Never Truly Living

Chapter 13

Vesper Lynd sat at her kitchen table, her daughter now sleeping peacefully and her son looking up at her calmly. M handed her a mug of tea, and she took it begrudgingly, setting it on the table in front of her.

She slipped her left hand around the cup as M sat down opposite her. Her son and daughter were warm, solid weights on her chest; shields, almost, talismans between her and M, keeping away what she represented.

"I've forgotten how small they can be," M said after some time. Vesper looked up at her, her fingers lightly stroking her daughter's back. "How old are they?"

"Barely three weeks," Vesper replied, trying to keep the resentment out of her voice. The woman's presence was testing her already cracking patience.

M nodded, taking a sip of her tea. "You weren't aware of your condition when you left the hospital," she said, looking up at Vesper. It was more a statement than a question.

"No," she said, "it was too early."

M nodded. "I see," she said, cradling the mug in her hands. "It must have been quite a shock for you."

"Yes," Vesper stated, warily, frowning at the woman across from her. She nuzzled her daughter's dark hair, which was the exact same shade as her own.

"Well, I'm very sorry you had to go through it alone," M said matter-of-factly, and Vesper looked away. "It must have been difficult."

"I suppose," Vesper replied defiantly. "Am I supposed to believe you actually care now?" She was not ready to submit to sympathy, not yet.

M smiled genuinely at the young woman, taking a sip from her tea. "I'm glad to see your spirit has returned, Miss Lynd. I was quite worried about you there for a while."

Vesper tried very hard not to roll her eyes. "Thank you," she said. The her son began to stir, fussing quietly for a few seconds before quieting again. Vesper rubbed his back gently, as M watched.

"What did you call them?" the woman asked softly once the both babies had fallen still again.

"Her name is Vera," Vesper replied, hand gently resting on Vera's back. "Vera Jane."

M nodded. "And the other?" she asked.

"Oliver. His name is Oliver James." Vesper said, voice slightly above a whisper.
M nodded again, "Bond?" She asked.

"Lynd," Vesper replied quickly, her eyes bold. "I hope you don't mind. I know it's not supposed to be my name anymore."

"Oliver and Vera Lynd," M recited. "They're lovely." Vesper looked up at her in surprise. It was not a word she'd heard the woman use kindly before.

"Thank you," she replied earnestly,
Vesper watched M, the silence that bloomed between them bringing the reality of the situation closer. She hugged her son and daughter closer as dread began to creep in.

"What's going to happen to us?" Vesper asked after some time, and M seemed almost to be expecting the question.

"Well, I'm not going to take them away. You don't need to worry," she stated. "It's not my place."

"But you're going to make us leave London," Vesper finished. She knew it wasn't likely that they could stay in their little flat.

"Yes," M said, after a pause. "It's the best option for everyone."

Vesper sighed, anger budding in her chest. "And you're going to continue to keep me and my children a secret from James."

"Yes," the woman replied, no trace of an apology in her tone. "I couldn't tell him even if I wanted to. He's on a mission right now, deep undercover."

Vesper looked up at her, surprised by this admission. "Is he alright?"

"I believe so," M said. "You know Bond," she continued, with a twinkle in her eye, "he's quite good at getting out of sticky situations."

"Yes," Vesper said, giving M a small smile in spite of herself. She could see she was telling the truth, and that she was not going to elaborate on the situation. And she knew James. He was a brilliant agent, and a very intelligent man. He would be perfectly fine.

As her smile faded, her current circumstances began to take hold in her mind. She stroked her daughter's back idly, looking around the flat, her son and daughter's birthplace. It was the home she'd made for the three of them.

And suddenly sadness filled her. She had come to love this quiet little corner of London, had wanted to raise her children in it, take them out to the nearby park, walk them to the nursery school down the street when they were old enough. But it was not to be. They would be moving to a new home, and with it the last possibility of her children's father discovering his son and daughter's existences would be lost.

She realised that she had been living in a fantasy. In where, as long as she stayed near James, he would somehow find them. She knew it was stupid, that it was weak, that MI6 had likely taken precautions against that, but it had sustained her anyway.

"Where are you sending us?" Vesper asked, ending her reverie to ask the important question.

M turned her empty teacup in her hands for a few seconds before looking up at Vesper.

"Brighton."

"Brighton?" she asked, looking at the woman.

"Yes," M said, unapologetic as ever.

Brighton? She knew that she was lucky to be staying in England. The thought of her moving, away from everything she'd ever known it was terrifying to her. She stood up, and walked over to the window. She stood there, holding her son and daughter close to her, taking deep breaths as she looked out at the city.

She loved this city. She had lived here her entire life, this city was her home. Her parents had lived and died here, they were buried in this city. She had wanted to raise her children here, for them to be true Londoners.

After some time she sensed a presence, and she caught sight of M standing at her right, her blue eyes gazing out at the city dispassionately.

"You'll have more freedom there," she said softly. "I'll find you a bigger flat, and there will be plenty of opportunities for employment when the time comes." Vesper could not look at her, could not respond to her.

"Although," M said, her voice now soft, "I suggest you wait a little white before going back to work. Five or six months at the very least. I never did, and I regret it terribly." Vesper looked over at the woman, surprised by her candour. Then she looked back out at the quiet street.

Vesper took a big, sad breath and kissed her son and daughter's soft heads, silently apologizing to them for the circumstances that kept them from the life she wanted for the two of them. There was nothing she could do about it, she could only submit to the wishes of the woman in front of her. She hated it, despised feeling so powerless and weak, under the thumb of an organization that only cared about itself.
But her anger and hopelessness faded as acceptance stubbornly began to take hold. She knew M was right. Moving to Brighton would offer her the kind freedom that London could not, would allow her to step out from under the shroud she'd been living.

She would be able to work and live in obscurity. She would be able to concentrate exclusively on raising Vera and Oliver, to focus her attention on them and off the proximity of their father. She sighed deeply, breathing in her children's scents, and glanced at the woman standing beside her.

"Alright," she said.