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31_days2005-09-26 12:30 am
tortillafactory.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-09-26 12:30 am
[Sept. 26] [James Bond] Masque
Title: Masque
Day/Theme: Sept. 26 - Loneliness and desire
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: ...really, just read it.
Rating: PG
"It's not just that life isn't fair. It's actively unfair. It's hostile."
I rewind a bit, and listen again.
Hostile.
I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that my most ruthless warrior sees life as the enemy.
But I'd always thought that double-oh seven strove to defeat death, not life. Perhaps life and death are just two sides of the same card. Bond, the philosopher. It's funny, but it's probably true.
He puts on that brave face all the time - for whose benefit? Does anyone really think he's not afraid? Does anyone see his schoolboy's smirk and his cold eyes and believe that's all there is to the man?
I have spent my life in this masquerade ball. I know how people hide, and what they hide, and the heartbreak they're terrified to show. Bond is no different, though he probably imagines he is. When he first passed by my desk, I saw two things: Loneliness and desire.
I couldn't have imagined I would be his commanding officer, but times have changed. Years pass, mores change, and before I knew it, I was giving orders to the double-ohs. I'll never forget the first day he entered my office as a subordinate, and I saw in his face the same things I'd always seen: loneliness and desire.
The loneliness of a child. The desire to be loved. More common among the most ruthless spies than one might imagine. He kept it under layers and layers of cool cynicism, professionalism, and all the other things that make it easier to forget emotion.
He is, in fact, the most emotional agent I've ever run.
It is easy to forgive his mechanical detatchment, once you realize what happens when he allows himself to feel. Blinding rage, white-hot passion, oceans of sorrow that could drown the strongest of men. Perhaps I should have feigned surprise when Dr. Warmflash told me he was manic depressive.
"I suspect, m'am," were her words, "that he has some touches of bipolarity."
Really.
Really.
Next she'll be coming up with a newsflash: he might have some tendencies towards alcoholism.
He manages himself well, I suppose, for a pathological assassin. I've known many, and few have built themselves such a comfortable life. Women love him, and he's rather good to them. His colleagues respect him. He hasn't shot himself in the head. Yet.
He keeps banging on about writing a survival manual, which he really ought to - I imagine the entirety of the British government would like to know his secrets. But really, isn't it just luck? Aren't some people just born under a surviving star? So many die young - needlessly sacrificed to a cause that cannot be clearly named. In the 1800s, Bond would have been burned as a witch. (Only he'd've escaped, and gone on to live as an outcast with some wild, beautiful girl who always believed in him. Hollywood, are you getting this? I'm seeing Emmanuelle Béart as the girl. Bond is up to you.)
I'm tough on him. Tougher than I want to be, I suppose, but he's the sort of man who will drain you dry if you give an inch. One of the occupational hazards of being a truly great spy - you learn how to manipulate so well, you lose awareness of when you're doing it. With me, I make sure he never forgets.
But I have a certain fondness for the boy. I suppose it all dates back to the first time I saw his face and read in it what others missed.
Loneliness.
Desire.
Stay with me.
Love me.
We all feel it sometimes. We all deny it, press it down, because we know it will lead us to old pain and new heartbreak. Bond's learned that, too. It's all in his case file, for those who care to look. All those who didn't love him, and didn't stay. He knows better now. But the heart - the heart goes on crying.
Stay with me.
Love me.
Please.
Someday, someone will hear it. Someday, he will let them close enough to believe it.
Or, he'll die alone.
Either way, this walking, talking cocktail of loneliness and desire was the best agent I ever had.
Day/Theme: Sept. 26 - Loneliness and desire
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: ...really, just read it.
Rating: PG
"It's not just that life isn't fair. It's actively unfair. It's hostile."
I rewind a bit, and listen again.
Hostile.
I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that my most ruthless warrior sees life as the enemy.
But I'd always thought that double-oh seven strove to defeat death, not life. Perhaps life and death are just two sides of the same card. Bond, the philosopher. It's funny, but it's probably true.
He puts on that brave face all the time - for whose benefit? Does anyone really think he's not afraid? Does anyone see his schoolboy's smirk and his cold eyes and believe that's all there is to the man?
I have spent my life in this masquerade ball. I know how people hide, and what they hide, and the heartbreak they're terrified to show. Bond is no different, though he probably imagines he is. When he first passed by my desk, I saw two things: Loneliness and desire.
I couldn't have imagined I would be his commanding officer, but times have changed. Years pass, mores change, and before I knew it, I was giving orders to the double-ohs. I'll never forget the first day he entered my office as a subordinate, and I saw in his face the same things I'd always seen: loneliness and desire.
The loneliness of a child. The desire to be loved. More common among the most ruthless spies than one might imagine. He kept it under layers and layers of cool cynicism, professionalism, and all the other things that make it easier to forget emotion.
He is, in fact, the most emotional agent I've ever run.
It is easy to forgive his mechanical detatchment, once you realize what happens when he allows himself to feel. Blinding rage, white-hot passion, oceans of sorrow that could drown the strongest of men. Perhaps I should have feigned surprise when Dr. Warmflash told me he was manic depressive.
"I suspect, m'am," were her words, "that he has some touches of bipolarity."
Really.
Really.
Next she'll be coming up with a newsflash: he might have some tendencies towards alcoholism.
He manages himself well, I suppose, for a pathological assassin. I've known many, and few have built themselves such a comfortable life. Women love him, and he's rather good to them. His colleagues respect him. He hasn't shot himself in the head. Yet.
He keeps banging on about writing a survival manual, which he really ought to - I imagine the entirety of the British government would like to know his secrets. But really, isn't it just luck? Aren't some people just born under a surviving star? So many die young - needlessly sacrificed to a cause that cannot be clearly named. In the 1800s, Bond would have been burned as a witch. (Only he'd've escaped, and gone on to live as an outcast with some wild, beautiful girl who always believed in him. Hollywood, are you getting this? I'm seeing Emmanuelle Béart as the girl. Bond is up to you.)
I'm tough on him. Tougher than I want to be, I suppose, but he's the sort of man who will drain you dry if you give an inch. One of the occupational hazards of being a truly great spy - you learn how to manipulate so well, you lose awareness of when you're doing it. With me, I make sure he never forgets.
But I have a certain fondness for the boy. I suppose it all dates back to the first time I saw his face and read in it what others missed.
Loneliness.
Desire.
Stay with me.
Love me.
We all feel it sometimes. We all deny it, press it down, because we know it will lead us to old pain and new heartbreak. Bond's learned that, too. It's all in his case file, for those who care to look. All those who didn't love him, and didn't stay. He knows better now. But the heart - the heart goes on crying.
Stay with me.
Love me.
Please.
Someday, someone will hear it. Someday, he will let them close enough to believe it.
Or, he'll die alone.
Either way, this walking, talking cocktail of loneliness and desire was the best agent I ever had.