Who: Vesper Lynd and James Bond Where: Abandoned building in town What: He's hiding; she's coming to check on him. When: After his text to her. Rating: TBD Status: Closed.
As soon as she finished answering James, she slipped on her shoes, grabbed her apartment keys, and headed out the door. It was amazing on quickly a world could come crashing down, even one that was seemingly perfect and good. One minute, she was alive and they were awkward, astranged, and the next? The next James was saying he'd shot someone in the head. True, it was his job, but here, on the island, he no longer had to be an agent. He didn't have to kill people to claim a paycheck any more or anything else, but he had. He'd killed someone and now he was hiding out in one of the abandoned buildings along the many streets of the island. Vesper already could see him, hunched somewhere in the filthy dark corners, awaiting her or, death. The man he'd shot was bound to have friends, people who knew and cared about him, and they would come seeking justice or rather, revenge. Vesper had only come back to living and she'd more recently gotten James back. Despite the events at the end of their relationship, she didn't want to lose him. She simply couldn't.
Taking another street, Vesper found herself running, huffing and puffing as she came to corner and took another turn. He had to be somewhere close by, didn't he? This was the emptier side of the town, more abandoned then any other part and she was sure he'd hide here first. "James", she called out, trying to keep her voice, but audible at the same time. "James!" There was no response, but Vesper didn't cease her running; her heels clicked and clopped on the pavement, but she never slowed her pace. All she could see was his face, watching her die from the other side of the bars, fighting hard to save her despite both of them knowing it was futile in the end. She could still feel the cold from his fingers tips, the water rushing around her, and she remembered when felt herself die, the fear causing her to spasm and seizure for just a moment before the world when dark and she was gone. No, she couldn't give up on him because he'd never given up on her, even when the bars wouldn't budge and she told him to stop. James had never given up on her.
"James!" she raised her voice a bit, finally just stepping inside one of the buildings, slowing to a bit of a walk as her eyes pierced the dust and dirt, searching for the man she'd loved. The man she was pretty sure she still loved now. No, you didn't come out, running the streets like an absolute mad woman for just some guy. You did it for someone you loved, someone you cared for deeply, and she knew all these things applied to James Bond even if they didn't apply to her in return. It would be just punishment; she'd left him alone in the world, confused, and if he did die, it was a decent sort of ironic payback. No, she refused to believe he would die here. He'd lost Q and something snapped, but grief did strange things to people even someone who was as composed as James. Could they not give him some leeway? Some understanding? "James."