31_days | [7 April] [James Bond] Summer

Title: Summer
Day/Theme: April 7th - And Venus loved Mars
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond/OFC
Rating: PG-13

"Even Venus loved Mars."

Smoke curled around the two men as they sat, facing each other, a large mahogany desk between them. The elder said, "did she? I must have missed that Mythology lesson."

"I think what bothers me the most," James Bond ruminated, "is the 'Meat is Murder' shirt. She doesn't try to convince me of anything. Maybe I'd prefer it if she did."

Sir James Molony tapped his pipe with his index finger.

"I shouldn't have opened the diary. All right, I know I shouldn't have. I knew I shouldn't be doing it while I was doing it. I did it anyway. Anyone would, in my shoes. And it -" he stopped, frustrated, twisting a bit of paper between his fingers. " 'Do you have any idea what it's like to be turned on by someone whose very life disgusts you?' That's what she wrote. I don't want her if that's how she feels."

"To be fair," Sir James pointed out, "I think you do."

Bond shut his eyes. "I don't want to want her if that's how she feels." He looked up at his friend and headshrink. "Enough about the birds. These cigars are excellent, you know. I suppose there are some things Castro hasn't entirely ruined."

Molony smiled.

There was a pregnant pause, then Bond started up again, as Sir James had known he would. "Meat is murder? MEAT is murder? The blessed thing's never even seen a man die. She looks into a chicken's eyes in a slaughterhouse and she thinks she's reached some kind of enlightenment. She'd call Santiago genocidal, she's that deluded. There are some things that need to be done. She doesn't understand that. How could she? It's the Catch-22 of this business, isn't it? Anyone who can understand you, respect you, is ONE of you and you don't want that. Everyone else is on the outside. You can never really - you certainly can't expect anyone to trust you. Look - I said 'enough' about the birds, didn't I?"

Sir James wasn't smiling anymore. "Killing and hatred are the same in most peoples' eyes," he pointed out, his voice soft and impartial as ever.

"Or killing and contempt. I think she just needs to be in a good bullfight. It would change her perspective on everything." Bond shoved the cigar between his teeth. "She's pretty good, you know. Where it counts. But I wonder if it's worth the guilt. Shouldn't she be having her own happily-ever-after with some eco-terrorist in a geodesic dome?"

"Maybe." Sir James looked to be pondering this. "Or maybe that's not what she wants."

"Maybe she wants something she shouldn't want." He sighed. "I mean, Christ. I can't play the wise and impartial spirit guide to every bewildered slag who crosses my path. Once in a while I'd just like to have my fun and then forget about them, you know? A gipsy leader once told me my weakness was compassion. I'm beginning to believe him."

Sir James Molony turned a page on his notepad. "And what do you think your weakness is?"

"You're supposed to tell me that."

Smiling, the therapist replied, "it won't do you any good until you decide it for yourself, James."

"...and you get paid for this? I missed my calling."

Molony put his fingertips together. "Mostly I get paid for having to listen to cynical servicemen telling me how useless I am."

Bond, smiling at the floor, said "touché." He looked up, then down again. "She's a vegan, and I live on eggs and the occasional slab of dead cow. She hates war, and I'm a perpetual soldier. She values life -" he stopped.

"- and so do you," Molony supplied. "It's just that you destroy it."

"It's just that I..." Bond looked at his watch. "Time's up, isn't it?"

Molony, pipe balanced in his teeth, lisped, "you're free to go whenever you like."

"I have another appointment." The seasoned assassin almost looked guilty.

"I've no doubt you do."

"I'll ring you."

"All right."

For nearly an hour, Sir James Molony shuffled through papers on his desk. His secretary's buzz startled him.

"Yes?"

"Miss Storm to see you, Sir," came the girlish voice through the intercom.

"Tell her to come in, please."

Summer Storm was slender and curved all at once, a young breath of fresh air in ruffled cotton peasant's skirts and airy blouses, even in winter. Today was no exception. Birkenstocks. Toenails painted with daisies.

She laid her hands on the desk. "He was here, wasn't he?"

Sir James looked at the window. "There is a confidentiality agreement I'm obliged to uphold, Summer."

"I know he was here. Sometimes I just want to tell him. But I almost think -" her breath seemed to catch in her throat. "I almost think he has an off-chance at falling in love with me if I'm his other. Everything he's not. If he knew I'm -"

"You're not," Molony assured her with a hint of a smile. "You're not like him."

"That's nice of you to say, James. But I'm reasonably sure it's a lie." She drew a knee up to her chest. "Last night he said to me, 'Even Venus loved Mars.' He was half-asleep. It's not even true, but I wonder what he meant by it."

"It means he fell asleep during that bit of History class," Sir James put in with a small grin. He refilled his pipe. "Are you going to at least tell him you're a spy?"

"God. I don't know. What do you think?"

For a moment, Sir James Molony shut his eyes and rallied his thoughts. This was, after all, what he was paid for.