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"Oh, go on. Laugh it up."
"Believe me, I am. Oh my God."
"What else were you expecting? Did you think it just stops growing when I want it to? Like magic?"
"Why not? You're Agent 007. Every little thing you do is magic."
"Fucking hilarious, you are."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Fucking hilarious, you are, ma'am."
"That's more like it. But I'm so curious. Raise your arms."
"Why do you—? No."
"Raise them."
"No."
"This is an order."
"Write me up for insubordination."
"Something you don't want me to see?"
"This is perverse. You are perverse. I must say, M, I wouldn't have expected it of you."
"Truly? Would it help if I said I am not remotely surprised that you're the sort of man who waxes his chest and his underarms?"
"Do you spend a lot of time thinking about the sort of man I am?"
"I know all about the sort of man you are, James. Although now I can see it more clearly than ever before."
"I bet you can. This is sexual harassment. I'm writing up a complaint."
"Oh, you are, are you? Make sure you run it by Moneypenny first, so she can check your spelling."
"I don't believe— And what are you doing in my flat in the first place? To say nothing of my bathroom!"
"The same thing you're always doing when you come to mine. Testing your security system, of course."
"Why are you holding a pair of scissors? Wait. You cut the wire?!"
"Never underestimate the aged, 007."
"You shouldn't underestimate me either, ma'am. Nor think you can predict me."
"I'd never dare. Why, what exactly are you planning to do?"
"Drop my towel."
"…Ah."
"Indeed. I am, in fact, that sort of man. Still curious about my underarms?"
"Not—not excessively, no. But…doesn't that hurt?"
"More than torture at the hands of an enemy? Well, perhaps as much. Or don't you know?"
"About torture?"
"About keeping the naughty bits tidy."
"Bond."
"Ah-ha. Well, I hope you don't go full-on like I do. It's a bit disturbing, I think…"
"Stop right there."
"…that today's women feel as if they have to look like little girls when their clothes are off. I think it's unhealthy. Don't you think it's unhealthy?"
"James Bond, feminist ally. I said, stop. You have—this bathroom is ridiculously small. So why do you go…full-on?"
"Because I like it. Because you like it. Mind the wall. How many nasty, hairy old cavemen have you put up with in your time?"
"Neanderthals have nothing on you, 007."
"You're the one who thought it was a good idea to check out the cave. Now, why don't we just see where you…ah. Hmm."
"Yes?"
"I don't think I care for where you've placed those scissors."
"You've been snipped once, I see. I wonder if it would hurt worse the second time."
"You've made your poi—I see where you're coming from. Now please move them. Please?"
"Oh, very well. I always knew you'd be very pretty when you begged."
"Do you imagine me on my knees, M?"
"I imagine so many things, Bond."
"Such as?"
"In my naughtiest dreams, you complete a mission totally without incident and on time. A guilty fantasy in which I frequently indulge."
"My toes are curling."
"Sarcasm is not one of your more attractive habits."
"No. I do have other attractive habits, though. In fact…should you ever be interested in, say—"
"Shut up, Bond, and try your purr out on some girl who's waxed herself back into pre-pubesence. I've made my point, and I am going home. Do not follow me."
"What was your point?"
"To prove that anywhere, any place, any time, and in any situation, you are mine. At home or not, in your clothes or not, on duty or not, railing some girl or not, you belong to me."
"I belong to Britain."
"I see no difference."
"Then God save the Queen. But M…I already knew that perfectly well. So whom are you proving it to?"
"…I said, whom are you proving it to?"
"…M. Tell me."
"…Careless , ma'am. Dropped your scissors."
"They're your scissors."
"Oh no, everything here is yours, all yours. Everything in this flat. Isn't that what you were just telling me?"
"You are mine. I want nothing else."
"…Cat got your tongue, 007?"
"…Very good. I'm going home. Don't follow me and play your clever little games. Not tonight. I—let go of me!"
"Promise me it's true."
"I don't know what you…"
"M!"
"Yes. It is true. Of course it is true."
"And in your house—if I went to your house—what there would belong to me?"
"Nothing would, James. I promise you that, too."
"But I want—only one thing. There's only one thing I want."
"Hard luck."
"As you can see."
"Oh, for the love of…put that thing away!"
"Where? I can think of several enticing possibilities."
"Hang the towel on it, for all I care. And let me go."
"Yeah, that's it, isn't it? Did you notice? Here we are. You get me to the point where I either have to make a joke, lighten the mood, or…"
"Or what?"
"I don't know. I've never got past the joke before. What do you think will happen?"
"I think, Bond, that you will let me go."
"…Bond."
"…Now, Bond."
"Yes, ma'am. Yes. I will let you go."
"Yes, you will. Yes. That's…right. I'll see myself out. You may get back to work."
"I may what?"
"You've missed a spot. Right…here."
"Jesus Christ. Jesus God, you like to push, don't you?"
"You need to be pushed. Or you will slow down. And then you will stop. I won't allow that."
"Because I'm yours."
"Among other reasons."
"And you're mine. "
"Don't push back, James. You'll ruin everything…again."
"Again? Did you just say that to me? My God. You are the cruellest woman who ever—Silva—he was right about you. We both know it, so how does that feel?"
"You're the cruellest man alive, you tell me. And I may be cruel—but am I wrong?"
"No. No, damn you, you never have been."
"Not about you. I did get one thing right. Even if I didn't really expect you to wax your armpits."
"Anything to keep you on your toes. Yeah, like I said. Laugh it up."
"I don't laugh often. Thank you. Oh, James. You are…"
"I am what?"
"…I'm what, M?"
"Planning to kiss me, I believe."
"Not planning, exactly. More like thinking about it."
"You are standing very close to be only thinking about it. Think a little more, James. Be very careful now."
"You don't have the scissors any more."
"I can cut you deeper. I will. Part of me will even enjoy it. You know that."
"I've always known that. Someone like you, you know—you'll hurt what you love, because you're afraid of it. You'll break into my home, gibe at me, push me, and it'll have nothing to do with what we are at work—"
"Would you like to be the kettle or the pot, 007?"
"—and I won't care, will I? I won't throw stones. Because it's only us left, now. Vesper's dead, your husband's dead, Silva's dead. It's you and me. There's no one else."
"How macabre."
"The last two rats. Remember what he said? The last two rats could eat each other, or everyone else. And I don't see anybody else in my flat."
"...Weren't you leaving, ma'am?"
"I don't know. I can't decide."
"You can't—"
"I don't know."
"Well, what should I do, pour us both a drink while I wait?"
"Shut the hell up and hold still. Now…"
"Oh."
"Mm-hmm."
"You taste like peppermints."
"And I like you smooth-shaven, it seems."
"Are you sure? Allow me."
"…are you sure, M?"
"I have a name. I like that you don't presume to use it any more. Never use my name, James, even when I'm gone. Let's make that a rule."
"Don't go home."
"I have no home. I have a house. There is no such thing as home, for us."
"No. No, there isn't. Stay here. After all, what's mine is yours. And vice versa. Admit it."
"Yes. Yes. Since we've eliminated the competition."
"You're laughing again."
"I am, and it's not even funny. Yes, Bond. I will stay. You can see my old woman's body and that I haven't shaved my legs in two days. Romantic enough for you?"
"It's all a rat could ever dream of. Come on to my room. We've already fogged up the mirror in here."
"You go ahead. I'll follow you."
"Bloody shameless woman."
"Bloody and shameless. Yes, I'd have to agree."
"We have so much in common. I think that's nice. Come on, M. Let's take what's ours."
"It's little enough."
"It's all we've got. Grab it by the balls. You know you want to."
"Poor, poor 007. You've got no idea what you're in for."
"No, and I find that incredibly invigorating. Show me. Have me."
"I will. Yes. I always knew I would. Yes, my James. Yes."
FIN.