Meeting the Past ((Sock for Bond/Fields))
Dec. 6th, 2008 08:34 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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She was here at last. The portrait stood invitingly in front of her, and Fields marched right up, ready to get a jump on settling into her new life.
Before she could make it to the painting, it swung open and James Bond stepped out.
They froze at the sight of each other, Fields in mid-stride, Bond with one foot out the door and a hand on the portrait. Strawberry was shocked. She'd just come from such an awful thing. Everyone had promised her that she could start over at Hogwarts, but it had followed her here. What they'd done to her... all because she'd gone to a party with this man.
A muscle in Bond's cheek twitched, but that was the extent of any emotion he showed. "Fields," he said softly.
Her hands were shaking. At the sound of her name, she clasped them together to keep it from showing. She was just as responsible for her own death as he was, because if she hadn't gone running off to play the hero when her danger sense was tingling, she'd still be alive. Tears were welling at the corners of her eyes, and she wanted to be gone and far away before she broke down.
"Mr. Bond," she said, faking the authoritative tone she'd used when she first met him. The waver in her voice gave her away. "You're in my way."
He held the door open for her, and she walked in, only to be confronted with workout equipment. She had no idea where to go. It was piling up on her too fast, and finally the dam burst. Strawberry wiped frantically at the tears, but they were coming too quickly, and she started to sob in the middle of the gym.
The sound of the portrait closing made her turn around. Bond was standing behind her. "I'm sorry," he said. He put his arm around her and she clutched at his jacket, crying into his shoulder because he was something warm and solid to hang on to.
For his part, Bond was happy that she couldn't see his face. Besides the expression of sympathy, he couldn't find in himself any reaction to the dead girl. It was unfortunate that she died, but he'd quickly pushed any idea of remorse away, and let his anger merge with the pain of Vesper's death. He'd slept with Fields because it had been a diversion for himself, and a way to keep her out of his hair. He had no attachment to her. When he'd told M he had no regrets, he'd meant it.
After a while, the fabric of his suit had soaked through, and Fields had trailed off into hiccups. "I'm better now," she said, lifting her head off his chest. She was sure there would be other crying jags, but she'd made it through the first one. "Where can I go to clean myself up?"
He directed her to the girl's dormitory, not it really mattered now that everything was co-ed. "Call for a house elf when you're done," he said. "They'll see to you." Was she his responsibility? The idea made him uneasy.
"Thank you," Fields muttered, and left to try and pull herself together again.
Before she could make it to the painting, it swung open and James Bond stepped out.
They froze at the sight of each other, Fields in mid-stride, Bond with one foot out the door and a hand on the portrait. Strawberry was shocked. She'd just come from such an awful thing. Everyone had promised her that she could start over at Hogwarts, but it had followed her here. What they'd done to her... all because she'd gone to a party with this man.
A muscle in Bond's cheek twitched, but that was the extent of any emotion he showed. "Fields," he said softly.
Her hands were shaking. At the sound of her name, she clasped them together to keep it from showing. She was just as responsible for her own death as he was, because if she hadn't gone running off to play the hero when her danger sense was tingling, she'd still be alive. Tears were welling at the corners of her eyes, and she wanted to be gone and far away before she broke down.
"Mr. Bond," she said, faking the authoritative tone she'd used when she first met him. The waver in her voice gave her away. "You're in my way."
He held the door open for her, and she walked in, only to be confronted with workout equipment. She had no idea where to go. It was piling up on her too fast, and finally the dam burst. Strawberry wiped frantically at the tears, but they were coming too quickly, and she started to sob in the middle of the gym.
The sound of the portrait closing made her turn around. Bond was standing behind her. "I'm sorry," he said. He put his arm around her and she clutched at his jacket, crying into his shoulder because he was something warm and solid to hang on to.
For his part, Bond was happy that she couldn't see his face. Besides the expression of sympathy, he couldn't find in himself any reaction to the dead girl. It was unfortunate that she died, but he'd quickly pushed any idea of remorse away, and let his anger merge with the pain of Vesper's death. He'd slept with Fields because it had been a diversion for himself, and a way to keep her out of his hair. He had no attachment to her. When he'd told M he had no regrets, he'd meant it.
After a while, the fabric of his suit had soaked through, and Fields had trailed off into hiccups. "I'm better now," she said, lifting her head off his chest. She was sure there would be other crying jags, but she'd made it through the first one. "Where can I go to clean myself up?"
He directed her to the girl's dormitory, not it really mattered now that everything was co-ed. "Call for a house elf when you're done," he said. "They'll see to you." Was she his responsibility? The idea made him uneasy.
"Thank you," Fields muttered, and left to try and pull herself together again.