"Je veux aller au boat port cassafières, s'il vous plaît. Merçi." ("I want to go to Port Cassafières please. Thank you")
With that, the driver started to take Q to his destination. The agent was silent most of the journey, apart from the very little conversation about the drivers daughter. She was a sweet young girl of 8 years old, with chestnut hair and grey eyes. She was training to be a jockey for the olympics. And her smile could light up 'every room in a building' according to the driver.
The mist outside hugged the car, the trees falling behind as small dark blurs. You didn't need to be outside to know it was bitter outside the metal cocoon. Q was grateful the driver had the heating on, though he didn't say so aloud.
He soon turned his thoughts back to James. He envisioned James in his suit with his ear piece in; his hair gelled into his usual hairstyle. James' aftershave filled his nose as his lip developed a small twitch.
'I'm not in love with him... am I?' He thought to himself. 'That would be idiotic, completely...... true'
"I don't think it's idiotic" the image of James claimed. "I don't think it's idiotic to love the person you can't stand to be without" that was when he placed a delicate kiss upon Q's trembling lips.
Shortly after the small conversation, Q began to drift into a sleep. His eyes continued to get heavier until he woke up with the driver nudging him gently.
"Nous sommes à destination" ("we're at our destination") the driver spoke in an assertive yet kind tone.
Q stretched, letting out a small groan. It was the first time he had slept in a long while. He looked around outside the car. It wasn't the usual countryside and trees. Nor was it a marina or a port. He looked at the driver in slight terror.
"Where did you take m-" the driver interrupted.
"Please forgive me..... they have my Lara " he said in a strong french accent, his voice slightly breaking because of the pile up of emotion.
Q's eyes turned sympathetic as he remembered how much the driver sounded like he loved his daughter. He nodded to reassure the driver that it was alright.
The agent took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. He straightened his clothes and stared intensely at the most important looking one of the men in front of him. It was a look no one he knew would recognise, that sent chills down everyone's spine but the man in front of him.
"Bon nuit!" ("Good evening!") The man said with a smile, allowing his words to echo through the warehouse.
