Short crappy ficlet thing I wrote.

--

"Barefoot"

 

"Why do humans even bother to wear shoes? I mean, walk barefoot long enough and your feet get used to it. Sooner or later, tough feet will become a genetic trait and these--" Jalaen lai Sheelal held up the pair of dress shoes "--These will be useless. And people will ask you why you even *have* shoes in the first place. I go barefoot."

 

James Bond sighed, taking a short commercial break from devouring the Tim's Cascade chips. Jalaen sometimes seemed to be a child. Half the time he just excused her antics as normal for an alien, a stranger to Earth, but seriously, shoes? "Don't people wear shoes in your galaxy?" he retorted.

 

"Well, yes," Jalaen replied, casting the shoes off, "but people wear boots, not shoes... and it's different. A lot of species go without footwear. And you'd never force a pair of shoes on me."

 

James raised an eyebrow. "Late at night, while you're sleeping, I'll put some shoes on you!" he said, an air of goofiness about him. "But you'd never fall asleep..."

 

Jalaen smiled, a slight, devilish smile. "You must be getting psychic, Jamesie. Picking up on my brainwaves. Come on, there's a park nearby… no one will notice if you don't have shoes."

 

James sighed. "Jalaen, I don't think it’s a wise idea, going barefoot in New York."Ah, but there was no way he could resist the bewitching smile, the look in her eyes. "Fine. Outside we go."

"Good morning, dear," a voice whispered sweetly in James Bond's ear, the voice thickly accented with something that sounded Ukrainian, but the person who owned that voice had never been to Ukraine, and probably didn't know of its existence. So, the accent couldn't be Ukrainian. James would settle for a Kaleesh accent, then. 

He opened his eyes to gaze into Jalaen's reptilian eyes. "Good morning, Jalie," he mumbled, knowing that Jalaen could understand his early-morning babble. However, this was disorienting. On normal days it would be him waking up Jalaen, not the other way around. If there was one weakness to her, it was that she slept far too deeply. But then again, she was on painkillers after her visit to the hospital. Gods, the hospital. He would keep Jalaen as far away from the hospital as he possibly could, now. He would also give her no reason to-- no, he blocked the thought from his mind. Jalaen was alive, that's what mattered. And she was his goddess.

However, what was more disconcerting was the fact that Jalaen was carrying a tray. What for? Too late he realized that Jalaen was carrying his breakfast. This too was highly irregular, as generally their breakfast was consumed in the kitchen, or at some small cafe, police-permitting. Moreover, the lovely scents of egg and bacon wafted through the air; on any normal day, cereal or last night's dinner would suffice. James wasn't even aware that they had bacon and eggs in the apartment. And, possibly the most disconcerting of all was that the food actually smelled tantilizing (James usually cooked, as Jalaen could never make anything decent). He managed to dispell the shock for long enough to say: "Thank you, Jalie."

Even in the darkness of the bedroom, James could see Jalaen blush. "It's nothing. I ran down the the grocery store this morning, because we didn't have anything, and then I got another tenant to help me out, some ranger from a fantasy land, he knew how to cook more-than-decent food in a short amount of time... I was afraid you'd be up by the time I got back, but maybe actually getting to sleep on the bed for once is a nice change, instead of the couch."

James could not help but smile as Jalaen turned on the lights, though not before adjusting the dimmer so that the influx of light wouldn't permanently blind James. Then, with a grin, she sent the tray down before James, displaying a heaping portion of scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, tomatoes, peppers, and mushrooms, as well as some toast, some coffee, and some orange juice. "I can't eat all of this, Jalie, he said jokingly, before impaling some of the egg on the fork. He thought about using the knife, but somehow he figured that the knife wouldn't work half as well.

"Well, I can eat the leftovers," she said with a soft giggle.

"No, I think Jalie deserves breakfast right about... now!" he exclaimed as he force-fed Jalaen the impaled scrambled eggs.

Amazingly enough, she didn't choke, but the astonished look on his goddess' face was priceless. "James..." she muttered, her voice seething, before she took on a softer tack. "If that the way you want to do things..." she grabbed a piece of toast, permitting James to take a nice chomp out of the said toast.
 
And so it went, back and forth, exchanges of toast and eggs, and sips of coffee. Ocassionally the aim with the fork would be slightly off and there would be much apology and the kissing away of the offending tomato or mushroom. And finally, when breakfast was all done, Jalaen flopped down next to James, resting her head on his chest. He spent a few moments admiring how thick her long black hair was, it was more like a waterfall of black cascading from that lovely head, and with a contented sigh he quietly vowed to himself that he would make every day as happy and gleeful as he possibly could.

--

Such moments as those, James cherished. Where was Jalaen now? Maybe she had gone back home, back to a galaxy where she was treated fairly. Or was she waiting for him, in New York? He wasn't sure which thought pained him more. Even though, if she had gone home she would be unreachable, he'd never see her again, New York had been a cold, cruel place for her, a place where she could never fit in. But James couldn't decide which one he wished for the most: Unattainable, but happy, or waiting for him, but alone and persecuted?

It had been too long since he last saw her. Silently he cursed M-I6, for at first giving him that trip to New York (and indirectly, Jalaen) but only to rip him cruelly away from that happier life... but 00's were not supposed to love.

Jalaen ran her flesh-and-blood hand through her daughter's hair. Sheila's hair was caked with blood, her eyes were shut, her face covered with her own blood. Just to assure her madly beating heart, Jalaen felt Sheila's carotid artery. There. A steady pulse greeted Jalaen's nervous fingers. If it stays steady, she might pull through, Jalaen though hopefully, breathing out a sigh of relief. Sheila's still alive...

But how could Jalaen let this happen?! It was her fault! She had sent Sheila on the mission, she had sent Sheila to this torture! And now Sheila was in pain. More than in pain. Walking in the shadow of death. Jalaen's heart was wrenched inside her chest, this was her daughter, Sheila's blood was on her hands. Sheila's bad leg was missing now, all that was left was a blood, raggedly butchered stump, bound with a tourniquet.

The features of Sheila's face were tight and pained. Wordlessly, Jalaen grabbed a shot of morphine and carefully injected it. The lines on Sheila's face relaxed.