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M’s tinny voice rings through the archaic desk receiver: “You can send 007 in now please, Miss Moneypenny.” M is not really asking, she’s demanding, voice cold and hard over the air.
“Next time then?” Bond releases Miss Moneypenny’s now much less tense shoulders, which he has been kneading in a perfectly friendly and sadly not even remotely predatory way.
“Next time, as always, James.”
Moneypenny slumps a bit, leaning on her practical desk, in her practical front office, while Bond strides elegantly through M’s door without a second look at her; sighing in her very stylish, yet practical and just a bit rumpled business suit.
---
“James.”
“M.”
M’s office is spacious, signaling wealth and power in the poshest way there is; all cream, leather, and mahogany. You can see the Thames and a large part of London through her bulletproof window panes: truly a view to die for.
Bond watches M start, stop, then start again and he is taken a bit aback by her unusual manner. It’s not like her to be lacking in words. Her delicate perfume reaches him in waves as if her skin is heating up by her pulse rising. Otherwise, she’s just as poised and together as always, her back straight and her shoulders low.
He sits down carefully. “Everything alright, M?”
“Yes, James, all is perfectly well...”
At that Bond leans back, eyebrows raised, stretching his legs. “But a bit of crisis is distracting you, perhaps? The apocalypse is near again and the two of us need to save the world?”
“I’m not distracted, I’m just thinking of how to phrase this delicately...”
“Ooh, a delicate mission? This is interesting!” Bond’s smile is getting more genuine by the minute.
“Yes, it is delicate and exactly in the manner you’re implying too.” Now M’s face is attempting a subtle grimace between disgust and honest regret.
Bond pulls out his widest wolf grin; M’s regret is Bond’s lifeblood.
“So, I’m to seduce someone... Is it anyone interesting? Or probably not, since you’re hesitating to say. A person less appealing then…. Sarah Palin? Marine Le Pen? Or, don’t say it; Vladimir Putin! Can I kill him afterward?”
“No, the job is not to seduce and kill the Russian President! Can you please hold your tongue for a minute, James, even though I know it’s hard for you? There will be no need for seduction at all, thankfully.”
Bond frowns, but shuts up as instructed and leans back in her smooth leather guest chair again.
“Right. Where were we... Right.“ She harrumphs. “Back when you were a young agent in training, you went through a sequence of lessons in seduction and sexual prowess.”
Bond nods once, gravely. He has so many replies to that that it physically hurts him to hold them all back, but he’s being his best schoolboy self now; letting M dig her own grave. Which she’s doing an admirable job of, seeing as she’s actually having a super light blush going. Bond didn’t even know she could blush. This is a definite first.
“As I’m certain you remember, a few of the lessons were about stamina and stress resistance: you were to test the outer limits of your sexual resilience. If I remember correctly it required you to seek out a number of partners from outside the MI6. Persons not knowing you or what purpose they had in your training to become a rounded Double O. I think half the challenge for you back then was to find both willing and sane players? The swinging communities back then were very protective and underground, not at all like the vast Internet communities one can find today.”
“As a history lesson, this is sweet and quite accurate, but I still don’t see where you’re going with this, M.”
“Right.” She clears her throat again. “As you know, we have another Double O in training.”
“Yes. He’s very promising too.”
“Exactly. And I appreciate your contribution to his education so far.” She pins Bond with a pointed look.
Bond is much too smooth to visibly recoil, but inside he’s reeling and she knows it.
“You didn’t really think the MI6 would let a horde of random swingers loose on their young and promising agents, whose training the public is spending millions of pounds on, did you? The point of stress testing is to traumatize the agent to a degree, but not to inflict them with permanent damage or disease.”
“Who was it!?”
Bond is suddenly standing, half over Ms desk, and to his horror, he sees her fringe flutter from his yelling. He can’t even remember getting out of his chair.
“Please sit down, James.” She waits until he is sitting again and has unruffled himself somewhat.
“Who do you think, James? They were, as you are, masters of deception. Besides, you were deprived of sight and hearing most of the time, so we were fairly certain you wouldn’t clue in on the set-up.”
“Bastards!”
“No foul language in my office please, James. I'm sorry to burst your bubble like this but better late than never, right?”
Faces of the probable Double O’s flash before his eyes and he can’t help but imagine who did what to him back then. How many had they been? Did they switch around? How had they planned it all out and how had he never known? And: “Why haven’t I been tasked with this kind of training before now? I certainly have the experience for it.”
“You are one of our busiest agents, James, as you well know. Your talents have been put to better use elsewhere up until now. Actually, I think you have the highest kill count of all living Double O’s at the moment.”
“So, good enough to kill for her Majesty, but not for that!”
“If you want to see it that way, you're welcome. You’re in physical rehab now anyway, so it’s all coming together perfectly.”
He snorts at the pun and she allows a tiny smile to soften her steely glare.
“You will join 008, 0011 and 0014 in this mission and you will report to me if anything goes wrong. Q will equip you with disguise and gadgets as needed. He’s spoofing a web meeting site; mirroring a real site, as we speak, where our young protege is trying to get into contact with a group of people suited to expand his sexual limits.”
“Q is what?”
“Q is preparing the guided training sessions, James. Try to keep up.”
Bond shuts his eyes and draws air; how did this office get so cramped? “And making records too, I take it?”
“Yes. Q from your training days always complained about the overseeing records part. I think this particular training subject was his least favorite.”
Now Bond is the one blushing, he can’t help it. Thinking of how that old fart must have seen him spread out with who-knows-who-and-what up his arse...
“Our current Q seems to have no problems with it, thankfully. And the recordings are strictly confidential, James. No one who doesn’t have authorization and strictly needs to know has access to them. Which is why they aren’t kept with the rest of your files; I know you have been looking through them from time to time.”
“If I may ask, who exactly has the need to see Double O extreme sex tapes? I can’t remember ever having crossed that specific requirement in Secret Service job descriptions.”
“That is confidential too, James. What a silly question." She closes the folder in front of her."I think we’re done here. You know what to do, so go do it.”
“M.” Bond salutes her. He has to hand it to her, for all his expensively refined skills he will never be fully prepared for what she’s pulling over him next.
“James?” She calls for him as he’s getting out the door.
“Yes, M?”
“I told Q to put the kettle on. He has a decent bourbon in his bottom desk drawer too; I’ve seen to it.”
Bond blows her a kiss and heads for the stairs.