regret is unprofessional

General idea for this thread < have a read first

Past the first door, there’s a waiter that offers you a complimentary glass.

You take one (or not if you’re a teetotaler) and you join the milling crowd of smartly dressed men and women in the jazzed-up room. 

There is a food buffet spread on tables across one side of the hall. There is also wine and stronger liqueur to be purchased at the bar. 

M has yet to arrive.

Her dress was simple and clean, a modest deep red with small white accents along the hem. M carried a small purse with her in case the worst happened. The chances of that were minimal, yet she chose to be prepared.

The glass of champagne she received upon arriving bubbled and she took a small sip as she entered. A respectful silence dominated the room for a moment, save for the music, before a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth and she gave a small nod to the gathered agents.

None of them needed to stop on her account, but she was immensely pleased with the respect. 

She scanned the room with a focused and intent gaze before the smile remained on her lips. She hardly allowed herself time to relax and let down her guard, but parties were those occasions when she let herself lower her guard.

The party was arguably one of the safest places in England.

It doesn’t occur to Tiago that his flexible skillset provides him with a multitude of opportunities to excel within MI6. He simply believes that M is indulging him.

“Quartermaster?” Tiago’s gaze drops down onto the notepaper on M’s desk. There’s some scrawling handwriting there that causes Mother to laugh in reflection. Tiago frowns slightly.

“I’ll meet him. Gladly. What does he need fixing? Cars, motorbikes…  or is it computer work he wants me to assist him with?”

He pauses as M dials a few numbers on the phone before her, making use of her web of connections. Tiago feels his mouth growing dry again. It’s very attractive that. M is like a supreme schoolmistress, pulling all the strings, and Rodriguez feels like a new boy on his first day at school. This is a new world, a new organisation within which he can integrate. Learn. Consolidate.

“I’ll always be serving you though, won’t I?”

Tiago is hopeful for an affirmative. He feels comfortable and happy to be assured that it is her whom he will be striving to please. The woman who adopted him, who saved him from a rough life of living on the streets.

“You’re my M. I won’t ever forget what you’ve-”

Rodriguez pauses as the door behind him opens.

A short, balding man walks forward into the office quickly, head bowed slightly. A collection of papers wrapped around a small leather dossier is tucked under his arm.

“Ma’am.” He tips his chin, and turns smartly upon the young Spaniard still seated on his chair. 

“So this is the young whipper-snapper, eh? He doesn’t look like you one bit.”

Q peers fondly over at M’s adopted son. Quietly observing the young computer genius dear Emilia had been telling him about. The older gentleman and the Head of MI6 enjoyed a close friendship that spanned decades of professional partnership. They trusted each other wholly. 

The fact that his gadgets rarely came back hardly seemed to bother him any longer, though he jokingly reminded M that, while the double-oh agents had a standing licence to kill, it did not mean they had a licence to damage his gadgetry.

M’s lips quirked up into a smile at his words and she rose from her seat, coming around her desk to stand next to Q. He was still taller than she was, even in his advanced age, and their working relationship was such that she deferred to him when his expertise held importance over her own.

Turning her attention to Tiago, M’s smile turned soft and she offered, “I’ll let Q enlighten you as to what he does.”

Undoubtedly, the offer to expound on his work caused Q to brighten and his bare formality chipped away until it was regular shop-talk.

“To put it simply, I keep the agents alive,” he explained. “Gadgetry is my area of expertise, and I am resigning myself to the fact that most of the agents can’t operate these new computers.”

As computers started to shrink in size, popping up in homes and around MI6, some vague part of Q thought that more people would have the initiative to use the available technology. The burgeoning incompetence he encountered, unfortunately, warned him against getting his hopes too high. 

Q fished into one of the pockets of his suit jacket and withdrew a small device. “While this is rudimentary in design, and inactive, this is a prototype for a bomb delivery system.” The pride in his voice was unparalleled, but humility was never too far from his pride. “We cannot take credit for improvising explosives, but delivery is another matter.”

“The last thing I really do is modify and improve automobiles for a variety of missions. Modifications are as simple as bullet proof glass or as difficult as tank treads.”

The tank tread modifications was something else entirely. Rough drawings and prototypes left a lot to be desired, as evidenced by the piles of crumpled paper in and around the waste bin near his desk. They lacked the sufficient snow this time of year to test his progress, anyway, so Q was stuck in a rut.

He coughs to catch Em’s attention, breaking his voyeuristic revere.

“Well. Shall we?”

He offers her his arm, and at the answering grin on Miss Taylor’s face, the double-oh knows he’s onto a winner.

The pair make their way leisurely towards the breakfast buffet laid out on long tables covered with white cloth in the dining lounge of the small boat. Not too many other people trouble the passengers as they slide into their seats.

Tiago picks his way through his usual Continental breakfast: croissants with a swirl of butter and jam, a bowel full of fruit and a steaming cup of tea. He frowns in thought.

“Have you given any further thought to your cover?”

As Emilia continues to develop her alias, Tiago pauses to watch her throat move as she speaks. The young woman swallows rather a lot in his presence. Coupled with her lighter breathing, the rosy tinge to her cheeks… Tiago sets down his fork, skewered slice of cut melon left untouched.

“Are there any finer details you’ve yet to divulge?”

Em asks the question as if she already knows the answer.

Tiago raises an eyebrow. “Yes.” He answers quite simply. “The reason your father despises me so, is because we are lovers.”

He doesn’t break eye contact with his mission partner.

“It makes sense…” Tiago continues. “The first time Señor Martínez met Miss Haywood at the gala in Seattle, there was fantastic chemistry of course, but far too much antagonism between the couple’s fathers to allow for anything other than shared drinks and mildly flirtatious conversation. It took the acquisition of the Alleanza pharmaceutical business by the Martínez family for your father to show an interest in his daughter’s… object of affections.”

Tiago pauses briefly to sip his tea.

“The merger increased the fortunes of the Spanish family exponentially. With a majority stake in the European drug market now in the hands of a businessman from Granada, Mr Haywood at last began to see the inheritor of such wealth in a whole new light. It was merely good practice to set up his daughter with the young Spanish stallion.

Juan inclines his head. “Miss Haywood.”

He smiles at her returning nod of acknowledgement. The cover stories are almost complete. Now for the finishing touches.

“Oil is a new sector of the energy market which your father wishes to acquire a slice of. The Soviets are almost entirely cut off from the older generations in the business world. An irreconcilable difference in politics, mostly. They did not accept the advances of either of our parents. So, we were sent in their stead to make contact and hopefully sign a deal. Fresh blood, as they say…”

Juan laughs.

“This of course means that General Godunov and his political advisors will deem us impressionable young folk. Naïve. Easily misled.” The Spaniard hums, his dark eyes dilating in thought. “I think we can use this to our advantage…”

A waiter cleans their table of plates a few minutes later.

~~ As afternoon sun sinks into warm evening heat, Tiago leads Emilia out onto the top deck for their second dance rehearsal. It is the final night on the boat on their voyage to Hamburg. Not long now, before the pair would have to perform in front of hundreds in the General’s palaces.

The stars start to appear as Señor Martínez takes Miss Haywood’s hand, once more placing it over his heart. It is the first position, the introduction to the Tango.

The Spaniard winks at his English partner. Now to fully sink into their adopted roles. ~~

Or does she need to be that professional in order to maintain their covers?

Emilia takes the fact that Tiago’s continuing to talk to heart, memorizing specific parts of their covers. There’s bound to be time as they continue their journey to Minsk, yet it’s largely beneficial to retain vital bits of information. The tender growling of her stomach fads as she skewers a small piece of strawberry with her fork. She dabs at her lips with a folded napkin and looks across at her partner as she mentally repeats details.

She’s heard horrible stories of assignments going tits up because covers weren’t entirely solidified. Most times, the slips were quite erroneous and detrimental to the cover as a whole. Smaller slips, though she hardly heard about those, were easier to cover up if the partner was right next to the agent in question.

Still, that hardly made Em comfortable, and she wanted to make their covers as airtight as possible.

His use of her cover helps her slip into that role and she replies, “Señor Martinez.”

The corners of her mouth quirk up in a small smile at his words. Deception. Using preconceived notions to their advantage. Her heart thrums in her chest, yet for an entirely different reason. The gravitas of the mission is growing clearer with each passing moment and doubt momentarily clenches at her mind before she pushes it away. Doubt compromises missions more than fumbling over covers or incorrect introductions.

The two will return to England together.

--

The soft breeze on the upper deck minimally weakens the evening heat. It’s hardly oppressive, but it lends itself to the atmosphere. The material of her dress measurably clings to her skin as she looks at Tiago Juan’s back before she steps to the side, hand sliding off his chest as she moves. he reaches for her as she moves around to his front and she turns.

“It’s fine Mothe- M. Honestly. I could have killed myself so many times on the race track with my Harley, so-” Tiago pauses.

M doesn’t have to say anything to communicate her feelings regarding her adopted son’s reckless activities on the Harley-Davidson she once bought him as a gift. Having said that, the prize money her son brought home from a drag race to spend on the family for Christmas one year had been a sweet gesture.

Tiago looks up at his Boss and sees her sitting upright, elbows on the table, fingertips steepled together. There is something so incredibly… authoritative about that posture. Tiago feels his mouth going dry; dropping his head again for fear that the expression on his face might be misinterpreted.

You want that. You want to own that one day.

Tiago shuts his eyes. He still hears… something, in his head sometimes. It’s almost a goading little hiss tucked up in the back of his brain. Just a whisper. Of what could, what might, be.

The Spaniard looks back up at the Head of MI6, and there’s a very determined, fierce look in his eyes.

“I’m ready M. I will not let you down. Whatever position you think I am capable of fulfilling for you, I am more than happy to try it. I… I just want to be the best Agent you’ve ever had.”

Rodriguez remains silent for a very long time as he watches M mull over the possibilities. There’s a warm, sincere smile on her face as she looks upon him. The Spaniard can’t help but remain serious, solemn in his posture and facial expression, as he waits for M to make her decision on what part of her organisation she can see him fitting best into.

He risks his life for money. I’ve had agents do as much on a regular basis.

The corners of her mouth quirk up in the faintest smile as she draws her hands away from one another, setting them on the desk in front of her. On the desk, in and among the littered papers, stands a familiar letterhead with a hastily written memo. She picked up the paper and the smile pulled further at her mouth. Scanning the memo once, laughing to herself at the ever familiar handwriting, she brought her attention to Tiago once again and mulled over his words.

“While I am confident you will flourish as a field agent, our Quartermaster has been seeking younger blood,” she offered. “Q is a good man, and he’s been in the position since I was an agent.”

M reached for the phone and looked across at her adoptive son. She’d be lying to herself if she hadn’t thought of directing Tiago to double-oh status. His abilities were on par with agents who served in the Royal Navy and the SAS, yet the decision rested upon his shoulders. Her fingers wrapped around the receiver and she picked it up, hitting the corresponding numbers in quick succession.

One of the agents who worked in Q Branch picked up the phone and M said, “Have him come up here.”

The other end of the line went dead after she heard the agent calling for the Quartermaster. M shook her head before hanging up the phone and looking at Tiago.

The pair quietly continue to walk on down the corridor. M is surveying her domain with a slightly disinterested eye, but Tiago is still full of wonder at everything he sees. While there is less activity up here than downstairs, the odd agent still wanders occasionally past the pair on their tour of the building. Through the glass panels either side of the central walkway, Tiago can see clerks busy in their offices, typing up reports to send off to the press or governmental aides. Perhaps the Prime Minister is preparing an investigation into the availability of all unorthodox measures at his disposal in the fight against Terror? Tiago knows that the intel MI6 gathers from its prisoners informs the decisions made by the top politicians sitting in Britain’s Security Council, COBRA. In turn, they informed the movements of Britain’s Army; Navy, Airforce and Infantry stationed throughout the world. Now Tiago is part of this marvellous machine – sworn to protect his adopted Country against all the perils that threatened to tear it apart. It is a Homecoming.

“Good morning, M.”

M’s secretary is a pretty woman. Older than Rodriguez by about ten or fifteen years, but still…. Miss Moneypenny. Hm. Tiago walks around her desk a little, glancing down at that pencil skirt. Admiring shapely legs. He gazes for the longest time into her face. She has a sincere expression; a real professional that loves her job clearly. Tiago bows his head before this woman also. He always preferred deference when it came to the dames.

A slight cough indicates M is ready for him. The youngest recruit to MI6 looks up at Mother waiting for him by the door to her office. Colour flushes his cheeks at the realisation that he is holding things up. The 20 year old apologises profusely to Moneypenny, before following M into her room.

The two ladies exchange a knowing look, before M closes the door behind her son.

M’s office is a picture of ordered calm. There’s a clock ticking away in a corner, much like the grandfather clock in the Clarke family’s living room. Wooden chestnut drawers line the edges of the office, with a bookcase not too far from the window. A lacquered coffee table sits in the centre of the room, but it is to the chair opposite M’s grand desk that Emilia guides her son.

Tiago takes his seat slowly, eyes still drinking in all the details of the room. A pile of letters sits on the ancient desk, next to an old-style corded phone and lamp. Tiago laughs as M’s comments on the inordinate amount paperwork she has to sift through. I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t like it either Mother. 

“Perils of the top job?”

His humour melts quickly away as M clears her throat.

Too often did the risks outweigh the rewards. The realm was unshakable and there were people who did anything to protect her, yet the wish to live often outweighed the duty one felt to Queen and Country.

She lost some of her field agents to their want to live, though she hardly felt the need to blame them. Self-preservation marked greater qualities that were hardly reserved for such employment. M, at times, had lacked these qualities until she reached an age where she’d rather aid other field agents and hand out assignments rather than receive them.

She cleared her throat at his question and her lips pressed into a thin line. There was hardly an easy way to detail the perils of the job, let alone what the recruitment process fully entailed. Perhaps she’d start at the base of the issue and work from there.

“The highest peril is death,” she stated. “From there, it is physically and mentally taxing. Anything you encounter in the recruitment process, be it hand-to-hand combat or the physical evaluation, is little more than child’s play to what you might encounter on missions.”

There was hardly any reason for her to beat around the bush. She knew that Tiago would do well in MI6. There were vacant double-oh positions, though she wondered how 004 managed to keep coming back, given how clumsy the agent was. M rested her elbows on her desk and tented her fingers in consideration, pressing the tips of her index fingers to her lips.

“I love it, Mother. I want to see it all…”

As the pair climb the marble staircase, Tiago glances up – eyes caught on the strange lighting suspended in the high vaulted ceiling above. It looks like a stack of Lego bricks falling from the sky, matching the turquoise building blocks at the front of the building. Light shines out from the strange stalagmite-like lighting suspension, illuminating the huge opening hall.

“Q-branch?” M’s questions tickle his curiosity. “Hmm, yes. Perhaps later. I think I’d like to see where you work first though. I used to think… I used to try and imagine you sitting there, with your cup of tea, and-”

Tiago pauses abruptly at the look M gives him. For yes, she is M now. Not Mother. The youngest recruit to MI6 dips his head.    

“Ma’am.”

He practises the word. It’s been quite a while since he last used it. Ever since he’d been adopted into the Clarke household some 6 years ago, he’d been told he could drop the formality once shown to Emilia at a little trinkets shop in the tourist areas of London. The young 14 year old illegal immigrant had been trying very hard to make an impression at the time; he was just an unwanted orphan then. Now he is her son, the emotional connection is there – but still, this is her place of work. She is the Boss. Rodriguez won’t forget it.

The pair of them finally reach the top of the stairs and pause as a tall, dark-haired man walks to stand in front of M. He’s a well-built man in his early thirties, and as soon as he starts to speak, the accent identifies him clearly as Scottish.

“M. I’m here to inform you we managed to retrieve Agent Riley from the ground crew that went in to clean up after Johannes was terminated. Medical are looking after him now. I know he was close to you…”

Tiago watches the newcomer closely in her shadow. The Scot appears to be more senior in rank than any of the other agents that they have passed by so far. The Spaniard’s eyes narrow as he makes a slow appraisal of the older gentleman. He’s got a rough edge to him, slightly growly with his baritone when he enunciates his vowels. There’s probably a drinking problem there, given the way he seems to lick the upper row of teeth before he launches into his next round of speech. Always thirsty for a beer, most likely. Probably not able to stop once he gets started. Rodriguez narrows his eyes, lips twisting into a semi-satisfied smirk. How can he feel intimidated when he reads people as he does?

Mother thanks her double-oh for the message, her tone solemn and firm but clearly pleased that one of her agents has been brought home safe and sound. Rodriguez likes it that she seems to genuinely care.

They continue to walk on, past several meeting rooms and interviewing areas, taking a further flight of stairs until they reach the upper levels.

True to Mother’s word, there is a wide panel of glass that serves as a giant window up here, one that opens out onto the front of the building. Overlooking the Thames.

Tiago walks up to the window alongside M, hands absent-mindedly sliding to rest in his pockets. The suit that he wears is as smart as any of the other men in her employment. Rodriguez sighs, letting go of whatever he was feeling earlier as he simply admires the view.

London is a city that held such high expectations of itself. A Financial Capital of the world, and yet at times it seemed barely able to stand with all the weight of the architecture and history that paved its streets. The businesses both illicit and regulated that caused its millions of workers to run themselves into an early grave-

Mother’s hand on his arm stirs Tiago from his daydream. 

He looks down at the steely, yet gentle woman standing beside him. Her smile is one of great pride, he assumes. There’s a secret emotion in her eye as she observes her son taking in all that she too sees in the world, and admires.

There were days when her office was arguably the quietest place in the building. She and the Chief of Staff operated on highly amicable terms, understanding that each had a specific area of expertise and thus operated accordingly. Those days allowed her to organize her thoughts and reflect on what went right and what had gone wrong. Though she would never admit it aloud, those days were some of the most boring.  There was a part of her that never reflected her age.

No matter how she advanced in life, she was, first and foremost, an agent. Boring days still carried a sense of stagnation, even though boring days always meant a level of paperwork.

M cleared her thoughts as they reached the landing, her expression changing ever so slightly as she watched an agent approach them. He’d been one of the few sent on a recent retrieval mission. As unfortunate as some of the missions were, retrieving agents was a common practice in the intelligence agency. Outposts and various stations were frequently terminated for varied reasons, and the agents working at those specific regions were retrieved.

She breathed a small sigh and responded, “Thank you. I know that was a particularly difficult termination.”

The weight lifted off her shoulders was slight, albeit welcomed, as they continued past meeting rooms and offices. Countless more agents moved between the meeting rooms and occasionally stopping in offices, exiting with a few folders in tow. The importance of files and information in folders fluctuated throughout the years. During times of conflict, newspapers provided substantial information and the files supplemented and expounded on the information in newspapers. The folders and files served greater importance during times of relative peace. Agents made a path as they ascended the stairs, only a bare number following them to the upper floors.

Her short heels minutely clicked against the marble floor as she stood next to Tiago. While the view was arguably one of the most trivial aspects of her work, it was something she enjoyed.

The view reminded her, on more than one occasion, that she needed to step back. Immersing herself constantly in her work bogged her down, especially on the more hectic days. She took great advantage of the view in her office when she needed to organize her thoughts or reflect on recent occurrences. M’s predecessor hadn’t been able to enjoy such views, except when he was able to travel.

She directed her thoughts away from her memories and softly put her hand on Tiago’s arm before stepping away from the window. Leading the way down the rest of the corridor, she barely fought the near smile quirking at the corners of her mouth as they got closer to her office. M opened the door to the antechamber of her office and she was greeted by a smile from her secretary.

“Good morning, M.”

M returned the smile and responded, “Good morning, Miss Moneypenny.”

M and Tiago walked through antechamber and opened she opened the door of her office, letting him enter before she did. She pulled the door closed behind them and made her way over to her desk.

The padded folder she carried joined the other pieces of paperwork on her desk and she sighed. “I always hated paperwork,” she mused.

Paperwork was one of the few things that kept her from pursuing a strict path of desk work. She was fine when she had to fill out the occasional report or debrief, but strict paperwork served as the bane of her existence when she was an agent. She supposed it grew slightly more tolerable as she aged, but that was hardly any consolation.

Being the Head of the SIS clearly has its perks. Tiago opens the door for Mother himself when their personal transport arrives, dipping his head as he lets her get in. He then walks around the back of the black cab, and takes his place beside her on the back seats.

A plastic cover separates the passengers from the driver in front. It affords M and Tiago some privacy. Still, the Spaniard keeps an eye on the man, a Pakistani by the looks of him, nodding very slightly as the man looks up from his newspaper. Tiago notices the little green book charm swinging from the centre mirror in the middle of the windscreen. A religious man then. This makes Rodriguez feel a bit more confident.

He turns to Mother sitting beside him. She’s so professional, even when she’s sitting in a taxi. Something about her radiates… Authority. Respect.  Tiago has to wonder when the switch happened. Emilia as his Mother had ever been the kind and gentle carer, holding him close to her bosom when he was upset, stroking his hair as she asked him about school.

Never had she been quite as… steely as this. It’s exciting, in all honesty, to see the change. Tiago understands that his Mother is just going through the mental preparations necessary for her to perform her role. The entirety of Britain’s National Security rests on her small shoulders.

She can handle it with ease. Perhaps it’s an innate thing.

Rodriguez bites his lip nervously. “Thank you.” He almost whispers as warm, considering eyes turn onto him. “Thank you for believing in me.” He clarifies, a little louder. One of his hands falls onto M’s own, picking it up and holding it gently.

“I know you didn’t have to do this. I know you could have told me to go off to University, like Natalie. I might have studied languages, perhaps.” 

The Spaniard laughs awkwardly.

It’s been a bit of a running joke, ever since that evening around the dinner table, when Rickie had completely off-the-cuff, asked his older adopted brother what the phrase for “pass the salt” in Spanish was. Of course, Tiago had replied immediately, and then scowled at his younger sibling’s clumsy pronunciation. No, Rodriguez didn’t have the patience to be a good languages teacher. He thrived off more -immediate- action.

Tiago squeezes Emilia’s hand gently. “No, I’m glad, I’m so happy you think I can be useful to you. Really, I…”

It’s almost embarrassing, but M’s son cannot help but be a little emotional.

“I honestly… I just want to serve my country well. I want you to be proud of me.” 

I could have your job one day.  

He closes his eyes, teeth gently grinding against each other as that soft voice hisses in his head. Oh, he has an ego, Tiago is well aware of it. But, he will do his utmost to keep on top of it. Mother deserves that, at least. 

All mention of the anti-psychotics he’s been taking since his teens have been wiped from the notes contained within his medical evaluation. Her doing.

~~

Watching as the other men and women in MI6 defer to M as she walks through the building is another moment of pride for the youngest recruit. Mother is special.

A young man in his early thirties steps forward, handing M a padded folder with a list of the latest bulletins for her perusal. “Ma’am.” The operative bows his head slightly, before walking off.

Amidst all the hussle and bustle, the pair climb an open staircase, heading towards the offices in the upper levels of the building. Of course there are lifts installed, but M seems more willing for them to walk, glancing back at Tiago every so often as she leads the way.

Her agents came back in one piece, though the gadgetry was frequently absent upon their return.

Emilia organized the thoughts in her mind before her expression shifted. The masks she wore varied in strength and definition. The mask she wore for her job had developed into more of an armor. The armor itself strengthened over the years, growing more impervious to nicks and scratches. When she glanced over at Tiago, though, the nicks in her armor grew more apparent. Her adoptive son had become such an important part of her life and she realized how much he reminded her of herself when she was younger.

She smiled at his thanks before an almost wry smile quirked at the corners of her mouth at the mention of university. Natalie was suited for academia, and she had an inclination that her youngest son would follow.

“I doubt you would have enjoyed it,” she responded. “While it does have its benefits, university is not suited for everyone.”

Her husband was a vast supporter of university, but M had encountered people who had never had an ounce of higher education. They performed well, sometimes better than peers who had gone through the higher levels of academia. Some of them even end up like my husband she mused as the soft squeeze from Tiago brought her from her thoughts. She squeezed his hand in return and her heart swelled with pride. She hardly doubted that he would do his job and serve his country well.

The taxi stopped in front of headquarters and M schooled her features, save for the tiniest hint of a smile that settled at the corners of her mouth.

The thrum of activity reached familiar heights when they entered MI6. Agents paused for a moment, largely out of reverence and respect, before resuming their activities. The seeming chaos operated with a vast undercurrent of order. Movements had purpose and every agent in operation had his or her own direct order and hardly deviated from the set mission. 

She opened the padded folder she received and scanned the list. The debriefings were nearly typical, considering the amount of missions that were conducted daily. Meetings largely remained absent from the list and she silently made a note to check with her secretary. Frequently meetings were added after she received the padded folder. Transcripts of pertinent information stared at her from the padded folder as she set the list back inside the folder and closed it.

The familiar marble staircase in front of them, almost protected by the seal on the floor in front of it, beckoned. M took the first step on the staircase and looked back at Tiago momentarily before she started her ascent. Other agents walked on either side of the grand staircase, going in different directions once they reached the landing.

M wanted to show her adoptive son each part of MI6. There was a lot to cover, especially for one day, but she wanted to show him as much as possible.

Today is the day. Tiago’s swapped his leather jacket and denim jeans for a black suit and tie, with matching Crockett & Jones shoes. Mother wants him to look his best. He wants to look his best.

She’s going to bring him into her world. The world Tiago had glimpsed several years ago on a little floppy disc, neglectfully discarded on the kitchen coffee table, one Saturday afternoon…

The dark-haired 17 year old had been home alone, with nothing but the disc and a large computer sitting upstairs in the family study. It was a small room stuffed with books and magazines, a space which M’s husband liked to claim as his own most days, jealously lording over the four walls as if it were his own property. The covers of some of the books smelt faintly of tobacco.

Tiago had pulled open one of the drawers on the cabinet attached to the computer desk  one day to find the remains of ash sitting in an old-style tobacco pipe. A relic of an era before the Great War.

Some men never learnt how to grow up.

Tiago knew how to infiltrate his adopted father’s space though. He also knew how to run the old Commodore 64c system far better than the old man. Back in the 1980s, everyone had to do their own little bit of programming. Home computers were basic and clunky, yet came alive if you knew what string to put into the waiting C:\> prompt. 

Intuition guided a lot of his earliest typing.

Rodriguez’s initial knowledge of how to operate computers came from flicking through the “how-to” pages of the men’s magazines; most which came with a section on ICT. It was the latest thing. Mother always encouraged him to read, particularly as her son’s fluency in English grew. The rest evolved out of a natural in-built curiosity, a desire to take things apart and study the minutiae of how a thing worked. Soon, Tiago was submitting his own “how-to” comments to the editor of the men’s magazine. Under a pseudonym of course.

It was a eureka moment. Tiago can still recall it by simply closing his eyes. Slotting the little square-shaped plastic into the waiting floppy disc drive, he had barely a moment to catch his breath before the blue screen shifted, refreshing into a basic word document – headed with the very letters:

MI6 Classified: FOR YOUR EYES ONLY: Briefing for M

Mother was the Head of the British Secret Intelligence Service.

That was her deep, dark secret. The reason for her small quirk of the lips, the casual glimmer of interest in her eye as she watched her dark-haired, wild child work it out-

Fixing motorbikes and coming home late at night, sneaking into his room at 4am in the morning was no more now than child’s play. Tiago had moved into a far bigger arena.

Perhaps her husband knew, but Rodriguez doubted any of her biological children did. Maybe Natalie and little Rickie thought their mother worked for the Government in some sort of civil servant capacity. A smirk lay upon the Spaniard’s face as he read through the rest of the classified information, taking great interest in the titles of the individuals working for Mother. She had Agents apparently: men and women with names conveniently discarded and tagged instead with numbers… 002, 005, 006…

Tiago breathes in deeply as he looks at himself in the mirror. A young 20 year old looks back at him, slightly nervous, but determined to impress.

He hears Emilia’s voice calling him from downstairs. It is to be the last time the young man will step foot in the bedroom of his teenage years. The walls covered in posters of semi-naked girls and Al Pacino.

“Coming, Mother.” His voice carries depth and maturity.

One final adjustment of his tie does it. Tiago nods at himself once, before quietly exiting the room and walking down the stairs to join M at the front door. She’s called a taxi to pick them both up.

The Spaniard smiles as he offers her his arm. The pair walk down the steps at the front of the London house together, stepping onto the pavement below. Tiago is a gentleman, and he will always be whatever it is M requires of him. 

The orphan simply wants her undivided attention.

The reason for her preparedness today, however, was more personal. She was going to show her eldest where she worked.

Emilia had an inkling that he had already known what she did for a few years. Neither of them said anything, but she had carefully watched Tiago. He had the makings of a very skilled agent. He was able to enter and leave buildings without making much sound and he had a keen eye for details. He improved his stealth during his first few years in her home, given that he had unceremoniously fallen into his own bedroom one night. She had heard the commotion, but she hadn’t broached the subject.

Some of the agents at MI6 that strictly answered to her had asked for newer blood. They needed colleagues that were younger, not as wary of the world. Tiago’s past made him wary of the world, but she was confident he’d find a way to use it to his advantage.

Her two eldest children found a way to use their talents to their advantage. Natalie, against her father’s wishes, was at university near Dover. She expressed an interest in writing for a newspaper and Emilia encouraged her wants. The verbal row was one of many between husband and wife, leading to Richard slumbering in one of the chairs in his “office.”

She pulled herself from her thoughts and memories as she turned her attention back to a specific headline. M’s brow furrowed as she read the details, tapping her finger against some of the finer points. She’d have to bring it up with the Chief of Staff, if not one of her best agents. A smile quirked at the corners of her mouth as she mulled over that thought. She had the privilege to be around some of the best agents MI6 had ever sanctioned. They operated with an efficiency no one hoped to match. The Americans were good at what they did, but MI6 was always just a little bit ahead.

“It helps that we get our intel straight from the source,” she mused as she took another sip of her coffee.

M looked at the watch on her wrist and went over to the phone on the kitchen counter. She dialed the number for a taxi, wanting to give her adoptive son a bit more time to get ready.

The importance of the day was hardly lost on her. She remembered the first time she stepped foot into MI6 and looked back on it fondly. Her first assassination mission, the one that settled her into her own double-oh status, was one of her most fond memories. Emilia sighed and finished her coffee as she hung up the phone. Getting lost in her memories hardly served anyone.

Turning her attention back to the matter at hand and she puts her cup in the dishwasher before going toward the bottom of the stairs. She called up for Tiago, smiling when he answered. She grabbed two of the newspapers and her purse before walking to the front door.

Footsteps creaked against the wood of the stairs and the smile at her lips grew. Her work consisted largely of good days with an amount of horrid days, but she had a feeling today was going to be a very good day.

Tiago attempts a little smile. Mother is so kind. She knows just what to say to make him feel better. He feels his heart pound with affection as she declares his safety her chief concern.

The thank you never makes it out of his mouth. Just as the first time in her house on the nearby sofa together, compulsion surges through to his bones, and Tiago grasps M tight. It is a hug that conveys all the feelings he can’t quite put into words. Mother looks over his shoulder at the clock as she runs a hand through his soft, dark hair. She takes care of him effortlessly.

When school is mentioned, Tiago tuts. An annoyed huff of air whistles past his lips. Nothing will change? Somehow, Rodriguez doubts that. The thing about school is, there are just too many eyes and ears and tongues. Kids watched each other. Gossiped. Told the teacher. Tiago does not doubt that, eventually, at some point, all the girls will know of his liking for boys.

He looks down again slightly as M withdraws from the hug, a slow blush creeping up his neck as she asks him the name of the boy he’s supposedly developed a crush on.

“Well, he’s…” An awkward smile appears on his face. “…he’s just a friend really, Mother. I don’t think we, uh… I don’t know.” The teenager frowns. “His name’s Jason.”

M’s arm around his side, hand in the small of his back rubs soothing circles. It’s a similar trick she employs when Rodriguez is visiting his psychiatrist. It calms him down.

Tiago sighs. “It’s ok. I won’t bring him back to the house. I know Father wouldn’t approve…”

His eyes narrow then, and an odd amusement seems to glow in those dark depths as the boy observes M tut herself at the mention of her husband. Rodriguez knows all about the growing indifference shown between Emilia and her partner, something that seems to have only strengthened since M brought the Spaniard into the household. Mr Clarke never really took a liking to the adopted child. Perhaps he would always have his reservations over his wife’s… indulgences.

Tiago bends down, kissing M on the cheek. “Thank you, Mother. I appreciate your concern.” He kisses her other cheek, like a young man from Europe. “I’m sure I can keep things discreet enough from the teachers and from him. Only you will know my secrets.”

Leaning back, a warm, affectionate smile graces the boy’s own lips.

“It’s nice to know I have an ally. Especially… you.”

Mother and son simply gaze at each other for a few seconds. At this late hour all the others are in bed. Rickie, the youngest son, would most likely already be fast asleep in his bed, storybook left half-open on his chest. Tiago chews his lip thoughtfully, pondering on something. Abruptly, the 14 year old chuckles.

M didn’t want Rickie to grow up just yet. He was still her little boy. The smile that quirked at her lips was one full of joy as Tiago told her his friend’s name. The reminder of her husband’s dislike of anything different caused her smile to fall a little and she nearly scoffed.

While she and her husband had yet to have a verbal altercation, Richard was no stranger to removing himself from situations. Frequently, when M stood her ground on an issue she knew better than her husband, he went out to the pub and came back smelling like cigars and alcohol. She waited up for him because she cared enough to not go to sleep without knowing that he was okay. Their arguments, whey they did occur, took place at night when she knew that her children were all asleep. It was hardly something she wanted her children to see.

There was still an innocence to Rickie that she didn’t want to damage. She deeply wanted none of her children to turn out like Richard, but she knew that such a life would keep Rickie safe and relatively sound.

The smile returned to her lips as Tiago’s lips lightly brushed against her cheeks. She wasn’t shocked that he had picked up the custom. It was enough of a frequent occurrence, but there was a swell of pride that welled up within her at his words. M was well aware of the importance of secrets and the deeper importance of the notion of secrecy. Her life was defined by how well she could keep secrets and the price of her knowledge.

Tiago’s secret was one she intended to keep for as long as she was able. Among so many other things, she felt she owed him as much.

Her smile softened as she nodded at his reminder. “Tonight was more exciting than I had anticipated,” she offered by way of some explanation as she made her way to the kitchen

She knew that exciting was a gross understatement, and almost the right word to use, but it rather summed up the evening. M settled her thoughts before opening the medicine cabinet and taking down the two pill bottles. The actions would become routine in a matter of weeks, perhaps sooner, and she would just have to remember until then.

She opened each bottle and tapped out one pill from each bottle into her hand before closing them in succession. M opened the other cabinet after putting the pill bottles away and took down a small glass. She filled it up with water before turning back to face Tiago with a smile.

It had been such a nice escape, and Jason had taken care of him – perhaps in the only way a boy with a secret lust could. Tiago sighs. Now though, he has to go back to her. Time to face the music.

He’s not really aware what the hour is by the time he pushes his way through the front door. Mindless, like a zombie, Rodriguez goes about his usual routines. His usually bright and keen eyes have lost their fire. He’s nervous.

As he makes his way quietly into the living room, he freezes as he spots her standing there with her glass of scotch. Waiting for him by her chair at the window. 

What Mother does next is, perhaps, the only natural thing for someone who loves her child. She crosses the floor and wraps her arms around him, drawing her adopted son tightly to her breast. The sudden shot of emotion in the exchange jolts through the Spaniard’s body, like a bullet. Blinking, he sways slightly on his feet – Emilia’s got him there already, keeping him steady with her hands on his shoulders.

“I want you to know that who you love doesn’t matter. I only care that you find someone who can make you happy, Tiago.”

The orphan pauses, stares into her eyes. Emilia Clarke. Mother. He chews his lip. She still loves him then. Even if…

Rodriguez grits his teeth.

“But. I’m…” He stops. Starts again. “…I’m gay.”

Such a small word. Yet such a powerful one.

Suddenly the teenager is shaking his head.

“But I like girls too Mother, I know I do. I just…uh, I mean, it’s possible, isn’t it?” Tiago struggles, mentally grasping for straws. “To love both. To want both. I… I really don’t agree with these stupid labels. They’re too restrictive-“

And there’s the frustration again, clawing in his chest. Tiago’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. Father didn’t like it. Didn’t like that a queer was in the house. He’d seen the disgust on the old man’s face at the dinner table. From some rational corner of teenager’s mind, Tiago is reminded to slow down, put a lid on his temper. Two minutes pass in silence, as the boy gets a grip on himself. 

Eventually the Spaniard looks down to the floor, in a humbled position.

The smallest smile quirked at the corners of her mouth as she nodded. “It is possible to love both,” she responded. “Wanting to find someone is only natural, and so is discovering your identity.”

Her heart crumbled in her chest as she watched Tiago’s hands clench into fists. She loved her husband, but she hated how traditional he was. Her job at MI6 had served as a major point of contention during the early years of their marriage when he endeavored to tell her that her natural place was in the house. Richard had then tried to insist they sleep in the same bed, which only occurred a few months after they were married. He almost relented on his more traditional notions, but there were issues he never touched.

Issues of masculinity were one of them, which was rather unfortunate.

Tiago’s admission caused her to shake her head and she lightly pushed his chin up with her index finger. “Never apologize for being who you are.” The softest smile settled at her lips as she admitted, “I simply want you to be safe in whatever you choose.”

Newspapers, especially ones in America, were holding reports about a new virus surging in parts of larger cities in the United States. It was touted as a “gay men’s” disease, embroiling the governments in an urgency to prevent outbreaks. She simply wanted all of her children to be safe and happy in life, not bound by labels that only matter for one portion of their lives.

She looked over Tiago’s head at the clock and she moved her hand to smooth his hair. Her children all have school in the morning and her schedule for the next few days consisted of nothing but meetings.

“Now, you’ve got to start getting ready for bed,” she commented. “Nothing at school is going to change.”

Mother’s words, calmly spoken in that curt, authoritative tone, make Tiago’s chest swell with pride. His snigger falters. There’s nothing but a warm smile on the teenager’s face now as he sits upright, back straight at the dining table, gazing out upon his adopted family. Like a little lord.

Natalie finally sinks back into her chair, as she should. Rodriguez smirks, sighing as he helps himself to more paella. He continues to stare at her as he chews on the Spanish cuisine, the crafty smile on his face dimpling his cheeks somewhat as he savours the flavours of home.

Yes. One of my favourite meals. Mother picked paella tonight, and I helped her make it. Because she loves me… so much.

The thoughts racing underneath that mass of dark curls are deeply narcissistic, bordering almost on the obscene. But the boy believes he has an alliance with M. So nothing can hurt him. Mother is the top dog, and since he is the favourite child, that means he can get away with anything-

“I saw Tiago kissing a boy.”

The Spaniard blinks. Natalie’s words, spoken ever so softly, nevertheless lash out with a clinical precision. Tiago’s eyebrows furrow in a deep frown. His mind goes numb for a few seconds. How did she- When did she- Who- The Spaniard shuts his eyes, willing himself to relax.

Hurt, anger, betrayal. All these emotions well up within the 14 year old, and it’s no surprise that a small tear works its way onto his young face. That his step-sister has outed him in such a cruel way at the family dinner table hurts, like nothing he’s ever know before.

It had been a small kiss. A little kiss. Just something he’d shared briefly with a boy called Jason. The English boy had been very kind to him when he’d first started at the secondary school, and Tiago had only done what felt natural at the time. Jason let him borrow his shirt during a P.E class. It had caused Tiago great shame when he opened his kit to find the shirt Mother had bought him had somehow already managed to tear down the middle. The orphan hadn’t the heart to return it to Emilia. He didn’t want her to know he’d messed up on something already, and so he’d decided to take it upon himself to fix it later with a needle and thread. Or something. In the meantime, Jason had been there. Lent him a spare shirt to wear before they joined the others and stood in front of the teacher together…

The Spaniard feels his teeth clash together in frustration. Glancing up at his adopted parents, he notices the look of ill-concealed disgust on Richard’s face – before it disappears entirely once Emilia catches sight of it on her husband. Wiping his face with a napkin, the boy brings his hand down to bang on the table, the sole expression for his anger, before he turns and walks away.

He’s not hungry anymore. 

He doesn’t want to spend time with Family anymore.

Tiago squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back the wave of emotion that threatens to overcome him. He doesn’t pause for a second as he makes for the front door, opening it, slamming it shut and running down the front drive. His feet carry him on up the road. Faster and faster as he flees for safety.

The teenager doesn’t have his motorbike yet. He doesn’t have his pack or his girls to screw over in an attempt to calm himself down, off-load some of his boiling temper. 

The now empty spot next to Rickie set her mind spinning until she resolved that she had to make things right. Somehow, she would be able to make things right. If not right, she had to find a way to let Tiago know she loved him regardless of who he loved.

She dabbed at her lips with a napkin before taking a sip of her drink. A tumult of emotions settled on her face before she cleared her throat.

“Rickie, please help your father clear the table,” she said as she looked at Natalie.

Her son quickly nodded and rose from the table, setting to cleaning it while Richard picked up the remaining paella. Meals were reheated if there was enough left-over, or the remnants were thrown out if most of the meal had been eaten. The opening and closing of cabinets and drawers told her that there was enough to save.

M sighed and waited for Richard to vacate his seat before she pushed her chair back and sat at the head of the table. Her hands rested on the table in front of her as she solely focused on Natalie.

Natalie looked down and fiddled with her napkin before she ventured, “I didn’t.. I didn’t think he’d run off.”

“What did you anticipate, then?” Emilia asked, her voice laced with nothing short of contempt. “No, I don’t want to hear any of your reasons. You’re grounded until Friday.”

Grumbling to herself, Natalie pushed her chair back and stormed off to the staircase leading to the second floor. Leaning back in the chair, M dragged a hand down her face and resolved that she’d see Tiago when he finally came home.

--

She nursed a glass of scotch as she sat in one of the chairs in the living room. The clock showed that it was well after nine and worry clawed at her chest. She simply wanted Tiago to return safe and sound. They would sort everything out once she knew that her adoptive son was back home. M took another sip of the scotch and breathed through her nose at the burn at the back of her throat.

Scotch was the only drink that still burned. Perhaps she’d begun to tolerate the others.

The opening and closing of the door brought her out of her thoughts and she set the glass on the wooden table to her right before she rose from the chair. She sighed in relief at the sight of Tiago and she crossed the distance separating them once he got out of the foyer.

“So your father was the one who introduced you to me… I don’t think he liked me much.”

There’s a wild, reckless joy dancing in his eyes. There’s nothing like a bit of story-telling to lighten the mood; break down the barriers between agents and their partners. Really, he and Emilia could play cover stories all the way to Minsk and it would certainly see them through the assassination a lot easier. Tiago’s gaze follows Em’s hands as they slide from his shoulders down his arms, voice taking on that of a teacher. Quiet, but precise. 

“Push yourself off me and spin.”

He catches her again after the pirouette, one hand on her back, the other on her front. It’s fluid, natural and graceful. The moves they are making suit the occasion. Rodriguez nods slightly, for a moment lost in thought. 

“Your family was richer than mine. Your father didn’t like to see his daughter getting close to a foreigner… he was against us being seen at the same galas together.”

The Spaniard sighs. “Footwork now, this is when we move a bit faster…” A devilish glint catches in Rodriguez’s eye. “Just focus on my feet, hm? Watch the pattern. You’ll kick up your heel when I tell you to.” He adjusts his grip on Emilia’s back ever so slightly, then launches into the front waltz across the carpet of the cabin, partner in tow.

To her credit, Em’s knees only buckle once, and even then, ever so slightly. Tiago lifts her up so gracefully and gently, you wouldn’t have noticed. The Spaniard closes his eyes, losing himself momentarily in the dance. His mind runs through the moves he still has to teach her. No, some of the lifts will have to until tomorrow. When the girl is refreshed and ready again for a new day.

The double-oh tuts as Em misses her cue, but whether that is in fact his own fault for not telling her to kick when she should have done is anyone’s guess. Spinning her around one final time, Tiago brings practice to a close by draping the girl over his knee, leg bent to hold her weight.

The two simply stare at each other for a few seconds, light breaths on the air. Familiarising themselves with their new roles. 

Eventually, Tiago nods. “A good start.” 

Lifting Emilia back onto her feet, he bows his head. “I’ll leave you to get some sleep now. Breakfast is at… oh, around 7.30am, I think? I forgot to check on our passes. In any case, I’ll meet you in the café on top deck around that hour.”

He leaves Miss Taylor in her luxury room without a backward glance.

~~

He sits at the chair at the desk near his table, fiddling with the radio MI6 gave Emilia several hours into the night. It’s the 1950s alright. Tiago rolls his eyes as he performs the necessary upgrades.

Her hands slid down from Tiago’s shoulders to his arms and she followed his commands.

The movements were a touch cleaner than before, but she knew she still had some work ahead of her. She knew they needed to impress people of a higher class as well as live up to their covers without a hitch of any sort. His warm hands sent her thoughts and emotions swirling as she listened to him talk about the objections her father had.

Same background as my own father. I wonder what he’d think of this, she mused before Tiago’s words brought her out of her musings and back to the moment.

She exhaled through her nose and glanced down at Tiago’s feet as they started to move across the carpet. Emilia alternated glancing from her partner’s face to her feet, her gaze stopping at his lips more than once. She knew that she needed to focus on the steps and get to near perfection while they were still on the ship. Emilia remembered there being something about her needed to kick up her heel and something faltered in the back of her mind as her knees buckled.

The tut brings her from her silent pondering as she was spun one final time. Her sight on the wall lasted until she was brought back to her partner, her eyes boring into his own.

Her breathing is light as she tried to stop her chest from heaving. Her mind scrambled to adjust to the change before she surrendered herself to falling into her role and embracing her cover. The smile that settled on her lips was nothing short of proud as she was lifted onto her feet once more. She listened to what Tiago said and resolved that she would be up in time to get breakfast the next morning.

When the door closed, separating her from Tiago, Emilia walked over to her large bed and fell onto it. She tried to get her thoughts from swirling and close her eyes, but her partner occupied her mind and made every passing moment enjoyable.

--

The dress she had chosen for that day was a dark blue in color and almost modest in style. She wanted to get used to dressing in a more professional style, but there was some hope that she would end up gaining favor with her partner. It wouldn’t help to have him look on me with praise, she mused before she took a moment to lean against the railing on the top deck. She looked at the waves as they moved against the hull of the ship, breaking in white caps and sending water onto the decks of the boat.

A clearing throat behind her got her to turn around and she looked at Tiago. Em’s lips quirked up in a smile that rested on her face as she gently placed her hand in the crook of his arm as they walked together into the cafe for breakfast.

Different scents assaulted her and she fought the slight pull of hunger that radiated throughout her stomach. Emilia scanned the awaiting selections and chose items that would be able to sustain her and keep her energized, along with a steaming cup of tea.

The table they chose was situated in a cross-breeze, one that allowed them to enjoy their food and experience the soft breeze coming from the ocean.

“Have you given any further thought to your cover?” Tiago asked once they had started eating.

Em sipped at her tea for a moment before she set it down, mulling over her decisions about her cover.

There were too many different factors in need of consideration. The familial history was often called into question, particularly when conversations were held with unfamiliar parties. Perhaps where the money had originated and the practices used in obtaining such wealth. Personal history also played into the covers and different layers helped maintain the cover.

Her brow knitted in thought before she nodded. “My father grudgingly realized that maintaining relationships with foreign business interests would do more good than harm, though he rarely hides his dislike of the present situation. The potential gains of our trip is the only reason he’s allowed us to travel without any kind of chaperon.”

Regardless of how old she was, Emilia knew all too well that fathers such as the one she was designing for her cover went to lengths to make sure that their children and investments were safe.

Mother’s question about school, aimed at all of her children, pulls him out of thoughts. Tiago grunts as he heaps rice onto his fork, swallowing so as to avoid answering first. He lets his step-sister Natalie have her say ahead of him. Opening up the floor, as it were.

“It was fine, I got an A in my biology paper. Knew I would…” The smugness in her voice is impossible to miss. The brunette smirks as she stares pointedly across the table at the darker-haired Spaniard opposite.  “…I’ve been studying hard for the test all week.”

Tiago drops the fork on the plate, rolling his eyes. It irritated him, truly. All these silly games to prove to Mum who was more worthy of her love. He glares at his step-sister seated across the table. At least he didn’t start it. He wasn’t petty enough for that. What was it? Was Natalie frightened perhaps, by the appearance of a new person in the house? M has adopted him as her son, and there’s nothing she can do to change that. 

The Spaniard smiles a little.

“Well. I was told today by Mr Arkwright that he’s never seen a faster back-hand on the courts.” He pokes his tongue in his cheek. “He’s considering putting a word in for me at the local tennis club. I might play nationally at Wimbledon one day, who knows?”

The teenager smirks, leaning back in his seat. It’s fantastic watching Natalie’s face, the more agitated she becomes. He sighs a little. Part of him wishes he could just be fully accepted, without the need for all this. Perhaps his sister just needs to learn the hard way.

At the head of the table, Richard munches his way through the paella, head down. Avoiding the confrontation. He leaves it to his wife to resolve. Beside his father, Rickie also chews his food quietly.

Natalie snorts. “Oh! Is that so? You really think you’re good enough to play at a national level?” She picks up her glass of orange juice, taking a sip. “Get your head out of the clouds, Tiago. Don’t  make me laugh…”

“I never exaggerate. I told you a fact.” The Spaniard counters smoothly. “I’m the best at tennis the sports teacher has seen. I have the fastest reflexes. Do yourself a favour and listen to what the teachers actually say, Natalie, yeah?”

M’s lips almost quirk up at the corners in a smile as Natalie talked about her paper until she caught the tone. She inwardly sighed and took a sip of her water before she took a bite of her paella, the sound of a fork dropping against a plate confirming her suspicions.

So it begins, she mused.

Natalie and Tiago frequently dug at one another, challenging the other. It troubled her that disciplining them only worked for the first few times. Their behaviors changed after that. Sometimes they made chores more difficult for one another, leaving more of a mess than usual or putting items back in different positions. She hesitated to even think of where they picked up that behavior.

She brightened upon hearing that Tiago was doing so well in tennis. It had hardly been her best sport when she was younger, but she had admired people who had that talent. Wimbledon itself was the culmination of so much talent and hard work, not to mention the personal gains involved in such an undertaking. M pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger as Natalie spoke.

“Natalie, saying something nice isn’t that difficult,” M countered. “You both have things you excel at, and Tiago has practiced. He will keep on practicing, and you will keep on doing well at school.”

Next to her mother, Natalie sank down in her seat and ate her dinner. She wanted to reach across the table and wipe that smug look off Tiago’s face. The only thing preventing her from doing so was the gaze she felt boring into her. She settled for mentally lashing out at the Spaniard sitting across from her, not wanting to do anything to get herself into trouble.

She just wanted to show her mother that she was also worthy of praise. If that means taking Tiago down a few pegs.. she thought before taking another bite of her dinner.

Chasing it with water, she thought of what she had seen at school a few days prior and a smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. She’d been a little late to class, having wanted to talk to her maths teacher about a particular question, when she saw Tiago with a classmate. Well, he at least looked like a classmate. What they were doing, however, was not related to school.

“I saw Tiago kissing a boy.”

The look of smug satisfaction that settled across her face faltered as she looked at her mother. Whatever reaction she was expecting, whatever she hoped would come out of what she said, paled in comparison to the utter look of contempt on her mother’s face.

Tiago’s eyes widen slightly. The silver reflection in the wicked blade quite catches his fancy. An odd, impossibly irrational thought grips the boy, and he runs the curved edge of the knife lightly over his thumb. It is sharp enough…

The teen sighs, careful not to cut himself. Just a little tickle.

Smiling, he turns his gaze back on the kitchen counter, pulling over a wooden chopping board. He bites his lip, concentrating as he cuts the chicken into ten pieces. Slicing through bone is a bit more difficult. Tiago’s lip curls as he applies more force into his movements. Muscles ripple under his black t-shirt, “hero” slogan emblazoned in white on the front. He’s been practising at the gym. Eventually the meat gives way, diced into ten pieces as requested.

“Done.” Tiago declares. A happy little smile on his face.

Pulling out a frying pan, he pours a little olive oil in before placing the chicken pieces inside. Wiping his hands down on a cloth, he lets Mother switch on the gas. Her next question puts another joyful spring in his step. 

“Oh, I enjoy lots of dishes; croquetas, arroz a la cubana, pinchitos…” 

An excited smile alights on the Spanish boy’s face. “We used to cook those out in the open, on the beach.” 

He licks his lips, sighing. “And I always loved churros con chocolate...”

She was a fairly private woman by nature, only allowing herself to talk about more personal aspects of her life with colleagues at work once she knew she was able to trust them. She tried to not get too attached to people, especially not in her line of work, but trusting others did allow her to open up a little. She felt more at ease around members of her family, yet drew the line about talking in depth about what she did at work.

M wanted to keep her children from knowing how the world operated.

Cooking, on the other hand, allowed her an immense opportunity to decompress. The simple actions involved allowed her with an opportunity to go over what she had experienced or sort through things that had occurred. Some of the pages in her cookbook were close to falling out because she had used those recipes so often. A handful of the recipes were ones where she hardly needed to look at the cooking directions.

Tiago’s words brought her out of her musings and she went over to the stove. She made sure that the pan was centered over the burner before turning on the gas.

Emilia smiled as Tiago told her what foods he liked. She mentally noted the ones that he seemed to like in particular, wanting to check if the recipes were in the cookbook. Her brow furrowed as he seemed to become distracted, and a softer smile quirked up at the corners of her mouth.

“While I keep an eye on the chicken, could you please set the table?” she asked, watching with pride as he went to get the plates and glasses from the cabinet.

--

The finished paella sat on a small wooden block in the center of the table. With the way her children were growing, M never knew how much they wanted to eat. While it usually went over well, there were times when Rickie deferred to his older siblings to determine what tasted good. She got herself some water before going to the table and sitting at her husband’s left.

She’d rather be the one sitting at the head of the table, but she didn’t want to cause any trouble that evening.

A feeling of contentment swept over her like a wave as she looked across the table. Her youngest son returned the smile she offered him before he cast a sidelong glance at his older sister. M’s brow furrowed a little, then she glanced at Tiago out of the corner of her eye.

Something twitched at his jaw and she wanted to dispel the tension.

“Señor Juan Alejandro Martínez and his business partner Rachel Haywood, corporate sponsors of Public Joint Stock Company Gazprom…”  The Spaniard snorts, shaking his head. “The oil industry. Of course Q would think along those lines.” He taps a finger against the wheel. Much of the wealth of the Soviet Union resides in their black money.

Tiago sighs as he leans back in his seat, wondering how things are going to play out once they reach the dining halls of the General’s palaces. Oh, there’s a few tricks they might be able to pull, one of them almost certain to get Emilia into the position she needs to take her shot. Tiago smiles, imagining the scene.

Returning his gaze to the road, the doubleoh checks the road signs on the dual carriageway, calculating the time it will take to drive the pair of them to their pick-up point. A small freighter waits in Calais to transport the car, bearing both of them across the sea to a port in Hamburg. From there on in, it will be a straight drive all the way to Minsk. Tiago reflects on the reason M would have planned their travelling itinerary thus - it must have been to give himself and Miss Taylor plenty of time to get know one another, before guns started blazing. He laughs at the implications of this. At least the hotels suites better be up to standard.

Listening to Emilia’s Russian, he smiles as her accent comes out strong and true. It’s better than he had imagined in all honesty. Nodding at her request for a refresher, he complies with an extensive run-down of useful terminology. The slang in operation within the Soviet territories varies from satellite to satellite, so it’s useful to pick up on the nuances. Russian is a language the doubleoh had taken great pains to learn, mainly because Mother had needed him to speak it. Agent Rodriguez had served her and MI6 exceptionally well throughout the final years of the Cold War.

Three hours further down the road, he parks the car for a quick pit stop at a local service station. Opening the door for her, ever the gentleman, he lets Emilia escape for a quick refresher as he heads over himself to the petrol pump. Watching the numbers tick over as refuels the tank, Rodriguez reflects on the fact that prices are only going to start to fall once they passed over the Soviets’ border. The opportunities to refill however would be fewer and far between. Always better to be cautious. Walking behind the back of station, he switches on a water fountain, splashing some of the cool liquid on his face. Sliding a slim container from his jacket pocket, he pops out a few white pills into his mouth, swallowing reflexively.

No, Mother wouldn’t be too pleased if he didn’t take his medication before a mission. Tiago closes his eyes, calming himself as the drugs visibly dull his mind.

Returning to the car, he stops at the cardboard cup of coffee Emilia offers him, a cheeky smile on her face. 

“Don’t want me falling asleep behind the wheel, Em? Is that it?” Tiago grins back at her, raising an eyebrow before taking the cup.

The sunlight is just starting to take a dip below the treeline, as Emilia launches into a conversation about her life up until now in MI6 spent dealing with the mistakes of clumsy staff in Q branch, too tired to double-check their mistakes on type-written paper. Some of the field agents were lucky to return from their missions intact, what with the errors in their documentation. 

Rodriguez nods sympathetically, sipping his coffee as he listens to her. Resting an elbow on the hood of the Aston Martin, his gaze absentmindedly wanders over her body, sizing the petite woman up. Miss Taylor is certainly an attractive young woman to look at. Her small stature, coupled with her mousey brown hair gives her a certain bookish look. Studious, perhaps. The sweet girl next door, maybe? A devilish smirk alights on Tiago’s face as he recalls what M said about Emilia’s marksmanship scores. Did the old man lie about the abilities of his favourite operatives as much as his M did for him?

The Spaniard considers the blush creeping on Miss Taylor’s cheek. “So. Are we ready to head on back out then?” 

Duty calls. He crumbles the empty cupboard cup in his fist, tossing it into a bin.

Seated again in the car, they’re all settled to go again when Tiago abruptly swears. The keys. Where has he put the bloody keys? 

Panicking, his face loses its serene composure as the dark-haired agent mutters to himself anxiously. He goes hunting for them around the dashboard, the glove compartment, the stairwell. Frustration deepens in Tiago’s chest as he returns empty-handed. Glancing over at Emilia after a minute, he shakes his head, sighing ruefully at his behaviour.

“Sorry Em, I don’t mean to be such a scatter brained foo-

Emilia dangles the keys in front of his face.

She smiles her cheeky smile.

No further words are said. Apart from a very few as Miss Taylor tosses the keys over, flicking back her hair with a flourish. 

M was getting them to spend as much time together as possible so there covers became more natural to them. Smart man.

Emilia turned her attention to the road as it spanned out in front of them and cast a sidelong glance at her partner. She almost questioned why she was paired with him until she realized that she would hardly get a straight answer from M. Some part of her knew that it went beyond the fact that he was a double-oh, because most of the double-oh agents lacked missions and jumped at the chance for extensive field work assignments. She almost witnessed a heated argument over which agent was going to get a specific assignment until both agents were shocked to find that neither of them received the coveted assignment. Was it because she inherently trusted him and tried to cover for him before it was revealed he was a sleeper agent?

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear as the thoughts kept cycling through her head. She glanced at the clock on the dash an rested her arm against the door as she tried to not close her eyes. There was some part of her that honestly enjoyed the time she spent on the road. There was something freeing about being able to get away, despite the mission that loomed over her head like some malevolent being.

The simple monotony of the car ride, however, was taxing. She let out a soft breath through her nose as she remembered that she wasn’t the one driving. The glance she gave Tiago out of the corner of her eye bordered on a mixture of sympathy and genuine caring. She’d driven long ways in a car by herself and hadn’t been afforded the ability to sleep, at least not until she found a safe place to rest or a roadside hotel. Some part of her didn’t want to fall asleep and leave Tiago as the only one awake in that car.

Those thoughts and others drifted in and out of her head until she realized that they had stopped. She looked at the lights of a service station and a smile quirked at the corners of her mouth again as her partner opened the door of the car for her. She inclined her head as she got out of the car, pausing a moment to stretch and work out the kinks that had settled in her lower back. Emilia glanced to the edge of the horizon and saw that the sun was beginning to sink below the trees ahead of them as she made her way to the loo.

She felt better as she washed her hands, splashing some water on her face once she was sure that her hands were clean. Emilia rubbed the back of her neck for a moment before rolling her shoulders. She faintly wondered about the road ahead until she let out a sigh.

Nothing was gained from worrying about obstacles before they had a chance to meet the obstacle.

Emilia left the loo and walked inside the store that accompanied the service station. Her gaze flicked along the small array of items there until she made her way back to the pots of coffee. She poured coffee into two of the cardboard cups and added a typical amount of creamer and sugar to each. She wasn’t sure how Tiago liked his coffee, or even if he did like coffee, but she’d rather be prepared than end up having to take over because he had fallen asleep at the wheel.

She paid the man at the counter before she left the small store with two cups of coffee in tow. The cardboard warmed her hands slightly as a small breeze tickled the hair on her arms and the small hairs at the back of her neck.

When she returned to the car, a quick look of surprise flashed over her face before it was replaced with a gleam of mischief. She checked around the area to see if Tiago was anywhere close while she set the two cardboard cups on the back of the car. Emilia hummed to herself as she opened the driver side door and leaned inside the car. The smirk that settled on her lips rivaled the look of mischief that had settled on her face as she quickly grabbed the keys from the center console. She softly shut the door before grabbing the two cups of coffee.

She was allowed to have some sort of fun, wasn’t she?

The mischievous smirk turned into a cheeky smile as she saw Tiago approaching the car. She reflexively passed him the cup of coffee that was in her right hand, keeping her own coffee and the keys securely in her left. Emilia rolled her eyes slightly at her partner’s question. There was a multitude of reasons why she’d gotten them both coffees, but the more obvious one was always the best option.

She took a sip of her own coffee before she replied, “I’d much like to get to our next destination unscathed. Besides, the temptation to sleep becomes more apparent as day becomes night.”

Emilia ‘s lips quirked up in a different smile as she offered, “This is one of my more high-stakes missions. Usually I’m making sure a type-written error doesn’t get someone killed.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head. “As intelligent as half of Q branch claims to be, the amount of errors that happen to slip by them is almost amazing.”

She turned her head slightly, looking at the changing colors overtaking the sky. She felt Tiago’s gaze on her and she knew that a blush was crawling up her neck and settling on her cheeks. She’d been on the receiving end of gazes from male colleagues, but hardly any of them made her feel warm and appreciated. She continued to sip at her coffee until she got close to finishing the beverage. Emilia knew she’d be able to last longer without finding that she was so tired.

She nodded at his question and threw her coffee cup away as well, taking a moment to twirl the keys in her hand with well concealed glee.

Sliding back into the car and closing her door behind her, she finds herself fighting the grin that wants to pull at the corners of her mouth. She instead leans back in the seat, etching concern across her face as Tiago looks for the keys before he gets out of the car. Emilia toyed with the keys in her hand before holding them in her palm as Tiago entered the car again.

Her cheeky smile settled on her lips as she dangled the car keys in front of his face.

Her words were equal parts playful and the slightest bit commanding. The way to obtain the brevity may not have been the best, but she found that it had been quite easy to snatch the keys from where he had in fact set them down. It may not have been right to be so sneaky, but she convinced herself that it was practice for whatever they’d encounter on the mission. She leaned back in the seat again and brought her hair over her left shoulder as she looked at Tiago.

The truth is… he likes being bossed around. Every so often. It gives him focus. Helps him to compartmentalise.

Tiago hums as the yellow lines on the road streak into a blur, mind starting to turn over to the mission once more. To succeed they are both going to need to sink into their new roles completely. So, Rodriguez spends the next few minutes quietly formulating a backstory for Señor Juan Alejandro Martínez in his idle ponderings. It’s only when Miss Taylor starts to yawn in the passenger seat that he stirs. She’s getting bored? That won’t do. 

Reaching forward, Tiago switches on the radio. Flicks a few switches to get into the latest music channels. Something by Cliff Richard blusters out of silver wired speakers after a few minutes of attempting to tune in. Rodriguez raises an eyebrow, biting back a snigger at the lyrics. Not bad, for the 1950s. His hands tap a little on the wheel as the catchy tune hits its stride, chin nodding along with the beat.

Opening the windows slightly, he lets a bit of fresh air in, watching Emilia’s wavy hair catch in the breeze, as she pokes her head out the window. The scent of the sea starts to drift in.

“Do you know how to dance, Em?” Rodriguez pops her the question half an hour later as they pull up to the docks near Dover. Tiago sits back in his seat, hands sliding down the leather on the wheel, as they queue to drive up on the boarding ramp. “Tango dancing, specifically…”

The Spaniard elaborates. “Since I am Señor Martínez, corporate business sponsor, I assume I must come from a rich, influential family. Possibly based in Granada. My father, when he wasn’t drinking himself into an early grave, owned a small vineyard in the hills which was his pride and joy and kept him ever so busy. When he wasn’t doing business with the Turks, that is. My aunt therefore took me to regular dance classes as a child - so as to improve my chances as a young bachelor among the upper echelon of the corporate world.”  He exchanges a glance with Em. 

“Obviously I know how to tango anyway.” Tiago pauses, smiles in memory “…I was in with the right crowd. Once.” 

He sighs “…in any case, to participate in a dance is what will be expected of us in the General’s ballroom. I think we can show them something they won’t forget in a hurry.”

Catching his tongue between his teeth, Rodriguez drives them up the ramp into the waiting freighter, parking the Aston in the cargo hold.

~~

They’re led to their cabin rooms by a porter a few minutes later. The sea voyage to Hamburg should take no longer than 2 days. Plenty of time for Emilia to perfect her dance routine before then. 

Tiago smiles as he watches her explore the medium-sized room, pretty dress and light brown shawl hugging her shoulders. The colour matches her mousey hair, and the smile on her face is enchanting. Em’s hands skim over the small ornaments over the fireplace, gaudy furnishings in the style of one of the old, sunken liners like the Titanic. A single bed with drapes stands in a corner. Rodriguez’s own, smaller cabin is a little further away along the corridor outside. 

“Do you like it?”

Tiago’s genuinely interested. Luxury is often afforded to double-ohs on assignment. Less often is it granted to obscure field agents cataloging the errors of Q-branch. That was why he had switched room cards with her. Discreetly of course. He doesn’t want her to know.  

Strolling forward into the room, he catches Emilia’s arm lightly. An odd frown passes over his face, before melting away. Fingers gently roll down her skin until he’s holding her hand. He lifts the back of her palm to his lips, pressing a respectful kiss there. Like a gentleman.

“Come, let me teach you the first steps…” 

A kind expression is on his face as he brings her other arm up around his shoulder. 

“You hold me here, see? Yes. And then. Feet.”

Tiago chuckles as Em swiftly changes her stance. There’s no malice in his tone, simply gentle warmth. He places his own hand around hers, holding it over his heart. 

“Now, as the man I would usually lead in this dance… however, you’re the assassin this time, aren’t you?” Tiago smiles slightly, before lowering his chin, deferring to his partner. 

“So, I would assume Miss Haywood has a bit more ammunition to give, a bit more to say for herself-” 

Rodriguez grins as he spins her suddenly out to the side, catching Em in a half-dip. His dark eyes observe hers, waiting patiently. 

The higher ranking double-ohs frequently didn’t know what to do when she said something that was considered condescending.

Emilia was in two minds about the companionable silence that had overtaken the car. On one hand, it gave her the opportunity to dwell on the aspects of the assignment and even start to think about her cover. On the other, she had never been fond of car rides that occurred in silence. She was always used to some amount of sound when she worked or even prepared for anything. MI6 was practically a symphony of sounds that only helped her to work better.

The yawn that escaped her was a product of creeping boredom, but she was thankful for the music that filled the car. It reminded her of albums that her parents played when she went over for large family dinners.

Soon, the breeze that entered the car from the opened window served to invigorate her further. The scent of the sea carried on the wind and the slight briskness of the night air banished all thoughts of boredom and tiredness as her mind drifted to the stories she heard from her cousins and uncles. Em wondered if the sea breeze continued to smell the same in other parts of the world, or if the amount of salt in the water changed the scent.

She turned her head to look at Tiago and she gave a slight nod. “The tango is hardly one of my strongest dances, but I do know the basic steps.”

Her parents had tried to get her acquainted with varied types of dancing during her adolescence. There were some dances that she liked more than others, particularly swing, but she was a fast learner and she liked to learn new dances. Of course, having the right partner always helps, she thought.

Emilia inwardly chuckled as she listened to Tiago elaborate on his cover. She filed parts of what he said, in case the moment came where she was asked about him or how they met. She flipped open her passport and studied the identifiers. She tried to think of ways that would have brought her cover to meeting Tiago’s cover. She bit her bottom lip in thought at her partner’s admittance that he knew how to tango.

What crowd would that have been? she wondered, her mind trying to come up with possibilities that would provide an answer to the question she wanted to ask.

She only wondered what Tiago meant about their dance before her tongue flicked against her bottom lip in near anticipation of their upcoming voyage.

--

Her lips parted at the sight of the cabin and the breath that passed through her lips bordered on a happy sigh. She hadn’t seen anything so beautiful in her life. The extravagance bordered on too much, but the style lent itself to the overall feel of the ship. Em walked further into the cabin and trailed her fingers along the mantle of the fireplace. The trinkets and the clock on the mantle reminded her of what she had seen at her aunt’s home.

Her partner’s question stunned her out of her musings and a small laugh escaped her as she nodded. “I love it,” she replied.

How was this her cabin? She had thought that she would almost get something less extravagant than the cabin. It was beyond her expectation and she almost thought it was too good to be true. She pushed those thoughts from her mind as she felt Tiago catch her arm. She fought against the way her breath caught in her throat for a minute at the close contact. The kiss on the back of her hand does little to surprise her.

He’s a gentleman, and she likes that.

Her fingers gently rest on his shoulder and she listened to the steady pounding of her heart in her chest as she shifted her stance. She’d first learned the steps from an older cousin whose hands were a little too soft for her taste, but it had been such a while since she danced the tango.

Em swallowed as her mind tried to keep up. Right, she had a backstory. She had a cover that she needed to detail while they had time. She kept sight on something in front of her as she was spun, that small piece of information entering her mind once again.

She dug her fingers in lightly to his shoulder as she looked up at him, her mind racing to catch up with her mouth as she tried to come up with information on her cover.

“Well, Rachel Haywood grew up in Westminster while her father reached out to business contacts of his own father,” she started. “Her mother and father were at odds over how to introduce her into corporate circles. Her mother thought it would suit Rachel to follow a more secretarial path as opposed to direct involvement in business. Her father took a more direct approach and taught her the ins and outs of business, including how to present oneself to other corporate connections.”