Secret Weapon

The Fall

"Take the bloody shot!" M's voice rang, echoing.

Then a crashing of waves, it took Bond deep under the surface. He was unconscious before he even hit the water. Crimson blood started to be washed away in the deep blue. The stains in his suit didn't quite get out, only sealing some of the color as if it was meant to be there the whole time. Hours, days might have passed before he washed up on the shore of some Turkish island, sand rough against the skin of his face. James was too busy being unconscious to give a fuck anyway.

When he finally did wake, it was in bed with bandages all over his body. This room was one he didn't recognize. Which might have been reassuring since he was a womanizer, if it wasn't for the fact that the last thing James remembered was falling off a bridge, thinking that he had died. James looked around, eyes darting to all the places he could escape. The room was dark, shades down to keep the light of day away. It was decorated quite nicely. If this was a kidnapping or torture attempt then whoever did so was doing a horrible job at it. The bed was comfortable and he wasn't tied down.

It's been a while since James Bond has felt any sense of comfort. Weird, that being in this foreign place would give that to him.

The agent sat up, groaning at the wound on his arm. As his brain slowly turned back on, Bond realized he was naked under the sheets. Interesting way to wake up.

"You were battered and bruised all over." A man said as he entered the room, a bowl in his hand as he sat next to the bed. James narrowed his eyes on this man. He didn't look particularly menacing but being a secret agent meant knowing not to underestimate anyone. The man introduced himself, "I'm Ezra. This is some soup." He said as he set it on the end table. A spoon was already dunked in the bowl.

James bit the inside of his cheek before he took the bowl, wincing only slightly at the stinging pain in his shoulder as he brought the spoon to his lips. Trusting others never was easy for him but as far as anyone from MI6 could tell, he was most likely dead. He had to make do with what he had.

At least now, he could take a good look at his captor. Ezra seemed to be around his own age, a small amount of grays at his temples and even in his scruff. The man had deep green eyes with some wrinkles at the edges and plump, pink lips. Not to mention his sharp jawline, covered only slightly by his stubble. It was no secret to anyone in MI6, since that was the closest thing he had to a family, that he had affairs with both men and women. Ezra seemed to be the perfect thing to distract himself with.

Ezra watched, glancing at the other man's arm every few minutes. "How are you feeling?" He finally asked after a while.

"Been better." James' tone was clipped, still weary but less so than when he first woke up. "Who are you?" It might be nice to be considered dead for a little while but he needed to know why anyone would have wanted to help him in the first place.

Ezra shrugged, eyes trained on a random spot on the wall. "No one in particular." He knew what James meant though. Did he want to kill the agent? Torture him for information? Both? Maybe being honest would help his case. "You just so happened to wash up on my island, quite a ways away from the mainland, 007? Don't you think so?" He asked, an almost cheeky smile on his face.

Sure, there were people who knew of the 00 section of MI6 but those people were usually a part of the organization or worked in the government. Ezra didn't seem to be either of those. At first. That was until James got a better look at him in the dim lighting of the room. Small scars were scattered across his jaw and cheekbones, larger ones along his arm and hands with calluses at the ends of his fingers. Ezra had the look of a hardened agent. Experienced and bruised from each mission.

"Why haven't you turned me into MI6 yet?" It wasn't like James was complaining. But there were MI6 protocols agents had to follow in case they stumbled upon a fellow agent who was MIA. If he was out for how long he thought he was, then MI6 would have come and gotten him already. They don't like agents dying out in the middle of nowhere where they can't control it. Well, M was a bit different.