[Sept. 24] [James Bond] The Gambler

[tortillafactory.livejournal.com]

Title: The Gambler
Day/Theme: Sept. 24 - Almost gothic
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: ...you know what, just read it.
Rating: PG-13

Note: Works better if you've read my other Drabbles. Not saying which one - go on, just read the others first! You know you want to.


There was something almost Gothic about the latticework in the cathedral, and James Bond felt its balefulness acutely as he leaned against the cobwebbed wall. He tugged his overcoat more tightly around himself, but the chill he felt had nothing to do with the air.

He looked at his watch. Five-oh-five.

The man was not coming.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Bond's heart leapt, even as he realized they were issuing from deeper inside the cathedral. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he saw a rather spindly youth in some facsimile of a uniform, dragging a broom. Bond turned the other direction and shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

"Excuse me, sir. Sir?"

Stifling a sigh of irritation, Bond turned. "Yes?"

"Our visitor hours ended five minutes ago."

Since when do churches close?

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

"We open tomorrow at nine, and our gift shop -"

"Yes, yes, thank you." Bond edged towards the door.

"Just a moment, sir, did you leave any bags or belongings with our front desk?"

"No, I didn't, thanks anyway."

Where the hell is he? An hour late? What -

"Your coat?"

Reflexively, he patted his torso. "I'm wearing -"

"OY!"

It was a woman's voice, issuing from the door slightly to his left. Bond turned, just as the young janitor dropped his broom and ran like the devil. Something, a shadow, flitted from behind Bond and out the door, just narrowly avoiding collision with the girl who stood there.

"That guy," she said, "was about to whack you over the head."

The surprise must have shown on his face, because she laughed, bemusedly. "I know. That's what I thought. But I figured it wasn't a good thing for you, so I yelled. Sorry if I disrupted something."

"No," said Bond. "Thank you. My skull thanks you. I wasn't planning on a concussion today - not particularly."

"Didn't think so."

She was obviously American. She was also very pretty, with smooth white skin and rather feline eyes - the mascara she wore enhanced their natural beauty, though it had perhaps been a bit too enthuiastically applied. Bond's sharp gaze detected no further make-up. Her clothes were black and her hair was dark brown, with streaks of chestnut that caught the light.

There was something almost gothic about her.

"Thanks again," said Bond. "Very much."

"Does this happen to you very often? You don't really seem concerned."

"More often than you'd think."

She laughed. "Now I'm going to be worrying about you all night. Will you meet me somewhere later, so I can make sure you're okay?"

Thinking that was rather the flimsiest pick-up line he'd ever heard, Bond smiled. "I promise you I'll be quite all right, but if it will ease your mind at all, meet me at that bench down the road. You see it?"

"Yeah."

"Nine o'clock sharp - if I'm not there, I'm dead."

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. "That's awfully confident of you."

Bond shrugged, slid his hands back into his pockets, and turned to go.

"I hope I see you at the bench!" she called after him.

So do I, dear girl.

///

As soon as he'd returned to his flat, he contacted headquarters and put in a report. He left out the girl - why, he couldn't even explain to himself at the time. Why did it matter? She had nothing to do with it!

He took a shower that was, by turns, very hot and very cold. Dressing in fresh trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, he glanced at himself in the mirror and made one last half-hearted swipe at his runaway lock of hair.

It was time.

She was already seated on the bench when he arrived, and she jumped to her feet when she saw him. "Come on," she said, impatiently, extending her hand. "We're not going to have enough time to get drunk if we don't hurry."

Laughing, he let himself be pulled for a few yards, then broke into a light jog to catch up with her. "Lovely to see you, too. I wasn't aware that getting drunk was the main object tonight."

"I didn't say anything about it being the main object," she replied, scathingly, and Bond felt a little thrill.

"You," he said, looking at her, "are quite mad - do you know that?"

"Yes," she replied, dropping his hand. "I'm crazy - and I'm American, too, which is really the same thing. But the good kind of crazy - like - like that girl in that book."

"Oh, right - yes, she was lovely."

"That's not funny. I'm thinking of it! The one with the firefighter who burned down houses."

"Fahrenheit 451?" he suggested.

"That's it! They made me read it in high-school. It's probably the only book I remember at all."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. I remember some Shakespeare, too. What a hack!"

Feelings pleasantly disoriented, Bond watched a pair of hummingbirds flit past a rose-bush. "If this is what you're like sober, I'm not sure I want to get you drunk."

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face him. It took him a moment to adjust his trajectory, and by the time he was standing still, he'd taken one more step towards her - enough to bring their bodies close together.

"Did you want to skip drinks?" she breathed. Her eyes were very bright.

"If you're sure," said Bond, uncharacteristically hesitant. There was something - it nagged at him -

"I'm sure," she said. "I like you. I guess you think I don't know you, but I like you anyway."

Bond smiled. "You're perfectly welcome to like me."

"Good. I'm staying right here." She pointed at the hotel across the street. "Coming?"

His eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth turned up. He laid his hand on her shoulder.

"After you."

///

He made good on his promise - just barely. She was passionate, enthusiastic, but, despite her claim, not to the point of insanity. When they had finally exhausted each other, they lay together in the tangled bedsheets - Bond smoked, and his companion took a few friendly drags from his cigarette. Afterwards, she coughed a little.

"The British ones are stronger," she said. "Anyway, I haven't done it in forever. Social smoker."

Bond smiled.

There was a long, heavy silence.

"Thanks, James."

It took him almost a full minute to realize why this bothered him.

He hadn't told her his name.

Bond's mind, which had gone into partial hibernation, suddenly began to race. His heart pounded, and his instinct was to leap to his feet, but he was frozen.

"I can't believe, she said, sitting up a little, "that you don't remember me."

What in hell...?

"April," she said, softly.

Bond forced himself to swallow hard, and to think. He could count the Aprils he'd known on one hand - none of them resembled her, even remotely.

She half-smiled, quirking her eyebrow like a promise.

A jolt of recognition - and then it was gone. Her name still eluded him.

Leaning in close, she whispered in his ear -

"My friends call me Fitz."

This time he sat up, almost knocking over his half-glass of scotch. Fitz.

"Christ," he said. "Fitz."

The memories of that strange night all came back in a rush, and she laughed.

"Chill out. I'm legal now. I've been legal for a long time, and you don't look any older - why is that?"

He swallowed hard again and tried, in the dim light, to pick out the traces of the rebellious girl he'd met in this woman he now knew. Her eyes ought to have given her away, but it had been a long time, and memory was a fickle thing.

"How old are you now, Fitz?"

"Old enough to get a reduced price at Hertz Rent-a-Car. I wanted you when I was sixteen, and it never went away. How crazy is that?"

Sixteen. How many years since they met? Five? Ten? He didn't know, and didn't care to.

"You ought to have told me earlier," he said.

"And ruin this? You would have gone all chivalrous and weird. I'm grown up now, but you'll always think I'm a stupid little girl. I wanted to get a few good rounds in before -"

"Fitz." He was stern, suddenly - the same man who'd put her in her place all those years ago. "Sois sage."

"Sois gentil," she countered, and Bond raised his eyebrows.

"So informal!"

"James. We just had sex."

"That doesn't mean -"

"What? Doesn't mean that we're equals? Doesn't mean you have to treat me like a grown-up? What?" She was fuming, and they both knew it.

"No," said Bond. "But your little temper-tantrum certainly doesn't."

She sighed and turned away from him.

"It's all right," he said, suddenly feeling gentle. "Nobody expects you to grow up all at once." He touched her cheek, and she relaxed a little.

"Okay," she said. "So, what...should I call you when I turn thirty? How old will you be then?"

"As old as my tongue, and just a wee bit older than my teeth."

"Very cute."

"Thanks, Fitz."

"Can I have your number?"

"No - you seemed to find me all right this time. Just come to London. Hang about at some menacing cathedrals. Surely we'll meet again."

Half-smiling once more, she climbed out of the bed. "Nice brush-off."

"It's not. London's really quite small. I live near Hyde Park, if it helps."

She laughed and threw his shirt at him. "Don't worry, I'm going to start pursuing guys who won't tell me I'm a big baby."

"I didn't -"

"But you thought it. Don't worry, James. I read you like a book. Like Fahrenheit 451, so don't worry, I'll forget most of it."

Bond chuckled.

How strange.

In the shadows of the night-light, she looked almost gothic.


A/N: You read it before you'd finished my other drabbles, DIDN'T YOU? Argh. Well, here's the one it refers to: "In My Place". You frustrating reader, you. *shakes fist*