Present. Birthday present.

[apolla]

OK, this is chrismiss' hugely overdue birthday present.

[Bad username or unknown identity: Greatly inspired by/based on the Bond film that wouldn't die, I present you with a Bondlet. ]

[Bad username or unknown identity: Warning: This turned out to be 14 pages in the end.]

She knew that, when she was old and grey, Jimi Delaney would regret only one moment. In the grand scheme of her entire life, only one moment. She supposed it wasn’t bad going, but it was a really big regret.

*

“You’re sitting on me!” she hissed. He grumbled, but moved just the same, so that he was no longer putting his entire weight on her feet. She snickered, finding it amusing that, even crouched behind crates of caviar in an underground warehouse, James Bond managed to retain some poise and dignity.

“We’re not exactly endowed with a great deal of space,” he said patiently, as if explaining it to a very annoying five-year-old.

“How long do we have to sit here, anyway?” she asked.

“Until John Walker comes back.”

“How do you know he will?” she asked. She knew the answer perfectly well, but she was rather bored and Bond-baiting was fun.

“Because,” he replied, sucking in a deep breath, “that door over there is the only way down into the laboratories.”

“You think.”

“Yes, I think.”

“You don’t know, though.”

“No. I only spent two hours looking at the architect plans for the island yesterday.”

“They didn’t show the secret labs though, did they?”

“Of course not. But they did show the unmarked door, and they did suggest that there aren’t any other possibilities.”

“Am I annoying you, Bond?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to apologise?”

“I would rather you were quiet.”

“All right. Anything for the great 007. Here, I’ll even let you lean back on my feet again.”

He didn’t say as much, but she could tell he was glad to lean back on her. Without really thinking about it, she tugged gently on his hair.

“Are you all right, Bond?”

“Of course. I’m always all right.”

“All right, Commander.”

They had finally got relatively comfortable when they heard the unmistakeable ‘ping’ of the elevator. Sure enough, a moment later, John Walker emerged from the elevator with two white-coated men in tow.

Bond and Jimi watched as they went through the unmarked door, watching carefully for the code Walker punched into the security system.

“Ready?” he asked. She nodded, and they inched their way out from behind the crates. They moved quickly and quietly through the warehouse and Bond tapped in the security number. The door slid open silently, and they slipped through almost as quietly.

The large, fluorescent-lit room was mostly taken up by fish tanks of varying sizes. Sea creatures of seemingly all types were present. Bond went up to one in which electric eels were swimming.

“What’s the matter?” Jimi asked. He shook his head.

“Nothing. Sullivan said something about the piranhas and barracudas.”

“OK.”

As Bond searched through the tanks for specific fish, Jimi stood still.

“Aren’t you going to, I don’t know, earn your living?”

“Bond, I wouldn’t know a piranha fish if it came up and introduced itself. I wouldn’t know a barracuda from a fish finger.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“I’m an expert in knife-throwing, Irish criminals and two and a half languages. And I could kick your arse if I felt like it,” she said, quite visibly bristling at his tone.

“I still don’t know what M was thinking, making me partner with you.”

“Oh, so you admit we’re partners? Not that I’m tagging along after you?” she asked, now starting to search the tanks. “Now, barracudas are those freaky, prehistoric looking things?”

“Something like that.”

“And piranhas?”

“Well, stick your hand in the tank to find out.”

“Funny. You’re a funny man.”

“The danger of piranhas has been overstated over the years,” Bond said.

“Yeah right.”

“I’ve found them,” he told her, waving a hand at a large tank of barracudas. He waited patiently for a moment while she came over and pulled out the electronic scanner from her bag.

“Well,” she said after a moment or two, “There’s something inside them that isn’t 100% homemade. But they’re not very big. Surely they couldn’t do much damage?”

“One, no. But an entire school of them off the coast of Florida?” he said. She nodded.

“I take your point. Bloody mayhem, I imagine.”

“That’s right!” a new voice had joined the conversation. Standing above them on a steel balcony was Frank O’Shea.

“Oops,” she muttered.

“I’m glad you could make it here tonight, Mr Morton,” said O’Shea. “Or perhaps Mr Bond would be more accurate?”

“It’s all a matter of perception, isn’t it?” asked Bond pleasantly. They looked around to see Rory Sullivan, John Walker and a couple of armed guards stood behind them.

“Hello Rory,” Jimi said quietly. “Lovely to see you again.”

“Wish I could say the same for you.”

“Did you check her out?” O’Shea asked. Bond looked very much as if he wanted to make a particularly witty remark, but held back as Rory told him that he’d tracked down Jimi’s MI6 file.

“How did a little slip of a girl like you end up an MI6 agent?” O’Shea asked Jimi. She smiled unpleasantly.

“I have special skills,” she said. “Don’t I, Rory?”

“Take them into my office,” said O’Shea. “Walker, get the Miami shipment ready.”

***

A few minutes later, with Bond and Jimi safely tied to a couple of most uncomfortable steel chairs, O’Shea back came into his office.

“So, MI6 sent their best agent after me. I’m flattered,” he said. “It’s a shame it didn’t work, but I’m flattered nonetheless.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” quipped Bond.

“I think I’ll get wherever I want from now on,” said O’Shea. “When my plan is put into force, the world won’t know what hit it.”

Jimi yawned loudly.

“Something wrong, girl?” demanded O’Shea.

“You lot are all the same. World domination, blah blah, yadda blah.”

“Ah, but you lot are all the same. We knew you’d turn up looking for evidence before trying to stop us. As you can see, you’ve failed.”

“Not yet, we haven’t,” said Bond. O’Shea laughed.

“Mr Bond, I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re tied to a chair. What can you do?”

“Oh, he can’t do anything,” said Jimi. “Mr O’Shea, could I ask you a favour?”

“What?”

“Could you just pull my hair back for me? It’s caught in the rope and it hurts,” she whined.

O’Shea growled, but went over to do so just the same. As he untangled her hair, he revealed a scar running down the back of her neck. He released her hair like a hot rock.

“What is that?”

“A scar.”

“Where did you get it?”

“My dad did it the night he killed my mother.”

For the first time since Bond had seen him, O’Shea looked ruffled and unsure.

“But-”

“My special skills are many and varied,” she said. “Being the vengeful daughter of one of MI6’s biggest annoyances is just one of them.”

“He’s your father?” Bond asked. She nodded.

“You thought I was partnered up to your for my sewing skills?”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“Didn’t want to risk giving the game away.”

“What are you doing here?” demanded O’Shea. “Surely you’re not here to kill your own father? That’s... that’s-”

“Patricide,” she supplied. “No, I’m not. I’m not here to do anything to you.”

“What?”

“If you’d just untie me, we can talk, Daddy.”

“Not on your life, girl.”

“Look, I’ve waited years to get this close to get back to you. I had no hope when you were outlawed and on the run and all those fun things. So when MI6 came to me, I accepted. I’m not here to kill you, I’m here to join you.”

Bond stared at her, but she made no reaction to it. O’Shea paced up and down a couple of times, before untying her.

“If you’re lying to me, sure I’ll slit your throat.”

“I’m not lying,” she assured him, moving towards the bank of computers. “I wouldn’t try it on with you. I know you don’t suffer fools gladly. Fools like Dicey Mahone.”

“How do you know about Dicey Mahone?” he demanded. She smiled.

“I’ve spent the last few years reading up on you, oh father mine. Not much I don’t know. Mind you, I think dispatching of someone in a brewery is a shocking waste of beer.”

“So do I, but it was the poetry of it.”

“I understand.”

“If you’re lying, I’ll slit your-”

“Throat, yes I know,” she cut him off. “Now, why don’t you ask Rory to come back here?”

“He’s busy.”

“I know. Get him anyway.”

Frank looked suspicious, but called Rory on a walkie-talkie just the same. After a minute or two, Rory came in.

“What is she doing out of her chair?” he demanded.

“Rory, this is my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” He didn’t look convinced.

“Yes.”

Jimi grinned broadly at him.

“I’ve got a plan,” she said. “Bond has contacted London. They know about your plan with the fish and they’ll be on the look-out for the fish and for you.”

“So?” asked Rory.

“So, we don’t send them out.”

“Are you insane? We’ve spent months planning this. Millions building this island!” shouted Rory, beginning to pace.

“Yeah, and it’ll all be for nothing when the CIA and MI6 arrive in force. Which they will.”

“You’re lying.”

“She isn’t,” said Bond. “I spoke to M personally. They’re coming.”

“So instead, we use the fish to destroy the island. Something Mr Bond was probably intending to do anyway,” said Jimi.

“You’re after killing the lot of us!” said O’Shea. She shook her head.

“We get away on a yacht. Not yours, we’ll take someone else’s. Everyone will think you’re dead. Bond will be dead. We can all start again, but this time we won’t have the secret forces of twenty-three countries after us.”

“Twenty five,” corrected Rory. She smiled.

“Twenty five.”

“What do you think, Rory?” O’Shea asked him. Rory paced up and down, glaring at Jimi.

“I don’t trust her.”

“Nor do I,” said O’Shea, looking at where Jimi was fiddling with a loose thread on her shirt. “But she is right about it. They won’t look for us if they think we’re dead.”

“Right.”

“OK. Jimi, I want you and Rory to go and get a yacht ready.”

“Prince Stanislaus’ yacht will do best, I reckon,” said Rory.

“Too high profile,” O’Shea argued. “Take one that’s a bit more inconspicuous.”

“Right you are, boss. Come with me, girl.”

“Okey dokey.”

Jimi followed Rory out of the office with a spring in her step. As soon as they were gone, O’Shea turned to Bond.

“You weren’t expecting that, were you, Mr Bond? You must feel like your situation is a lost cause. It is.”

“There are worse things,” said Bond boredly.

“Do you know how much firepower there is on this island? It’ll blow this entire island to pieces.”

“It’ll be an improvement.”

“I have to admire you Bond. You’ve got no way out, and you’re still joking. Very brave, Bond. Very brave.”

***

Rory and Jimi had found a yacht, the Marquise Christina, that seemed to fit the bill. Big enough for their purposes but not as flashy as Prince Stanislaus’ over-the-top vessel.

“Get inside,” Rory said shortly.

“You don’t like me, do you?”

“I don’t know you.”

“We’ll change all that,” she said. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Rory said nothing, but looked most suspicious.

“And with Bond dead, we’ll have nobody to get in the way of... well, us. I’ve missed you since our night in Las Vegas.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“I really have, Rory,” she assured him, getting ever closer. She leaned in to press a kiss against his lips. After a moment, he responded. The kiss grew ever more heated.

So heated that Rory didn’t notice Jimi stealing his knife until she had it up against his throat.

“Where’s the nuclear stuff?” she demanded, pushing him into a chair on the yacht, knife still at his jugular.

“What nuclear stuff?”

“The gear you and your boss were going to have swum up the Hudson river. Don’t lie to me. I may hate him, but I’m almost as crazy as my dear old father.”

She pressed the blade against his throat a little harder for effect.

“It’s on his yacht. There’s a safe in the... ow... that hurts!”

“It’s meant to. Where is it on the yacht?”

“It’s in the main cabin. Under the bed.”

“Thank you for your help.”

“What are you going to do with me?” he asked, looking absolutely terrified for the first time.

“Close your eyes, Mr Sullivan,” she said quietly. “I’ll be quick. For old time’s sake.”

He did as she asked. Then, looking as confident as she was reluctant, she drew the blade across his throat.

Then, she got up and left the yacht.

***

“You see, Mr Bond, I’ve got a vision. I’m not looking just for money, but power and influence too. One day, I’ll-”

“Rule the world. I’ve heard it before,” Bond replied.

“You are not in a position to mock me, Mr Bond.”

“Here feels fine to me.”

O’Shea’s temper snapped. He stalked across the room and grabbed Bond by the throat.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”

“Because I’d like you not to,” came Jimi’s voice. She came into the office, her shirt now splattered with blood.

“What happened to you?” he demanded. “Where’s Rory?”

“Somewhere warm,” she said. “Or really cold, depending on whose vision of hell you prefer. I like the Dante version, personally.”

“You-”

She threw the knife she’d used on Rory at O’Shea. It did not hit him, but he found himself pinned to the wall by the knife embedded in his sleeve.

“Missed,” she said mournfully. She grabbed the knives off the table, knives that had been taken away from her only a short time before. She threw another one, and it caught his other sleeve, stopping him from moving his arms at all.

“Whose side are you on?” asked O’Shea.

“Mine. My mother’s. My country’s. Justice’s.” she said, slicing Bond’s restraints. He got up and took his Walther PPK from the table.

Bond hit the ‘intercom’ button on the console.

“Ladies and gentlemen, there is a serious incident. Please leave the island in a calm and orderly fashion as quickly as possible.”

Jimi smashed the fire alarm glass with the butt of a knife. As soon as the ringing alarm began, people swarmed into the warehouse below.

“This isn’t good,” she said to Bond.

“They’re paid to protect the operation,” said O’Shea in a mocking voice. “They’re paid very well. You’re stuck in here with me. And when I get out of this, I’ll kill you.”

“So you promised.”

“Come on, Jimi. We’ve got to get down there and stop them sending any of those bombs out.”

She nodded and they left O’Shea alone, tugging helplessly at his coat sleeves.

***

They had to fight their way to the tanks, but most of the employees were rather inept at hand to hand conflict.

“Have they sent anything out yet?” asked Jimi. Bond wiped his brow although he hardly looked out of breath.

“Doesn’t look like it. That Walker man would know. We need to find him.”

“He’s not around here. He must be up in the hotel.”

“Right.”

***

Panic reigned supreme in the hotel as hundreds of rich people attempted to get out alive while getting as much of their stuff out. A few over-laden valets were attempting to carry suitcases through the riotous lobby.

Several people were complaining and demanding to know what was going on.

“I demand to know what is going on!” shouted Prince Stanislaus. Bond and Jimi went over.

“If you don’t leave now, you will die when this entire island goes up in smoke,” Bond told him quietly. “Leave now and get as far away as you possibly can.”

The prince’s eyes widened and he shook Bond’s hand effusively.

“Thank you! I am in your debt!”

Then, he ran off towards the harbour.

“I can’t see Walker anywhere,” said Jimi. “Has he done a runner?”

“I’m not sure. Hey, you there!” Bond shouted at a uniformed young man. “Have you seen John Walker?”

“He went to find Mr Sharif, sir. Please, make your way out of the hotel,” he replied before running off.

“If he went to find O’Shea, he must’ve gone to the office...” said Jimi.

“We have to get back,” Bond replied, grabbing her hand. “Come on!”

They ran through the melee to the quiet of the elevator down to the warehouse.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re his daughter?”

“M told me not to tell anyone.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean me.”

“She said and I quote, ‘Don’t tell anyone, especially Bond. He’ll do something rash.’”

“She said that?”

“Yes. We didn’t want to play that card too soon, did we?”

“True.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll kill him when the time comes.”

The doors opened onto the deserted warehouse. They ran to the laboratory doors and punched the code in. The doors opened, and before they could react, John Walker punched Jimi.

Bond leapt at him and the kicking and hairpulling began. Jimi slumped onto the floor, completely dazed by the punch.

“I promised I’d slit your throat, and I will,” O’Shea growled at her as he appeared from behind a tank of angel fish. He grabbed her hair and dragged her away from the fight.

***

When she finally regained control of her senses, she was lying on the floor next to a tank of colourful tropical fish. Frank O’Shea was stood a short distance away, sharpening a knife.

“I can see that you favour knives girl, so I thought you’d like the poetry of dying by one.”

“I’m a big fan of poetry, it’s true. That’s why I thought it would be poetic for me to beat you to death like you did my mother.”

“What will you do once I’m dead? MI6 won’t have any use for you.”

“I’m more than just your daughter to them.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, I make great coffee too. I was the one who brought Alessandro de Malfi to justice too.”

“Really?”

“Sure. It’s how I got my half a language. I have skills, you know. Seen Rory lately?”

“No. What did you do to him?”

“I slit his throat. Not before he told me where you keep the important stuff, of course.”

O’Shea laughed.

“If you weren’t on the wrong side, I could almost be proud of you.”

“The wrong side is a matter of perception,” she said, sitting up. She rubbed her jaw. “That smarted a bit.”

“I’m sure Bond, James Bond, has killed Walker by now.”

“So am I,” said Jimi. “Perhaps I should get to work on you.”

She got up rather slowly to her feet and stared him down. She took one of the knives from a pocket in her trousers.

“I’ll fillet you like Harry Ramsden would one of those cod,” she said, waving a knife in the general direction of the fish tanks.

“Not if I get to you first,” he told her. She ran at him, knocking him over and knocking his knife out of his hand. She grabbed it and leapt up onto her feet.

They fought furiously for some time, neither quite managing to get the upper hand. For his size and strength, O’Shea was not as fast or agile as Jimi, who seemed to have taken on some extra strength from somewhere.

He grabbed her wrist and twisted it until she released her knife. He kicked it out of reach, but she then kicked him in the groin. Eyes watering, he fell to his knees with a whimper.

“Never fails,” she said, pulling her gun from its holster. She cocked it and aimed.

She did not fire.

“You can’t do it, can you girl? Not your own dear father,” he said in a mocking voice.

A gunshot rang out, echoing throughout the laboratory. O’Shea fell to the ground, blood gushing from his head. After a second, his eyes closed and one of MI6’s most wanted was dead.

Jimi looked up to see a bloodied, but not beaten, Bond stood away to the side, warm gun in his hand. She re-holstered her own unused gun and then sank to the floor.

Bond was at her side in a second.

“I’ve primed the detonators. We have to get out of here. Thirty seconds ago.”

“All right,” she said, letting him pull her to her feet. “We’ll take his yacht.”

They ran through the laboratory, which smouldered and showed signs of the fire-fights of earlier. They passed John Walker lying dead inside a tank.

“He always did like seafood,” said Bond with a wry smile.

They ran through the warehouse, where a small fire had already started during the fighting.

“Let’s hope that doesn’t reach the labs until we’re away,” said Jimi. They ran up the stairs rather than taking the elevator. Once in the hotel lobby, they ran out into the now almost deserted marina.

Leaping into O’Shea’s yacht the Jemima II, Bond started it up quickly.

“Fifty seconds to go,” he said as the yacht roared into action. He sailed it quickly out of the marina and as far away from the island as he could.

With a deafening roar, the first explosion ripped through the island. It set off a series of explosions behind them as they sailed away, following a veritable navy of yachts.

***

They passed by the Marquise Christina, so close that they could hear the owner loudly demanding to know why there was a dead man sat in his favourite chair. They could even hear his wife screeching about how she was going to get all the blood out of the carpet.

Far behind them, the island fell into the sea to be lost forever.

“Let’s find those nuclear warheads,” said Bond, slowing the yacht to a standstill now they were out of danger.

“They’re in a safe under the bed in the main cabin.”

“Right.”

They headed down into the main cabin. Bond flipped the cover over to reveal a safe under the bed. He quickly and expertly cracked the safe and pulled a case out of it, inside which were the nuclear warheads.

“Another job well done,” he said, closing the case.

“Almost,” she said sullenly. “I chickened out in the end.”

“No you didn’t. You would’ve pulled the trigger. I just decided that you didn’t have to.”

“Very magnanimous and gallant of you, Mr Bond.”

“Quite all right. You turned out to be quite the partner in the end.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m the first woman not to succumb to your charms.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Is that so?” he asked silkily. She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t even try. I’ll have you know-”

What she knew was to remain forever unknown as James kissed her.

The End... at the moment

Comments

[chrismiss.livejournal.com]

OMG! That's the end for now? *sigh* So was not killing her father the one regret...or was it not succumbing to Bond's charms? Well she has succumbed...but is she going to go all the way? ;) Like that's even a question! He's Bond and she's the girl!

OMG to her killing Rory like that...just cold hearted. Me liked! :)

And of course have visions of Orlando as Bond. Mmmm.

You know who else I saw today who we haven't discussed as Bond...Dougray Scott. What do you think? Is he Bondy enough?

[chrismiss.livejournal.com]

D'oh! In all the excitement I forgot to say thank you! Thank you so much Clare. >:D

[apolla.livejournal.com]

Very glad you liked it. It'll end up at the end of a screenplay eventually!

[apolla.livejournal.com]

Oh I did hear he's been confirmed. Actually, he makes a lot of sense as Bond. Especially when you consider that Eon always want a Connery Clone because they think he's everyone's favourite.

Mind you, I've had a sneaking admiration for Dougray since MI:2 and he was good in To Kill A King as Sir Thomas Fairfax. And well, even the dopey fake English accent in Ever After couldn't detract too much.

He'll do :D