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"We need to talk, you and I," said M, turning off the radio.
"We do have all night and a few hundred miles," said James. "Going to tell me all about it, then?"
"About what?" asked M with surprise, before it dawned on her. "Oh. Certainly not. You don't need to know about Tiago."
"If you say so," responded James, unable to keep a note of petulance out of his voice.
M ignored him. "But you do need to know about what's coming. After all this I mean."
James frowned. "Go on."
"I won't be around forever. You need to familiarise yourself with how MI6 is actually run these days. That's opposed to you running circles around MI6."
"I can really live without the 'now be a good boy' speech."
"I'm not sure you can," said M firmly. "Things have changed - are changing. I've let you get away with a lot. I know you think of me as the headache that comes with the job, but actually I may have given you a false sense of security by not tightening your leash."
James scoffed. "This from the woman who had me chipped."
He saw her smirk out of the corner of his eye and smiled to himself. "I don't think of you as the headache," he added.
M raised an eyebrow but didn't look at him. “Gareth Mallory is likely to be your new headache. You’ll realise how much I’ve spoiled you once he gets going. But he knows what’s what. So you’ll behave yourself and do as you’re told.”
“I always do as I’m told,” said James sulkily.
“And don’t tell lies.”
“I never lie.”
“OO7,” she warned.
James smirked.
M’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll have you locked up.”
“You could tie me to a chair,” suggested James.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Silva. He had me tied to a chair whilst trying to convince me that he was the goody and you were the baddie. I argued that you’d never tied me to a chair, so you must be the goody.”
“And I thought this job was steeped in moral ambiguity,” sighed M.
“Perhaps Mallory will tie me to a chair,” mused James.
“Oh for goodness’ sake,” grumbled M. “Mallory is far more likely to kill you with a stroke of his pen.”
“You never do,” said James. "You just show up and try to catch me."
“I’m old fashioned. I prefer the direct approach. Much more suited for rogue agents who regularly disobey me, make frequent displays of insubordination in my office and break into my home.”
James frowned. “I probably won’t try that with Mallory,” he conceded.
“Not unless you want to become a desk clerk overnight on pain of assassination.”
James stole a glance at her. “You never did report me, did you?”
“No,” said M with remorse. “I really have spoiled you.”
“You did have me shot,” James said. “That’s hardly sparing the rod.”
“That was in battle, Bond. It wasn’t punishment.” She looked at her charge who was staring straight ahead at the dark winding road. “However much you thought it was, it wasn’t. It’s foolish of you to take it so personally. You know very well what’s at stake.” She watched his face quiver into a pout and shook her head. “I expended a lot of energy trying to teach you to be trustworthy. It didn’t occur to me you’d doubt my motives.”
“It’s funny what a bullet will make you doubt,” mumbled James, without taking his eyes off the road.
“I remember,” answered M curtly.
“You were shot?” asked James.
“Never mind that,” said M. “It’s not for you to know about. We’re not friends you and I.”
“But I’m supposed to trust you?” said James with a hollow laugh.
“Yes,” answered M crossly. “Because my choices and actions are professionally motivated, at all times, and I cannot allow personal relationships to sway decisions I have to make that can cost lives. I thought you got that.”
James swallowed. “I do get that,” he said quietly.
“I’m not sure you do,” scolded M. “You know the chain of command. You know your job. You question my motives, or Mallory’s, then we’re all in trouble. Just as I’ve had to trust your instincts on a global stage, with other governments warning me they’ll put you down if I don’t check you, you will trust your superiors without question or find another job.”
James blinked. His fingers tensed around the steering wheel. He cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.” He suddenly felt bad, sure now that every decision she’d made had come with a price. Her line of bravado, ‘regret is unprofessional’, no doubt a mantra she repeated to herself to keep sane.
“Good,” she said firmly. “Now pull over at the next service station. I need to stop for a moment.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said again, now more determined than ever to protect her. A sign for services loomed out of the darkness – just another two miles ahead.
Her words rang in his ears as silence filled the car. He struggled not to feel like an admonished child. But then he felt her eyes on him.
“Bond,” she said sternly. “Stop pouting. It doesn't work on me and it certainly won't work on Gareth Mallory.”
James resentfully tried to find a neutral facial expression. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said with minimal sincerity. Feeling extraordinarily chastised for someone who was in the process of saving this woman’s life, James allowed himself a good hard glare in her direction. He was met with an equally deadly expression from M. She warned him with her eyes.
“We get through this, OO7, we’ll continue this conversation with some proper disciplinary action. For once.”
“Can’t you give it a rest?” snapped James finally. “I’m trying to drive you to safety and you’re threatening me with the headmaster’s study!”
“I’m trying to keep you out of the headmaster’s study!” came her rebuke. “I’m trying to help you keep your job after I…” She just stopped herself from saying it. ‘Have gone’ were the words. She wasn’t even sure where they’d come from. But it was only hours since Silva had pointed a gun at her head and fired. She owed her life to Gareth Mallory, and with her 'retirement' looming, she didn't want to leave Bond accountable for her mistakes.
“You’re not going anywhere,” said James sternly. “And anyway, I can navigate my own responsibilities. You don’t need to have me by the scruff of the neck.”
“Chance would be a fine thing,” she retorted. “You need a bloody good…”
He turned off the motorway at a high speed, forcing her to lurch sideways.
“Bond!” she admonished.
“You wanted to turn off,” he explained, not slowing down.
“Not into a head spin!”
“My car, my style.” He pulled up into a near deserted car park with a jolt. He turned off the engine and lights and glared at her with a mixture of smugness and insolence.
With as much dignity as she could muster, without taking her eyes off him, she climbed out of the car and slammed the door. He watched her walk away towards the dimly lit service station and facilities. Moments later he found himself feeling surprisingly sheepish. He knew she could take care of herself but would follow her in if she was longer than 10 minutes. He checked their location, no contact with Q for fear of being intercepted, and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. A thought occurred to him and he nipped out of the car and opened the boot, pulling out an old tartan blanket, and leaving it on M’s seat.
She returned to the car apparently refreshed, with two coffees, a bag of snacks and a pair of uggs. She wordlessly handed James one of the coffees and wrapped the blanket around herself.
“Drive on,” she said dryly.
“I’m sorry, M,” said James, making no move to start the car.
M looked at him, stunned. Before she could speak, he continued. “I don’t doubt you, for the record.” He held her gaze. Her face was unmoved, but he noticed her breathing had quickened.
“Good,” she said simply. “Now get us out of here.”
James started the car.
“And Bond,” said M. “Don’t imagine you can undo your isolence with a little apology. When this is over, you’ll have to come in, and I’ll make you think a trip to the headmaster’s study is a holiday in the Bahamas.”
She couldn’t quite get the sentence out without slipping into a smile. Her eyes twinkled.
James smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, cheeks flushed, before speeding off into the night.