Without Richard’s grasp on him, Mallory sank to the ground, groaning at the pain shooting through his leg once more. There was no time to focus on that now, though; the threat was still there, he was far from safety. The makeshift knife was still there, too, though.
His gaze found the shard of glass unscathed on the ground, and without thinking twice about it, Mallory leapt forward, dragging his still bleeding leg over the concrete floor. It was a fight for life and death, and frankly, he was eager to win it. After all, he did have a reason to live, waiting for him at home. The pain was excruciating, but he managed to reach the glass, fingers wrapping around it in a tight grip. In the next moment, Mallory turned around to lie on his back, lifting the glass so that the other man saw it – and knew not to be stupid enough to attack him.
His brow rose challengingly. “I suggest you sit down and take a deep breath, Mayhew,” he told him calmly, “and think about all this again.”
The agent’s glare sharpened when he saw Mallory raise the shard in his hand. Now, any sane person would’ve taken the older man’s advice.– Take a deep breath. Sit down. Thought things through. Unfortunately, sanity was not exactly on Richard’s side that night. “I’m finished with thinkin’ ‘bout things.” He had been thinking about Mia for too long. If this had to end, it ended now.
Wiping the blood from his nose with his forearm, Richard charged at the other. In the blink of an eye, the Scotsman threw another good punch Gareth’s way, before managing to pin him to the ground in a desperate attempt to try and pry the damn weapon out of the other man’s hands.
“You would have died too, don’t you under–” A short breath was sucked in when he felt the sharp end of the glass against his throat again. Closer this time. Threateningly close. One wrong move, from either of the two, and it would be Mallory’s last breath - and by now he didn’t doubt Mayhew’s ability to kill him any longer. The man was determined and furious; anything could happen, he was unpredictable. “God’s sake, Mayhew,” Mallory pressed out, his back against hte wall behind him. It was the only way to keep himself up standing. Warm blood ran down his wounded leg, soaking the fabric of his trousers. It stuck to his skin, but if he didn’t do something about the man in front of him, even more blood of his would cover the floor.
His gaze found Mayhew’s. One last chance. He had to take it. “She came to me…asking for advice. I told her it would be safest to leave it, with her being pregnant. She didn’t accept the offer. Instead she wanted to be part of the operation, she wanted this one last mission,” Mallory explained. “I had no choice. If I had sent you in after her, you both would have been killed, there was no chance to do anything; no time. I didn’t sacrifice her.” He did have another chance. The grip on Mayhew’s arms tightened, fingers digging into the other’s skin. He hated to do it, but what other choice did he have, really? With a quick motion, Mallory brought his arm up between the other man’s, pushed Mayhew’s hand away from his face, and slammed his pam into the former agent’s face, hearing - and feeling - his nose crunch under his hand.
Did Mallory honestly think Richard cared if he were alive and breathing right now? Oh how little he knew him. As far as the Scotsman was concerned, he hadn’t cared about that in years. His life meant nothing to the world, what more himself? Anger. Hate. Grief. The trilogy of emotions had erupted and were fully taking control of the agent’s mind now; as if all were battling the other for the spotlight. For years Richard believed that Mia’s death, Her blood, was on Mallory’s hands. Perhaps he had made himself believe that. Perhaps he didn’t want to face the terrifying and gut-wrenching truth that this, in the end, was truly Mia’s choice. After all, it was much easier to blame the likes of Gareth Mallory. The hand clutching the piece of glass began to quiver now. “No…” Richard shook his head, screwing his eyes shut, as if to try and block the other’s words. “No… Shut up… SHUT UP!” Just then, before Richard had a chance to strike, Mallory struck first, breaking the agent’s nose and sending him onto the ground. “AGH! FUCK! SHITE!” he hissed, his palm pressed up against his now bloodied face. Although the Scotsman had been through much worse with his leg, the pain still hurt like hell.
No. Richard wasn’t ready to give up. Too many times had he been beaten by Mallory. Too many times had the likes of this man managed to best him, especially when it came to training. Even if it felt like Mallory knew Richard’s every move, his every weakness, he still needed to fight. Looking down at his hand, the agent realized that the shard of glass wasn’t there. It was then that he noticed it at the other end of the room. Must’ve slid there during the attack.– Ignoring the blood and the pain, began to prop himself up off the ground in an attempt to grab the makeshift weapon.
Thank heaven for his patience. Even in the most difficult situations Mallory found himself to stay calm; he had proven so often enough in the past, even in the eye of the enemy, even with guns pointed at him. A bomb was something new, though. Still he felt as though Mayhew’s rambling was even worse than that. His jaw clenched, Mallory glared at the other, but let him finish. Once he was done rambling, his brow rose.
“Well then I suggest you stay calm,” he suggested. Taking another step back, away from Mayhew. “We lost all contact to Tanner.” Which meant to Q as well. “This freezer is…well, the walls are too thick, I suppose.” And the door was locked, too. This was just wonderful. With a sigh he sat down on a stack of something he didn’t want to give a closer inspection. “Dinner will be served in about an hour, they’ll have to come here and get some…meat,” he gestured around, “before then. I suppose in about…ten minutes.” Twenty, maybe. They could do it until then, it wasn’t freezing cold. Yet. “However, the good side…Dupont can’t listen in on us, either.”
“I’m bein’ very calm righ’ now!” hissed Richard, who was continuing to pace about in a small circle. Upon realizing this, the agent stole back a frustrated breath and finally halted in his steps.
Twenty minutes. Hopefully somebody truly would come around by then, but, surely twenty minutes couldn’t be that bad. Then again, this was twenty minutes trapped in a fish topped freezer with Gareth Mallory… Of all the people, why did it have to be him? Richard could’ve easily been trapped in a wine cellar or closet with some beautiful woman, but no. Instead he got… Him. At the mention of Dupont, Richard felt his phone vibrate. Before the agent had a chance to check what the text said, the lights shut off in the freezer, and the room seemed to grow infinitely cooler. Grabbing his phone, Richard eyed the screen before muttering a curse under his cold breath. “Mallory.” Showing his screen to the other, it read: ‘Think again.’ The bomb on Richard’s chest must have been littered with cameras and microphones. “Righ’, well, unless ye’ know how to deactivate a bomb without Q’s help–” And a rather confusingly modern looking one at that– “I suggest ye’ pick a spot, sit, tigh’, and try to keep warm cause if this bloo’y thing doesn’t kill us the hypothermia surely will.” Without a doubt, the room was definitely getting colder. Dangerously cold.
“Unfortunately, Mallory, you are still of much use to us,” cooed the kidnapper, his voice as calm and collected as the first day he came to capture the MI6 head. “As for killing you… Would you believe that I actually thought against it, at some point? Like I told you earlier, Spectre could be reasonable people if we chose. Unfortunately, for a man so drunk on conduct, you seemed to have forgotten my one line of directed regarding backups.” Just then, the metal door opened to reveal two brutes dragging in a person with a sack on their head. “Found one of your little agents poking around last night. We tried to question him, but he hasn’t said a word.” Not yet, anyways. “Although even if he’s chosen the silent treatment, we know for a fact that he’s one of yours.– Honestly, Mallory, I’m disappointed in you. I gave you one order and you went and disobeyed it like that,” tut the Spectre agent, as the two brutes hurled the agent’s body onto the ground and removed the bag over his head to reveal none other than Richard Oliver Mayhew. Christ, he looked just as badly battered and bruised as Mallory did, despite him just having been here a day. Mallory on the other hand… Who knew how long Spectre had been keeping him in this windowless, surveyed cell.
“Rest assured, Mallory,” continued the Spectre agent, “once your value has been used up, we will have no second thoughts about killing you. I can also promise you that I will make sure it will be as slow and painful as possible,” he smirked, before turning on his heel, beckoning for his men to follow him, and leaving the two agents alone together. “I suppose now isn’t really the time for greetin’s, but, hullo’ sir,” coughed Richard, “long time no see.”
It takes a moment for him so snap out of it; he realises the long glance Adelia is giving him, though doesn’t quite know why. Personal perceptions are out of place now, they need to get going and try to stay alive; he surely hasn’t meant it personally when he talked about her charms - though, frankly, he has to admit she is an attractive woman. Thoughts he isn’t allowed to have, of course, since he is her superior.
Her words, however, leave him completely flabbergasted. He nearly misses his entry, though his gaze is on Adelia the entire time.
Swiftly, however, Mallory manages to come forward, away from their hiding place, and over to her and the poor man who is serenaded. He almost feels sorry when he grabs a shovel that has been carelessly leaned against the wall, and hits it against the chef’s head. The man doesn’t stand a chance, drops to the ground like a bag of potatoes.
Pleased, Mallory nods his head to himself, his gaze shifting back up meet Adelia’s. “Do I want to know what you meant earlier?” An eyebrow rises. Now is not the time to elaborate on such things, though, is it?
He bends down and picks up the chef’s feet to pull him into the tent and out of sight. They need to work quickly; who knows how many people are around - and when they will show up.
“I suppose I don’t have a choice…” Mallory mutters to himself, while already taking his jacket off, revealing the suspenders fully now. Changing into the clothes of the chef; oh, the things that have to be done for this job.
==========================
Slipping behind the waitress, Adelia quietly chokes the woman into unconsciousness before carefully dragging her into the catering tent, to gently lie her on the ground.
It isn’t often that Adelia feels it is appropriate to thank God, but on this occasion, she feels she must thank someone, anyone at least, for a placement of a mirror in the catering tent, one that allows her to keep her back turned to Mallory whilst she unashamedly watches him quickly change into the chef’s uniform. Without doubt it is one of those moments where she wishes time would pass more gradually, so she could appreciate the sight in slow motion, perhaps even with some accompanying music, though quite what kind of tone or beat would best accompany such a delectable sight, she isn’t quite sure. Something to dwell on in bed tonight she supposes, if they make it out of this alive. She has never seen Mallory this reckless, working in a situation so utterly unplanned and frankly the sight is thrilling; perhaps her fun-loving, laissez-faire attitude is finally rubbing off on him a little. There is a part of her that knows, of course, that any innuendo may be considered inappropriate, but quite frankly such thoughts, in the past, have only led to fantasies of M washing her dirty mouth out, while her hands are bound behind her back, wrapped in his suspenders, so really what hope does she have?
Realising she’s been so caught up in her thoughts she still hasn’t yet changed clothes with the waitress, she hastily moves to swap clothes with the woman.
“Do you really want to know what I meant earlier?” She asks, repeating M’s question playfully, as she boldly steps in front of him to blatantly strip down to her smalls, making a damn show of it whilst at the same time acting as if this glimpse of bare, fair, unblemished skin is absolutely normal. A brassiere is only a brassiere after all, however delicately the intricate ivory lace frames her ‘assets’.
“Well…” Easing up the side-zip of the black skirt, she carefully does up the buttons of her white blouse, before slipping her stolen gun into the back of her waistband. “…let’s just say, if we both make it out of this alive, it may offer me the opportunity to make my meaning more explicit…something for us both to look forward to, hmm?”
The entire operation happens so fast, Mallory barely manages to notice how Adelia is doing. Apparently, however, she is doing quite well on her side, as evident once he leans back into his seat, panting. Not that he would ever doubt her – she is a very skilled agent, knows what she is doing. Frankly, he trusts her with his life – though he would never admit it to her, or anyone else for that matter.
His mouth drops closed when he suddenly feels her hand on him. Eyes wide for a moment. He doesn’t know what to think of this, really, the soft way she is smoothing his tie and hair, the warm touch of her fingers as she wipes some blood from his cheek. Still flabbergasted, he watches her, but then follows Adelia out of the car and into hiding. This is wrong, he knows. They are supposed to call for back-up, leave this place and reassemble. But on the other hand, it might take too long for anyone to come to their aid. Until then Blofeld might already be gone.
A scoff is breathed out. “Don’t set your hopes too high just yet, Miss Lennox,” Mallory warns her while his gaze is still trained on the staff. “I might know my way around guns and counter attacks…but I’m hopeless in a kitchen.” He shakes his head. Any meal he has ever tried his luck on, ended in disaster. Some things just aren’t for him. “The soldier in me says, wait. Wait for back-up,” he muses. The Lieutenant Colonel, however, knows what they might lose if they hesitate.
He cranes his neck to be able to see over the wall. “I hate to say this, and I don’t mean to offend you…but you could use your…” Mallory glances at Adelia, studying her for a moment, “well, feminine charms to distract one from the staff, and I knock him out.”
=======================
Adelia falls silent as she watches M study her for a moment and while she would never dare admit it, she finds it utterly enjoyable to be the centre of his attention, if only briefly. He is not staring lewdly, definitely not, but he is casting his gaze over her with an undeniably appraising eye; perhaps that is why his words now have her smiling like the cat that got the cream. Pausing, she takes a moment to return the favour, allowing her line of sight to comb across M from top to toe, unashamedly, her gaze lingering on the glimpse of suspender she’s flashed beneath his jacket…the utter tease.
“Feminine Charms…” She repeats with an amused smile – Gareth Mallory; ever the gentleman.“I’m so glad you finally noticed them.” She grins, basking in the moment a little too obviously as she moves to stand to tighten her blouse and smooth down her skirt.
“After all, I have been flaunting them at you for weeks M. I was beginning to think I was wasting my time.”
Dropping that little bombshell, making it quite unclear if she is being entirely serious, Adelia swiftly moves forward with an extra sway in her step and within seconds gains the target’s attention. A warm smile here, a brief touch to the chest there and the spell is cast; even a conversation about the highly changeable weather is enough to have the man entirely focussed on her, captivated by the ‘fuck me’ eyes she’s giving him; a tactic she’s witnessed Bond deploy on many occasions. With her hands folded neatly behind her back, she covertly gestures for M to make his move and sneak up from behind, so he can drag the target into the catering tent while it’s still empty, hopefully leaving Adelia to deal with the waitress who is over in the corner struggling to move an ice sculpture.
The personal therapy. He lowered his gaze. Yes, he knew about that one; more than he liked to admit. That kind of therapy was the more difficult one. The right mind-set was heard to find – and kept. Throwbacks happened more often than successes. It was frustrating.
A small smile crossed his lips. “It won’t be easy. But if he…has someone, things won’t look as dark anymore.” How he had managed to get through therapy himself without his wife back then, Mallory truly didn’t remember. He set the cutlery down and leaned back in his chair, finally looking at Kit again. “We should have…one of your barbecues again some time. I always enjoyed them.” Though leaving abruptly due to some emergency last time hadn’t quite been comfortable.
“Absolutely….soon as the weather picks up a bit” Kit agreed with a firm nod. “Though I reserve the right to shackle you to a patio chair in order to make sure you eat the requisite sausage, burger and chicken drumstick. Last time you barely had one bite before you were off again”. That was a half joke as Gareth had been here for at least half an hour. Plus she hadn’t served any of the things she’d mentioned - opting for a lamb rack and chorizo kebabs instead.
“Maybe when the kids come and definitely if mum and dad join them. They’ve been dying to see you again, you know? You are very much their favourite child who isn’t actually their child”.
