James

His eyes dropped to their hands and the gentle touch there, revelling in it. He exhaled another slow breath, calming the way his heart seemed to be doing something in his chest.

"It's a nice thought, anyway. It helped me a fuckton while I was in prison." He huffed a soft, stupid laugh. "I missed ye that entire time."

He never said as much but he knew James had kept his place safe (and paid for) while he was away in prison. He was thankful for it. His sister couldn't have helped him all on her own. It was too much for her to do.

"And I suppose you do know what it's like from when you were away. Letters only go so far, right?"

"Usually is a good time," he noted, his fingers still curved Malcolm's on the table and he lifted his glass to his lips to take a steady sip of deep amber, regarding the liquid as he swirled it in the glass after, watching as it caught the light.

"Yer missed," he murmured. "And more than just sometimes."

This conversation had been coming for a long time. Malc understood that, and although it wasn't pretty and it might have ached, it had to eventually happen. Taking a wee chance, he let his thumb glide along James' knuckles and settle just over the space between his forefinger and thumb, sweet and gentle.

His eyes dropped to their hands and the gentle touch there, revelling in it. He exhaled another slow breath, calming the way his heart seemed to be doing something in his chest.

He exhaled a slow breath, his chest tight with something he couldn't really fathom and certainly didn't have the words for. His line of work put the breaks on any further speculation or contemplation of the complex feelings surrounding it, because Malcolm had been quite right. His line of work meant things weren't ever simple, it didn't allow for happy endings. Just endings.

"Thank you," his voice was a low, steady timbre. A deep burr that said some of the things that he couldn't. Shouldn't say.

Exhaling a breath he took another sip of scotch, allowing it to sit on his tongue for a moment, grounding him, then he swallowed.

Everything inside of him ached. It was the closest he had ever come to something since the loss of his wife, and while it was right there in front of him, he still couldn't have it. James lived a complicated life. In the meantime, Malcolm blinked away any tears, feeling a bit silly for it, and cast a glance down at his empty pasta bowl.

"Usually is a good time," he noted, his fingers still curved Malcolm's on the table and he lifted his glass to his lips to take a steady sip of deep amber, regarding the liquid as he swirled it in the glass after, watching as it caught the light.

"And what am I to you?" He asked before he could think better of it. Before he could talk himself out of it, glutton for punishment that he was. He huffed a laugh and reached to top his glass up again, taking care to fill Malc up too, then sat back, swirling the deep, beautiful amber liquid in the glass.

"Don't answer that, you don't need to. The fact that you let me be here, drink your scotch, bleed over your future and feed me on occasion says enough."

When James asked what the plan was, Malcolm sidestepped it and answered his previous one, instead. "Whatever ye are tae me should probably be considered forbidden, given what yer line of work is," he replied honestly, never having meant anything more. He met James' eyes, something earnest there in his expression. "In any case, for that very reason, I'll just say that yer my friend. And moreover, my house will always be a safe space for ye."

That might have just been the stupidest fucking thing in the world to say, but he found that he didn't care. It was more than flirting and it always had been. Just this once, he was tired of playing games with the world. He might not have actually said the words, but James was clever and he could easily read between the lines. There was something so gut-wrenching about the way the poor man had asked what they were. It was a vulnerable moment, as if he hadn't even meant to say the words aloud. Of course, he had to muster up a fucking answer for James.

He exhaled a slow breath, his chest tight with something he couldn't really fathom and certainly didn't have the words for. His line of work put the breaks on any further speculation or contemplation of the complex feelings surrounding it, because Malcolm had been quite right. His line of work meant things weren't ever simple, it didn't allow for happy endings. Just endings.

"Thank you," his voice was a low, steady timbre. A deep burr that said some of the things that he couldn't. Shouldn't say.

Exhaling a breath he took another sip of scotch, allowing it to sit on his tongue for a moment, grounding him, then he swallowed.

That little smirk at the edge of his mouth deepened and he lifted his glass to his lips, taking a slow, steady sip. Exactly what he wanted to hear. Now they were both naturally flirty men, but there always felt like an extra element of satisfaction when they went at it together. Something different, good.

"You joke but it is a miracle. I'm told frequently that I'm a nuisance, a nightmare and a liability." He paused. "Most of those people I do work with, though."

His teasing expression faded away for the time being. "Listen, mate. Ye really do have friends here. Sammy and Jay care about ye. Yer one of my mates. They care about me, and I care about ye. And once they fuckin' got tae know ye ages ago, they were thrilled."

"And what am I to you?" He asked before he could think better of it. Before he could talk himself out of it, glutton for punishment that he was. He huffed a laugh and reached to top his glass up again, taking care to fill Malc up too, then sat back, swirling the deep, beautiful amber liquid in the glass.

"Don't answer that, you don't need to. The fact that you let me be here, drink your scotch, bleed over your future and feed me on occasion says enough."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and his eyes sparkled with boyish mischief. Hitching his trousers he settled neatly into the seat on the opposite side of her desk.

"I think I'm quite proud of that."

He settled his forearms against the arms of the chair, hands flexing lightly before he continued.

"Congratulations on your new post. You've certainly got your work cut out for you." He arched a brow. "Which brings me to why I'm here."

It wasn't his usual job, internal affairs were usually handled by MI5, not MI6, he hasn't done much internal work since his days with the Navy.

"Ah yes, why you're here." She arched an eyebrow. "This feels a little bit below your paygrade, Mr Bond."

Foreign issues. That was one way to put it.

"I'm not opposed to getting down and dirty."

James arched a brow at the statement and for a moment he didn't say anything. He'd promised M to try harder lately not to cause an international incident.

"Well." He began at last, smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt. "I shouldn't say I approve, but I do."

M should be pleased that was all he said.

James watched her for a moment, his head ever so slightly cocked and his impossibly bright eyes tracking her movements. She was tired, that much was clear. But what was also interesting was that she seemed to know exactly who he was. For better or worse, he wondered.

"You know of me then."

At her offer he moved forward, reaching out a hand toward her in greeting. His free hand he unfasted the button of his suit jacket preparing to take a seat.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and his eyes sparkled with boyish mischief. Hitching his trousers he settled neatly into the seat on the opposite side of her desk.

"I think I'm quite proud of that."

He settled his forearms against the arms of the chair, hands flexing lightly before he continued.

"Congratulations on your new post. You've certainly got your work cut out for you." He arched a brow. "Which brings me to why I'm here."

It wasn't his usual job, internal affairs were usually handled by MI5, not MI6, he hasn't done much internal work since his days with the Navy.

Arching his brows James held his hands up, palm out in a gesture of appeasement, a tiny, baby smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Alright, no flirting with either of them." He paused. "And you?"

He settled back in his seat, content in that moment as he toyed with his glass as he eyed Malcolm, then he glanced down at the table top.

James didn't get it, did he? People enjoyed his company. They wanted him around. Malcolm was on the list.

That little smirk at the edge of his mouth deepened and he lifted his glass to his lips, taking a slow, steady sip. Exactly what he wanted to hear. Now they were both naturally flirty men, but there always felt like an extra element of satisfaction when they went at it together. Something different, good.

"You joke but it is a miracle. I'm told frequently that I'm a nuisance, a nightmare and a liability." He paused. "Most of those people I do work with, though."

"I'm dying now? I was only getting glassed before." James noted, brow arched slightly. "What if I flirt with Jamie too?"

He ate his own food, enjoying the simpleness of it. Sometimes it was the simple things that just made things better. It was actually rather rare for him.

Whether that possessive note to his voice was for the sake of his friends or something more, he wasn't so sure. He didn't care, either. He was terrified of dissecting it all. They'd kept a healthy distance, hiding behind friendship and playful flirtation before tonight. The game had just changed, and the pieces were strewn across the board.

Arching his brows James held his hands up, palm out in a gesture of appeasement, a tiny, baby smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Alright, no flirting with either of them." He paused. "And you?"

He settled back in his seat, content in that moment as he toyed with his glass as he eyed Malcolm, then he glanced down at the table top.

James took his own seat across from Malcolm, after collecting them a drink each, eyeing the man across the table.

"I can be persuaded into domesticity sometimes," he replied, reaching for his glass to take a steady sip. "I see the appeal of it, even if I'm not quite capable of staying put for too long."

He was very much like a wild animal that way. Sometimes seeking company and affection but not ready, or not knowing, how to be in one place, safe and warm. Half tame, half feral. That was James.

"We could see how much flirting I could get in before you all decided to kill me."

"I told ye already, mate," he said, "if ye flirt with Sammy, I'll kill ye. Jamie too. We'll tag team it."

Tilting his head, he watched James for a moment and then began eating. Their meal was delicious. Simple, homey, and filling. And bloody hell, he made a good sauce. He could thank his gran for that one. He had all of her recipes, most of which were memorized at this point.

"I'm dying now? I was only getting glassed before." James noted, brow arched slightly. "What if I flirt with Jamie too?"

He ate his own food, enjoying the simpleness of it. Sometimes it was the simple things that just made things better. It was actually rather rare for him.

"No, I don't need you to explain," James agreed with a laugh, moving to drain the pasta, he was comfortable enough in Malcolm's home to move around freely. And wasn't that something.

"But what if I want you to?"

There was a coy, teasing grin tugging at his mouth. He loves teasing Malcolm like this, no one quite responded like he did. And, in a strange way, it was sort of comforting.

Turning he began to dish up the pasta and sauce, even moving to the fridge to dig out some cheese. Again, there was that easy domesticity.

"Easy, tiger. We'll wind up in trouble if ye continue."

Seeing him move around the kitchen as easily as he was did something special to Malcolm. He was comfortable here, and Malc would have had to be blind not to notice. It was wonderful.

He came over to help, bringing the cheese and his own bowl over to the small kitchen table by the window. He closed the blinds and sat, waiting for James to join him.

James took his own seat across from Malcolm, after collecting them a drink each, eyeing the man across the table.

"I can be persuaded into domesticity sometimes," he replied, reaching for his glass to take a steady sip. "I see the appeal of it, even if I'm not quite capable of staying put for too long."

He was very much like a wild animal that way. Sometimes seeking company and affection but not ready, or not knowing, how to be in one place, safe and warm. Half tame, half feral. That was James.

"We could see how much flirting I could get in before you all decided to kill me."

"I suppose love knows no logic nor bounds. And he's a lucky bastard that she does feel that way, that's all any of us can really hope for isn't it?"

He turned to stir the pasta, watching the water swirl and bubble for a moment before settling back against the counter, a brow arched and both hands resting on the edge behind him.

"Oh, stop it," he said. "Ye fuckin' know why. I dinnae need tae stand here and explain it all tae ye, ye great cunt."

That wee grin from James was more than enough of a tell.

"No, I don't need you to explain," James agreed with a laugh, moving to drain the pasta, he was comfortable enough in Malcolm's home to move around freely. And wasn't that something.

"But what if I want you to?"

There was a coy, teasing grin tugging at his mouth. He loves teasing Malcolm like this, no one quite responded like he did. And, in a strange way, it was sort of comforting.

Turning he began to dish up the pasta and sauce, even moving to the fridge to dig out some cheese. Again, there was that easy domesticity.

James laughed at the feral, protective edge that Malcolm suddenly displayed. It was incredibly charming.

"Don't worry, I'm perfectly aware that even if she was available she's definitely far too good for me."

He turned back to the water as it started to boil, reaching again for the box of pasta, emptying the contents into the pot.

"Good for her and Jamie though." He added. And he meant it, truly.

When James continued, however, he inhaled so sharply that very he nearly swallowed his own tongue.

"She, uh... seems tae think... yer mine."

It didn't help his case that he stood there, eyes roaming James' face, and chuckled nervously. Then he rubbed at the back of his neck, brow creased.

"I suppose love knows no logic nor bounds. And he's a lucky bastard that she does feel that way, that's all any of us can really hope for isn't it?"

He turned to stir the pasta, watching the water swirl and bubble for a moment before settling back against the counter, a brow arched and both hands resting on the edge behind him.

"Mm, does she indeed?" He smirked slightly, a slow, easy thing.

Accepting the box James turned to go and collect a pot, filling it with water before joining Malcolm at the stove once more. After setting the pot down and turning on the heat, he turned to rest against the edge of the counter while he waited for it to boil.

He laughed, adding, "Cannae imagine why she says this, but she also thinks yer taken. That one's beyond me, but hey. She's—"

It clicked in that moment. With wide eyes, he went back to the pasta sauce. He stirred it, clearing his throat, and adding some seasoning.

James laughed at the feral, protective edge that Malcolm suddenly displayed. It was incredibly charming.

"Don't worry, I'm perfectly aware that even if she was available she's definitely far too good for me."

He turned back to the water as it started to boil, reaching again for the box of pasta, emptying the contents into the pot.

"Good for her and Jamie though." He added. And he meant it, truly.

James followed him through into the kitchen, his own glass held loosely between his fingers as he watched Malcolm move about the cosy space.

"Mm, I'm sure she gave you such a telling off." He grinned and took a sip from his glass. "She's incredibly feisty and I'm in complete support of it. We support a strong woman."

Stepping forward he set his glass on the counter with a little click.

When James joined him, he allowed himself a moment to glance his way and smile. Then he shrugged a shoulder in acceptance, handing over the box of uncooked pasta.

"Mm, does she indeed?" He smirked slightly, a slow, easy thing.

Accepting the box James turned to go and collect a pot, filling it with water before joining Malcolm at the stove once more. After setting the pot down and turning on the heat, he turned to rest against the edge of the counter while he waited for it to boil.

"Is that a roundabout way of telling me I need to stop breaking in?" He asked, injecting a touch of humour back into the conversation. It was clear that neither of them were particularly good at being real when it came to emotion. But, here they were all the same. And that was something incredible, because emotional stability, or safety, was something James was particularly good at.

Before the hand dropped away from his chest, he reached up and patted it lightly, a little gesture of acceptance and solitary. Whatever this was, it was good to be here together. To have that kind of support, and even comfort.

He flashed James a grin, something sharp and amused, before turning back to the table. He fetched their glasses from earlier, refilling them. Then he went into the kitchen, wanting to cook something for them. He brought his drink along with him.

Pasta and sauce were enough for a quick meal. He pulled everything he needed out of the cabinets and refrigerator, getting to work at the stove.

James followed him through into the kitchen, his own glass held loosely between his fingers as he watched Malcolm move about the cosy space.

"Mm, I'm sure she gave you such a telling off." He grinned and took a sip from his glass. "She's incredibly feisty and I'm in complete support of it. We support a strong woman."

Stepping forward he set his glass on the counter with a little click.

"It matters." James replied before he could quite help himself. Before his tired brain could think about it.

He watched Malcolm for a few moments, bright eyes thoughtful and sharp. Then he exhaled a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his own face, letting down that last bit of wall. Malcolm deserved it, didn't he. This openess, this realness.

"None of it invalidates your feelings," he added after a moment. "And it's good. Having somewhere to come back to, an actual home not a house. And someone who worries. As we said before, it says a lot."

"Thank ye. Let this place be as... homey as ye want it tae be. Because it is. Home, I mean, for ye. If ye want it, whenever ye want it. I could... give ye a key."

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a soft noise.

"Fuck, look... Yer no the only one who's shit at this. Really."

He lost his wife a decade ago to cancer. He'd run through quick relationships since then. He was such a lousy partner these days. But this? This fucking mattered, and it wasn't even a relationship. James was a friend, someone to care about, maybe something more.

A hand brushed James' chest for a moment, over an area that was unharmed from his earlier escapades. It dropped away just as quickly, his head tilting as he watched him.

"Is that a roundabout way of telling me I need to stop breaking in?" He asked, injecting a touch of humour back into the conversation. It was clear that neither of them were particularly good at being real when it came to emotion. But, here they were all the same. And that was something incredible, because emotional stability, or safety, was something James was particularly good at.

Before the hand dropped away from his chest, he reached up and patted it lightly, a little gesture of acceptance and solitary. Whatever this was, it was good to be here together. To have that kind of support, and even comfort.