Disclaimers: I do not own James Bond but I do own Michael Stone.

A/N: Another installment! I hope you all enjoy this. Review if you wish!

Happy Hour

In an underground club called Demolish in the city of San Francisco, Michael Stone flirted and won the hearts, minds, and – bodies of countless women and – men.

He didn't understand the reason for Demolish to be the name of the club but it did not matter. After all, he was having a good time. He has taken a try of all the specialties the club could offer. He commented on the drinks taste, paid generous tips, and reviewed the fashion of many of the crowd that surrounded.

Even through all the good fun, Michael was there for an entirely different reason. He was there because Mother and the Dean posted him at the club to wait. It was his duty as an honorary citizen of the United States of America. It was all a part of the job description.

Moreover, he did not mind.

"So tell me, Mr. Plaidy, why did the chickens cross the street?" asked a robust man who looked to be very intoxicated.

Michael smiled at him and at everyone else in his circle disarmingly and with extra charm.

He replied without a second thought, "So they could give the other animals a chance to feast."

The crowd erupted into laughter; some genuine while others were based on the level of their drunkenness. Michael laughed too, but his eyes were keen and watchful. He would not let the humor or anything else get to him.

He never stopped to mentally check his surroundings, his escape routes, and places where an enemy could hide or where he himself could potentially take as refuge.

He had not grasped the importance of his waiting but he knew well enough that the true key would show itself – he or herself.

"Mr. Plaidy, you have exquisitely explained your knowledge of JFK and RFK. What is your favorite quote of both men?" questioned a bodacious woman with bright blue eyes.

"Favorite quotes…" Michael pretended to be very thoughtful. He then smiled at the women after taking a sip of his Scone. "My favorite quote for John F. Kennedy is definitely: "I'm an idealist without illusions." And for the younger brother John. F. Kennedy I say the quote is: "One-fifth of the people are against everything all the time."

He smiled to himself. "But I have one that they both say countless times to each other, to others, and to themselves," he continued. He knew the quote by heart. He knew the quote and he lived by it each and every day.

"What is that?" asked the robust man

Michael lifted his glass up in tribute to both men and quoted: "Some men see things as they are and say why. I dream of things that never were and say why not."

The crowd was silent. They two knew the power that that quotes held in every man and women's heart.

Michael grinned. He's captured their minds again. His work was almost done. He lifted his glass higher and said, "To JFK and RFK!"

The crowd lifted their own glasses in response and cried in unison: To JFK and RFK!

They clanged their glasses one by one; some of the alcohol dripping. They laughed and laughed some more. Their attention was no longer on Michael or Mr. Plaidy as they called him. Their attention was on the drunkenness of the moment.

Michael once again looked around the club. He let his eyes take in, and analyze everything from the bar he was near, and lastly to the dance floor.

The music was loud; bursting the beat that was not only heard but felt. The air was musty which instilled a tension – a sexual tension, and it seemed to Michael that whoever entered and breathed in the air breathed in the tension and would we taken thanks to someone's or the clubs cast of erotic spells.

As his eyes looked over the dance floor, they caught a beautiful – no, sexy dark haired woman. She was narrow and sleek chinned, brown pools for eyes, and a secretive, sensual smile. And she was looking straight at him.

She was moving her body with the music. Her hips swayed from side to side; the sexual aura spreading from her fit thighs.

Michael was aroused, entranced, and intrigued. He never left his eyes from hers. He said quietly, doubting that any of the crowd would hear him, "I'll be right back, ladies and gents."

He made his way through the crowd, through other people walking back and forth from the bar and the dance floor, and finally entered the floor. The sexy dark haired lady kept on swaying. It was as if she was casting her own spell on him. He knew it worked. Michael would really like to get to know this brunette.

When he finally got to be in front of her, he took in her perfection. Well, he knew no woman could be perfectly formed but she was close to perfect. She had the breasts, the legs, the thighs, the eyes, the smile, the hair, and, to his pleasure, the ass.

"Hi," he greeted huskily as his own body got in tune with the music's beat.

The brunette smiled wider. Her eyes swept over his body. "Hello," she replied.

"You have a name?" she then asked much to Michael's surprise.

Michael was tempted to tell her his real name but he knew that wouldn't be very wise. He just grinned at her and replied, "Sam Plaidy." He nodded at her. "You?"

The brunette gave him a seductive laugh. "Anna," she answered.

You're Hungarian. Ah, the attraction grew in him. "Anna?" he tilted his head. "No last name?"

Anna smile became even wider then before and strangely – it went deadly. Something rang in Michael's head. This woman was something he shouldn't be dealing with at the moment. Yes, the bad feeling was rising in him – along with another thing below.

"Alright, Anna," he went on; giving her a feel of nonchalance. The music had changed. It was no longer a "fast" dance. It was slow. He smiled charmingly at her and offered her his hand. "Shall we?" he asked.

Anna gave him a wink. "Why not?" she questioned although her eyes seemed to get darker with Michael saw as detest.

Already, a wave of uneasiness swept over Michael's mind. He could just feel the warnings from his instincts to be caution. He would listen to that warning.

So, they danced to the slow song. They moved further and further into the dance floor; eyes only on each other as the intensity filled whatever little space that was between them.

"So, what makes a Hungarian travel so far from home?" Michael asked, curious about how she would answer.

Anna's smile became false. "Just being a good – how do you American's say – a good ole tourist."

Michael blinked. Her voice changed from Hungarian to Belgian. He couldn't help but think: was she the one?

Anna must have noticed the slip too for she let go of his hand and immediately started to separate herself from him by moving towards the south exit.

Michael blinked. What just happened? He didn't know what happened. First they just had a little sexual connection but then it became a change of accent to another completely different accent.

He couldn't believe what just happened. Here he was just trying to have some fun while looking for his contact – whom he had no clue was. He thought the night was going his way but it was not so. He just suspected that the woman who left him was involved with little gamble he was supposed to ignite. Great.

Well, an unexpected complication can be easily fixed. He scratched his head and went in the direction of Anna.

Once he was outside in the south parking lot he looked around. His eyes couldn't make out that brunette. He walked further and deeper into the parking lot. He looked around the various cars; old and new.

He really didn't want to call Mother and give the info that was not needed. He didn't want to face a certain secretary's wrath either. She would only say that it was his testosterone that was thinking and not his brain. He really was in no mood to argue with.

And then suddenly he was met with a hit to the head. His body fell flat on the ground. He was shocked at the blow but – he would face any challenge. He scrunched his face in pain but he knew he wasn't bleeding. He jumped to his feet; letting himself get into an immediate defensive stance.

"Why in such state, Michael? I would have thought that you would make a better approach of making contact," said a very amused voice.

Michael blinked. Did he just hear write? It was then his eyes came back into focus. He could finally see the person in front of him. The person was in fact male, tall, blue-eyed, and dark haired. It was a welcomed face. It was James Bond.

A sharp pain hit him. He touched the back his head but never left his defensive stance. He was wrong. He was bleeding.

"I'm not going to attack you again, Mike." James assured. He noticed the blood on his friend's fingers. "I apologize about that."

Michael blinked again. "Why did you do that James?" he asked. Then it hit him. James was the contact.

"Yes, I would have thought it would come to you sooner." James teased. "It seems that whack to the head did a lot to your senses."

"Shut it, James." Michael easily replied. "So contact, did they tell you what I'm supposed to do?"

"Yes." James consented. He walked to his friend and gave him a handkerchief. Michael took it and placed it behind his head, pushing down to stop the bleeding. "But since, your – (he looked down) happy place got the best of you – I had the pleasure of igniting the gamble by my own self."

Michael shook his head. "Happy place?" He did not know that sort of nickname for a man's – genital.

"Figure of speech." James answered as if it were normal.

"My "happy place" didn't swerve me." Michael indignantly swore. He was in no mood for James' usual mocking and teasing.

"Whoa, my friend!" James said. He placed his hands on his friend's shoulder. "I do not blame you. That Anna was indeed a very beautiful woman. I gave her a splendid kiss after she agreed to do what we wished."

"You kissed her?" Michael gasped. It wasn't fair. He wanted to do that.

"Yes, Michael, I did." James replied with a laugh. "That is what you get for sinking into the time known as happy hour."

The End