Chapter Text
"I thought 'M' was just a randomly assigned letter, I didn't know it stood for..."
"Utter one more syllable, and I'll have you killed."
-Casino Royale
And you know how it always upset Mummy.
-A Study In Pink
If I want sarcasm, Mr Tanner, I'll talk to my children.
-Goldeneye
The impeccably dressed man did not speak a word. He didn't have to. Every part of his body communicated volumes, from the angle of his dark eyebrow to the position of his hands on the old-fashioned bowler he held before him. At least, it communicated volumes if one knew what to look for - and the iron-haired woman sitting behind the rich mahogany desk knew exactly what to look for.
Why have you called me in? I'm busy, the touch of a finger to the gold watch-chain said, while the slight lift of the eyebrow added as an afterthought, doing your work.
The tilt forward of two grey eyebrows, with the mouth quirking downwards at that angle, replied You haven't been taking care of your brother.
"He's a grown man," Mycroft said irritably, and the rub of an index finger on his bowler added, he was always your favorite.
"Don't be silly," M replied, leaning back in her chair, "I simply can't trust him to take care of himself." Family must look after family, the testy drumming of one finger aginst the desk said.
"I set him up with a doctor" and now he wants to shag the man, Mycroft added wordlessly. "He'll take care of..."
M interrupted with the barest of eyeflicks upwards. Mycroft trying to take credit for that bit of good fortune - for shame.
"I vetted him," Mycroft protested.
"There's more afoot now," M replied, standing. "That idiot D-I asked Sherlock to look into the Huntington murder." After I had his superior make it very clear to him indeed that it was to be left alone.
"Who do you..." Mycroft read the answer immediately. "Double-oh-seven?" The twitch of his lips in the direction of a sneer asked if the department had enough condoms in stock to deal with that man on the loose in London.
"This should be resolved quickly. Just make sure the regular police stay out of it."
"Yes, Mummy," Mycroft sighed, resignedly. M narrowed her eyes, but he could not call his own mother "M," now, could he?
"Your mission, Bond, is seduction." M could not resist an internal smirk at the smile that spread across the man's ridiculously chiseled face as he sat in a chair in front of her, his legs spread obscenely.
"Really, M - I'm surprised it took you so long to exploit my talents in that area."
"We never had such a suitable target before." M let a bit of the smirk emerge as she slid a manila envelope across the table. "You were briefed on the way here?" Of course he had been - the clerk she had sent to brief him in the back of the limousine had been very attractive, to keep Bond's interest, and a lesbian, to keep him from seducing her away from her work. At least, to slow him down a bit. Something about that man made even gay women and straight men stop and take notice. It was all youthful foolishness, really, but she appreciated such exploitable foolishness.
"London-based extremist splinter group trying to buy cast-off nuclear arms from ex-Soviet states. Their contact was killed in a payment dispute, and we are trying to locate and shut down the group before the trail goes cold." Bond rattled off the summary with affected boredom.
"At least you paid a little attention." M nodded. "We have an in." She tapped the envelope, and Bond opened it and began to read. She rather enjoyed the variation in looks that passed over his face as his eyes traveled down the page - from startlement to annoyance to bemusement, finally settling on resignation.
"He was born under the name Alexander Ross; he has adopted the name Abdualla Farruk M'utala in the group. He's as gay as a box of posies, and that particular sect would rip his testicles off with a pair of channel-lock pliers if it came out. You are to seduce him, and use that as blackmail fodder to infiltrate the group."
Bond looked back and forth between her and the picture in the folder. A man with messy black hair and intense-looking eyes peered out of a candid snapshot at Bond, the pictured man's cheeks shrunken with the skinniness of a too-energetic youth.
"I know you like a challenge, Bond." M could not keep her eyes from glittering. "And you know, I think you might enjoy this one." She leaned back in her chair, flitting her hand dismissively. "Go on. I expect a status update in two days."
She had never seen Bond at a loss for words before, and she discovered she rather enjoyed it. She wondered if Mycroft might be able to catch some of these antics on video. It would improve the blackmail value - and an old woman was entitled to a thrill here and there, wasn't she?