#bondsgotnothingonme

“It’s funny you say that,” She gave him a playful smile as he commented on her being a nurse, in on a joke he didn’t quite understand yet.

“I mean, obviously my bedside manner just comes from spending like, a LOT of time in hospitals.” Perhaps more inside them than outside, a depressing fact. “Used to drive me nuts when nurses were shit at helping. Like, sorry, but I can’t exactly get up and pop to Tesco to get my own food, can I? At least not without it taking an HOUR.” She lined up his food on the tray from earlier, putting uneaten hospital food in a pile on the side to make room.

“But I’m actually a Doctor. Not medical though, obviously. Else I would just diagnose myself with all these chest infections.” The tray was placed on his lap, and Victoria moved backwards carefully to her chair, a small sound of pain escaping her lips as she fell into it unceremoniously.

Watching the young woman was painful. If he had been able to, he would have taken the pain away from her; but unfortunately, that is not how life works. She had to go through it on her own. Still, perhaps being in this room together, talking, eating, helped her a tiny bit, and that alone was enough for him.

He’s failed. Again. Bond remembers when he thought stopping would be easy, and yet here he is once again drinking in the pub after a mission. In his defence, it was one that had gone completely wrong and when he’d returned to London he’d found himself in the pub almost entirely instinctively. He hasn’t let James know where he is purely out of shame.

He looks up when he hears someone approaching, his stomach dropping when he realises it’s James rather than a stranger. Q’s smart blood must have tipped him off. He sighs and pushes the half empty glass away from him, not trying to deny what he’s been doing. 

“A few days ago,” Harry said, fiddling with his signet ring as he spoke. “I am a detective, James, you must have known that I’d find out eventually.”

Bond’s brow furrows at that. It’s not as simple as not trusting James - of course he does - it’s years of pain that have taught him to be cautious in displaying his trust.

“Don’t be silly,” his voice is quiet; he’s working hard not to make it sound dismissive. “I trust you with my life.” That’s the honest truth. Even if he isn’t ready to talk about everything with James, he trusts the younger man to the ends of the earth. 

He glances down at James’ hand that holds the picture that started this. A photograph of Vesper he had taken shortly before Venice. Something he’d never been able to throw away and had instead tucked into a box at the back of a cupboard. Out of sight, if not out of mind most days. His silence has been taken as distrust, clearly, but he still can’t figure out how to explain the picture to James. How to explain that James doesn’t need to be worried. 

( @bondsgotnothingonme )

Send me a ☂ to find my character in a dark alley in the middle of a storm, beaten and bloody || ( @bondsgotnothingonme )

Harry’s breath was coming in ragged inhales as he tried to scrabble his way up into a sitting position. His hands were wet with rain and blood and so they slid off the brick wall as he tried to pull himself up.