Disclaimer: Still saving up to but James Bond.

Author's Note: A short piece on a young Daniel Craig Bond at his parent's funeral.

Grey Skies and Black Jackets

The sky was grey.

Heavy clouds hung in the air, smothering the land underneath, blocking out the warm rays of the promised sun. The small country road which led to the small church was littered with orange and red leaves; strong gusts of icy wind sending them into a spirited frenzy every now and then. The weatherman had promised a warmer day, a bright and cheerful day; the weatherman had been wrong.

Not that James Bond minded it being dark and cloudy.

It was fitting.

The day he attended his parents' funeral, the day he gave up his life and moved to London with his Aunt.

Yes, it was fitting that the sky was grey.

He sat on the back seat of his Aunt's Bentley, fiddling with his shirt buttons, occasionally looking up at the threatening clouds. Every now and then he'd catch his Aunt glancing back at him as they drove slowly to the funeral. And every time he caught her eye, he'd look away, blink a few times, fighting back the tears.

He would take a few deep breathes when these tears threatened to fall. He tried to calm himself down, reign in his emotions. Sometimes he'd bite his lip, and tap franticly against the leather of the car seats. Then once his tears were buried, he'd resume fiddling with his shirt buttons.

Eventually the car pulled up beside the small stone church after the long drive. His Aunt immediately left but James remained stuck to the car seat, peering out of the car windows at the mass of black that stood in front of the church. He shrank against his seat.

His Aunt appeared at his door and opened it.

"Come on, James," she said softly.

He looked up at her blankly, shaking his head stubbornly. Getting out would mean they were actually gone. They weren't goneā€¦he clenched his hands and shifted away from the open door.

"James, please," she said, urgency laced in her voice.

She held out a gloved hand.

Biting his lip he reached out tentatively. Taking hold of the old worn leather that clung to his Aunt's hand he scooted over to the door, clambering out of the car. The car door was closed with a thud and a cool wind blew by ruffling James' neat blond hair.

She led him towards the funeral party and with every step James wished he could tear away and run. He wasn't sure where he'd go, all that he didn't want to be here, on this cloudy autumn day. He didn't want to be surrounded by this mass of black which seem to swallow him up as they parted and greeted James and his Aunt.

As they spoke to him in soft voices, expressing their condolences, James felt his stomach twist. He barely knew anyone here; in fact he was fairly sure he didn't know anyone. Their words meant nothing to him. But maintaining a clear face, a strong face, he replied in a soft voice, wishing silently that they'd all be silent.

The service soon started and James stared blankly at the two wooden coffins, unsure on how to feel, his mind not registering the priest's words. Seeing their resting places, seeing it - he blinked, his eyes watering. He glanced at his Aunt, her eyes red. A quick look around the rest of the guests showed no tears, just solemn faces. He swallowed; if they were in Switzerland then this would be different.

If they were in Switzerland, thought James bitterly, his parents would still be alive and he'd be playing with his friends. He looked back to the coffins, and as they began to lower into the earth, he wiped his face on his jacket sleeve, blinking as tears obscured his vision.

A hand rested on his right shoulder and he jumped slightly. Glancing up he saw a tall man with dark blond hair and an unreadable face. He couldn't place the man from the arrival crowd or even from his memory but pushed it out of his mind as the man handed him a white handkerchief.

James nodded his head in thanks and went back to his musings.

Icy wet drops fell from the heavens as the last words were said. James welcomed the rain; he welcomed its refreshing cool touch. As everyone started to leave, he remained by his parents grave, a silent guard.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there but soon his Aunt pulled him away to the car, and as the Bentley drove away from the small church which lay in a field of stones the skies begun to clear.

He looked back at their graves as they slowly vanished from sight and whispered, "Bye Mum."

He sniffed.

"Bye Dad."

He blinked, the tears falling freely.

"I'll try and be good."


Author's Note:Please do share your thoughts.