Secret Agent Man

(A/N: Since my Teen Titans/Point of Impact crossover fic went over like a lead balloon, I deleted it. I may redo it after I've seen the modernized movie version, Shooter, a few more times, but I doubt that anybody will be interested. So, anyway, I've decided to use the Pierce Brosnan Bond for this fic because he's possessed of the athleticism of the Daniel Craig Bond, the intelligence of the Roger Moore Bond, and the sheer sophistication of the Sean Connery Bond. I would have preferred to use the Sean Connery Bond, but he's just too much a creature of the Cold War to work in the modern world.)

Disclaimer: Butch Hartman owns Danny Phantom, and Ian Fleming's beneficiaries own James Bond. I own nothing you see here except for the original Bond Gadgets I came up with and any OCs that crop up.

MI6 Headquaters, The Thames Embankment, London

M was tired. It was 11:53 p.m., local time. She should have been at home with her husband, asleep. Instead, she had to deal with some arse-covering prig from the CIA. If it had been the Director, she wouldn't have had such a problem, but it wasn't even the Deputy! Just some damned junior officer who had little respect for his elders.

"So tell me, Agent Anderson," she said as civilly as she could, "Why exactly do you need a 00 Agent? I thought your Guys in White dealt with this sort of thing."

Agent Anderson drummed his finger for a minute before replying, "Normally, yes. However, they've met with literally no success in dealing with Public Ghost Enemy #1, codename: Danny Phantom. While the public deems him a hero, he is simply too powerful to be allowed to run free. He hunts his own kind, for God's sake! We simply can't risk him causing harm to innocent lives. Your 00 Agents have the highest rate of success of any secret service we have on record. Especially one in particular."

"So," said M, pursing her lips, "are you sure you want him?" She wasn't keen on the idea of sending her best operative on such a dangerous mission, "We have at least a dozen other 00 Agents who could fulfill your particular needs."

"I've no doubt of that," said Anderson, annoyed, "but Commander Bond is the best of the best, almost literally. So, what do I tell the Director?"

M was quiet for a while, but she finally said, "I'll run it by the Prime Minister. If he agrees, than you can expect 007 on the job in a few days." Shutting off her webcam, M sat for a moment with her head in her hand. Finally, she stood up and went to her phone.

The King's Road flats, Chelsea

James Bond was sleeping when suddenly his cellphone began to ring. Moaning slightly and opening his blue-grey eyes, he reached over the sleeping young woman next to him, picked up the phone, and answered it, "Hello?"

"Sorry if I've woken you, Bond," said M over the line, "but you have a new assignment. I need you to report to Q Branch ASAP."

It took Bond a while to reply, but finally he said, "M, are you sure this can't wait until morning? I've been . . . working late, and I'm very tired." But M was persistent, and finally he said with a sigh, "I'll be at Q's in an hour." He hung up the phone, stood up, and walked to the bathroom.

Flipping on the light switch, Bond got a good look at himself in the mirror. His somewhat cruel mouth curved into a warm smile. He was 6 feet tall and weighed 165 pounds. His short, black hair showed not even a sign of greyness, and his chiseled face showed a small, barely visible scar on his right cheek. He was 42 years old, still in his prime and in better shape than most men half his age.

After 15 minutes, he was dressed and ready to leave. As he exited his room and headed for the front door, he gave a quick glance to his elderly Scottish housekeeper and said, "Don't wait up for me, May. I'll be in America for the next week or so. Make sure that Sylvia gets home all right."

Finally, he arrived at HQ and entered through the side door. Heading down to the lower level, he greeted Miss Moneypenny with a dashing smile, to which she replied with, "Good evening, James. They're expecting you now."

Heading past her into Q's lab, he was greeted with, "So nice of you to finally show up. Now pay attention, 007."

Amity Park, California, U.S.A.

Danny Fenton sat at home, relaxing from the long, hard school day. Eventually, he decided to go for a walk in celebration of the last few days of hot weather before Fall. Walking by the park, he saw his best friend. A lovely young woman named Sam Manson.

"Hey Danny!" she called out and ran up to him. People always thought that Danny and Sam were going out, but there was never anything romantic between them. At least, not yet.

"Hey Sam," he said back, "you seem . . . unusually happy today. I guess you've got good news?" Sam responded by excitedly handing him a fashion magazine called Gothic & Lolita Bible.

"I sent them some photos of myself," explained Sam, "and they said that they liked me so much that they wanted me to be a model in the next issue!"

"That's great, Sam," said Danny hugging her. She'd look hot in those little-girl outfits, thought Danny, Whoa, Fenton, Sam's just your friend. Don't think things like that.

"Hey, Danny, do you wanna take the pictures?" asked Sam out of the blue. "Me? Take your magazine pictures?" asked Danny, surprised. "Yeah, Danny," said Sam as though it was very cut and dry, "I've seen some of the pictures you've taken, and you have a wonderful eye for photographic art."

"I don't have the right kind of training for that," said Danny, blushing slightly. "Oh, come on, Danny," said Sam encouragingly, "you never know until you try." Danny thought about it for a minute. He honestly like the idea of his work appearing in a magazine (especially a respectable one), but he hadn't ever actually considered photography a career choice, before.

"Okay Sam," he said brightly, "I'll do it."

(A/N: I have a feeling that this will be one of my better stories. Please Review. Criticism and Ideas are always welcome. I prefer NOT to get flames. However, if you absolutely have to write one, than by all means, do so.)

TO BE CONTINUED.