@authorofyourpain

She could FEEL it from the moment that she woke up in the morning.

As usual, Ernst was already absent from bed. Sleep was, apparently, of LITTLE interest to the man who effectively ran the world. She didn’t know how he always managed to slip in and out so quietly– she only knew that he was never there with her in the morning.

There was TENSION in the housekeeping staff, however. She could see it in the furtive way that the maid avoided her eye when she arrived with breakfast. Some calamity, somewhere– but did she suspect–? Ann frequently wondered whether anyone knew the dark truth about the Prince Consort. Surely they DIDN’T– if they did, he would have put an end to them in his quiet, subtle way. But how could they not know?

She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she received the news: political assassination overseas. Ideological radicalists were taking the blame, but she knew the TRUTH. Everything that happened in this world was connected by a series of strings– invisible to most, but strong as steel– and those strings were wrapped around his finger.

She delivered her public condolences, saw to her business for the day– there was PLENTY– and by the time dusk gave way to night, she was headed for her husband’s private office. It wasn’t his primary workplace; he had several of those, all of which were far more secure than the palace. But here, at least, he could manage affairs that needed his immediate attention.

It was off-limits to everyone except his most TRUSTED operatives– and Ann.

She slipped inside as quietly as a shadow, making her way along the wall behind his desk. He didn’t react to her presence, but she’d long ago given up on the prospect of taking him by SURPRISE. He had eyes in the back of his head: she knew that now.

She lingered behind him in silence, trying to reconcile the contradictory feelings welling up from inside. All day long her mind had been inundated with images of SUFFERING– distraught families, broken nations. There would be horrible consequences for this, and they would manifest on every level of society. The blame rested squarely on Blofeld’s shoulders– of that she had no doubt.

But she LOVED him. To her he had never shown anything but kindness and respect, so how could she help but love him?

Slowly she crept forward, long fingers inching over his shoulders as her lips found their way to his ear.

character development ( accepting )

thirteen. what do you love? have any of your recent actions openly expressed this love?

     what does felix love? well, assuming that LOVE means something or someone he values highly ( something he’d protect, something he’d fight for ) there are a few things that make it onto the list. 

     his family & friends: in diamonds are forever, in a discussion w/ bond about the very real and tangible threat of the gangsters that they’re having to deal with, he says, 

            “‘I’m after the guy too, but I’ve got to get him legitimate. If I can find out where the remains of the horse are buried, that hoodlum’s going to have an ugly time. It’s all right for you coming over here and tangling with him and getting away quick back to England. The gang has no idea who you are. From what you tell me they can never find out. But I’ve got to live here. If I had a shooting match or anything of that sort with Spang, his pals would get after me and after my family and after my friends. And they wouldn’t rest until they’d hurt me more than I ever hurt their pal. Even if I killed him. It’s not so funny to come home and find your sister’s house burned down with her inside it. And I’m afraid that could still happen in this country today.’”

     felix protects those that he’s close to. the actions that express this love are actually, in a way, the opposite of open. felix is a talkative and laid back person in general, but, he doesn’t talk about things that are important to him to just anybody. he’ll have a long, drawn out conversation about unimportant things, or maybe even important things, if he’s on a case, but he doesn’t just throw around information wily-nilly about his family and his friends. or his job. while he’s working for the CIA he takes his duty to secrecy very seriously, while still retaining that genial persona. 

     in addition to this, he takes the protection of his friends and family very seriously, especially when he’s directly involved - vis à vis, all the times james bond has gotten into some sort of trouble and felix goes through hell & high water to get him out of it. and then almost smothers him with effusions of feeling and sentences like ‘thank god you’re alright’ and ‘i thought i was never going to see you again’. i’m not going to cite these because that would take forever and this post would be way too long. 

     and lastly, he loves his country. he’s a very patriotic man. one of bond’s first observations about felix in casino royale was,

                          “Although he seemed to talk quite openly about his duties in Paris, Bond soon noticed that he never spoke of his American colleagues in Europe of in Washington and he guessed that Leiter held interests of his own organization far above the mutual concerns of the North Atlantic Allies.”

“Ernst.”

It isn’t that she’s unaccustomed to competing for his attention-- but it irks her all the same.     She nuzzles the side of his face, her lips tracing the line of his cheekbone.

Where  once  she  might have been uncomfortable with her participation in his meetings, familiarity has a way of breed- -ing  courage.  No  longer does she cower in the shadowed corner as puppeteers pull the strings of global politics. She disapproves of their activities, yes-- but fears them?  She’s safe as a kitten, and that knowledge has made her bold.

He’s been neglecting her.  And once upon a time, she may have  accepted  that  treatment as an unfortunate symptom of her husband’s double  life.   But as they’ve grown closer-- as she’s  become  more  confident  in  their  attachment  to one another-- she’s become increasingly brazen in deman- -ding his affection.

@authorofyourpain

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

They  were  alone now, but Ann saw no reason to forego the formality of the occasion. She  stood  near  the  window  in  a long  black  gown,  sipping champagne from a crystal chalice. The lights had been off for hours; at her  side,   the  yule  fire was dimming to low, intimate embers, leaving her silhouetted against the frosty window.

“You’ve been busy today,  I  know.”  She turned and crossed the room to him, abandoning her glass on a side table as she passed. Their forms were just shadows in the dim  light,  but she guided his hands to the familiar curve of her waist.

“I don’t mind, really.   But if you’re in the mood to indulge me something for Christmas, I have just one thing to ask.”  Lithe fingertips smoothed over his shoulders and she leaned up to plant a tender kiss at the corner of  his  lips,   lingering  for  a long, lazy moment.

With a cat-like stretch she curls up against his side,  resting her head on his shoulder.   On busy days like this one--   when  she has a country to govern and he has the underworld on his plate-- it’s easy to forget about these intimate little moments.   They’ve both learned to lock away their humanity,  to  play  at  being  as cold and as hard as stone in the eyes of their people--

But  she  presses  herself  into his warmth, listening to his heart--beat and the resonance of his voice  in  his  chest,   and  she’s struck by strange irony of it all.  That they, two people at the top of the world,  should find themselves here at the end of the day-- in the very same place as anyone else.

“This hour,   o Master,  shall be bright for thee.”   She steals his hand from his lap and brings it to her lips, tracing the peaks and hollows.  “Thy merchants chase the morning down the sea,  the braves who fight thy fight unsheath the sabre,   the  slaves  who toil thy toil are lashed to labor,  for thee the wagons of the world are  drawn--   the ebony of night, the red of dawn.” She presses her cheek into his hand, settling her head in the curvature of his palm.