Chapter Text
Prologue
Contrary to popular belief, James Bond wasn´t immortal. Even when he himself liked to think he was, and even when there was also the fact that his favorite hobby was to escape from the seductive clutches of death in order to resurrect, he was conscious of the fact that, even when he was strong and determined, there was this little nagging problem he had... called humanity.
He was conscious of his mortal body, tattered and battered by years upon years of pain, danger, work, and vices. And he loved pushing said to the limits.
He liked risks, liked the fact he could submit himself to any kind of destruction and torture and endure it like a warrior. And then, when everything was dealt with, he would patch himself together and continue as if nothing had happened.
He liked to think he courted death, with an iron will, a good gun and a desire for vengeance.
And most of all, he hated losing. Even when his rival was something as powerful as Death itself.
That was why he felt anger course through him as his body was dragged down the deepest pits of the ocean without any kind of resistance. Trickles of blood poured out from the bullet shot on his shoulder, pain and disorientation clouding his though processes. He had little oxygen left in his lungs. His whole body ached thanks to all the impacts received when falling down the current, and he was too sluggish to even think about a possible solution.
Bloody hell.
He tried to move. His arms didn´t respond. Above him, the surface almost mocked him; the sky bright and clean, sunray´s lightening the tranquil waters. The last bout of oxygen escaped his lips in streams of whitish bubbles and water rushed inside painfully, lungs aching and constricting in a way too horrible to put into words.
I am going to die. Drowned. How… fitting.
His eyes began to close…
And then, out of nowhere, a long expanse of silver appeared in his peripheral vision. Among blurry edges and darkness a hint of pale skin showed, along with two gleaming green eyes, looking at him among the all-consuming darkness. And those eyes, with their unearthly glow, were the last think Bond was able to take on, before unconsciousness took his mind away.
----%----
He woke up once, sweating profusely, gasping and groaning with pain lacing through his shoulder, and a burning sensation coursing through every cell of his body. His eyes unable to open, feeling bouts of agony mixed with the sensation of cool, slippery and smooth skin gliding softly along his own. Of something wet falling on his shoulder, drop by drop, cool and magical. Easing the pain, the constriction of his lungs, easing… everything.
----%----
He woke up for a second time; blurriness overtaking his sight, dizziness and nausea and stiffness rattling his body.
His eyes shifted groggily, taking notice of the slender silhouette by his side, cast in shadows but for two magnificent dark green eyes and ripples of silver, undulating and bright. And then, soft moon rays flickered over, making the man (for it was male, Bond was sure) gleam and Bond was sure he was dead, because something as bizarre and as magnificent as what he was seeing was impossible to be real.
His vision swarmed as the creature shifted closer and Bond felt himself being cradled by cool arms, felt warm and salty breath fanning his face, and evergreen eyes boring into him. And then, the creature parted his lips; a soft and hauntingly deep lullaby breaking past, so beautiful it tore Bond´s breath away, pulling him softly towards a state of dreamless, painless slumber.
----%----
When Bond opened his eyes for the third time, it was to the sight of an aged woman with long, wavy white hair and bright brown eyes. To the feel of a warm mattress, and thin blankets. To the sight of wooden walls with tropical decorations, and the smell of something with more spice than he would ever tolerate.
No green eyes. No cool skin, or silver gleams, or enchanting voice to lure him towards sleep.
Just a normal, aged woman whose eyes were too dark, whose skin was wrinkled and warm. Whose worried voice was calm and raspy.
She was draping a cool towel over his forehead; looking at him with a mixture of doubt and anxiousness. ¨You finally woke up¨
¨Where am I? ¨ Bond eased himself up, dropping the towel; taking in his surroundings.
It was then that Bond noticed the absence of any kind of pain. And it was then, that his skin crawled with something akin to shock, his eyes moving rapidly to inspect his wounded shoulder. Same shoulder that now glistened with sweat, taut skin perfect and unmarred, moving painlessly and effortlessly.
The woman noticed his movements, her eyes following every action.
¨You healed me¨ Bond finally whispered, moving his shoulder just to check that it was real, astounded when it rolled perfectly, muscles ripping in place.
But the woman shook her head, her face dropping a little. ¨No. I just found you. You were like that¨ she signaled towards his healed shoulder, and then went up to retrieve something from a little basket near. ¨You had this on your palm¨ she muttered, dropping on Bond´s hand little pieces of a bullet in a small transparent bag… and a single, gleaming silver scale.
Silver gleam. Green eyes…
Bond´s face stayed cool and indifferent as he pocketed the little bag and then, let his thumb glide along that unnatural, glistening scale.
When he looked back at the woman, she was looking at the scale intently with a spark of comprehension in her dark, aged orbs. She didn´t smile, but her face softened a little, as she slowly patted him on the shoulder.
¨Seems someone deep down there took a liking to you, boy¨ Her wrinkled finger signaled outside, to the expanses of a beautiful and calm blue sea whose waters rippled and foamed as they crashed sweetly on shore.
And Bond, enigmatic and apathetic James Bond, the spy and the killer, found himself looking intently at that beautiful sea, transfixed by something that made him wonder...
… and yearn for the identity of the owner of those green eyes, lurking somewhere and waiting to be found.