A Measure of Peace (James Bond, PG)
Unarmed it is then, removing his shoes, moving a little quieter, he goes further in his home, slowing a bit at the corners.
From the doorway to the bath he sees the back of a blond head floating in gray marble tub in the middle of the room. A pile of clothes lies on the floor within arms reach, a holster on the top almost camouflaged in the folds of black wool. He walks around the edge of the room, taking in the side profile of the man soaking in the tub. There are some bruises not quite healed on his cheek and a rather unhealthy circle under his eye, the man’s rough appearance that only deepens as he sees him his head on, the faded cuts on his torso reviled before him. One arm with shiny pink burns is resting on the edge of the tub; the man opens his eyes when he sits down in one of the matching chairs that faces the tub.
“You must be one of the ones she’s taken under her wing. An agent of some kind I presume?”
The blond man did not speak, turning off the water while assessing him with his sharp blue eyes.
‘I’ll take that as a yes. You know she is going to be quite upset if you’re here when she arrives home.”
His starring eyes are shot with red: the man is probably exhausted.
“Looks like you’ve had quite a rough time, lad. Perhaps you should get some rest in the comfort of your own home.” He says in the way that’s not really a question, the same tone he uses for the interns when they’ve gone and done something silly.
Not a word from the blond man, just a dip of his lashes. Rather surprising, it sometimes seems they pick the most smart-mouth fellows for the job.
“Avoidance only works for so long, lad. Unless you’re here because you’re seeking a measure of safety.”
The younger man shifts in the water, little waves breaking against the side of the tub. The older man snorts in a mixture of amusement and sympathy: no matter how you cut it, a marble tub is not comfortable.
“And if that’s the case, I’m not sure if you’re going to find it here. How do you really think my wife will react if she finds you here?”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, “ I don’t know much of what my wife does, but I know enough that when the occasional oddity happens, I know it has something to do with her job. I have no idea why you are in my home, but I’m assuming it has to do with your job?”
His eyes open just a sliver. The older man makes another educated guess.
“Leave the job at the job, ok lad? Your make live longer and its better for your heart.” Almost as an afterthought, “Unfortunate things do happen, even to people we care about.”
As he says this, he rubs the indent where his left ring finger use to be, the finger he lost to some torture happy lowlife who thought they could use the husband of a double-oh to as a bartering chip for one of their friends. His wife personally took care of them, and she no longer flinches when he rubs the spot out of habit. The agent in the tub watches him under his eyelashes and says nothing.
They sit in silence for a time, he rubbing the gap his ring finger left and the man in tub breathing deep and even as if asleep, and maybe he was, but when the elevator chimed his eyes snapped open, alert.
The older man shuffled out of the bathroom, greeting his wife as she tossed her coat on a nearby chair. He kissed her cheek and stroked the side of her face, she smiled, but the tightness around her eyes remained.
The lad in their tub is going to have the same stress lines, he thought. He hoped there would be someone to kiss those lines away.
“I don’t really feel like cooking tonight, lets try that new Cuban place around the corner.”
She eyed him for a moment, that same cool assessment that never goes away before she agreed.
When they come home, the bath was empty. If his wife noticed the marble tub was damp, she said nothing.
Part 2