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Summary: In celebration of 'Casino Royale.' Sometimes, things go simply. Even for James Bond.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Movies > James BondNightmarishFR1517602123,86825 Nov 0625 Nov 06Yes
Disclaimer: BtVS and James Bond belong to Joss Whedon and Ian Fleming, respectively. I own nothing.


-A Work of Fanfiction-




“Vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred.” Sparing a lingering glance at the blonde across the bar, James turned to the man beside him, and held out his hand. “Mr. Gordon, I presume?”

“The Penthouse Suite,” Gordon said without preamble. He threw back the contents of his shot, coughing slightly as the liquor hit the back of his throat. He turned the glass over, and slammed it down on the counter. “For the record, I think you’re barking mad.”

Smiling his thanks to the bartender as the man handed him his drink, James took a sip of his martini and raised one eyebrow questioningly. “Pardon?”

“Mad,” Gordon reiterated. “Thinking you can take him out. That is your plan, isn’t it?”


“He’s dangerous.”

“So am I.”

Gordon shook his head fervently. “Not like him. He’s…” He stopped, peered around to see if anyone was watching, and wiped his perspiring brow with the handkerchief he pulled from his back pocket. He continued, in a somewhat lower voice. “He’s not human.”

James’ eyebrow climbed higher. “You don’t say.”

“It’s true,” Gordon insisted. “They say…” He swallowed. “They say he can’t be killed. They say he truly is immortal.”

James smiled easily. “Nobody’s immortal.”

Gordon snorted, and downed another shot. “I hope you’re right, for your sake.” He set the glass down, and leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially. “Because if he is, he’ll want revenge. And from what I’ve heard, Mr. Bond, you’ve enough enemies as is without a bloody phantom after your blood.”

James pulled several bills from his pocket and placed them on the counter. He stood, clapping Gordon on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Gordon.” He retrieved an envelope from his coat pocket, and pressed it into the other man’s hand. “Deliver that to your employer, if you’d be so kind.” He flashed him another broad grin before making his way to the exit.


Taking the stairs two at a time, James made his way down the hall at a brisk pace. He halted at the sound of a commotion around the corner. Drawing his gun swiftly, he pressed himself against the wall. Silently, he leaned out and peered around the corner.

The doors to the Penthouse were kicked in, and shards of glass and rubble littered the floor outside. A muffled shout issued from inside the suite. The resounding clang of steel on a hard surface. A series of muffled curses in Italian. A loud crash, and then silence.

James had just made the tactical decision to investigate further when the loud click of heels on tile stopped him in his tracks. Ducking quickly into a niche along the wall, he crouched behind a large potted plant. His eyes widened as the blonde woman he’d been admiring downstairs stepped into the corridor.

She was carrying a short sword, which she mocked thrusting into a scabbard across her back. James blinked as the weapon melted from sight. He watched carefully as she pulled a cell phone from her pocket and punched in a number from memory.

“Hey, it’s me. Mr. McSleaze is taken care of. Tell Andrew he lost the bet.” Wiping a smattering of blood from her cheek, she began moving down the hall. “I told you it was a talisman. After I smashed the necklace, it was a piece of cake.”

James frowned. Talisman?

She moved past his hiding place on her way towards the elevator. “Yeah, well, beheading usually does the trick.” She paused, and bent to remove her shoes.

Peering through the leaves, James couldn’t help but notice the way the silvery fabric of her dress clung to her backside.

“That’s better. Ugh, my feet were killing me.” She straightened, and began walking once more, voice fading as she moved farther down the hall. “What? Oh, him. Yeah. British, I think. He’s checking out my ass right now. Uh huh. Very good looking.” She stepped into the elevator, and the doors slid closed behind her.

Feeling slightly gob smacked, but not altogether put out, James stood, stepping out from behind the potted plant. He dug his own phone out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear, eyes never leaving the brass sheen of the elevator doors. He moved forward, and pressed the down arrow, a slow smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Hello, M? I’m at the hotel. The target has been successfully eliminated. I repeat; the target has been successfully eliminated. I’m calling to let you know I’ll be taking a few days vacation…”


The End

You have reached the end of "Undercover". This story is complete.

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