Work Text:
"How much do I look like her father for you to think I can make this work?", Bond asked, and the entire room sniggered. "No, seriously, unless I'm a carbon copy of her father, I don't think she'd consider talking to me. She's a black woman in her early twenties, I'm a white man in my fifties, she doesn't know me at all. Bravado aside, we all know my chances, no matter charisma. Unless she's taking a very literal fuck the patriarchy approach to life, I don't think I have a chance.
"So, either present me with evidence to the contrary, or an alternative."
The boffin in question had blushed a fetching scarlet, but was right back on task, pulling up social media accounts and filtering for hashtags and key words at an impressive speed. That was followed by a quick scan of her phone contacts, the people she'd texted the most, and the boffin started narrating: "So she doesn't seem to be seeing anyone, but she's working the bar at a place called - I'm not gonna try that." The boffin let the computer voice pronounce the German name and Bond had to smirk. Good way to work around it, if they were on comms.
"There, she has to be nice to you. Let me check -"
Getting surveillance footage in German cities sucked severely, Bond knew by now, because there was very little of it. "All right, I don't know the clientele, so I don't know whether you'd fit in, but I think our time plan would allow for you to stake it out, no?"
Bond nodded slowly, face all serious and professional.
"For the sake of this exercise, let's say I wouldn't. What now?"
The boffin took a deep breath, and returned to the screens. "Alright. Let's dig deeper."