#post skyfall

It took me ages but here you are! I had started a gobblepot piece but I wasn't vibing with it so, I scrapped the whole thing and went for 00Silva - I hope you like it!

***

"You've changed"

"You wish"

"I'm serious"

Raoul turned around, a freshly bleached eyebrow arched up as if to challenge Bond to keep defying him "Me too" he might have been tamed, forced back once again in the bowels of MI6 but that didn't mean that he had changed - only torture had managed to break him and put him back together all wrong.

Or right.

It really was just a matter of perspective.

When the other man didn't say anything - just stared at him with those imperscrutabile, icy blue eyes of his that made him wonder if someone had ever wanted to take them as a trophy to be put on display - Raoul turned his back on him, focused once again on the screen in front of him, one finger tapping on the desk as he contemplated the lines of code. It was elegant - it had always been but even an enfant prodige such as the young Quartermaster dear old Mummy had handpicked for her ranks needed refinement: genius could go only so far without experience and growth supporting it.

His hacking feat had taught the boy the lesson rather efficiently, if anyone asked Raoul.

Though, if anyone truly asked him, he would probably admit that his aim hadn't exactly been to teach.

"You don't want to admit it because you're resentful" James insisted, stepping forward until he stood by the other's side - so close that Silva could have easily whipped out the knife James knew he always carried around and buried it amidst his ribs "And stubborn"

"You're the last man in this place who can lecture me on being either of those things" they had always been more alike than what was comfortable for Double-Oh Seven to admit.

"Or maybe you just can't see it yet, how much you've changed" James observed, ignoring the veiled provocation as he stepped closer until the hem on the other's jacket was brushing his own. Silva still favoured the casual but still elegant tailoring that he had sported in his island, breathy fabrics cut to allow for freedom of movement rather than to adhere to the body like a second skin - it made him wonder whether something darker and more tightly fitting would look just wrong on the other man or compliment his figure.

It also made him wonder when exactly he had started to think about Raoul Silva in such a way.

Fandom: James Bond Genre: Drama/Romance (burdgeoning) Characters: Lyutsifer Safin, Madeleine Swann Rating: M/E Warnings: Mildly dubious consent ft. assertive shower sex. Also witness my first attempt to emulate Ian Fleming’s prose directly??? Summary: "It was a rare instance where he could let his guard down; or so one would think."

NOTE: Deleted scene for Insult to Injury that was too spicy to make the cut. Takes place directly after Chapter Four.

Translations are in the notes at the end. If there's a mistake somewhere, feel free to bring it to my attention; I'm admittedly more fluent in Spanish than French.

He had left Swann asleep and the door ajar. Upon his return she could be heard conversing quietly on the phone, presumably with White. At a glance she had thrown her shirt back on and her posture was tense. As he was still waiting for a verdict, Safin went to take a shower.

The body wash smelt artificial, some lemony concoction, but the bar soap was workable. He let the warm water rush over him and his mind go blank.

It was a rare instance where he could let his guard down; or so one would think.

He did not hear Swann come in after him. He only saw the door move and the indistinct shape in motion against the fogged glass. Safin made himself very still. He waited until he determined the gait and build were in fact Swann's.

Now, Safin knew she'd been carrying a handgun in her bag when she was first collected from the clinic in Paris. He knew also that she had expressed a fair amount of contempt towards him up until several days ago. Either she fancied herself an assassin or she was simply vying for a second go. Regardless of her intent, there were three bathrooms in the house and no justifiable reason for her to be in here.

Summary: It's been six months since the events of Skyfall, and James is finding it hard to move on after the death of Olivia. However, he comes to realise; not everything is as it seems...

I've had this general idea for a few months now, and tonight, it finally decided to piece itself together. :D

‘Always You’ can be read here.

Bond froze mid-stride, the blood rushing from his face as the words sunk in.

“It was you, wasn’t it? I tried to give you a bottle of water and you nearly took off my arm,” Q continued. “I thought you were a first responder shook up by the accident--the woman drowned in the elevator. Funny how we met so many years ago, and now look at us. I don’t remember seeing that operation in your dossier, though. Was she your mark?”

“No,” Bond said. His voice cracked.

“But you knew her,” Q said. Something uneasy lurked behind his words, but Bond couldn’t think what it meant. His pulse drummed in his ears, drowning out all else. “It wasn’t an operation, was it?”

Bond swallowed. He couldn’t turn to face Q were he stood behind him at his desk, unperturbed by the memories he had just dug up. Bond closed his eyes and saw the canal water rippling in the sun, blinding him, and underneath it, the metal cage of the elevator, opened too late.

“Bond?” Q asked. “Is something the matter?”

Thank you so much for sending in such a sweet and soft request, writing this was immensely cathartic <3

***

Q looked down at their bags, going over his mental checklist to make sure they had packed everything; they would be gone only for the weekend and even if they forgot something they could survive without it but still, Q would rather not realise in the middle of Scotland highlands that he had forgotten his laptop charger or his spare glasses. 

“Cats are in the car”

Q leaned into the arms around his waist, tilting his head to the side so that he could smile up at James “Thank you. How did it go?” wrestling the cats in their carriers always tended to be a bloody business; he wouldn’t have put any of them through the ordeal for such short stays if the cats hadn’t loved Skyfall Lodge but they did - much to James’ chagrin who ended up taking upon himself the duty of getting the little beasts ready for travelling. 

“Let’s just say that I survived, hmm?” the agent hummed against Q’s forehead, kissing it tenderly.

He didn’t know when Skyfall had become their go-to relaxing retreat for when they couldn’t afford to fuck off and out of England for at least a week. They could have easily bought a chalet in the Cotswolds or Cornwall, somewhere they could make new and fresh memories without the ghosts of the past haunting them. For crying out loud, Skyfall hadn’t even been fully renovated yet: while the fire damage to the structure had been repaired, most of the rooms were still barren and inhospitable - if not downright inhabitable - despite the fact that almost two years had already passed from Silva’s attack upon his ancestral home. Q was partly to be blamed for it: the younger man had been strangely adamant about the fact that they should personally see to the refurbishing of the stately house - together. Clearly, it was rare enough that they managed to get day offs or holidays at the same time and that had meant that the renovations proceeded at a snail’s pace.

Sometimes James wondered about whether Q had intentionally slowed the process down to give him time to process the change - it didn’t sound so far-fetched, not when he knew the other man so well: seldomly Q left something to chance, he usually always had a reason for doing things in a certain way. 

Sometimes James wondered about whether Q was right, if that had been his intention: watching his home burn up in the night had bothered him more than he had ever thought it would; realising that there were things that had been lost forever in the fire - family mementos, traces of what his parents had liked enough to purchase - had hurt even more and maybe, if Q hadn’t encouraged him to restore the house, he would have left it in ruins as a temple to his grief.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, go sit in the car”

Q had given up on pointing out that he could help carry the bags: if James wanted to do all the heavy lifting, he wasn’t going to complain one bit about it. He checked on the cats, cooing reassuringly at them (he knew better than putting his fingers through the carries grates, though: it wouldn’t be the first time they swept at him because they were irritated) and then he took his place on the passenger seat, his phone and a two well-loved furniture catalogues in his lap “Did you lock the door?” 

James snorted at the question as he shut the door and put the car into gear “Who do you take me for?” 

“A human being and not an infallible machine?”

Such a playful retort shouldn’t have made James feel as warm as it did: he rationally knew that Q didn’t see him as a monster, no matter the fact that he was frequently exposed to the very worst part of him whenever he was out in the field, but it just felt good to be reminded of it out aloud from time to time.

Christ, he really was getting soft.

Fandom: James Bond Genre: Drama/Humor Characters: Lyutsifer Safin, Madeleine Swann Rating: PG/K+ Warnings: None, really. Summary: "On the train to Oslo, Madeleine is feeling pretty restless; Safin does his best to be charitable." 

Takes place right after Chapter Five of Insult to Injury. This was cute to write but a bit too directionless to keep in. (Besides, I don't think Safin would throw out a name in front of people he doesn't recognize!) So I've made another deleted scene-fic.

"It's curious. I really don't know one thing about you."

"It's not your job to know."

"Well, perhaps your name would be a good start."

"I've already given you a name." She scowled at him. He said, "What more do you need?"

Madeleine scoffed and feigned interest in the window. Time was spent in the wordlessness that comes out of having a million urgent questions but no good way to disguise one's true intent. The smooth chug of the train had a strange, somnambulant quality. Safin could not allow himself to be affected. He scanned the aisles for any visual change but found none.

"Wait, don't tell me—are you seriously implying that you have one name?" Madeleine smirked. "Is this how you sign all of your sanctions, just, Safin?"

"If it helps you sleep, yes."

"Hah." She glanced out the window again. "You are impossible."

It was close to one am when he finally closed the war book and tucked it back in the locked drawer of his desk. One day he figured it might be good to scan it, digitize it. But there was something about doing it this way that felt right. Holding on to the old fashioned for as long as he could.

When he got the lift and inside he hesitated. One floor would take him down to the street, and he could be on his way home. But something told him to do the exact opposite.

Which was how he found himself walking into Q Branch, not at all surprised to know it wasn't completely empty.

"You know if anyone else would have found you here, you might be fussed at."