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inversiongirls in jamesbondfic

Bond, James Bond ... 007 again

Title: Bond, James Bond --- 007 again
Rating: no explicit content but strong language
Characters/Pairings: James Bond, M, Q, Blofeld, Moneypenny
Summary: A sequel to the end of On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Bond wants revenge for the death of his wife but is denied it by M. He starts to drink but a strange incident in a bar brings his old self back again ...
Specific Warnings:  none
Crossposted on: our Livejournal; FanFiction.net

We would really love to share our first James Bond fanfiction with you and ask you for your feedback. Greez, The Inversiongirls :)


Bond turned the car around. His destination was the airport of Lisbon. He had to talk to M. He wanted his revenge.



The next morning he walked into Moneypenny’s office. Something was different. “Excuse me, where is Miss Moneypenny?” He said to a young attractive woman with long brown hair in a tight light blue ensemble. She looked up. “Mr. Bond, I presume? Can I help you?“ “I asked you a question.” “Miss Moneypenny is currently unable to work here.” “When will she be back?” The door to M’s office opened and Q poked his head out “Bond? What are you doing here?” “I need to talk to M.” Q raised his eyebrows and M’s voice called “Enter!”.

Bond entered the familiar room. It felt different. Somehow strange.
“Where’s Moneypenny?” “Bond? What are you doing here? You should be on your honeymoon with Tracy.” “She’s dead. He killed her. They are bringing the body home as we speak.” Silence. Q and M exchanged a look. “These are terrible news, Bond. You must be devastated. My condolences.” Bond frowned. “There are things of higher importance I must discuss with you. He has to be stopped. We cannot let him reach his evil goal.” “Get a grip, Bond. We will deal with this matter, but this mission cannot be yours.” Bond was pacing angrily. “What? I have every right… You will not find anyone better suited for the job.” “But I will and I must find someone who is more professional. We cannot afford to send someone who is as emotionally involved as you are.” “I AM NOT EMOTIONAL. There is only one way to stop Blofeld. He has to be taken down.” “And you must calm down. I am suspending you from service for three months. Go on vacation. Hand over your gun. Return the watch to Q. Your license to kill is invalid for the time being.” Bond turned to leave. Before opening the door, he hesitated. “Where’s Moneypenny?” “She handed in her notice after the wedding, but we convinced her that she cannot leave. At least not now. You are familiar with the special circumstances that surround our organisation.” Bond left without another word.

Meanwhile in a hidden and sinister lair in the Syberian tundra, a white cat jumped of a leather armchair, crossed the room towards her master and, purring, made herself comfortable on his lap. Absent-mindedly stroking the feline’s silky fur, Blofeld spoke into the telephone. “Yes. Yes. Fabulous. This time will be successful. Never again will he cross one of my plans.”

Bond woke with a start. He looked at his wrist, but the only reminder that he had once worn a watch was a faint tan line. The clock on the wall said it was 5 am. An unbearable heat filled his Jamaican hotel room, the room that M had sent him to. His head was pounding. He needed a drink. When he sat up, sudden dizziness sent the room spinning. When had he returned to the hotel? He dimly remembered a dark and grimy bar filled with locals, loud music and heated conversations. He stood up and staggered towards the minibar. It was empty. Then he remembered that he had ordered the hotel staff to not set foot in his room. He decided to pay the sympathetic bartender in the casino a visit. Looking down, he realized that he would probably have to take a shower and get dressed. He shuffled into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. He definetely needed to shave as well.

When the bartender cautiously suggested that the double whisky should be his last drink, Bond left without a word to find a place where he would be left in peace and supplied according to his needs. He intended to spend the remaining two months in the same state as he had spent the first: not drowning his sorrows, but bathing them in alcohol, succumbing to the intensity of his pain, guilt and self-pity. Today, like every other day in the past four weeks, Bond did not witness the sunrise over Kingston.

In the MI6 building in London, a telephone was ringing. Despite it being well past midnight, M was leaning over important papers in his study. He reached for the phone. “Yes?” He listened and his expression darkened. “Where?” He sighed. “We have an agent there. Send one of your men nevertheless. Is the President informed about the severity of the situation?” He stood up. “Then I will notify our authorities.”

The next morning, Bond decided not to try the casino bar again. He roamed the streets of Kingston till sunset, when he made his way back to one of the places he frequented and where nobody questioned his decisions concerning alcoholic beverages. Two corners away from Medusa’s Bar, he noticed a tall slender woman with wavy blond hair in a tight black minidress. She seemed to be alone. She was preoccupied with finding something in her purse when she crossed the street without looking and did not notice the shabby bus without headlights that was speeding around the corner and towards her. Before he knew what he was doing, Bond was sprinting. Seconds before the bus hit her, he grabbed her and pulled her onto the sidewalk.

Waking up to the warmth of a female body against his side was something Bond hadn’t expected to happen for a long time. She stirred and sleepily opened her eyes. “Good morning.” She smiled. “Good morning.” “What is your name?” He asked. “I’m Angela. And you?” “That doesn’t matter. I saved you, didn’t I?”

After Angela was gone, Bond went back to Medusa’s Bar and ordered a Martini cocktail. When he turned around on his barstool, glass in hand, he saw a familiar profile. Felix was standing half-hidden behind a curtain, watching a beautiful dark-skinned woman sitting at a table deeply in conversation with a suspicious looking character with an ugly scar on his cheek. Felix was sweating and while Bond was watching, the CIA agent reached for his gun and edged closer to the couple he was observing. Bond put the untouched glass down, paid and stood up slowly. Before Felix could act, the man with the scar gave a shout and pointed a gun at Felix. Within seconds Bond was next to the man and punched him in the face. The woman jumped up and fled. The man on the floor was stirring, but Felix knocked him out before he could escape. “Bond? What are you doing in this hellhole? I didn’t think they would send you…” “No one sent me, why are you here?” Felix stared. “Let’s remove this mess and then we’ll have a talk.”
When Bond opened the door of his hotel room half an hour later, it was brightly lit and buzzing with activity. Q and a bunch of scientists were pacing around the room. “Bond. Finally. M is waiting for you next door.” Bond went to the bedroom and left Felix with Q to discuss the newest additions to the variety of inventions that had saved his life so many times. M looked up from his desk. “Ah. Bond. Please have a seat.”

Blofeld was on the phone. “So the man is down. Collateral damage. What matters is that the woman gets inside, that she fullfills the mission. Arrange a meeting with the ambassador for her. Getting as close as possible is essential. We need Jamaica as an example. We have to show them what we’re capable of. The cameras will show us when the woman is close enough to the ambassador. Then you will press the button that will trigger the explosion. She is the perfect bomb.”

“So what you are saying is that Blofeld is planning to blackmail the authorities of the Western World by infiltrating important governmental facilities, including the British embassy in Jamaica, with suicide bombers.” “Exactly.” “Why are you telling me this? I am on vacation, remember?” “Bond, please. There is no time for such foolishness. These are urgent matters and we must act quickly for the sake of our people, our parliament and our Queen. I know and you know as well that you are a man of duty, so swallow your pride and abide by your orders. You will work with Felix to stop that woman. Our men have intercepted every outgoing and incoming call from and to the embassy. Blofeld has an informer there. We don’t know who he is, but he has arranged a meeting between our mysterious woman and the ambassador. The ambassador has no idea. It is safer this way.” “What about my gun?” “Q has your equipment ready.” When Bond reached the door, M said, “Bond. You are not going to chase after Blofeld. Is that clear?”

Bond and Felix entered the embassy dressed in casual daytime suits. When they reached the outer office of the ambassador’s study, they were told that he was already in a meeting with a representative of the Jamaican Independence Movement. While Felix distracted the secretary, Bond silently entered the study. He immediately recognized the tall slender body of the woman from Medusa’s Bar. She was seductively approaching the ambassador. Bond threw himself at her and crushed her beneath him. “Don’t even bother, the mission will be accomplished,” she said with an unreadable look upon her face.

Blofeld stared unbelievingly at the screen: “Stop! It’s HIM! I want him alive, bring him to me!”, he jelled into the phone.

The man in the embassy withdrew his finger from the button and spoke into a microphone: “Abort mission! The plan has changed. Mr Bond please follow Number Fifteen to meet up with Mr Blofeld. He’s expecting you.” The man turned around in his chair and was astonished to find an unwelcome visitor in his surveillance room. He had not much chance to inquire this matter further as Felix knocked him out within a heartbeat.
Bond let the woman, apparently Number Fifteen, lead him out of the ambassadors study. He was sure that Felix would be able to resolve the incident with the ambassador in his absence. What he was not so sure about were his next steps. Should he meet up with Blofeld and hope to get his revenge or should he act according to M’s orders? While he was deeply in thought they reached a landing platform on top of the embassy. He could already hear the noise of a helicopter approaching. “Number Fifteen is a peculiar name. What do your friends call you?” She didn’t react but just stood there with a vacant expression on her face. Bond frowned. The helicopter was preparing to land when he made his decision. As the pilot opened the doors he leapt forward, grabbed the man and pulled him to the ground. Before she could fight back he pushed the woman into the back of the helicopter and jumped into the pilot’s seat.

Seven minutes later he reached the new MI6 headquarters in his hotel room. “Q, find out what is wrong with her. Oh, and by the way, she’s a ticking bomb.” Bond entered M’s office. Felix was there. “Back already Bond, I could have sworn you’d desert us.” “Did you? I need a word with M alone.” Felix left.
“I’m glad you didn’t go after Blofeld, Bond.” “It was an easy decision. I could not let another innocent woman die at the hands of that bastard.” “We are going to get him, James.” “I know.”

The next two month of his vacation Bond spent with Number Fifteen whose name turned out to be Amelia. Back in London he entered the MI6 headquarters and paid M’s office a visit. He strode past the secretary’s desk without looking and froze at the sound of a familiar voice: “James how was your vacation? I heard what happened, I’m sorry.” Moneypenny. Bond smiled, took off his hat and tossed it at the hatstand.

The End.

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