Disclaimer: I obliviously do not own James Bond.
Summary: M almost wished it could have worked out for him. Post QoS
Author's Note: Personally I enjoyed QoS and Casino Royale and I really like Daniel Craig as Bond (Sean Connery is still kick ass though). So in light of this and a comment I read on the internet I was inspired to write this (though now I'm not so sure about it). First Bond-fic also so any advice on characterise action and so forth would be appreciated. Hasn't been beta'd.
She honestly didn't have to tell him.
She could very easily bury the file, destroy it even, make sure that he never saw it. That would be incredibly easy. It was merely a file from about a 'Jane Doe' detailing how she died through the eyes of an Italian Medical Examiner and speculation on how she must of drowned. It gave no name just raw details that could really be anyone.
Sadly it wasn't an anyone.
She sighed and looked at the file again, fingering the paper. She glanced out the tinted window and onto the darkened London streets as her driver sped towards his apartment. She still had time to tell her driver to turn around but she couldn't. He deserved the truth.
She had no idea how he would react. One side of her mind told her he'd go on another bloody revenge mission around the world and she really couldn't deal with another one of his tantrums. Another part of her told her that he may just quietly reflect and come to terms with it.
She expected the former though.
It wasn't really fair for her to tell him since this may just break him. He had loved her, he had been prepared to give up his career and life for her just in the vain attempt to be with her. This could be the trigger that sets him off or a bullet wound to the heart which slowly killed him. But not telling him would in some ways be worse. If he did ever find out about it and the fact she knew…
She shook her head. She shouldn't give a crap how he would react if that happened, he was a weapon, and he was her agent. Nothing more or less – a sharpened tool used to fight. But it came down to a courtesy of trust. He deserved this even if she wasn't sure if this was good or a bad thing.
Her car pulled up, and she waited her driver to open the door. She gracefully life the car and resisted rolling her eyes as she saw an Aston Martin parked carelessly out front. For a spy he sometimes was an idiot. She clutched the file close and walked briskly into the apartment building.
Her heels clicked across the foyer as she walked to the elevator. As she waited for the lift she glanced around the foyer, nodding sharply as she saw a young couple enter and wait with her. The elevator doors pinged and opened and she entered, pressing the fifth floor button after the couple chose the third.
She breathed in deeply and her eyes once again scanned over the light brown manila folder. Her stomach clenched and glanced at her nails and back to the luminous screen that showed how much longer she had to go. The couple left and she stared at her watch.
It was a quarter to nine.
She hoped that he wouldn't have company. She doubted it since this was during the week so hopefully many of London's potential 'Bond girls' were all safely at home. Still then again this was Bond she was talking about.
The elevator door opened and she immediately walked down the hallway, her heels no sound as she strolled across thick carpet. She reached his door and was about to knock when the door opened to reveal her very amused looking blue eyed agent.
"You could have called," he said smoothly opening the door wider, "Come in,"
"Thank you James," she said shortly.
She passed and glanced around the room. It was rather modern and spacious with many whites, blacks and greys. The television was on, providing the only light beside an elegant lamp that rested on beside a leather couch. She stared at the soccer match which was obviously a replay from last years World Cup and then back to him.
He was dressed casually, a white loose fitting shirt and a pair of old jeans – the clothing of a man content to have a night in front of the television drinking and watched sports and yet even as he stood there she couldn't see that. Nothing about him said relax, he was still tense, his blue-eyes harsh and cold yet with an ounce of curiosity.
"Do you want a drink?" he said quickly walking over to his liquor cabinet.
"No," she said, "But you may,"
He turned sharply eyes narrowing, his hand now gripping a glass.
"What is it?"
His tone is aggressive, assertive. She stared back calmly at him and walked wordlessly over to him, handing him the file. He took it uncertainly, eyes still on her. She remained a blank front and glanced briefly down at the file and back up him.
He let go of the glass and opened the file. Her stomach twisted and she had the urge to hug him. In a moment his façade, his tough exterior vanished. She saw it in his eyes, those usually harsh unforgiving eyes that now displayed anger, sadness, and a sense of hopelessness.
He breathed in and took a step back, looking back at her. He looked like a little kid, a boy lost and alone. She watched him for a moment before ordering him to sit. He conceded and she reached for the scotch and poured a glass.
She walked to him passing him the glass and sitting in a soft armchair as he slumped against the couch, the file in one hand, the scotch in the other. He took a long drink of the amber liquid, looking down at the file before looking back at her.
"She was pregnant?"
The words were heavy, the air seemed still and she half wished she had never came in the first place.
"We believe so," she said, "If it even her –"
She isn't sure why she said the last comment. Of course it was Vesper. She shouldn't have come here. This was cruel.
"Why?" he asked breathlessly, draining the scotch, glancing at the floor. The single word says so much – why did this have to happen? Why couldn't Vesper have lived? Why was she even telling him this?
"I'm not sure," said M, "But you needed the truth,"
It truly breaks her heart to see him like this. Because she could see him as a father, could see him pulling up beside a large house in the country-side in an Aston Martin, a little dark-haired blue-eyed girl racing to meet him, and Vesper standing by the front door holding a small bundle of blankets a tuft of white blonde hair evident. She could see it, and she almost wished that it could have come true for him.
She was inclined to tell him he would've been a great father but she knew better.
"I'm sorry for your loss," she said, her voice warming as she watched on sadly as her youngest double-O stared blankly at the file, "Truly sorry,"
He nodded, "I know," he looked at her, "Can you please leave?"
She didn't need to be told twice. She rose and left quickly. She stole one last glance at him before leaving. As she shut the door she heard a small sob and then the sound of glass breaking. She stood there for a moment and sighed.
What she had done was unbelievably cruel and yet she couldn't see her self not telling him. And as she walked back to the elevator she knew that the despite the fact she did want him to have a family, to be happy, she knew that it was never going to be the case. He was blessed with suck.
And the other thing was, well, she didn't truly want him to have it because that would mean losing him.
And she had already lost enough family.