Fandom: James Bond (Skyfall '12)
Characters/Parings: 00Silva aka Bond/Silva, Q/Moneypenny aka £Q
Word Count: 1,082
Summary: When the dust clears where does everyone end up? Part of Towards Dawn.
A/N: This is the Epilogue of Towards Dawn. It is also the less happy ending. The only thing that is really different is a scene tacked on at the bottom.
They moved to Warwick, only about an hour-and-a-half travel time outside of London, but Q insisted. Silva backed him up too—something about how it was better to lie low than to jump on a plane. While he said that, he took a sip of the wine he was drinking.
He, Q, Eve, and James were in the backyard of the house that Q procured for them using Silva’s money. After the escape, they all decided to live in the same house—that on Q’s insistence, too. For the most part it worked. It had taken them time to get used to living with each other, but once the initial awkwardness was out of the way, it almost seemed as if they had lived this way all their lives.
Things settled down after a month or so, and they all began to get itchy. None of them were really meant to be creatures who settled down, it was true. In the end it was Silva who suggested opening an Odd Jobs type shop—one where they would take jobs that the people of the town needed done. After Silva spoke, James had grinned at the idea. The idea that he would once again be able to help people, to do something for his country, pleased him.
Jobs started out small. They cleaned shops, found runaway pets, and generally did anything that came their way. Then, one crying woman changed everything. She came to them complaining about how her husband was going to London for long trips. It became obvious as the woman spoke that she thought he was cheating. A moment of discussion later, and James and Silva were traveling by tube back to the dreaded city. Silva had cut his hair short and grown a large amount of stubble, and James too had let himself grow a small bit of stubble, his hair grown out a bit—enough that he thought it absurdly long, but not so much that most people could even notice.
It turned out that her husband wasn’t cheating on her. It turned out that her husband had joined an undercover in-country terrorist group. Shots were fired, and—with the help of Q back in Warwick—they not only brought the group down, but also dropped the struggling husband off a block away from the MI6 entrance. That was how M found him, trussed up and with a folder pinned to his clothes about his crimes.
When they got home, both of them realized that while they liked doing the odd jobs, the needed more. Using more of Silva’s money, Eve and Q went out and bought a small studio. About a month later the whole space was transformed into something of a headquarters. Q hacked into MI6 computers and pulled up a few cases that interested him. Eve—who had been closest to M—made the final decision on which ones they would take. And more often than not, she picked good ones.
They didn’t always go out spying, but it did become a bit of a regular thing. They did the odd jobs on the side to appear normal and keep a decent flow of income, but when they could get away from that, they would go to their studio headquarters. They settled easily into their jobs. Eve quickly became taskmaster, and all of them jokingly dubbed her “N” because it was close to M. Of course it ended up sticking. At one point, Silva took to calling her “Mummy”, but James quickly put a stop to that. Q remained Q. One night over drinks, he told him his real name, but they all agreed that Q would never stop being his name.
It was only much later that James realized how happy he was. He hadn’t compromised too many morals, he thought. England was still safe, and his life had not ended in the melodramatic fashion he thought it would. Late at night—after a particularly brutal trip to America—James turned to Silva, “I feel like the world should collapse because I am happy, but it has not.”
Silva merely smirked at him. “Life has taught me, dear James, that it does not stop if you are happy or sad. Life is a bit of a bitch.”
James smiled at that. “Ah. Well, this bitch has been kind to us.”
He felt Silva roll over and curl up into him. “Do go to sleep.”
He laughed. Silva’s suggestion was a good one indeed. Morning awaited.
When James fell asleep, Silva rolled over and padded outside as quietly as he could. Outside, the woman who had told them her husband was cheating stood smoking a cigarette. The smoke curled into the air as she turned to him. Grinning, he looked at her and said, “Veronica.”
“Silva, dear. It is good to see you in such spirits. My money?”
From the little pouch he grabbed on his way out, he pulled out a check. “It is to the one account they do not know. Be careful with it, hm?”
If he could see her eyes under her wide brim hat, he was sure they would be rolling into the back of her head. He had met the darling while building his empire. They had bonded over their own need to watch the world burn. Something about the flame of destruction had appealed to them both. “It must feel nice to have that little group out of your way. How much longer will you continue this game?”
“Until I know that he is mine. Until darling James can point that beautiful pistol of his at England and feel no shame. That is when. Perhaps a few more years.”
Veronica got up onto her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, the brim of her hat brushing against his face, “Well if you need any more help, any more competitors taken out of the way, do call. I miss our chats.”
With that, she slunk back into the darkness. Silva watched her go, went back inside, and then made himself a drink. He sat, sipping it for a little bit, contemplating his next move. James was very obviously just as in love with him—as he was with James— but now, how to break him? How to ruin him and his little friends so beautifully that they would only be gods and goddesses of rage? He finished his drink. He would think on it when morning came.