To hold a pen is to be at war –Voltaire
With hands that spilt blood and created discord better than Eris herself could have, James Bond clenched the fancy Cartier pen M had handed him and carefully surveyed the slip of paper before his eyes. Currently he had two cracked ribs courtesy of the local brand of terrorist who was now lying face down in ditch somewhere.
"Bond, are you still listening?" M surveyed her agent with a look of bemusement. In fact, as she had been speaking a medic had been stitching together a rather nasty wound on Bond's arm which was still slowly oozing blood.
Was he listening?
No. No I am not.
Bond kept his biting words past the tip of his tongue and deep within his throat. They would do him little good now. Once M was on a tirade like this it would take an international crisis to veer her attention away from the subject of her displeasure, which was currently him and his loose morals apparently. Rather than being congratulated for taking down a human trafficking ring single handed, he was being lectured on one of his indiscretions that had taken place nearly sixteen years ago.
"Whether or not you sign that paper, things will be different," M decided to wrap up her speech since none of it was reaching the ears it was meant for, "That girl is your flesh and blood and though I am well aware you have not a clue what that means, rest assure it is significant enough that I am putting you on probation for the next three months until the situation is sorted."
"Three months?" Bond was already thinking about vacation destinations, M could tell.
"If you're taking responsibility then do it properly. If not, then make sure some else is." It was M's parting advice.
After a second longer of hesitation, Bond signed that single sheet of paper and set the pen that sealed his fate back upon the deep wood of embassy's desk. Now it would no longer ever be just about James Bond, no from now on his name would forever be linked to that of another's.
His name upon that birth certificate tied his very soul to yet another string. Another restraint.
"Very well then," M nodded and James wondered if imagined seeing approval flicker in her eyes for a second, "Report back to me in three months time."
"Ma'am," Bond nodded forlornly as she swept out the room as though she were royalty.
Once his arm was no longer dripping blood all over the fine carpets of the British Embassy in Prague, James pulled on a fresh shirt and suit. As a man involved in intelligence, he rarely saw the fruits of his labour directly. Usually the information he found was funnelled through the large bureaucracy and the glory was given to another. Or, if he assassinated some piece of filth, he never particularly cared about the effects of that death.
Today he got to see all of it firsthand.
It wasn't just his information that took down a human trafficking ring, nor his gun. It was him.
He found the shipping containers full of half dead women. It was him who had assured them they were safe until back up arrived. It was him who had witness their eyes, their eyes that looked more hollow then his.
"Ah, 007, M informed me of your situation." Some grunt whose name James could never remember ushered him into a small corner room, "she hasn't spoke to anyone yet and the medic says she has no immediate life threatening injuries."
Just many, many hidden ones.
"This is her missing person's report from London and any other information we could find."
With a curt nod at the man, James accepted the file and entered the room and shut the door behind him. If took him a few seconds to locate her. A small and incredibly thin girl with large wide eyes and ragged hair who seemed blend into the tope wallpaper despite her shockingly pale skin studied him carefully. With her lips pressed shut, it was like she was trying to hold back a flood. Bond for a second remembered the tapes he had seen as a boy showing the freed prisoners from Auschwitz after the National Socialists fell; those men and women were the frightening remnants of human cruelty, very much like his daughter was. The girl before him did not look frightened or hysterical; she seemed numb, as though this surreal place she was in was nothing more than a passing hallucination.
This strange, pitiful creature was his daughter.
What could he do but pour himself a drink?
Settled with a large dose of scotch, he flipped open her file. For her part, the girl, apparently named Kendra, sat hunched up as far away from him as was possible. Distrust was as clear as day in her eyes and Bond decided not to make a move yet.
"Kidnapped three years ago..." he skimmed through the pages that made up most of Kendra's life, "Mother dead...High functioning Asperger's?" he surveyed her again carefully before returning to the task at hand, "And, well, well, well you're a genius." It seemed she had graduated high school three years ago upon the eve of her thirteenth birthday. Impressive.
He liked to think that bit came from his. Then again so did the behavioral problems.
"I would offer you a drink but I if I move too close you I have a feeling you'll have no hesitation in scratching my eyes out." Bond had to admit, the way she glared at him was peculiar. Rather like how he glared at himself in the mirror every morning. She nodded slowly, assuring him that she had no faith in as of yet, "In that case there was lovely arm chair outside where I will wait with this bottle scotch. The sooner you come out the more coherent I will be."
Before he could leave her heard a fascinating a sound from behind him. It was a soft bell, quiet but musical and very, very faint, "Who are you?"
"Bond. James Bond." Then he looked at her thoughtfully, "I would have thought that would be obvious by now."
The look of sheer fury on her face made his lips pull around the corners in wry smile.
Alrighty folks, this is my spin on the whole 'James Bond's child' genre which seems to have formed. Hopefully its worth reading.
This story is going to be a series of oneshots depicting the life of James Bond and his daughter. Every chapter will probably be a scene long. Their struggles, together and apart and how somebody like Bond could ever become a somewhat decent parent and caregiver, especially to such an odd and special child. This is meant to be Daniel Craig's Bond.
Let me know what you think. Rate/review/rant/criticize.