#observance

In at least one other way, Observance is a return to form. After a 39-minute “EP” (Insurmountable, from 2022) and a 36-minute LP (Immersion, from 2020 — and good luck doping out the parameters of EPs and LPs from those examples), this new record sprawls across 68 minutes, just a minute or so longer than Caustic, the 2017 LP that brought the band to more national attention. The songs stretch out into that sprawl: among them “Transactional” at 14 minutes, “Devotion” at 12, “Social Contract” at 11. Slow, massive, perversely heavy—the songs do not compromise.

But there are noticeable contrasts with Caustic, a terrific record that impressed through the sheer force of its ugliness. See for instance the middle section of “Transactional,” which emerges from a characteristic (and hugely satisfying) bout of sludgy pummeling. Around the song’s halfway point, Ethan McCarthy’s guitar begins to emit a set of shimmering effects, on top of the blunt riffage. Soon that shimmer opens into a tonal space that recalls Sonic Youth, deep into tracks like “Mote” or “Karen Revisited.” It’s not tuneful or pretty, but it has an aesthetic quality that can only be called beautiful. A terrible beauty, perhaps, but beauty all the same.

The depths of “Natural Law” are not nearly so musical. The driving riff is relentless, violent, full of ill intent. But in the final four minutes, another teasingly melodic solo arrives, tempering the song’s abandon. The fact that the listener needs to endure the previous ten minutes of horrific hollering and the abuse doled out by the band’s bottom end (Jonathan Campos, who also plays in the brilliantly demented Black Curse, and Joe Linden) in order to encounter those final minutes makes them that much more thrilling, on the margins of the sublime.

It's an interesting maneuver, issuing this relatively (again, that’s a potent adverb in this context) more approachable record in socio-cultural conditions that are so full of resentment and misery. You can’t characterize Observance as a vehicle of escape into an artistic elsewhere, but there may be some wisdom in deriving moments of beauty from struggle with these heavy, heavy times.

The painless choice would be to leave James a note—to let him know that you had something come up, and not to worry. But you know now that the painless choice is rarely the right one, and while James acted as such before, you don’t wish to pay him back in kind.

You know what that feels like—it leaves a person hollow, deflated, like a popped balloon. And while there were moments in your time away from him that you wished the feeling on him, you don’t wish it on him now.

--

“I need to go to Brussels for a few days,” You tell him. He hasn’t asked yet, but he’s been looking at your packed suitcase by the door since he came in. “...Work?” He asks, tone deceivingly light and nonchalant. “Not exactly,” You shrug, equally deceiving in your nonchalance, “A friend needs help.” “A work friend?” “...Sort of,” You manage, “Not MI6.” “From?” “The navy. She’s in a tough spot, needs help. I’ve already asked Moneypenny to come over and walk and feed the dogs if you’re sent out. Q’s in reserve, so.” “...While I do love them, my first concern wasn’t for the dogs.” “That is very rich coming from a man who came back from his last mission with a cast around his arm—” “Pup—” “And a bandage wrapped around his head like he was in a hospital ward in the First World War.” “You said it was dashing.” “I was trying to cheer you up. You seemed very put out.” “Well—” “Don’t get me wrong, you did look like a dashing air force pilot from 1915—” “Why does this friend need your help?” You purse your lips, lowering your eyes and pushing your food around your plate. It’s an excellent question: one that you knew he would ask, and one that you knew you didn’t have a good answer for. “I um—” You clear your throat, “I don’t entirely know. She didn’t want to get into it over the phone.” “Concerning.” “A little, yes.” “You trust her?” You lift your head, waiting for Bond to set his drink down before catching his eye. “Breanna pulled me off of a sinking ship. I’ve trusted her with my life before, and I would again. She needs my help, I’m going.” “Alright,” Bond concedes, leaning back in his seat, “When?” “…In about three hours.” “Three?” Now Bond looks truly disapproving. “I just got back.” “I know. James, we…We don't plan for shit to happen, it just…It just happens.” “...I want updates.” “Even if you’re at work?” “Yes.” “You know that’s an awful idea.” “How do I know that.” “James.” “...I’ve had worse ideas.” “Well. That’s true, at least.”

--

“Do you ever think about our anniversary?”

The question catches you off-guard, and you freeze in your patting down your pockets, looking for your passport.

“I...Our anniversary?” You repeat, brow furrowing, “Do we have one?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself, lately.” Bond looks oddly contemplative as his eyes roam your suitcase, and the coat thrown over the top. “What spurred that though?” “Moneypenny.” “Ah, yes. She and her boyfriend just had their—third?” “Mm.” Bond folds his arms across his chest, leaning against the arm of the couch. “I feel like we’ve too many options.” “What, to choose from?” You laugh, unable to help it, but Bond answers, “Yes,” With all seriousness.

“Well, let’s see,” You sigh, resuming your search for your passport, “There’s…The first time we fucked.” “Mm. The first time we went to the seaside.” “Which I’d rather not use.” “Understandable...The first time I saw you on Naxos…The first time I saw you after I returned to MI6.” “Yes, what a memorable hallway.” “The first time we fucked after I returned to MI6.” “The self-flagellation that you put yourself through when you let me ask most of the questions that I had.” “Exactly.” You walk over to the couch, searching through your purse. “Do you have a preference?” You ask, glancing at Bond as he twists to look at you. “...Could observe all of them—except the seaside.” You chuckle softly. “Fascinating tactic, Commander.” “How so?” “Should you forget to celebrate one or the other, you’ve another two or three chances within the year to make up for it.” “I didn’t even think about that.” “Oh no?” You ask as your fingers close around your passport. “Nn-nn.” You give Bond a disbelieving glance as you straighten up from your purse, zipping it shut. “...Is your passport in there?” Bond asks. “Yes.” “Good.” “I have to go.” “...Yeah,” Bond mutters, lowering his gaze his head. You walk around to stand in front of him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and sliding a hand up to play with his hair at his nape. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Bond nods, lifting his head to meet your eyes, “I know you will.” “So you can wipe that little concerned furrow from between your brows.” You lean in, pressing a peck over the furrow. You smile as you hear James huff out a soft laugh. His arms unfold as he reaches out, curling his fingers in the fabric of your sweater. You lower your head, resting your forehead against Bond’s for a moment before you kiss him gently. As you’re shifting to walk away, his hand slips up to curl around the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You sigh softly, leaning into his chest. There’s something about the way James kisses you these days—it’s softer, more of a tender embrace. It’s still passionate, you still feel held by him, and cared for. But the way the two of you kiss now is far more familiar, more settled than your first encounter. You wouldn’t change it for the world. You force yourself to lean away and straighten up, cupping his face gently. “Mind your six,” Bond sighs, “And try not to get your head blown off.” “Yessir,” You grin. “And tell me when you get there.” --

“...Holy shit, Breanna,” You manage, looking at the crazy wall in front of you. It takes up the entirety of her living room wall, with red string tracing to a map in the center. “When’s the last time this living room saw sunlight?” You ask, eyeing the closed curtains before turning to look at your former shipmate. She’s in rough condition—her long, dark hair is pulled into a loopy, oily bun; her hazel eyes are bloodshot; she gnaws at her chipped nails as she glances at you. “Well?” She asks, thrusting her hand toward the wall. “‘Well’ what? There are better ways to repaper your walls, Bre.” Breanna scoffs, dropping her finger from her mouth and waving your closer. “Just—listen.”

--

“Okay…Okay, I think we ought to start by gathering intel on the majority leader for the purposes of building out the case. It would be easiest for me to get in there—” You’re cut off by your cell phone ringing, and you fumble with it. You’re ready to hang up on it, but you see the name and curse. “Shit—Shit, Bre, I have to take this, hang on,” You step away from her, ducking into her kitchen and answering the call. “Hi,” You greet. “So you aren’t dead.” “I’m sorry,” You sigh, running your hand over your hair, “I got here and things got…We went right to work.” James sighs softly on the other end. You can picture him leaning back against the counter in the kitchen and scrubbing his hand over his eyes. “As long as you’re alright,” He grumbles. “I’m sorry,” You repeat softly. “It’s alright. You can't tell me what you're doing, can you?” “Not quite yet, I'm still working on getting that answer myself. How are you doing?” “Fine.” “Just fine?” “Mhm.” A pause, then: “The dogs miss you.” You can’t help but smile. “I miss them, too.” “I’ll let them know.” “And I miss you, old dog,” You murmur. “...I miss you, too, pup.” You grin, then, bashfully ducking your head to hide as if he was right in front of you. “I’ve some news,” He adds. “Oh?” “I’m being sent out.” Your stomach plummets, and you swallow thickly. “...Oh.” “Moneypenny knows, she and her boyfriend will take the dogs in shifts.” “Good. I’ll have to remember to get them a nice bottle of wine. When are you leaving?” “In a couple of hours.” “...Sorry I won’t see you before you go,” You murmur. “It’s alright, pup.” “But I’ll see you when we’re back.” “Of course.” “Mind your six, try not to get your head blown off.” “Yes, ma’am.” “I love you.” “...I love you, too, pup,” Bond murmurs. You smile, lowering the phone from your ear and peering down at it. You run your thumb over the screen before you straighten up. “You can come out,” You call out, eyeing the slight shadow from the hall. Breanna pokes her head around the corner just a second later. “Pretty serious, huh?” She asks. You shrug, nodding and tucking your phone away. “Let’s get back at it,” You urge, steering her toward the living room.

--

This is just meant to be recon. You have a pin in your jacket that contains both a camera and microphone. You can only hope that the mic doesn’t pick up the way that your heart is pounding. Being back on the field—not on the field as you were previously—but on the field in some capacity—

Well, you’re a little more nervous than you expected to be. It’s been a while, and while your instincts haven’t disappeared, you’re certainly grappling with a feeling akin to first-day jitters. You drop back from the rest of the tour as you’re led through the capital building. You eye the few cameras that are around, and can only hope that Bre’s been able to patch through the system, showing the guards a clear hallway. You hadn’t been able to get earpieces; Bre didn’t have access to any, and you didn’t have time to source them. As you skulk down the hall, stepping over the rope to a restricted area, you flip your visitor’s badge over to the official’s badge that Bre stole on her last visit to the building—the one that got her banned.

Two rights, one left, and then another right. You repeat Breanna’s directions in your mind as you stride surely down the hall. You’re about the make that second right when someone catches hold of your wrist, tugging you into a file room. You don’t get a good look at them as you duck beneath their arm, twisting out of their wrist and raising your leg to kick them. Their hands catch hold of your ankle, and you wobble, pulling your foot back and losing your low heel in the process. You raise your knee, feinging another kick, and raise your hand to strike them. They catch hold of your wrist, tugging you into their chest. You look at them with a stunned huff, and your heart stops. “You’re out of practice, pup.” Before you can ask—before you can snap, before you laugh—James is pulling you more tightly into his chest and silencing you with a kiss. You want to be mad about how easily you give into it, too. It’s not as if you haven’t gone long periods without seeing him, and this hasn’t even been all that long, but you do miss him when he’s not around. You miss being able to touch him, to kiss him—and, truthfully, the fact that you hadn't gotten back before he was sent out again had been weighing on you. “What are you doing here?” You mumble as he leans away to get a better look at your face. “I suspect the same as you.” “I’m here on recon.” “...I’m here for something a little more forceful than recon.” “You could’ve told me that you were on your way.” You watch him raise his hand to his ear as he murmurs, “Q, fill her in, would you?” And then Bond is tugging his earpiece out and raising it, carefully tucking it into yours. You take hold of it to correct the position as Q’s voice crackles through. “It was something of a surprise to see you over the feed,” Q’s voice is tinged with amusement. “Can you see us now?” You ask, eyeing the camera in the corner of the room, even as Bond dips his head, sucking kisses to what of your neck is above your collar. “...Unfortunately. But this feed has been hijacked from the main security system.” “Good—Bond,” You scoff, fighting the urge to laugh as you try to push his head away from you. Bond just grunts, curling his arms more tightly around you. “Just—Just brief me, Q, please,” You hurry to add. “Why don’t you tell me what you know already and I’ll fill you in.” You give him information piece by piece, careful to keep your voice steady as Bond continues his methodical assault on your neck. You hope that Q is at least shading his eyes. “Your intel is excellent,” Q says once you've finished, “And I’d love to know the source as a later date—As it is, 007 needs to apprehend the majority leader. He’s expected to be heavily guarded and armed himself.” “Is he being taken to headquarters?” “That is the plan.” “Alright,” You lean back from Bond, tipping his head up to meet his eyes, “Then I ought to be on my way.” “I wouldn’t advise that,” Q hurries to say before you can pull out the earpiece, “I can only open so many doors. Bond needs your access—” “I’ll give him my badge—” “And a second set of eyes in this veritable labyrinth.” You hesitate before you nod. “Alright,” You agree, and fall silent as Q gives you the lowdown on the plan. “Are you armed?” He asks. “No. 007 will just have to share,” You tease, reaching up and squeezing Bond’s cheeks. You pass him the earpiece back, waiting patiently as Q fills him in. As you do, you have to stop yourself from leaving in and giving Bond’s neck the same treatment. Bond lowers his hand from his ear, nudging you back. You take a step away pulling your fallen shoe back on as you watch him reach into the back of his pants and pull out a gun. He checks the clip before passing it over. “Does this count as my anniversary present?” You tease. “That’s not until next week,” Bond grins before he reaches down, tugging another gun out of his ankle holster. You watch him give it the same treatment before he takes off the safety.

“Ready?” He asks. “Mhm.” --

Stalking down the halls with a gun in hand is twice as nerve wracking as a simple recon. You turn as you hear the floor creak, spotting a guard raising their gun. You fire, taking them down. You turn forward again, glancing at Bond as he glances at you. “Thank you,” He murmurs. “For?” “Minding my six.” You grin, nodding him further down the hall. --

Your head is thudding dully. You take in a deep breath as you finish bounding the majority leaders’ hands, ignoring his attempts to bribe you into freeing him. You straighten up, peering out over the rooftops. “Are you busy?” Bond calls back to you. You turn to face him, striding over toward the roof’s edge and looking at the man dangling off of the edge. He’s swinging, glancing at the alley below. One of his hands comes up, and he cries out as he desperately tries to grip the ledge with broken fingers. “Helicopter will be here in two minutes. Would you like to do the honors?” Bond asks, looking at you. “Mm...” You consider the man; you think about the rage in his eyed as he clubbed you across the face with the butt of his gun. “Thanks, but you can have him,” You smile. “You sure?” “Yeah, go on.” Bond grunts before he raises his gun, firing and nailing the man between the eyes. You watch, stunned, as he drops from the roof. “I thought you were going to kick him in the face or something,” You laugh, staring up at Bond. “Then you should’ve done it,” Bond shrugs before he turns, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and leading you back to the majority leader. “Let’s go.” “I have to go see Bre,” You warn, “Before I come home.” Bond frowns a little, and you add, “I need to explain what’s gone on. She’ll be happy to learn that she was right.” “Okay,” Bond sighs, gripping the man by the shoulder and hauling him up. You lift your head as MI6’s helicopter descends to the roof. “I’ll see you at home,” You pat Bond's arm, way of showing affection in front of others. It's no secret that the two of you are together these days, but should M ask any questions—questions that he'll surely have regarding your involvement with the operation—you'd rather the others had little to say . “Hang on—” Bond looks away, adding, “Take him,” As the agents advance toward you. The man grunts as he’s shoved toward the helicopter. James turns back to you, looking over your face, and the bruise that's blooming on your cheek,

“Get your head looked at,” He urges, cupping your chin, “If you’ve got a concussion, I don’t want it to go unchecked.” “I will.” “And let me know when you’re heading home.” “I will.” “Promise?” “Yes.”

Bond glances behind himself before he ducks his head in, kissing you warmly. “Get home safe,” You murmur. “Yes ma’am,” Bond smiles, nudging his nose against yours. You give his hand a squeeze, watching him head for the helicopter.

--

“Do you need me to grab anything?” “No, pup. Just come home.” “I’m like…Ten minutes away,” You report. “Good,” Bond sighs, “It’s about time.” “I had to stick around,” You have to fight the urge to whine at him, “Q and Breanna needed to connect securely, and the local government wanted to know how we knew what we knew. .” “Mm, I remember,” Bond mutters. “Besides, absence makes the heart grow fonder.” “It makes the heart grow impatient." “Well then, I’ll see you in a bit.” Bond grunts, and you grin before hanging up. As the car turns down your street, you sit up straighter, reaching out and grabbing your purse and coat from their place on the seat beside you. You thank the driver as he takes your suitcase out of the trunk, and you find yourself glancing up at the windows and smiling. You take your time heading inside, checking your mail on the way up.

As you reach your flat, before you can put your key into the lock, the door opens. You grin at the sight of James. There’s something about him, even now, that makes your stomach flood giddily. “Hi,” You greet as you step inside. “Took you long enough.” You snort, rolling your eyes. "It's nice to see you too," You tease, hanging your coat on the hook before you turn to James, looping your arms around his middle. James groans contentedly, burying his face in your shoulder and sliding his hands over your back. “...You know, you scared the shit out of me,” You mutter. “I know. I could see it.” “You could’ve warned me.” “The line wasn’t secure—and you didn’t tell me what you’d be doing." “Once I knew what it was, I couldn’t.” “Why not?” “I was…I was worried that you’d pull yourself in. I didn’t want that—Not without MI6 involved.” Bond sighs softly, lifting his head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “I understand,” He mutters, “Even if I don’t like it…Though it was nice to be on the field with you again.” “Oh? Even though I’m out of practice?” “We could always get you in practice again.” “I don’t think so, old dog,” You chuckle as you tip your chin up, nuzzling his neck gently before pressing a tender kiss to his jaw. You pull away after a moment, your brow furrowing at how quiet the apartment is. “Where are the babies?” You ask, looking around. “The dogs are at Moneypenny’s.” “Why? Is something wrong?” “No,” James shakes his head, “We’ll pick them up in the morning. But I wanted us to have some quiet.” He steps back to let you get a view of your little eat-in kitchen. Your eyes widen slightly as you spot the set table, lit candles, and a bottle of wine. Your brow furrows as you glance between it and James. “What—What did you—” “I told you, our anniversary was this week.” You grin, raising your hand and cupping his cheek, drawing him in for a kiss. “You’re such a fucking romantic,” You accuse. “If you tell anyone, I’ll just deny it.” “Oh, I don’t have to tell anyone. You had Moneypenny take the dogs so that we could have a night alone. She’ll tell everyone that you’re a romantic, and everyone will believe her.” James grunts, resting his hand on your lower back and steering you toward the table. “She won't say a thing if she knows what’s good for her.” --

When you first fucked James—when you first realized that you were in love with James—a little hopeful part of you imagined something like this. It imagined quiet nights, relaxed dinners, teasing words and grins. It imagined truly knowing what it was like to be wrapped up in him—in his touch, his voice, his kiss—without the threat of the next mission hanging over both of you. And while there often is the threat of a mission—while your lives are not as quiet and idyllic as you once hoped they would be—they are a great deal more comfortable than you once thought possible. You know James like the back of your hand. You know his likes and dislikes; you know how he takes his coffee; you know the code to his safety deposit box; you know his preferred arrangements—should, god forbid, a mission take a nasty turn, and things need to be arranged. And you know, by the way he watches you over the rim of his wine glass, that he plans on ruining you tonight. -- "I should've blindfolded you when you came in," James murmurs. You giggle, tipping your head back and trying to see out of the bottom of the blindfold, but James has done too good a job of fixing it over your eyes. You can't see a thing; not even with your eyes open, as the satin blindfold is too dark to even glimpse light through. "How would that have gone?" You urge. "I could've managed it. Met you down by the door...Blindfolded you there." "The entire building would be convinced that we're fucking in the elevator." "We can do that next." "Bond." You raise a hand, using his voice and the heat of his body to guide where he must be, and slapping him on his shoulder. He laughs, brushing his lips along the underside of your chin. "The night's still young," He teases. You can feel the way his lips pull up into a smile. You smile in turn, raising your hands and sliding them over his arms. You pout, feeling fabric under your fingers instead of skin. "You need to take your shirt off," You grumble. "Oh, do I?" "Immediately." "Be careful, pup. If you keep issuing commands, I'll have to tie you to the headboard." "You do always say that you need a better use for your—" Your breath hiccups at the warning, "Your tie collection. And didn't you just say that the night is still young?" James hums thoughtfully. You feel its tantalizing vibration as his lips drift down over your collarbone and sternum. You shiver, fighting to keep still as you feel his breath ghost over the underside of your breast. He sucks a kiss along the bottom before he leans up, tongue circling your nipple. You squirm, arching up against him. But James won't be enticed. He just shifts from one nipple to the other, giving it a short, slick lap before drawing away. You feel him blow cooly over the wet skin, and you whimper, squeezing your thighs together. "Open up for me," James urges, and before he can touch you or clarify, you snap, "Arms, legs, mouth? What do you want?" James tuts softly, drawing away. You can feel the bed dipping beside you as he changes position; the whisper of fabric hitting the floor hardly makes it to your ears. "This could've been far more gentle, pup," He sighs, stroking your cheek. You turn your head toward him, teasing the tip of your tongue across his thumb as he brushes it along your lower lip. "Well what did you want me to o—" In a flash, as you ask, Bond grips your cheeks, sinking them and forcing your mouth to hold that O. You feel the tip of his cock tease between your lips before stilling. Maybe he thinks that if he pushes in too fast, you'll bite him. Instead, you slip your tongue along the glans, as gently you had with his thumb. James groans, pushing more of his length between your lips. You let your eyes close behind the blindfold, leaning up and taking in more of his cock. James' hips pulse shallowly as your head bobs, slicking his shaft and drawing your tongue along the veined underside. "I was going to tell you to open your legs—" He says, and you can hear strain in your voice. It makes you grin, and you pull your head back, sucking his head.

"I was—Fuck," He groans; you can imagine him kneeling beside your head, his face screwed up in concentration, in lustful agony, "I was going to be sweet with you." You pull your head back, lips leaving him with an obscene pop! "Well who the fuck told you I wanted that?" You sass, but you're grinning. You can only imagine Bond looking down at you this way—your hair a mess, your mouth shining with spit and precum. You feel him place his hand on the back of your neck, drawing you back to his cock and pushing in more forcefully this time, hard enough to make you gag. "You're right," James sighs as your struggle to take him, "I don't know what I was thinking." He could pull back at any moment, and you find yourself wrapping an arm around him, sinking your nails into his ass to keep him close. "Shit," James curses, hips bounding again before he pulls out of your mouth, watching you cough and gasp . You feel the bed shift, lifting beside you as he climbs off of it. You try to reach for him again, but he's walking away. You're this close to pulling off the blindfold, to finding out what he's doing, but you feel something silky-soft wrap around one of your wrists. "James—" You manage, but Bond presses his hand over your mouth. He lowers his head, lips brushing your ear. "I did warn you," He murmurs before he draws back. Your arm is pulled up over your head; you can hear the sliding of fabric as he loops it around the headboard, tying what you can only assume is an incredibly efficient knot with one of his lovely ties. A shiver runs down your spine, and you squirm in place, trying to stave off a shiver. "Open your fucking legs, pup," He snarls as your other arm raises, your wrist given the same sliky-soft treatment. "If you want me to," You warn breathily, "You'll have to work faster—faster than that." You swear you can hear James chuckle, but you're certain he'll never admit to it. It's only another moment before his large, warm hands slide up your calves, prying your legs open. You can imagine what he sees—your pussy, flushed and slick. You jump just a little as you feel his fingers smooth over your lips, pulling them wide. With the way he stills, you think he may be looking at you for reassurance, and you nod your head just a touch, hoping to spur him on. It seems to do the trick, and not a moment later, you feel the obscene, hot sliding of his spit trickling between your lips. You gasp, a stunned moan falling from between your lips as James rubs it in, teasing it lower and pressing a finger into you. "Oh—my god," You mumble, struggling against your restraints. You want nothing more than to free your wrists—nothing more than to pull off your blindfold and watch James grin filthily as he breaks you down. But he just tuts again, like a an impatient schoolmarm with a naughty student. "I'd hold still if I were you, pup," Bond speaks into your thigh before laying a stinging bite there, "The longer you spend struggling, the longer the night will be for you."

You're not sure if that's a warning or encouragement, but you tug at your restraints all the same.

--