Fic: Divergence
The room is spinning, slowly at first,then faster and faster and she has to close her eyes and remind herself where she is. It’s still a surprise and he is an even bigger one. She risks looking over her shoulder, tries to see him from just corner of her eye so he can’t catch her watching him. It could get into his head and M still isn’t sure what she wants to get into his head. Is she really waiting for the second shoe to drop?
Bond turns away from his companion for a second and their eyes meet. M feels heat rising up in her cheeks and pretends she was about to reach her daughter, tries to shake off the feeling of his eyes on her. He’s burning in a mark and she doesn’t know how to stop him, this. Whatever is happening, it’s inappropriate and unacceptable and many more words she can’t pronounce right now, because of all the champagne she's consumed.
It was supposed to be a family trip, she wasn’t even invited at first,but then she was and when Bond entered the party Brad had misunderstood her intention to explain who he was. And suddenly he was invited too, had been given a room next to her and trying to blend in the shadows. His tactics haven’t worked on a young American tourist, whose older husband was loudly snoring in the corner, and so Bond played the game, and she very much tried not to notice.
She decided to rather go to her room. “Sweetheart, I think I might go and lie down. Being up late isn’t what it used to be,” she says touching Clara’s shoulder. “And Happy New Year again,” she finishes up with a kiss,and Clara takes hold of her hands.
“I’m very happy that you have decided to come with us.” Her smile is the most genuine M has seen in a while and she reminds herself how happy she should be. Her children had accepted her back into their lives, even though she was never there, never present during those important parts of their earlier life. She had lied to them, hid from them a big part of her life, but they still want her in theirs.
She puts the tears down to the alcohol. “Me too,” she whispers and kisses Clara one more time, briefly touches Jim’s arm, and bids goodnight to the rest of her family. She ignores Bond on purpose. He might follow but he might not as well. Maybe he could spend the night with a gorgeous blonde, abandoning the cover they had decided to maintain because the truth was too complicated.
And M should be okay with that, not walking down the hall hoping to hear his footsteps behind her. It should be irrelevant and she tries to stifle a gasp when she hears someone following her. Her pulse quickens and so does she, funny, to this moment she hasn’t realized she’s running.
Her key card is already ready in her hands and she hurries to the bathroom to try and calm down, she feels pressure and excitement, and other things she hasn’t in such a long time. There’s a different woman looking at her from the mirror, her cheeks are rosy and her eyes are wide, and M reaches up and touches her own lips, tracing them. “What have I done?” she asks her own reflection. It only smiles back at her with a spark in its eyes.
When she comes back to the bedroom, Bond is already sitting in the armchair with his elbows on his knees. He looks relaxed but M knows it’s an act, he jaw is stiff and he’s holding his own hands in a death-like grip. “You disappeared without telling me, it isn’t the best thing to do if you want to keep up this charade.” His voice sounds angry and sad and tired at the same time, and she tries to ignore the way her body reacts to it.
“You saw me leaving. I didn’t know I had to inform the person supposed to be keeping me safe. They’re supposed to know.” The office persona slips in and the temperature drops a few degrees. It also makes her realize how very difficult it is to put her on. She had died that day at Skyfall, and now this one isn’t sure how to resurrect her.
His sigh is something between a snort and a laugh. And M wants to react to it, wants to snap, send him away to Siberia and never ever look back. But M knows things have changed, she has changed, and most importantly, she isn’t M anymore.
“So that’s who I am? A person supposed to keep you safe?” Bond doesn’t sound like himself either, someone swapped them through the looking glass, put them in this ridiculous situation, and now is laughing his ass off. She has her bet on Mallory.
“You agreed to it,” she answers, holding her head high and hoping he won’t notice the way her hands are shaking. She holds them together and watches him, not analysing, she’s trying to stop that. She needs solid ground under her feet, she needs to stop whatever she started when she didn’t deny that Bond was her bodyguard. She could’ve said no, come up with a different excuse. But she remained silent, and so did he.
Bond nods. “Yes, I did. I suppose that makes it just my own fault. I’m sorry, I must’ve misunderstood.” He talks like an agent receiving his mission debrief now and it isn’t something she wanted. He’s about to get up and leave when she takes that one step. It halts him and she realizes she just made it all that more complicated.
“No,” leaves her lips and his eyes shoot up to hers in that same instant, like he was waiting for it. One little word can make all the difference. “It wasn’t your fault. I was supposed to say something, I was supposed to clear things out.” She’s slowly walking toward him and he’s waiting, leaning back in the chair, his legs parted. “I’m sorry.” Her last words reach him at the same time she does and the woman who used to be M is now standing close, very close to her former agent.
He catches her hand then, pulls her towards him and traps her between his legs. It reminds her of their first meeting and it makes her grin. Bond notices it too and they’re suddenly looking at each otherremembering how easy it used to be when they were employee and employer, when he really was just her bodyguard. But then he didn’t feel the need to hold her hand, to stroke the soft skin of her palm with his thumb, that was new and not unwelcome.
She opens her mouth, slowly prepares words and sentences, but he’s looking at her through hooded lids, and she sees something she never expected to. It could be alcohol too, she saw him drinking one Scotch after another with same purpose she drank her champagne. “M,” he whispers, one letter with thousands of meanings and she knows they’re far beyond that. She shakes her head.
“Victoria,” she whispers her name and after so many years, it almost feels wrong, like she’s breaking a promise. But his look speaks of delight and wonder, and Victoria, not M, never M, takes his face between her hands and leans her forehead against his. It’s tender and so unlike them that they have both problems with breathing. The air circulates between them, touches them, kisses them, and it’s him who pushes his face closer to hers.
The door to her room opens without a warning and they’re both so caught up in the fantasy they've managed to create that only when Clara gasps at the sight, do they both turn towards her. “Mum, I’m sorry I should’ve knocked,” she apologized still standing by the door, and Victoria sends her a sad smile. Bond lets his hands fall to his sides and she steps out of his embrace.
“Yes, dear, you should’ve.” M slips back into her voice and Clara looks more surprised than before. She’s looking at her mother like she's seeing her for the first time. Behind them James Bond leans back in the chair and smirks, he might be angry they got interrupted, but he likes watching her like this, so real and human with a hint of the woman he's known almost all his life.
“Just wanted to say good night,” Clara almost stammers, comes to her mother and kisses her on the cheek. “Good night, mum,” she says and slowly backs away, feeling that there were far too many things she doesn’t know about this woman.
Victoria smiles, M gets sent back into shadows. “Good night, sweetheart. And please do tell the others the same for me,” she responds sweetly and watches Clara leave the room. It might have been awkward and too revealing but she can’t regret it, can’t be hiding from her children forever, may it be about her past or about her probable future. She knows too, that the interruption gave her a way out of this situation; they could pretend he’s her bodyguard for few more days, then go back to their lives. But there’re things she can’t take back and she isn’t about to.
But Bond is quicker; he jumps out of the chair as soon as Clara closes the door and when she turns to him, he’s already there. “I won’t let you walk away,” he whispers breathlessly and Victoria can only smirk because he sounds like a romance hero, and she finds it both amusing and horrifying. He means it though because his arms are around her sooner than she has a chance to respond and his lips are nearing hers. She lets him. She's tormented the poor boy enough already.