ARTHUR DIDN'T HAVE TIME TO BE SUSPICIOUS. The amount of time he had to prepare was virtually non-existent, Walter dragging him by the collar as he made multiple phone calls all at once, setting up all the proper alibis and safety precautions that was typical when Arthur went on a mission; usually, however, he had at least a day to prepare. While Walter settled his affairs, Arthur researched the people he would have to spend the the next week with, both of them working together to pack his bags and supplies; needless to say, Arthur had no time to breathe let alone consider the strangeness of the situation.

Not until he was seated on the private jet beside the two Security Service members who were employed to guard the small team accompanying Ambassador Lowenstein; to do what, Arthur had no idea, and he refused to educate himself on the matter.

"Why do you suppose they chose the big guns for this?" he asked, leaning across the aisle to the Security Service agent, "Don't they just hire police?"

"That's for in-country protection," the other agent replied, stepping in before her associate could bite Arthur's head off, "There's no specific requirement for security detail in general, but overseas they like to be cautious without causing alarm."

"Which is why we have no idea why they brought you," a first agent concluded, "And why it's only the three of us. I'm just here because I'm the Home Secretary's personal security detail. There's way usually more protection even for just a presentation at a university, so..." 

She trailed off and Arthur inclined his head, glasses slipped down ever so slightly. "If she's the home secretary, doesn't that mean she should stay at home?"

The other agent snorted, blushing when Arthur flashed a bright smile; if he was hired for his interpersonal skills, he was going to lay it on as thick as possible.

"All I know is that she and her team are here and none of them are happy about it. Can't say much else," the first agent said, and it was the suspicion laced in her otherwise neutral tone that reminded Arthur that there was more strangeness than a few disgruntled bureaucrats.

He leaned back in his seat and went over his files, the words swimming as his mind wandered. He didn't have that many toys in the bags that had been sent with him. While he was registering all of the weapons and tech he was checking out, he had managed to get Walter to agree—reluctantly, but sincerely agree—that it was in their best interest that he get permission to send over packages if need be, though he was only cleared for sending non-lethal items, which was fine with Arthur; he didn't need a gun to do serious damage, though guns did make it much easier.

He sighed as he switched from the files on the people with him in the jet—if he truly wanted to know, he could just ask them personally—and instead looked over the files for the Americans he was expected to interact with.

These were far less detailed, though he still had to wonder what kind of strings and loopholes had to be fiddled with in order to obtain this much information at all, especially on short notice; he had been hired less than 24 hours before, no way could the Americans have anything more than his name, if even that. 

He saw nothing out of the ordinary or particularly interesting when it came to the various files. Similar looking politicians and forgettable looking security detail with similar backgrounds in military or other government branches. Most were older than Arthur, which was to be expected considering the amount of experience one typically needs to have in order to be tasked with protecting high profile government figures—which is all the more confusing considering he was chosen for this excursion with the understanding he would look extremely out of place—but one of the files gave him pause for no reason other than the birthdate.

At least, at first.

Arthur couldn't help but sit up straighter as he placed the file on top of the stack, opening it completely to read over the bits of information available, as well as scrutinize the attached photos.

Everett Kenneth Ross. Born in 1966 to a military family, it was no surprise he joined the Air Force straight out of high school. Graduating with a bachelor's in International Relations, though still in the Air Force, he also worked with the U.S. State Department to escort foreign diplomats during their visits.

He also had very nice hair. 

Arthur tapped the side of his glasses and sent a quick message to Walter, asking if he could look further into the pilot, though he received no immediate reply. 

With no other leads, Arthur closed the file, still curious about the young bureaucrat—though he wasn't sure if that was the right term considering he was still a registered Air Force pilot—and went on to scan over the other files. He almost expected to see more young people after Everett, but no such luck.

When he finished his skimming—he wasn't even sure if he could answer basic questions, but once he was in the thick of it, he would be just fine—he closed his eyes, figuring that he should get as much sleep as possible; they would arrive in D.C. in the middle of the night, but he would need as much energy as possible.

He didn't know when he had dozed off, but when he finally woke up, it was just as dark as it had been when they had left, and all the other passengers that he could see were just as groggy and uncomfortable; despite the private plane, he and the two Security Service agents were flying the equivalent to coach.

He felt his stomach lurch in the familiar sensation as they began their descent, and he busied himself with putting away his files rather than remember the last time he was in a descending plane, though he had to stop and close his eyes, growing nauseous at the excess movement.

He could hear Walter grumbling about his refusal to take the medication he had been prescribed to deal with this particular issue, and that thought made him feel a bit better, if only due to habit. 

When the no seatbelt sign was finally turned off, Arthur jumped out of his seat, colliding with the first Security Service agent who had moved even faster than he had. His arms shot out to try and steady her, but she had already righted both of them before he could even register that he was now just holding onto her arms with wide eyes. 

"I-I'm so sorry, uh..." he stammered, now hating himself for not bothering to learn either of their names.

The second agent seemed to notice and take pity on him. She shifted out of her seat and into the aisle, motioning to herself then to her associate in turn. "Agent Bonnelyn Ewin. Agent Elizabeth Clyde."

Arthur's lips quirked despite himself. "Bonnie and Clyde."

The only reason Clyde's glare didn't freeze Arthur on contact was because Bonnie's grin was bright enough to counteract the effect. "I figured you would pick it up right away. I'm sure you get your own batch of comments, huh, Bond?"

Clyde's glare softened into neutral distaste, eyeing Arthur in a new light as he flashed another killer grin, eyes sparkling. "Of course. I would've changed my name to James if I didn't hate that name as much as I do."

"What's wrong with 'James'?" Clyde asked, pushing him aside so she could pull down the rest of their carry-on's.

Arthur shrugged. "Met too many of them. One has yet to impress me."

Clyde scoffed, though more amused than anything else, and Bonnie scrutinized him carefully before ultimately smiling and continuing to gather her things, the two leaving Arthur to just stand in the aisle like an idiot.

"Excuse me," Clyde said, waving a hand in front of his face, and he moved back into his section, letting the two pass.

"See you," Bonnie said, giving him a small wave as she passed, and when they passed through the curtain partition, Arthur was finally able to center himself.

Sitting back down, he leaned forward and placed his head between his knees, taking deep breaths. He was acutely aware that he was needed relatively soon, and he honestly shouldn't be taking the time to do this, but considering what happened the last time he was on a plane, it was fair enough to say that he could be allowed five minutes to keep himself whole.

After his breathing evened out, he moved to sit upright, careful not to move too fast, eyes still closed. When he felt he was ready, he stood up, movements quick and methodical as he pulled down and gathered all his bags. He had a few, but he was nothing if not pragmatic—or, rather, Walter was nothing if not pragmatic, and Arthur wasn't so defiant as to avoid doing what he knew would benefit him—so he was able to have one hand free and enough mobility to protect himself and others at a moment's notice.

He had to admit, he liked the feeling of not looking stupid when holding things. 

When he finally left the plane, taking a moment to thank the pilots, he found Ambassador Lowenstein waiting for him, the older man trying and failing to hide his irritation at Arthur's lateness.

"Sorry, sir," Arthur called, jogging over, movements fluid and unobstructed, which did wonders to ease the judgement on Lowenstein's face, "Had to go through proper procedure, didn't want to risk anything important."

Lowenstein, having no reason or way of suspecting that Arthur was lying, just gave a resigned sigh. "Well, come on, our escort's already loaded my things. He says that the rest of our bags will be at the hotel."

Arthur, who had been debriefed on the general plan of pick-up, spotted the group of identical tinted-window vans a short ways away, zeroing in on the van that Lowenstein motioned to. With a nod, he walked in step with Lowenstein, though he found himself walking ahead regardless, stride far more steady and long despite the weight of his bags.

As he neared the van, he caught wind of strikingly American voices; drastically different accents, neither of which he could place, but both decidedly American, which was all Arthur really cared to note.

Rounding the side, he found the sources of the voices. An older, taller man was chatting with a much shorter man who was leaning against one of the back trunk doors that was still open, his back to Arthur. The taller man caught sight of him first, straightening easily, establishing his strong build, and the shorter man started for a moment before turning around as well.

Arthur's stride didn't change, lips pulling into one of his best smiles as he approached, all the while his brain filed away the information that Everett Ross was far shorter than he had expected, and not as young looking as his picture had led him to believe; Arthur figured he was one of the people who were born looking old.

"All right?" he greeted, inclining his head towards them as he moved to the still open trunk, sparing a brief glance to the bags already inside before turning back to look at the two, never faltering as he loaded his own items in with ease.

Everett eyes darted to his companion for a brief moment, but then his demeanor shifted into one of polite ease. "Yeah, I'd say I'm alright. You?" 

If Arthur hadn't been well-trained, he would have been caught off guard; that wasn't the typical response he expected. Fortunately, he wasn't just a mere Security Service agent, and he mimicked Everett's demeanor and stance with ease. 

"Yeah, private coach isn't so bad. And it's not as cold as the pilots said. I expected to feel right well starved, but it feels more 12 degrees than 6," he said, unable to hide his smirk; it was to be expected that he would try and mess with a few Americans during his stay.

Everett scoffed, rolling his eyes, motioning for Arthur to move so he could close the back of the van. "Cute, you think we can't do conversions."

"Speak for yourself, I don't even know what he said," his companion muttered, and both Everett and Arthur snorted, though only the latter was the target of the heated glare.

"Good luck," the taller man said, turning to walk back to his own van, though he took a quick moment to thoroughly ruffle Everett's hair.

"Not the hair!" the shorter man cried, cheeks turning red in frustration as he glared at his laughing colleague. 

Arthur, not bothering to hide his amusement, paused to look for Lowenstein, the ambassador in an intense conversation with a few of his colleagues, all worse for wear but unyielding. Knowing his charge was secure, he turned his attention back to Everett who was openly appraising Arthur and his clothing.

"My eyes are up here, darling," he tutted, winking as his polite smile shifted to—as Walter would say—borderline obscene, "Though I can't blame you for looking."

Everett glowered, his ears joining his cheeks in blushing a fierce pink. "I'm just confused, I was pretty sure MI5 agents didn't make enough to get tailored Dunhill's." 

Arthur was barely able to hide his delight; no one except Walter paid enough attention to the specifics of his suit beyond the necessitated tailored fit, not even those that had specified the dress code in the first place.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm not MI5," he said, grin widening when Everett's eyes widened in shock, "I'm a secretary."

Everett rolled his eyes then said, in an intentionally garish facsimile of Arthur's own accent, "Bloody great joke, bruv, I was right well 'bout to spill my tea, real comedian you are, absolutely smashing."

He finished with a wide smile, a challenging twinkle in his eye, and Arthur opened his mouth, ready to take put his training and childhood acting classes to use, when Lowenstein walked around the van, another man trailing behind him.

"If it's all well with you, I'd like to get to the few hours of sleep I can," the ambassador called, the two young men moving before the older man's impatience could sink into his tone.

"Of course, sir," Everett said, movements smooth and lithe despite his build, opening one of the back passenger doors of the van.

Arthur walked towards them, but Lowenstein stopped, colliding with the other man who was trailing close behind him. "Er, it would be best if you sit up front with Mr..." he trailed off, looking to Everett.

"Everett Ross, sir," he replied, looking first at Lowenstein then at Arthur who tilted his head in acknowledgement at both in turn.

His feet moved before his brain could catch up, too focused on trying to recall whether the new individual joining them had been in the files he had read over, which meant he didn't realize his error until the door was already opened and he was halfway into the seat.

Everett opened the front right door, the side where Arthur knew he was supposed to be, the pilot grinning like a kid at Christmas, far too pleased considering the time of day. "The changes can be difficult to adjust to at first..."

Arthur bit his tongue against his scathing remark, instead opting to narrow his eyes at Everett as they passed each other to switch sides, though the diplomat said nothing to push him, instead following Arthur's lead and settling in silently.

"Partition and radio," the man next to Lowenstein said, looking at Everett through the rearview window.

"Yes, sir," Everett said, his sigh so minuscule that Arthur only noticed due to his training.

Arthur watched as the pilot methodically operated the vehicle. Turning on the engine, he raised the partition then removed the parking break while shifting gears, turning on the radio just before the partition window closed, starting to drive. They drove in silence until they left the airport, the only sound being the radio station that played the kind of music Arthur could expect from a late-night radio station in Washington D.C.

It was only when they exited to the freeway that Arthur decided to break the silence.

"Everett Ross," he drawled, mimicking the way the man in question had re-introduced himself to Lowenstein earlier.

Everett snorted softly. "That's me. That, or Kenny Ross. No one really uses it at the office, but I've had it since grade school and those nicknames always stick."

Arthur nodded solemnly. "Children can be cruel."

That startles a laugh out of the shorter man who tilts his head towards him, eyes still on the road. "Okay, smartass, you know my name, what's yours?" 

Arthur schooled his features, muscles fighting to keep his lips in check; this was too perfect.

"You don't know?" he asked, and while his innocent tone was feigned, part of him was curious to know whether Everett had been given any information about Arthur or if he was flying blind.

"I guess when they assigned me to the ambassador they didn't think you were important enough to include in the list of people I had to know," Everett said, glancing in the rearview mirror briefly, "I have no idea who any of the security detail are, so just cough up your name before I snag your wallet to find out myself."

It was Arthur's turn to laugh, pulling out the wallet in question, ready to pull out his I.D. "Humor me, yeah? Ask the question again."

Everett raised an eyebrow in judgement, but complied, half his attention on the road and half now on Arthur. "What's your name?"

"Bond." 

Arthur, gaze casually aimed forward, pulled out his I.D. and held it out in offering between his left pointer and middle fingers, letting his head turn towards Everett, allowing the corners of his lips to tug up in a wry, casual smile.

"Arthur Bond."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

( 06.09.21 )

I hadn't planned for this chapter to end this way, but it got too long and I just think this is a fun place to end 'cause, you know, Bond. (I'm disappointed 'cause I wanted to include the nickname for Everett that Arthur comes up, but there was no way for me to include it, so I'll just include it in the next chapter.

I used the information that was given by the MCU and general marvel wikis for Everett, but I also added some background history to flesh him out a bit for his description, but none of it is super important to the story, though I inferred some of his personality from his 616 wiki.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!