James Bond Fanfiction Chapter 1
A/N: This is a fanfic that is set a year after skyfall :) please reveiw, I'd love to hear what you think :D more chapters should be coming soon :D
James Bond looked out of the window of his two-bedroom London apartment. The whole city was lit up against the darkness of the night. His tear-stained face told of an old man who had seen things no one should ever see. M. had died just over a year ago, and his childhood home had been destroyed, along with his life and mere excistence. Mallory had given him a simple mission to carry out, one which involved killing a German aristocrat who had been smuggling drugs into the UK. He had done that in under a week. He didn't feel like 007 anymore. He was a shell of his former self, pretending to be 007.
There was a knock on the door that made him jump. James checked his watch. 9pm. It was probably just the postman with that package that Q was supposed to be sending him. He walked slowly to the door, gun in hand and opened it ginerly. It was Eve Moneypenny.
"Don't you dare shoot me," she said with a smile.
He kissed her and gestured for her to go inside.
"What do you want?" James said, his voice raspy and deep.
"No need to talk to me like that, Mr Bond," she said as she stroked his face, which was full of stubble "I came here to tell you that Mallory is giving you another assignment, and he wants you to be in his office at 8'o clock tommorow morning,"
Bond nodded slowly and kissed Eve again, wanting someone to be by his side to keep him sane, to make his life less of a living hell.
"I better be off," Eve said and gave Bond a quick kiss on the cheek before opening the door and leaving.
He walked slowly into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There were a few ready meals and a bottle of vodka inside. Bond put a ready meal chicken stir-fry in the microwave and forced himself to eat it. His throat burned from too many vodka martinis and he didn't want to live life anymore. His life was a train wreck, with many people watching it, observing, and not being able to force themselves to turn away at the horror. He himself couldn't turn away from it either.
Bond walked into his bedroom and stripped down to his boxers. Taking his t-shirt off hurt excruciatingly, because his wound had not yet healed from the gunshot wound that he had got whilst in Turkey last year, but he'd rather not think about that. Bond climbed into bed, put his hand under his pillow, gripped his trusty gun and fell into a dreamless sleep.
