Venice, 4th August 2006
"Why should I need more time? Job's done. The bitch is dead."
Almost as soon as he'd said it, Bond knew it has been the wrong thing to say, even without the shade-too-long silence on the other end of the line to help clue him in. For all MI6 prized the ability to compartmentalise in its agents, talk like that while the taste of silt and stagnant water still lurked in his mouth despite his best efforts was a bit much even for someone who could be as cold-blooded as M. Intent on shoving the pin-pricks of what were most definitely not shame or guilt M's non-rebuke engendered down next to whatever unnamed emotions had fuelled his unwise statement, he almost missed her following order.
"Excuse me?"
"I said stay where you are," M repeated, definite rebuke in her tone now. "I'll order some agents to join you at your current location... I think we might need to talk face to face."
Which was how, several too quick and excruciatingly long hours later, Bond came to be staring slack-jawed at the tiny woman standing in the saloon of the yacht and wondering if in fact he had never left Le Chiffre's chair, and if the last few weeks had been nothing more a hallucination created by his battered genitals. It would make about as much sense as what had just come out of M's mouth.
"Teaching?" he sputtered when he finally found his voice again. "In America? Are you mad?"
"I'm perfectly sane," M replied, voice calm, cold, and cutting. "I'd just like to be sure the same can be said of you."
For the second time in the conversation Bond was brought up short. "What are you getting at?"
"This entire operation has been a nightmare, and not just because of the girl paying off the organisation," M replied in that same tone. "I need to be sure of my agents."
"Let me get this straight," Bond was now fairly sure that the main reason M ask for a face to face meeting was to enjoy seeing him on the back foot. "You think I've been compromised?"
"No, I think you're angry."
"And if I am? I think I should bloody well have the right to be. Ma'am."
"At who? This organisation? Yourself for not noticing something sooner? The girl for betraying you? Getting herself killed? Or for not asking you to help?"
Thoughts flashing to the mobile burning a hole in his jacket pocket, Bond willed his mouth shut and his face passive.
"I thought as much." M's face softened imperceptibly as she sighed. "James, your choices are taking this...special assignment or handing yourself over to Pysch Section until they can assure me that you're as stable as a double-oh can be expected to be. Believe me when I say that if I were you I'd prefer the former over the latter."
Jaw twitching, Bond managed a curt nod. "When do I leave?"
"Now," M replied. "Take what you have here with you, and anything else you need will be sent after. And James, I'm not just sending you to just any school, even you might be surprised by what Fandom has to offer."
[Establishy. NFI, NFB due to the whole being in the past thing. Opening line cribbed from Casino Royale]
Almost as soon as he'd said it, Bond knew it has been the wrong thing to say, even without the shade-too-long silence on the other end of the line to help clue him in. For all MI6 prized the ability to compartmentalise in its agents, talk like that while the taste of silt and stagnant water still lurked in his mouth despite his best efforts was a bit much even for someone who could be as cold-blooded as M. Intent on shoving the pin-pricks of what were most definitely not shame or guilt M's non-rebuke engendered down next to whatever unnamed emotions had fuelled his unwise statement, he almost missed her following order.
"Excuse me?"
"I said stay where you are," M repeated, definite rebuke in her tone now. "I'll order some agents to join you at your current location... I think we might need to talk face to face."
Which was how, several too quick and excruciatingly long hours later, Bond came to be staring slack-jawed at the tiny woman standing in the saloon of the yacht and wondering if in fact he had never left Le Chiffre's chair, and if the last few weeks had been nothing more a hallucination created by his battered genitals. It would make about as much sense as what had just come out of M's mouth.
"Teaching?" he sputtered when he finally found his voice again. "In America? Are you mad?"
"I'm perfectly sane," M replied, voice calm, cold, and cutting. "I'd just like to be sure the same can be said of you."
For the second time in the conversation Bond was brought up short. "What are you getting at?"
"This entire operation has been a nightmare, and not just because of the girl paying off the organisation," M replied in that same tone. "I need to be sure of my agents."
"Let me get this straight," Bond was now fairly sure that the main reason M ask for a face to face meeting was to enjoy seeing him on the back foot. "You think I've been compromised?"
"No, I think you're angry."
"And if I am? I think I should bloody well have the right to be. Ma'am."
"At who? This organisation? Yourself for not noticing something sooner? The girl for betraying you? Getting herself killed? Or for not asking you to help?"
Thoughts flashing to the mobile burning a hole in his jacket pocket, Bond willed his mouth shut and his face passive.
"I thought as much." M's face softened imperceptibly as she sighed. "James, your choices are taking this...special assignment or handing yourself over to Pysch Section until they can assure me that you're as stable as a double-oh can be expected to be. Believe me when I say that if I were you I'd prefer the former over the latter."
Jaw twitching, Bond managed a curt nod. "When do I leave?"
"Now," M replied. "Take what you have here with you, and anything else you need will be sent after. And James, I'm not just sending you to just any school, even you might be surprised by what Fandom has to offer."
[Establishy. NFI, NFB due to the whole being in the past thing. Opening line cribbed from Casino Royale]