, he did. We spoke. He’s- he’s trying to learn the truth from Madeleine.” 

Nomi spoke, loud and fast, shouting over the sounds of wind and motor, “You have to destroy the island! The whole thing- it’s producing the Heracles weapon. I saw it. So did Bond. They have plans to kill millions . It’s all prepared and ready to be deployed.”

Mallory and the others exchanged glances. He squared his shoulders and took a steadying breath. “I’m trying to convince the PM to launch a strike. I’ll take your observations and go...be more convincing I suppose. Thank you, 007.”

After all, what else could Mallory do? His heart ached at the thought of Bond alone and possibly dying, but the best thing he could do for Bond now was take advantage of the information Bond and Nomi had given them and finish his own part of this mission. Mallory looked at Moneypenny. “Get me the PM on a private line.” 

****

They made it up to the control room with Bond leaning heavily on Madeleine. He had primed some of the controls on his first visit up here, and now he pointed Madeleine to the main console, propping himself against the wall since he found standing on his own entirely too difficult and precarious at the moment. “Over there. Yes, the center one.” He talked her through the buttons and slides, then turned and reached for the main levers on the wall. 

Bond wasn’t sure if he would have the strength to do this, but he gripped the old, worn handles in trembling hands and pulled down. The lever started to move. Two sharp shots rang out. Bond’s knees hit the ground before his mind fully registered the pain in his back. It bloomed in his shoulder and side, stealing what little breath he had left. On his hands and knees on the concrete, Bond gasped helplessly for air, mind slowly parsing what had happened.

He had planned for plenty of things, but somehow he had not expected Madeleine to shoot him. At least, thought Bond tiredly, that answers the question of loyalty. He finally sucked in an unsteady breath, then braced himself and managed to pivot so that he was sitting propped against the wall by the levers. He refused to die lying down, and he wanted to look into Madeleine’s eyes, whatever came next. 

“I had so hoped,” Bond choked out, “That I was wrong about you.”

Madeleine just shook her head slowly, those big soft eyes of hers gone flinty. She looked, suddenly, very much like her father. “And I was almost disappointed how easy you were to fool. The only error we made was Vesper’s tomb. It was too...inelegant. I warned them. But Blofeld was insistent - altogether too obsessed with you to be rational.”

A chill went down Bond’s spine. He avoided thinking about Franz at all costs, so he asked, “How long? How long have you been...working for Spectre?” 

Madeleine laughed. “ Always . I was born as part of Spectre, and now that Blofeld is dead - thank you, by the way - Spectre is all mine .”

“They had your father killed.”

“ I had my father killed,” Madeleine corrected impatiently, “He went soft. So I arranged for someone to put Thallium in his phone.” Bond had never told her that detail about how her father had died. “It needed to take long enough that you would get to him, so he would send you to me.”

“Safin said-” Bond had to pause to catch his breath, “-said you wanted to ‘take me off the board.’ Why not just kill me?”

“God knows, we tried,” muttered Madeleine, practically pouting, “Montenegro, Bolivia. Matera. Cuba. But I knew - I knew that a direct attack would not kill you. You’re too good, and too lucky .” Madeleine said the word like it was a curse. “So, I planned something different. Starting years ago. I got the great James Bond to trust me enough to turn his back to me.” 

Bond laughed. It hurt, and he couldn’t quite catch his breath, but she was correct; he had literally turned his back on her and she had taken the opportunity to shoot him. “My mistake,” he forced out. Was it blood loss or poison making it hard to talk?

“Indeed,” agreed Madeleine primly. She cocked her head, watching him like a cat watching a mouse it had pinned down. Bond was used to being the one delivering that look; he did not like being on the receiving end of it. “Did you kill Safin?”

“Why, worried I’ve taken out yet another of your allies?”

“Safin is not my ally . He tried to murder me when I was a child. He has haunted me for years .” Now Madeleine was angry, and the words began to tumble out, everything Spectre had been up to, all of her plans. Bond listened with vague curiosity. With Q recording, Bond himself didn’t need to remember or understand, which was good because his vision was starting to go grey around the edges, the world tilting uncertainly on an odd axis. His focus narrowed down to the effort it took to keep drawing breath, and tracking Madeleine’s movements. 

****

Two gunshots cracked across the comms, followed by that same soft grunt Bond made when he was injured. Q went cold all over. Madeleine had shot him, Q realized, horrified. 

Bond, ever the consummate agent, still managed to ask about Spectre. And then Madeleine started bloody monologuing and Q had to swallow down a hysterical giggle. He double-checked that the comms were recording, then glanced again at Bond’s vitals. They were still a mess from the toxin and as yet told him nothing about the severity of the gunshot wounds. The gasping, pained breaths in Q’s ear were far more enlightening. Those breaths kept time as Q fired off a series of messages to M and the others:

Bond got Madeleine talking. I am recording. 

Madeleine believes Safin is trying to destroy Heracles. 

Can confirm Madeline IS Spectre. She claims to have arranged Blofeld’s death so she can take over. 

TELL THE PM

He received a nearly-instantaneous reply from Eve: 

M says thank you

Then from Tanner:

Nomi et al safe on another island. Retrieval team en route. 

Q decided this was something he should share with Bond, but before he could unmute his end of the comm, M’s voice broke in on the conference line. “PM ok’d the strike. They launch on my mark. Are the blast doors open?

Q swallowed hard. “Bond, did you get the doors open?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady and low enough not to be unduly distracting. There was no immediate response and Madeleine was still raving. Q added, “Mathilde is safe. I want- I want you to know that.” Still no reply. 

****

Q’s voice in his ear did not startle him; they’d worked together too many times for that. Q’s words did hit home, though, especially hearing that Mathilde was safe. It loosened something in Bond’s chest to know that he had accomplished that at least. Fortunately, Bond was fairly sure that by this point he was too far gone for Madeleine to read anything in his expression except exhaustion and pain. Assuming she was paying attention to him at all. Just two things left to do , Bond told himself, then he could rest. Double-0s did not leave missions unfinished. 

Madeleine paused for a moment, and Bond took the opportunity to get a word in edgewise. “I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it. 

She whipped around to glare at him. “What? You? You’re-” 

“I’m sorry that Mathilde is going to grow up without a mother,” Bond told her, voice and eyes gone cold and flat, the killer she had forgotten he was. While Madeleine was ranting, Bond had slowly drawn one of his hidden guns. He raised it now and fired three times. Nerve toxin, blood loss, and the knowledge that he was shooting at someone he had once thought he could love did not deter an aim honed by decades of experience. One to the head, two to the chest. Madeleine crumpled like a piece of wet paper. 

Bond allowed himself a moment to absorb the emotional blow of that, then tucked the gun away and braced himself for the arduous task of getting to his feet. “Q?” he managed to rasp as he braced his hands on the floor. 

“007?” The voice that came back was as close to frantic and Q ever sounded on the comms. 

“Madeleine is dead. I’ll have- have the doors open shortly.” Damn it was unfair that even just speaking took so much effort. 

A silence, then, “Dead?”

“I shot her,” said Bond mercilessly. By now he was upright and leaning against the wall. “I- I know said I...know how to do this, but-” he paused, gasped for breath, then finished, “I’m not exactly at my best right now, Q. Could use some help.”

“Of- of course, 007.” 

Bond could picture Q pushing his glasses up his nose. It brought a smile to his face as he staggered over to the console. “Are the others still on?”

“On a separate conference line. I can- I can get them on. If you like.” 

“Let’s finish this first.” Bond, to his own surprise, wanted to speak to the others. Eve and Bill were old, good friends. Even Mallory, about whom Bond’s feelings were vastly more complicated. It was embarrassingly predictable, he mused distantly, that a situation like this would force him to acknowledge how much he had missed them. 

Q’s directions were, as ever, crisp and clear as he explained how to finish what they had begun earlier, and make sure that it was all accomplished correctly despite the time gap between initiating and completing the process. Bond had to blink through blurring vision, but fortunately the system did not require any finesse. He pressed buttons and flipped switches as Q directed, then Q said a little apologetically, “Just the counterweight levers now.”

Bond nodded even though Q couldn’t see him, tried to steady himself, then stumbled over to the wall. Almost done almost done circled around in his brain, a silent mantra. He gripped the handle, and this time there was no Madeleine to shoot him in the back - but there were two bullets in him, and neurotoxin circulating in his veins. Bond grunted and strained; his muscles screamed in protest, but he knew he had the strength to do this if he could just convince his body to cooperate for a few moments longer.

The levers moved. Distantly, Bond heard the sounds of massive silo doors beginning to slide open. Done . 

“It’s done, Q,” he gasped out, slumping against the wall and narrowly resisting the urge to just crumple back to the floor. 

“Good. Good . Now get out of there.”

“Tell M to launch the bloody missiles.” 

“Not until you’re safe-” 

Bond laughed humorlessly. “I’m not asking , Q. I’m telling you. And him. Do it now.”

Q held his ground. “I’m getting you out of there.”

Chapter Text

Hearing one side of Q and Bond’s conversation as Bond navigated the island, revealed Madeleine’s duplicity, and opened the blast doors was one of the most agonizing things Gareth Mallory had ever endured, and he had plenty of agony to compare it to. He wanted to pace, to scream - to take the comms from Q and ask Bond if he was okay. Instead, all Gareth Mallory could do was trust his agent and his Quartermaster to do their jobs, and pray they pulled off a miracle as he had witnessed them do in the past. 

And they did . Mallory could tell by Q’s voice when he said, “ Good , now get out of there.” Likewise, Mallory could guess at what Bond’s response was when, a moment later, Q protested, “Not until you’re safe.” 

Mallory agreed with that sentiment, and had just opened his mouth to tell Q to put him on the line with Bond when Tanner’s phone rang. Mallory glanced over as Tanner answered it, and watched the color drain from the younger man’s face. Tanner muttered a hurried, “Thank you,” then hung up and looked straight at Mallory. “That was a contact of mine in Number 10. The PM is about to call you and rescind the authority-”

M’s desk phone began ringing. 

“- to launch,” finished Tanner, looking a little sick. 

Mallory felt more than a little sick himself, but as soon as Moneypenny glanced at the phone and confirmed it was the PM, Mallory knew what he had to do. He picked up the line that connected him directly to the bridge of the waiting Royal Navy vessel and said firmly, “Launch now.”

The captain confirmed the order with him, then shouted out the command on his end, and Mallory knew that somewhere on the other side of the world a barrage of missiles was now streaking toward the island. Toward Bond. 

Then Mallory answered the call from the PM and informed him calmly that, “I’m afraid it’s too late to rescind the order, Sir.” Mallory listened silently to the PM’s fury at that, then replied, “Well, when the Russians come head hunting, you can send them my way. In the meantime, I have people in danger and an operation to finish.” With that, he hung up. Mallory looked at Moneypenny, “Don’t take any more calls from Number 10 for a while. We have other priorities. Q, get us all on a conference line again.” 

There was a click and a slight increase in static, then the sound of Bond’s breathing, rough and labored. “Good work, 007,” said Mallory immediately, “I’m- I’m sorry to say that circumstances caught up to us. The missiles are in the air. You have eight and a half minutes.”

Bond did not reply immediately, and Q jumped into the silence, “Get down to the submersible you arrived in.”

Bond huffed. “I’m in no fit state to be trying to pilot-”

“I can pilot it remotely, you just need to get there.”

M glanced at the countdown. Eight minutes . 

“I’d rather-” Bond paused and audibly sucked in a pained breath, “-rather die with a view of the sky than you dropping a bloody island on me.”  

“Then I’d suggest you move your ass,” snapped Q, composure cracking unexpectedly, “Because you still owe me an apology for that disappearing act you pulled, and I want a chance to be properly angry at you, not mourning you dammit .”

Judging by the glance shared by Eve and Tanner, they were as taken aback by the outburst as Mallory was. Bond, on the other hand, chuckled a little. Sensing an opening, Mallory inserted himself into the conversation. “Come home, 007. That’s an order.” But he made his voice gentle, in contrast to the words. 

****

Come home, 007, that’s an order . It was the tone rather than the words that got through to him. These were his friends. He did not want to hurt them any more than he already had. He wanted to make up for the last five years. Bond pushed himself away from the wall and began to limp back down the stairs, steadying himself with his good arm. “Yes, Sir,” he managed after a long moment, then, “Q?”

“I’m here, 007. If you take a left at the next landing there’s a shorter route.”

Bond focused solely on putting one foot in front of the other and following Q’s crisply given directions. That was all he could do. If there were any remaining guards, he was entirely fucked. But he had to admit that knowing there were missiles on their way certainly gave him a dose of adrenalin, helping him move just a little faster, despite his injuries and the effects of the toxin. Bond did not want to die, and wasn’t that novel. (He wanted to apologize to Q properly for coming back for the Aston the way he had. Wanted to tell Mallory that he did not blame him for Heracles. Wanted to watch rugby with Bill and take Eve to dinner and make breakfast for Mathilde.) 

“Almost there, 007. Next right and down the flight of stairs. Two minutes.”

Bond nearly fell down those stairs when his legs tried to give out half way down. Nearly, but not quite. Then the submersible was there in front of him. In his current state climbing into the confines of the cockpit was one of the hardest things he had ever done. But once he did it was just a matter of engaging the locks and finally finally letting the exhaustion and pain overtake him. “I’m in, Q,” he mumbled, feeling his grip on consciousness rapidly fading, “In your hands now.” 

“I’ve got you, James,” replied Q in a voice so gently it tugged at his heart strings, “Just don’t die on me.” 

****

Nomi watched the missiles hit the island, felt the distant impact beneath her feet and in the air. Off to one side Safin was watching Mathilde play in a tidepool. The explosions made him flinch, but did not seem to bother the child at all. It was just the three of them on this spit of rock. Safin’s handful of guards had died in one final confrontation with their Spectre counterparts as they fought their way off the island. Nomi still didn’t trust him, but at least she was armed and he was not. The child did seem to trust him, oddly enough. 

Nomi raised a hand to her ear. “Q, do you read me?” 

It was Tanner’s voice that came back. “Q has his hands full at the moment. What can I do for you?”

“I’m confirming the strike on the island. It’s a smoldering rock now. ETA on pickup?”

“It’s a way out still,” Tanner informed her apologetically, “Maybe 30 minutes. How is everyone on your end?”

“Fine,” said Nomi, glancing again at Safin and Mathilde, “ Weird. ” A pause, then, when Nomi realized that Tanner wasn’t going to say anything without prompting, she asked tightly, “Where’s Bond?”

Tanner sighed softly, and Nomi braced herself for bad news. “He’s in the vehicle you two arrived in. Q is remote piloting it, trying to get it away from the island. Bond is...injured.” 

Q’s voice broke in, slightly frantic, “I don’t know what’s killing him faster, the blood loss or the neurotoxin!”

“Blood loss,” replied Nomi promptly, then added, “If you trust Safin, that is.” 

“ What? ” demanded Q, and Nomi thought she could hear similar questions from at least two other voices in the background. Apparently Q had put them all back on one line. 

Nomi sighed, “Bond wanted to trick Madeleine into telling the truth. Figured if she thought he was dying, she’d be honest.”

“She was,” Q said bitterly, “She shot him.”

 “Well fuck.” So Madeleine had been one of the bad guys after all. Somehow, Nomi was not as surprised as she thought she probably should have been. Nomi found herself staring at Mathilde again, playing happily in a tidepool as Safin pointed out interesting creatures to her. Then Nomi belatedly finished her explanation, “Safin gave Bond a toxin and antidote simultaneously. Basically said it would make him feel like shit for a couple hours, but that’s all.”

“Great. He still has two bullet holes in his back,” grumped Q. 

“Get him here. I’ll do what I can,” said Nomi for lack of anything better to offer. 

****

The trip away from the island was not a smooth one. The turbulence and sharp twists and turns kept Bond from sinking fully into unconsciousness. He was aware of Q muttering and cursing under his breath, and he tried to apologize to the younger man - for taking the car, for ignoring him for five years, for almost dying on him now. But the comms clicked over to a different line and a voice that was not Q’s said softly, “ James .” 

Mallory? Why would Mallory be on the comms? 

Perhaps he had actually asked that aloud, or perhaps M simply knew him well enough to anticipate the question, for he explained, “Q needs to focus. You barely cleared the island before the first missiles hit; there’s a great deal of debris in the water.”

Ah . Yes, that would complicate matters. 

“Asked you to keep me company did he?” Bond asked, distantly aware that the words came out slurred. Toxin or blood loss? He still could not tell. 

“Something like that,” replied Mallory, and Bond was too tired to parse out the undercurrent in his words. 

“Thank you.” It was such a relief to not be alone, even if he was technically very much alone, trapped underwater and bleeding to death. Mallory’s company meant the world, though he couldn’t very well say that.

Mallory was stumbling over a response to Bond’s gratitude when Bond felt his heart rate begin to drop precipitously. Somewhere on Mallory’s end, an alarm began to beep. “Bond. James! Are you still- still with me?” Mallory asked frantically. 

“Sure,” agreed Bond. 

“Dammit, you do not get to die on me! On us. Not- no. Not like this.”

“Double-0s have a very short life expectancy,” murmured Bond, but Mallory’s words hit home, so he dredged up the strength to add, “I’ll try- try to keep defying those odds...a little...longer…”

“ Please .” 

Bond’s grasp on consciousness slipped away before he could reply, but he could still distantly hear Mallory’s voice, talking and talking so that Bond wasn’t alone. 

Bond woke more fully sometime later when the submersible broke the surface and suddenly Nomi was there, pulling him bodily out of the vehicle to lay on the rocky beach instead. Bond could not quite swallow down the sound of pain pulled from him by the jostling. 

“Q said you’d been shot,” Nomi was saying brusquely, rolling him onto his side to check his back. Then, “Fuck. Safin! I need your a minute!” A shadow fell over Bond and Nomi went on, “Help me stop the bleeding. Your coat-”

They pressed thick fabric to the holes left by Madeleine’s bullets, then shifted him lie on his back again, his own body weight helping keep pressure on the wounds. It hurt .

Safin leaned over him and checked his eyes, then said, “The anti-toxin hasn’t kicked in yet. But soon.” Bond hoped that meant he would start to feel better soon. Alternately, he would not mind being unconscious. This hovering on the edge of awareness, disoriented and in pain, was hell. Everything remained blurry, and even lying down he was dizzy. He gasped for breath, trying to calm his again-racing heart.  

Nomi was talking again - to Q, Bond thought distantly. “We’re doing what we can to stabilize him, but I’m pretty sure one of the bullets nicked his kidney. He’s bleeding heavily.”

Bond blinked blearily up at the enormous expanse of blue above him and thought at least I can see the sky.

****

Nomi crouched next to Bond and listened grimly as Q told her that their potential rescue was still ten minutes out. Bond was deathly pale, breaths coming shallow and labored, little noises of pain slipping out on the exhale. She was amazed that he was conscious at all - he would not be for much longer, she could tell. Nomi felt like she should say something, but didn’t know what. She was a double-0. So was he. It wasn’t in their nature - or their skillset. 

Safin, apparently, did not have the same problem. He leaned over Bond, getting his attention, and said gently, “I’m going to go play with Mathilde. She’s enjoying the tidepools.”

“Thank you,” Bond whispered, and then he well and truly did pass out.  

****

Silence. 

Slowly, with faintly trembling fingers, Mallory pulled the comm from his ear. Bond was unconscious, the extraction team was a few minutes out, and there was nothing left for him to do.  Mallory didn’t realize that he was staring blankly at the device in his hand until Moneypenny gently took it from him. 

“PM wants a word with you, Sir, but I told him it would be a few minutes.” 

He nodded, got up, and walked out. Mallory needed air. Need space . Needed his heart to stop racing. He found himself standing in front of the portrait of his predecessor. To hell with dignity, I’ll leave when the job’s done , she had said. Mallory had never realized before, but it sounded like something Bond would say.

Chapter Text

Bond woke up on a ship. A Navy ship. But that didn’t make sense; he hadn’t been posted to a vessel in decades. For a split second, he entertained the notion that he had merely dreamed the years - the lifetimes - spent as a spy. But only for a split second. Then recent events came rushing back, and he tried to sit up, frantic to know what had happened. 

“Woah. Woah, Commander,” said a smooth, strong voice. The use of his rank gave Bond pause. A medic in a Navy uniform stood by the bed. “You’re out of immediate danger, but you need to rest. I’ll send for Commander Nomi; I was told to call her when you were awake.”

Bond, who was beginning to feel every single injury he had acquired during the fight on the island, relaxed gratefully back onto the bed and contented himself to wait, drifting a little on a haze of pain medication and exhaustion. Waiting soon became dosing and he was startled awake by Nomi’s voice a short time later saying, “You are one lucky bastard.”

“With a hobby for resurrection,” quipped Bond in reply, then winced at how raspy his voice was. 

“Indeed,” agreed Nomi dryly, taking a seat by the bed. She too was in uniform. 

“I didn’t know you were a Commander,” Bond observed, nodding at the insignia. 

“For better or worse, my career bears a striking resemblance to yours. Although I was never in the SBS - they still weren’t accepting women when I applied.”

“Right.” Bond hoped his tone sufficiently conveyed his sympathy on that point. 

Nomi continued, “I suppose you want to know what’s been going on while you’ve been unconscious.”

“Please.”

The word seemed to surprise her a little, but she didn’t comment. Nomi led with, “Mathilde is fine - a little bored, but fine. She and Safin are more or less confined to a berth here, and I’ve been keeping an eye on them. M hasn’t decided what to do with Safin yet - awaiting more information to make that decision.” 

It was carefully phrased, and Bond was sure there were things Nomi wasn’t saying. But at the moment he cared about other things more. “What about Mathilde? What’s - what’s going to happen to her?”

Nomi looked at him oddly, then said very deliberately, “It’s fairly obvious to everyone that she is your daughter, so...that will undoubtedly be up to you.” 

Bond opened his mouth to explain, but Nomi kept right on talking. 

“Of course, there is the complication of her not having any papers, so Q has been...working on that. Do you understand?”

Oh. Oh . Bond thought perhaps he did. His head was still swimming a little so he just rasped out, “Thank you. Tell Q thank you.” 

“You should tell him yourself. I can get you on a call with him if you like. And M wants to talk to you too. But first, let me finish catching you up on our end of things.”

Bond nodded and closed his eyes to listen. 

“Well, the good news is that we aren’t at war with Russia. There have been some very angry phone calls back and forth from what Eve has told me, but publicly everyone is sticking to a story about a Navy drill gone wrong. I think M or someone pointed out to the Russians that it would look awfully bad for them if it came to light that a terrorist organization was building bioweapons on their territory without them knowing or doing anything about it. Meanwhile, Q is very carefully planting some leaks that the ‘drill’ story is a cover up for a joint mission with the Russians to take out a terrorist cell. Should sow enough confusion and conspiracy theories that the whole thing will blow over as soon as another big story breaks.” 

“Small mercies,” muttered Bond, though he was genuinely relieved. 

Nomi proceeded to fill him in on the rest of what had happened, including his own injuries - which weren’t as severe as he had feared - and the tentative plan to make port in Japan and get them all on a plane home. “Once you’re up and around,” she qualified, “And once M decides what to do with Safin.”

“I can be up and around whenever you need-”

Nomi cut him off, “M warned me you would say that and told me that you are to rest for at least three days.” 

“I’ll give him two,” Bond countered. 

“ Q said you’d say that,” Nomi informed him with a laugh. Then she sobered and looked him over. “You look like shit. Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

“What are my other options?” asked Bond, although part of his mind screamed that yes he desperately wanted to close his eyes and sleep some more. 

“I could bring Mathilde to see you. And M needs to debrief you. But he’s not in a rush.”

“I...it would be nice to see Mathilde,” Bond admitted. 

****

Nomi fetched the child and plunked her down on the edge of Bond’s hospital bed with an admonishment to be gentle. 

“James!” said Mathilde brightly, then she scowled as she looked at him more closely. 

Bond smiled at her, lines around his eyes and mouth deepening. “Hi sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’m okay. Just need to rest for a couple of days.”

“You got hurt. On the island.”

She had reverted to French, but Nomi could follow it. Nomi had successfully gotten Mathilde to speak English over the course of the last two days while Bond was in surgery and then sleeping off the effects of trauma and toxin, but clearly she preferred French. 

“I did,” Bond agreed easily  in the same language, despite drugs and anesthesia and exhaustion. It occurred to Nomi not for the first time that he sounded like a native speaker, but not quite as she would expect. It wasn’t the vaguely Parisian accent she usually heard in England, nor was it the North African that many of her colleagues had picked up through work. Swiss, perhaps? Yes, the more Nomi listened the more she thought it was Swiss. She made a mental note to snoop into that later. 

They talked for a few minutes longer, Mathilde chatting happily about playing games with Safin. To Nomi’s surprise, Bond seemed pleased by that, rather than concerned. Apparently her predecessor genuinely trusted the man. It baffled her, despite the fact that in the last two days Safin had seemed more like a hapless professor than a terrorist mastermind. Nomi was glad that it wasn’t up to her to sort out that particular Gordian Knot. 

When Bond looked like he was starting to nod off, Nomi broke in, “Okay, I think we should let James rest now.” 

“Okay,” said Mathilde softly, and climbed down off the bed. She gave Bond a little wave before trailing after Nomi out of the medical bay.  

****

Bond hated inactivity. Even as badly injured as he was, after two days spent mostly unconscious and another day and a half lying in bed, he was itching to move. One of the nurses had brought him, among other things, joggers and a sweatshirt with the Navy seal on them. Bond was fairly certain he had once owned an identical pair, which brought a smile to his face as he pushed himself slowly into a sitting position. Then he clutched at the blanket as the room spun sharply. 

“Commander?”

Bond blinked at the nurse, disturbed to realize that his vision had blurred momentarily. It was strange to be addressed by his rank after so long not hearing it used. The nurse - Emma, he recalled, her name was Emma - was looking at him with concern, but was polite enough not to ask outright if he was alright. Bond forced a smile. “I’d like to get up for a bit. Put on some real clothes. See how I’m feeling.” Bond had been on his feet when he was in worse shape than this, though he had to admit that it was a relief not to have to do so. 

Emma pursed her lips but did not argue. 

The answer to How am I feeling? turned out to be Terrible. And it wasn’t just the slowly healing wounds or the surgery to remove the bullets and repair a slightly lacerated kidney. 

Bond settled himself uncomfortably in a chair near the bed, and asked if he could speak to Safin. The man in question appeared a few minutes later, escorted by Nomi. 

“I hear you and Mathilde have been keeping each other company.”

“We have,” said Safin carefully, perching on the edge of the bed and making no secret of the fact that he was looking Bond over. 

“Thank you for doing that” said Bond, and meant it. 

“You trust me with her,” was all Safin said in response, but Bond understood what he meant by it. After a moment, Safin added somewhat sheepishly, “She’s a sweet kid. She’s keeping me company, really.”

Bond skipped his usual quip about being a good judge of character, and instead pursued the other reason he wanted to talk to Safin. “I don’t think the effects of the nerve toxin have entirely worn off.” 

Safin scowled a little at that, but to his credit he did not immediately deny the possibility. He tilted his head one way and then the other, considering, then asked, “Was there anything else in your system when you took it?”

“No,” Bond said.

“Yes,” answered Nomi at the same time. They both looked at her and she sighed, hesitated a moment, then said flatly, “SmartBlood.”

“What’s...SmartBlood?” Safin said the word like he was trying to taste it on his tongue. 

Bond and Nomi exchanged a glance, then Bond replied with a wry twist of his lips, “Nanotech.”

Safin looked at him sharply and Bond hurried to explain, “The purpose is to provide a tracking capability that can’t be readily removed, and which can monitor agents’ vital signs. It isn’t permanent by any means, but we got dosed with it right before we landed on the island.”

Safin rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay. Okay, that might explain the lingering side effects...but I can’t make an educated assessment without knowing more about this...SmartBlood.”

“You need to talk to Q.”

Bond meant that in the sense of at some point you and Q ought to have a conversation - which was something Bond had been thinking for days already for other reasons - but Nomi apparently took it to mean right now, and Bond did not have the energy to fight her on that. Nomi retrieved a secure tablet, and called Q, disregarding the time change entirely. It did not surprise Bond in the least that Q answered. His hair was dishevelled and he was still putting his glasses on. “Nomi?” he asked. 

“Sorry to wake you,” she said unapologetically, then squinted at the screen and asked, “Were you sleeping on the couch in your office?” 

“Of course,” replied Q, “Now, what do you need?”

“Bond is still having side effects from the poison and Safin thinks it might be SmartBlood but needs you to explain more about it.”

Q blinked, pushed his glasses more firmly up his nose, and said, “Alright…”

Nomi handed the tablet over to Safin, and Bond listened with a small, smug smile as the two men promptly fell into a deep, involved, and warmly enthusiastic scientific conversation. For a few moments, Bond allowed himself to drift contentedly. Neither Safin nor Q were expecting him to keep up, and Nomi was paying sufficient attention to be able to fill him in later if necessary.

When Q called his name, it almost startled him. “Bond! Bond, are you still there?”

“Not many places I could have gone, Quartermaster,” said Bond, then added with an attempt at his usual dry humor, “I’ve been all but chained to the bed and told to rest.” Q and Safin both chuckled. Even Nomi smiled briefly. 

“Good, good,” replied Q somewhat absently, eyes flicking over data on a separate screen, “I’m going to need a few samples of your blood. I don’t want this happening again - to you or any other agent. We need to assess the interaction which occurred between the neurotoxin and the SmartBlood.” 

“You may have to wait on the blood,” Bond drawled, “I’ve been informed that I’m rather in short supply at the moment.” That finally got an actual laugh out of Nomi. 

“No, that’s precisely why we need to draw blood now,” said Safin intently. Clearly the joke had gone over his head, intent as he was upon the data he needed. “The reaction occurring between the SmartBlood and the toxin may decay with time. We need samples now to have the best chance to determine what went wrong.” 

“I suppose I could also ask the medics on the ship if they retained any samples from when you were first brought on board...” mused Q, picking up Safin’s train of thought smoothly. 

The two continued tossing ideas and hypotheses back and forth, while Bond rolled up the sleeve of his sweatshirt and tried not to smirk. He was so glad he had been right about Q and Safin getting on. 

That evening, Nomi brought dinner to the medical bay for her and Bond, sat herself down in a chair next to the bed, and began casually catching him up on office gossip and recent double-0 missions. It was a very double-0 way of offering a truce of sorts, and Bond allowed himself to enjoy it for a while. Eventually, however, in a lull in conversation, he asked, “Nomi, has anyone told Mathilde that- that her mother died?”

Nomi looked up sharply, then shook her head a little. “I don’t think so. I certainly haven’t, so unless Safin has mentioned it - which I doubt…”

Bond actually thought it was a toss up whether Safin would have mentioned it. He knew what it was to lose his family young. So, of course, did Bond. He sighed. “If she doesn’t know, it’s not right to put off telling her.” 

“That’s on you,” said Nomi, holding her hands up palm out in a not-touching-that gesture. 

“I know. I thought...maybe I could come talk to her?”

“Now?”

Bond shrugged, “Good a time as any.” He didn’t like it hanging over his head.

“I’ll bring her here. You are still supposed to be resting.”

Bond decided not to argue that point. The idea of walking half way across the ship was not appealing. 

Nomi finished her food and left, reappearing a few minutes later with Mathilde, who had her stuffed animal, Dou-Dou, clutched in one hand. Nomi plunked Mathilde down on the bed next to Bond, then beat a hasty retreat. Bond couldn’t really blame her. She was a double-0; emotions weren’t in the job description. 

Bond let Mathilde climb onto his lap, and brushed her hair out of her face with a touch that was as gentle as he could manage. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“Kinda bored,” she replied with a faint pout. 

“Me too. Hopefully we’ll be heading ho- getting off this ship soon. When we do, we’re going to go to London.” Mathilde just looked at him. Bond sighed. There was no good way to do this. Christ, he had never in his life had so much sympathy for Kincade. Bond pushed away the memories and still-lingering pain of that night when he had learned of his parents’ death. “Mathilde, has anyone talked to you about your mum?”

Mathilde looked up at him with those huge blue eyes of hers and shook her head. Bond took a steadying breath and braced himself to tell her - and then Mathilde said, “But...she was on the island. She isn’t...coming back. Is she?”

“No, sweetheart, she isn’t. I’m sorry.” 

Mathilde nodded seriously, then looked down at Dou-Dou. “Are…” she stopped, played with the stuffed animals ears for a moment, then asked so quietly that Bond had to strain to hear, “Are you going to leave too?”

“Oh. Oh.” As much as Bond had expected this to be hard and painful, he had not expected to be the one choking back tears. His eyes burned and something in his heart twisted painfully. “Sweetheart, no,” he assured her, pulling her into a hug, cradling her against him and rocking gently, ignoring entirely the way bruises and incisions stretched and ached at the motion. “No, I’m not going to leave. We’re- we’re going to go back to London. Together. And…” Bond fished for something else to say, just to keep talking in the hopes that it would be comforting. Mathilde was clutching his sweatshirt, like she had on the island, only this time she had leaned her head into his shoulder; he could feel dampness, as if she was crying, but she was silent. “And I- I don’t have a flat there right now,” he went on, “Which means we can pick out a place together. Maybe a house with a nice backyard. Someplace to play and space for us and- and our friends. I have a place up in Scotland too. A big old house that I can’t wait to show you.” 

He stroked her hair and let her cry and murmured quiet reassurances until Mathilde suddenly took a deep breath, sighed, and sat back up. She wiped her face on her sleeve, but wore the expression of someone pretending that they weren’t in fact upset. “You are supposed to rest,” she informed him, levelling a look at Bond that he was certain she had learned from Nomi in the last few days. 

“I wanted to spend time with you,” he told her, since it was easier than trying to explain that- oh, and there were the words he needed, “I’ll always have time for you, sweetheart.”

Mathilde looked away sheepishly, wiped her face again, and then began to sob in earnest. Bond gathered her close, not quite sure what he had done wrong until Mathilde stammered out in French through her tears that her mother was always away or busy or had company . That she had wished for another parent and now her mother was gone - actually really gone - and it felt wrong .  

Bond fished for the right thing to say. He knew from personal experience that he could make it worse by assuring her that it wasn’t her fault; he wasn’t going to risk putting the idea in her head if it wasn’t already there. Bond finally managed somewhat awkwardly, “Things happen, love. You weren’t wrong to want that, and it's okay to miss her now and be upset that she didn’t spend time with you. You can do both.” God, this child was going to need so much therapy, Bond thought not for the first time recently. But at least she seemed to like him, which was a relief since, thanks to the meddling of Q and others, she was stuck with him. 

Mathilde fell asleep shortly thereafter, emotionally wrung out. Bond continued to hold her, and dozed a little himself until Nomi’s reappearance woke him. Nomi eyed them both cautiously. “She already knew,” Bond whispered, “But she’s still upset. About...a lot of things, I think.” 

Nomi nodded. “Let me take her back to our room. You look like you’re in pain.” Bond was, but he was loath to risk waking Mathilde. Or to let her out of his sight. As it turned out, Mathilde only stirred a little when Nomi picked her up, and settled down again when Nomi murmured something about it being more comfortable to sleep in a bed. 

With Nomi and Mathilde gone, Bond took a few long minutes to collect himself. He felt almost hollowed out, exhausted in a way that wasn’t physical. Nonetheless, he reached for the tablet Nomi had left him earlier in the day. There were so many other conversations he needed to have - M, Tanner, Eve…But one he could not in conscience put off any longer. 

****

Q was deep in the process of beefing up MI6s firewalls - one of his preferred methods of distracting himself - when his tablet chimed with an incoming call. A quick glance revealed it was Bond, and Q was momentarily sorely tempted to ignore it. But, as angry as Q was at Bond, he was also painfully aware of how close they had come to losing him. With a gusty sigh, Q shoved his chair back from his desk and picked up the tablet. 

Answering the call, Q was confronted with Bond’s craggy face creased in a tentative smile. “Hello, Q.”

“007,” said Q crisply, cooly. 

The tentative smile turned more lopsided and Q allowed himself a moment to examine Bond more closely. He was still wearing the Navy sweatshirt, but clearly was propped up in bed rather than the chair, visibly exhausted. “Q,” Bond said again, then, “I...I owe you an apology…”

“And decided to make it while you’re on the other side of the world so I can’t shoot you?” suggested Q perhaps a bit more sharply than he had intended. 

“I thought I’d at least make a start of it. God knows you’ve waited long enough to hear it.”

Q sighed, feeling himself soften somewhat. Dammit , Bond always had been an annoyingly disarming bastard when he put his mind to it. Q suspected it was how he had gotten away so much during Mansfield’s time as M. Q gathered his wits and replied, “Emphasis on start , I hope-”

“Absolutely, Q,” agreed Bond.

But Q wasn’t done, words bubbling up now that he had made the mistake of starting at all. “- because you turned up here that morning and I thought- but...and- and then you asked for the bloody car !” Q hated the way his voice was shaking.

Bond’s expression crumpled briefly into something suspiciously like grief. “I know. It is- I regret it.” It was something Bond would never have said five years ago, even if it had been true. Double-0s didn’t have regrets. It would have been, as Mansfield liked to say, unprofessional . And yet here was Bond, gazing at him, emotions plain to read in his eyes. 

“Yes, well…” Q floundered, entirely unsure how to respond to honesty from a man whose profession - whose whole life - was built on secrets. “It’s...I needed to hear that. It doesn’t fix anything, but...it helps to hear it.” And that was entirely too much honesty and emotion from both of them for the time being, Q decided. They weren’t done with this conversation, not by a longshot, but it was something that was going to take time. Q reached for his usual aplomb and changed the subject abruptly, a kind of backhanded peace offering. “You’ll never believe what happened to Prince on her last mission.”

“Oh?” prompted Bond, smiling a little again, “Do tell.”

“She decided to throw her hand gun - after it was out of bullets, small mercies - at a moving train . I can only imagine she learned this nonsense from you.”

Bond was chuckling, but protested, “Oh, come on, you can’t blame me for every bad habit of the younger double-0s!”

Q pushed his glasses up his nose and said primly, “I can. And I will.” The effect was ruined, however, by the suppressed grin in his voice. 

“So what got Prince so wound up that she chucked her gun at a train?”

“Believe it or not, the gun and the train bit is the least weird part of this story.” Q promptly launched into the tale of 009’s recent mission, by turns harrowing and hysterical. Practically before he knew it, an hour had passed and Bond was looking even more pale and worn, the winces when he laughed becoming more pronounced. “Alright, I think that’s enough of that for tonight,” said Q firmly, “It was good to talk to you again, James.”

The name brought out another of Bond’s particularly soft smiles. “And you, Q. More than I can say.”

“You do realize that I haven’t forgiven you yet,” Q informed him pointedly.

“I do.”

“Good. In that case, I will talk to you soon. Get some rest, 007, you look like you need it.”

“You too, Q.” 

Q hung up when it became clear after an awkward pause that Bond wasn’t going to be the one the end call. Then he set the tablet aside and took his glasses off to rub his eyes. That had been more taxing than he had anticipated. Q was angry at Bond, though part of him did not particularly want to be. Time , Q reminded himself, it was going to take time. Nonetheless, when Q settled back into his coding, it was with a small smile on his lips and a feeling of lightness in his chest. 

Chapter Text

When the video call came up, Mallory did a double-take. He had never seen Bond in uniform before, he realized. Mallory was aware, of course, that Bond was technically a Commander - he’d just never given it any thought. Except now Bond was on a Navy vessel with a Captain who had been read in enough to learn Bond’s rank. Unsurprisingly, the crew had risen to the occasion and found him the correct uniform .  

Bond and Nomi stood next to each other, dressed identically, and with nearly identical posture and expressions - arms crossed, shoulders square, coolly unflappable gazes. Mallory knew Bond well enough to tell by the way he held himself that he was injured, but he doubted most people would be able to see it. In the face of Bond in uniform and the strange mirrored image of both 007s - so different and yet so alike - Mallory found himself floundering for a long moment. Finally, he managed a rather brittle, “It’s good to see you up and around, Bond.” 

“Over the doctor’s objections,”  Nomi informed him, eyeing Bond with a mix of annoyance and awe which Mallory understood all too well. 

Bond’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, then he met Mallory’s gaze across the fuzzy video connection and said simply, “I want to come home.” 

It knocked the breath out of M to hear those words, the echo of what he had told Bond when trying to convince him to get off the island. “Then we’ll bring you home, 007. We just need to clarify some things while we sort out the logistics.”

“Yes. I assume that at least part of this debrief is going to be about Safin?” 

“Indeed,” agreed Mallory, impressed as always by Bond’s astuteness. “Not to put too fine a point on it, we need to decide what to do with him.”

“He is, as we speak, watching my daughter. That should tell you something about my stance on the matter.”

Dear God , that was a statement. For the third time in as many minutes, Mallory found himself on the back foot. He sighed and tried to put on an unimpressed face. “Yes, but we still need official explanations and all that.”

It took the better part of an hour, by the end of which time Bond had given up and taken a seat, looking pale and tired. There would still be paperwork to do, and more reports to give, but Mallory now had enough to go on to put in motion the machinery of bringing them home - Safin included. Q had been digging into the man, and what he had found in conjunction with what Bond and Nomi had said led Mallory to believe that the man could be an asset. He certainly wasn’t an enemy. 

Just as Mallory was opening his mouth to wrap things up and tell Bond to get some rest, Bond looked up and said tightly, “I know it’s a long shot but...do you know if- if Felix Leiter made it?” 

The name bounced hollowly around Mallory’s mind for a moment before recognition hit him like a brick. Felix Leiter. Bond’s old friend who had been on the boat that blew up off the coast of Cuba. The man whom Bond had hauled into a lifeboat with him and kept alive until they were rescued. Or, as Mallory knew him professionally, Felix Leiter, CIA Section Chief for Latin America. 

Mallory smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks. “I have it on good authority that he is in hospital and stable. Fighting an infection, but expected to make a full if lengthy recovery.” 

Bond closed his eyes and mouthed thank God , looking so exquisitely relieved that for a moment Mallory was afraid Bond might actually pass out. Well then. That answered Mallory’s long-standing question about just how close those two were. He tried not to let it hurt. 

“I’ll send a team to meet you,” said Mallory brusquely, “In the meantime, try to get some rest, 007.” 

****

They made their way back to England shortly thereafter. M sent a team to fly back with them on a military transport - a method of travel which was going to be murder on Bond’s unhealed injuries.

Bond stood on the tarmac, Mathilde’s tiny hand held gently in his large one. Nomi on his other side had her arms crossed defensively over her chest. The team disembarked, and Bond felt a wave of relief go through him. “Oh, thank f-, thank goodness.” He was really, really trying not to swear in front of Mathilde. With mixed results. 

“Glad to see a whole tac team?” asked Nomi mildly.

“No, glad to see him ,” replied Bond, nodding at the team leader. 

Nomi peered at the man for a moment as he approached, then looked at Bond and asked, “The...the one who looks like a bloody librarian? Or accountant? Or something that involves sitting at a desk all day dealing in minutiae?” 

Bond laughed quietly. “ That is Hal. And whatever he may look like he’s one of our best. He’s 002, in fact. Or was. Not sure where that stands now.” 

Nomi blinked. “He’s a double-oh?” 

“Mm-hmm,” hummed Bond, then smiled and waved to the man. “Hal!”

Hal came over and embraced Bond carefully but firmly. It earned them an odd look from Nomi. “Damn it is good to see you,” Bond told Hal, and meant every word of it. 

“And you,” agreed Hal, warmly. Then he crouched down so he was on eye level with Mathilde. She eyed Hal suspiciously, half hiding behind Bond’s leg. He smiled at her. “You must be Mathilde.”

Mathilde nodded.

“And do you go by Mathilde, or should I call you something else?”

She glanced up at Bond, who realized with a flash of embarrassment that he had not considered that. He had just continued along with what Madeleine had been calling her. He tried to give the child an encouraging smile. 

“Tilly,” she said after a long moment, “I like Tilly. My friends at school call me Tilly, but Mama didn’t like it.” 

“Tilly it is then,” Hal agreed, blithely ignoring the reference to the child’s dead mother, and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Tilly. I’m Hal. I’m an old friend of your dad’s.” Tilly shook his hand, beginning to smile shyly.

“Oh, so that’s common knowledge now, is it?” asked Bond, a little annoyed. 

Hal got back to his feet. “No, but I knew. And plenty of other people are going to assume.” 

Bond realized he was going to have to get used to that, and not for the first time he felt a wave of anxiety - partly for Mathilde’s safety and partly for reasons he wasn’t yet ready to articulate. Hal seemed to recognize the look on Bond’s face for he leaned forward and murmured, “It’s going to be fine. Trust me.”

The thing was, Bond did trust Hal on this point because Hal and his wife had two children. Two happy, healthy, well-adjusted children raised by a double-oh and his ex-field agent former-criminal-book-keeper wife. One would be Tilly’s age now, which reminded Bond of something he wanted to ask Hal. Before he could bring it up, however, Nomi cut in, “Time to board, I think.”

Hal finally turned his gaze to her, though Bond knew the other man would have been aware of her presence the whole time. Like recognized like, and predators would always know their own kind. What made Hal so particularly effective was his ability to disguise his nature. 

“I don’t believe you two have met,” said Bond, gesturing between them. 

Nomi shook her head. Hal said to her, “I know you by reputation, 007. I was 002; still do some sniper work and help train the newbies.”

Nomi and Hal shook hands, then Nomi turned to Bond. “For Chrissake, are you taking the designation back or not? And don’t dodge the question this time.” 

That brought Bond up short, in part because he had indeed been planning to sidestep the topic yet again. Out of respect for Nomi, he answered seriously, “If you’re attached to it, you should keep it. You earned it. But if it’s all the same to you, I would rather like it back. It’s who I've been for- for a long time.”

By the time he finished speaking, Nomi was grinning at him. 

“What?” asked Bond suspiciously. 

“Oh, God, please take it back. If you'd been an ass about it, I would have kept it on principle, but honestly that number is definitely associated with you , and I’m sick of getting sideways looks about it. I’d like to build my own reputation, thanks much.” 

“Oh.” Bond found that he was genuinely taken aback by that. 

Hal wasn’t. “That makes sense. You definitely did - do - have a reputation, James. Think about the times I pretended to be you to get into places!”

“ You ,” said Nomi incredulously, “You managed to convince people that you were him ?” she asked, gesturing at Bond. 

“Hal’s a bloody chameleon,” laughed Bond, then poked Hal sharply and said, “ No , don’t you dare do it now. It’s creepy.”

Hal laughed and promised Nomi, “I’ll show you later.” 

She looked skeptical. And fascinated. “I’ll hold you to that…”

“You know,” mused Bond as they boarded the plane, “If the 001 designation is available, you should take that.”

“Oh?”

“Have you ever met the Berlin Station Chief?” asked Bond.

“Can’t say I have.”

“You should,” said Hal and Bond at the same time. 

They all got settled on the plane, Tilly next to Bond and Hal on her other side. As the plane began to taxi, Hal reached into his backpack and pulled out a tablet in a heavy-duty, child-safe case. “I have Netflix on here, if there’s something you’d like to watch,” he said, “It’s going to be a long flight and I know there are a couple of shows my son really likes. He’s your age. Now, let’s see, how do I…”

Bond watched fondly as Hal pretended not to be sure how to work the tablet, letting Tilly take it and navigate to the app herself. He handed her good noise-cancelling headphones, and soon Tilly was happily watching a cartoon Bond did not recognize at all. He supposed he was going to have to catch up on that sort of thing. 

Bond dragged his gaze away and looked at Hal. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, “It didn’t even occur to me-”

“You were on a Navy ship, it’s not like there was a wealth of spare iPads running around,” said Hal dismissively, but then put a hand on Bond’s shoulder and squeezed in a way that meant you’re welcome . 

“Actually,” Bond began slowly, “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about…”

“Shoot,” said Hal with an ironic little twist of his lips. 

Bond grinned briefly, then sobered. “I...I don’t exactly have a place in London at the moment, and, well…”

“Yes, you can stay with us,” said Hal with a friendly laugh, not even bothering to wait for Bond to finish the question. 

“ Thank you ,” Bond told him with great feeling, “Really, it-”

Hal made a dismissive gesture. “Aoife will be delighted to see you, and I’m always happy to have another kid around. Maybe she and Eoin can be friends.”

Bond sincerely hoped they would be. 

****

“So, Tilly is your daughter,” said Hal, plunking himself down on the opposite side of the kitchen table from where Bond was nursing a mug of tea. Somewhere in the living room of Hal’s comfortable home, Mathilde was happily occupied with Hal’s son of the same age, watched over by Hal’s wife, Aoife. God Bless Hal, Bond thought for the hundredth time in the last 48 hours. 

“Not biologically,” Bond admitted somewhat belatedly. Hal was a good friend and Bond trusted him with this bit of truth. He was also the only one of Bond’s friends who had children of his own. “Legally though, yes, she is.”

“And that’s what you wanted?”

Bond nodded silently. It was what he wanted in the sense that he could not bear the thought of her going off with some stranger. The reality of it was beginning to sink in, however. 

“You’re terrified.”

Bond glanced sharply at Hal, but Hal kept right on talking. 

“I’m not asking , I’m saying . I don’t have to ask because I’ve been there, unexpectedly becoming a parent. Not as unexpectedly as this scenario, but nonetheless it was without a doubt the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to me, and I’ve been a double-0.”

That startled a laugh out of Bond and, unexpectedly, made him feel relieved . Here was someone he could actually talk to about this. 

“Come on,” prompted Hal gently, as if he could read Bond’s mind, “Where’s your head, James?”

“I don’t have the faintest fucking idea what I’m doing,” Bond forced himself to admit. Once he’d started talking, the words tumbled out practically on top of each other. “It’s- it’s not even the big stuff that scares me. Maybe it should be but right now it- it’s just- it’s things like... Christ , I don’t know how to get her enrolled in school. I don’t know when she last saw a doctor or if she has allergies or what she likes to eat-” Bond cut himself off with a shake of his head; he could have continued that list for an hour probably, but there was no point. 

Hal gave him a pointed look and drawled, “I’m assuming the reason none of those rise to the level of ‘big things’ in your mind is because ‘big things’ are - like - Spectre coming for her?”

Bond smirked darkly. “I’d like to see them try. No, I was thinking more along the lines of having no idea how to raise a kid, that I’m a terrible role model, and that I intend to go back to field work which means I probably won’t live to see her tenth birthday.”

“Okay,” said Hal, as unflappable as ever, “With this exception of that last one, those are all pretty normal fears for a new parent.”

“Any advice?” asked Bond, not really expecting any and desperately wanting an answer regardless. 

“Yeah. Remember that every parent ever has felt like that at least some of the time.” Hal got up and walked around the table to put his hand on Bond’s shoulder, then added, “And remember that you aren’t doing this alone.”

Bond watched Hal stroll out of the kitchen, and let those words sink in. Really let them sink in. He wasn’t alone. He had Hal and Aoife. Eve and Bill. Q. Even Safin, if things went the way he expected on that front. Kincade and his wife. And perhaps, if he was lucky, Mallory. Not to mention Felix and Cam and Jo, who, though further afield, were still very much a part of this found family that Bond could call his own. He had rarely taken time to think about it, and now he marveled at how large that circle had grown while he wasn’t paying attention. 

Just then, Tilly ran into the kitchen and skidded to a stop by Bond’s chair. She planted her hands on his leg and said brightly, “We’re going to play Shoots and Ladders! Come play with us!” 

Bond smiled warmly and let her pull him by his hand out of the kitchen. “Okay, but I don’t know how.” 

“That’s okay,” Tilly squeezed his hand and assured him with her five-year-old seriousness, “We’ll teach you.”

“I look forward to it,” said Bond, thinking about more than just the board game.