Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters featured. My bank account would back this up.
A/N: This is just really an experimental story. It may be just a one off or possibly part of something bigger. I hope you enjoy.
Comments etc greatly appreciated.
You Only Love Twice
He stirred slowly. His head was foggy, his vision blurred. With some effort he sat up in the bed. He winced as pain shot up his side. Gingerly he ran his hand along the the right side of his torso. He grimaced at the pain and the memories of the previous night. He closed his eyes, trying his best to focus his mind.
He struggled out of bed, having to place a hand on a nearby wall to steady himself. His naked frame looked deformed in the darkness of the room. He scanned the room, trying to once again familiarise with himself with his surroundings. He noticed the half empty bottle of Haig whisky that sat on the nightstand beside the bed. He lifted the bottle and the glass beside it and poured himself a generous drink. Ordinarily he would have taken his time, slowly sipping the drink and savouring the taste. This time he emptied the glass in one gulp. The whisky burned and sent a jolt through his body. He closed his eyes. Fragments of the fight the night before flashed through his mind. He recalled each blow given and those received in return. But only one thing burned in his mind. Who was the woman?
He considered pouring another drink but decided against it. It would mask the pain but he did not want to dull his senses. He placed the bottle and glass back upon the nightstand. Slowly he made his way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He stood under the shower for some time, alternating the water between hot and cold, trying to alleviate the pain in his aching muscles. He left the shower and dried off. He inspected the wounds to his body. Nothing more than bruising showed up on his lean physique. The same could not be said for the men he had encountered the previous night. He knew for certain one was no longer. The other he had injured, possibly even left for dead. He did not dwell on it; it was not the first time, nor would it be the last. He inspected his face. It remained largely untouched save for a small nick above his left eye.
He stood in front of the bedroom mirror. He wore a lightweight navy serge single breasted suit; no doubt custom made by a tailor on Savile Row. Underneath his suit jacket he wore a crisp white shirt. A blue silk tie adorned the shirt. Over his shirt he wore a shoulder holster; in it sat his Walther PPK. He picked up his watch, a Rolex and put it on. Despite the struggles of the night before, the watch had luckily remained unscathed. He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His blond hair slicked back, his cold hard features. The clothes, the watch; he could almost pass for a city gent. But he knew the power that lay behind the facade The bankers dealt in stocks and shares, he dealt in danger and death.
Once again his thoughts returned to the mystery woman. He had only caught the merest glimpse of her. He did not even see her face. She was taller than average, maybe 5'7. She had a slim physique and long brown hair. She moved with a subtle grace. He wished he had seen her face. He sensed she was beautiful. He had caught fragments of her voice. Instantly he recognised it as North American; Canadian in fact. Something in the back of his mind triggered at the thought of Canada but it would not surface. He figured it was from one of the west coast states like British Columbia What part did she play in this whole affair. Would he see her again?
He stepped through the hotel's revolving doors. The heat was instant. He reached into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and retrieved a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses. He did not usually wear them but the bright midday sun made them a necessity. He casually walked to the hotel's valet, spoke a few words of french and handed the young man his ticket. The valet nodded and left with haste. The street was quiet; the scorching heat meant many sought refuge in the nearby bars and cafes. Those who were on the Promenade de la Croisetteambled slowly, partly due to the heat but largely hoping to be noticed whilst they flaunted their wealth. He paid them little heed, unless they were both female and attractive.
He did not admire the people but occasionally he admired their taste in cars. He watched as a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow drove by, followed by a Mercedes Benz 300Sc. His concentration was broken by the familiar engine sound of the Aston Martin DB5. The car pulled up beside him. The now grinning valet left the car and handed him the key.
He entered the casino. He found the opulent surroundings garish. A testimony to wealth but little else. He exchanged one thousand pounds sterling for chips of varying amounts. He noticed a small rotund man in a grey suit eagerly scanning the room. The man subtly made eye contact with each individual croupier, occasionally shaking or nodding his head. With a small gesture he motioned to the casino manager. They exchanged some words in french. The manager proceeded to lead him to one of two Baccarat tables that were in operation. He handed a chip to the manager, who thanked him and departed.
He took his seat at the Baccarat table. Of the five remaining seats, three were taken. He made a quick mental note of each player but none of them were of concern to him. They in turn casually tried to act as though his arrival was of no great note. The croupier stated the limit to which he nodded in acceptance. A waiter approached and asked him if he would like a drink. He requested a Vodka Martini ( sixs part gin, two parts Russian vodka and one part Lillet Blanc. One olive. Shaken and not stirred.) He reached into his suit - it was unusual for him not to be wearing a tuxedo in such an establishment - and retrieved his gun metal cigarette case. He took out a custom made Morland cigarette and lit it.
"Do you mind?" The voice broke him from his musings. The voice. That voice
"I was wondering if I could have a light Mr...?" She left the words hanging in the air.
"Bond. James Bond". He spoke slowly. He stared at her intently. She was even more beautiful than he could have imagined. Her skin radiated health. Her sharp features spoke of class and distinction. Her brown eyes. They left him speechless. He held out his Ronson lighter and lit her cigarette. Her aroma pervaded his nostrils, almost making him dizzy. He knew instantly that he wanted her. He knew that spelt trouble. He was brought back to reality by ….
"Barney." The familiar voice echoed in his mind. "Barney, are you ok?" This time he came round from his trance like state.
"Uh Robin... Hi, I didn't realise you were there." The dream was gone. In front of him stood the real woman of his dreams, but that's where she had to remain now. His longing had never left. She smiled, still unsure of her friends state.
"Yeah I waved over. I was stood at the bar for five minutes but you were just in another world." He gave a gentle smile trying to reassure her. "Is everything ok? She sat down and placed a hand upon his. "What were you thinking about? You know you can tell me."
"It was no one spec..." He paused, a little flustered. "Um nothing special", he looked down at the table hoping she wouldn't notice the glint in his eye.
(Barney Stinson) James Bond
will return in
The Guy Who Loved Me