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Work had become something nearly unbearable. M16 ran on paperwork, M always said, and Amherst had found this to be painfully true. He was familiar with how every successful mission had a mountain of paperwork documenting it, proving every fact established and justifying every act committed. What he hadn't known was that for every death, there was an endlessly barrage of paperwork, serving only, in his opinion, to freeze all emotion in a permanent state of heartbroken grief.

He couldn't quit, because if there was one thing that was worse than seeing that name over and over again, it would be to go on as if he'd never been there at all. Constant reminder, Amherst finally decided, was a shade less painful than committing himself to a silence where his existence, with its dire lack of evidence, would hide as if invisible, and, eventually, inevitably, nonexistent.

That morning, he'd received the bulk of the paperwork that had been intended to sidestep his desk, but someone had mislabelled, and it ended up before him, a stack of papers an inch high. Before the day was out, he'd flipped through the files, and had only learned that the very essence of Bond could not be explained by words. No report could do him justice, or even begin to describe how he could be both charming and ruthless, or any other facet of him. Of course, no one writing the reports even knew that, and Amherst had to resign himself to the fact that he was truly alone with his grief. Everyone else missed- to some short extent- 007. He missed James. There was a painful world of difference. One of the debates his over-tired mind had, when he unable to sleep late at night, at a time when the morning was not visible, was whether he wished he'd never met Bond. Days and days of sleepless nights had awarded him the answer: No. Bond's death may have torn his world apart, ripping it to ribbons and turning them to ash, but at least he'd had James for a while, however short a time it had been. But he did wish that he'd had just a little longer, because running off of barely a few months was difficult, and he needed more than that to sustain him for the rest of his life.

Memories were all he had left, and it wasn't enough to count on.

*

The doorbell rang and Amherst dragged himself away from his work, although he truly wasn't in the mood to deal with any of his neighbours. Thursday morning at four, he wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone, but sleep wouldn't grace him with its presence.

The doorbell rang and Amherst dragged himself away from his work, although he truly wasn't in the mood to deal with any of his neighbours. He forced himself not to cry at the thought of Bond that came with the lock on the door, at the memory of sending him trekking across the country with a key, and opened the door.

And then his recently demolished world shattered again.

Startlingly blue eyes were locked on his, and then the voice he never thought he'd hear again.

"Sorry I took so long to come home, love." James said softly. He was in an awful, heart-wrenching state. There was a cast on his left arm, an innumerable amount of cuts and bruises all over him, burns adorning his arms that mercifully weren't more than second degree, and he looked dangerously exhausted. Amherst couldn't say anything, just put his arms around James and held on tight.

"I can't believe you came back" he finally whispered. James managed a laugh, although it was a weak ghost of his normal one.

"I love you too much to let go."

Even twenty minutes later, Amherst was still unable to truly believe that James had come back. It was beyond believable, that he could manage to come back from his death. He was right before him, watching his every move, and yet, it was nearly impossible to believe.

"I went to your funeral" Amherst murmured, encircling James in his arms. "It killed me."

"I'm so sorry…" James bowed his head, and Amherst saw his fingers curling, the only outward sign showing his fight against tears. "It was a stupid risk. I shouldn't have… but…"

"What happened?" He pushed his nose into the blonde hair, tightening his embrace a little.

"I got out before it started burning. And then I heard someone talking to one of the officers, saying that someone was still inside… and the whole thing, it was just a mass of fire. But he said… he loved the man that was still trapped inside. So I went back." James drew in a breath. "Later, when I was taking him out, he asked about the key, and that's when I realized how stupid it was, what I was doing. But I sent him out first, right before that entrance closed up. I guess I got lucky in that I didn't die in there… I found a way out, after a while, and ended up losing consciousness right after I got out. I found a hospital, but they wouldn't let me leave for a while, I wanted to so much… but I couldn't have, no matter how much I wanted to." He fell silent.

"They think you're dead. Nothing could convince them otherwise, but…" Amherst trailed off. "Want to call M?" The thought, though, was near unbearable. To have to go through this again, to lose James again, but next time, Amherst knew, he very well might not come back.

One day, he wouldn't come back.

James had thought it over extensively during his recovery at the hospital. He'd been a double-o for quite a few years, and it was basically a dead-end job in the harshest way possible. It was suicidal. He'd never before cared; he had nothing else of substance in his life, no reason to care that his job had taken everything in his life, and no one to care if it took his life itself, too.

But now he did.

"No." James's reply surprised Amherst. "I don't want to go back. I've never gotten that close to dying. It was… it was terrible. I spent nearly half an hour in there, every minute, I thought it was going to be my last. I just… I didn't want to die in there. But walls kept falling in, and stairs would just disintegrate, so I kept going back down, and I thought I was going to die. And I just kept thinking of you…" he shook his head no slowly. "I'm not doing that again. I'm done. It wouldn't be just me I hurt anymore, anyways, would it?"

"No" Amherst agreed softly, "you wouldn't be the only one hurt."

"Maybe I'll just stay dead" James ran his fingers up and down his cast, thoughtful. "I wouldn't be able to do this for much longer, anyways. I'm damn forty. I don't really fancy having an early death. I'm already set for life."

"I like that idea" Amherst kissed him. "A lot."

There was a small commotion on the balcony as a flowerpot that dropped seemingly out of the heavens shattered on the balcony floor, and Amherst left to see what had happened. James watched him leave the room, talking to the woman upstairs who was apologizing profusely about the flowerpot her youngest child had knocked over the side. While Amherst assured her that it was fine, asked mildly why the toddler was out at four in the morning and was told that the child had wanted to see the sunrise, James went to the sliding doors, ignoring the protest of pain that followed any movement.

"You shouldn't be up" Amherst told him when James joined him on the balcony. "I wouldn't even trust you to stand right now." James grinned at the nurse-like tone.

"If I can't stand, do you really think that I should be allowed to, say, drag you to the bed and-"

"Well, perhaps that's a little ridiculous of you" Amherst grinned, "we can't have you banned from all movement."

"Precisely. Now, give me a second, and then I'll promise to lie down." One hand on the railing, he sank to one knee, reaching into his pocket and drawing out the box, the only thing he'd deemed important enough to delay his return home for a day. Then he looked up, saw Amherst's curious gaze upon him. "Will you marry me?" Amherst dropped to his knees to embrace him, and James felt tears touch his skin, Amherst's hold on him tight, but gentle enough not to inflict pain on injuries.

"Yes."

It was only four-thirty, Amherst saw when he'd followed James towards the bedroom. Amherst doubted the hospital had been very keen on letting him leave, given the only-just-healed status of his injuries. He was about to ask such when his phone rang.

"Who the hell calls at four in the morning?" James asked, flopping down on the bed. His presence in the room, something absent for far too long, was comforting. It had felt empty without him, wrong without him.

"M does, that's who." Amherst picked up the phone, "hello?" True to his prediction, it was M.

"Hello, Villiers-" she greeted him. He sat on the bed, watching James, who was tapping on his cast and frowning at it. M was blathering on about a lost report. "-S sent it to me this morning, and-" he was trying to listen, so he didn't notice when James had reached over and undone the buttons on his pants, but he certainly did notice a few seconds later, "-written by one of the agents, who just returned from-" James was moving his hand slowly, gently squeezing, and Amherst tried to betray nothing, "-oh, I can't remember now, far too early in the morning for memory recall, but anyways-" the movements became just a touch rougher, and Amherst clenched his teeth, wishing M would just stop talking, "actually, I think it was France...anyways, I know I was going to give it to you to type up, but I can't seem to find it..." a soft gasp met James's rub, "Villiers, are you still there?" James had changed his rhythm, faster, imploring for a reaction, and determined to get one.

"Nmm." Amherst tried to speak, but short of screaming, he couldn't. James grinned at the strangled whine, and started rubbing his hand in circles. A stifled moan escaped Amherst.

"Good. Anyways, have you seen it?"

"You-" Amherst tried to speak; James accordingly turned up the pressure. "-you gave it to me this morning" Amherst managed to force from his lips; one hand fisted in the sheets, knuckles nearly white. James just smirked at this and made it his personal mission to coax a scream from Amherst's lips, phone conversation be damned.

"Great. Never mind then. So sorry to have called you this early-"

"It's fine." Amherst's jaw tightened, and he glared over at James, "bye."

"Get some sleep."

"I will" James heard this, and shook his head. Then increased the roughness to his touch some more. Amherst tensed.

"Bye." He hung up the phone; the very second he did, before he could say anything, James gave a sudden, hard squeeze. Any words Amherst was going to say were lost, and a scream escaped him instead. James laughed while Amherst threw himself on top of him, kissing him hard.

"Fuck you, James Bond." He growled, kissing James hard, moving on to bite his neck. James laughed again.

"Oh, please do. I don't think you could have climaxed faster."

"We're competing are we? Watch this." One single, sudden movement, and Amherst had James screaming within ten seconds.

*

Friday morning, Amherst was practically falling asleep at his desk, and M blamed herself, oblivious to the fact that he'd been kept awake all night for another reason.

"It's five" she said, opening the door to her office, "you should go home, get some sleep."

"Great, thanks" He moved to shut off the computer, but paused. When M saw him pick up a particular file, one she'd taken great pains to keep out of his sight, dread overtook her. She froze.

"Villiers, I-" M started, eyes wide. The report was the one on Bond's death, and she'd told S that this particular file was not to be seen by Villiers... "They never found the body." She drew in a breath. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want to tell you..." she'd wanted to protect him, as best she could. But, as every mother finds out during her son's lifetime, she couldn't protect him from all the pain in the world. As it was, he'd already been subject to the worst kind of torture.

But now, he seemed strangely calm.

"It's okay." He handed it to her. Something in his eyes, though, that flicker of happiness, told her more, and as she continued to study him, saw the gold ring on his left ring finger, that she was certain hadn't been there before, she realized. Bond had indeed moved on to another life, because now, he wasn't just 007, and he wasn't just Bond.

During her stunned silence, he'd answered his phone, walked across the office.

"Villiers" She said, voice quiet. He was talking on the phone, and she couldn't make out his words, but there was a definite warmth in his voice. At the sound of her voice, he snapped his phone shut, turned back.

"Yes?"

"I am very sorry for the agency's loss. He was a miraculous agent." she said, tones measured. He nodded, confused, turned to go again. "And one more thing, Amherst."

"Yes?" a smile, secretive, sympathetic as he'd never seen from M.

"Give James my regards."

*

Later that night, well past four in the morning, Amherst was gazing out at the snow falling outside. James was curled up beside him, radiating heat. Amherst had sorely missed having James sleeping beside him, tucked perfectly against him. And that warmth... oh, how he'd missed that. No one else was so warm. When Amherst moved slightly, he woke.

"Why are you awake?" a kiss was pressed to Amherst's neck. Amherst smiled.

"Look."

"What?" James moved closer, skin against skin, so warm, moving gingerly so as not to inflict pain on still-healing injuries. Through the window, sunlight was beginning to seep into the room, advancing across the floor. The sun rose into the sky, slowly, always moving, always. Amherst had almost forgotten what it was like, watching the sunrise while feeling so warm, so close to James, always remembering what he'd said about making it through the night. Only what was meaningful would last the whole night through. Amherst turned to him, warmth at his fingertips, kissed him softly.

"It's morning."

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Love, Wild-sunshine