Both men's eyes were glued to Miss Jones and her swaying hips as she walked off. At last she was gone, and Q turned back to his laptop.

"Well that was fun." Bond said with a chuckle, leaning on Q's desk.

"Maybe for you." Q muttered in response, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

"What do you mean? She was all over you. How could you not enjoy that? I would have."

"I know you would have, Bond, but there's something about her that's just not right. She's arrogant and deceptive and she's hiding something. She uses herself to get whatever she wants and doesn't think about the consequences." Q paused, smiling to himself. "She's you."

Bond raised an eyebrow, almost confused for a moment before he realized Q was right. Suddenly, Bond was all the more interested in her. "If she's me, I'm sure we'll have a bloody good night together."

"I'm guessing that's where the two of you differ. I'm not sure she's quite as eager as you are."

"Oh, she will be. Trust me."

"Oh this matter? I don't think I will."

Now it was Bond's turn to chuckle. "Oh come on, Q. I think you're just jealous."

"Jealous, sir?"

"Yes. That I have a better chance of getting to Jones." In all honesty, Bond didn't want to team up with Jones, or work with her in any way, shape, or form. He simply just wanted to f*ck her. In his mind, it should have happened already, and he didn't doubt it would happen soon enough.

"And what would make you think I want her?" Q challenged.

"Who doesn't?" To that, Q had no answer. "I'll bet you five pounds I can get her first."

Q rolled his eyes, something he seemed to do whenever Bond was around. "I'm not going to do that. It's childish, and if Miss Jones found out she'd probably slaughter both of us." He wasn't joking about the second part.

"She can't kill me and she won't kill you." he said with a shrug. "She wants you to be her Q."

Q once again stopped his work. "What makes you say that?"

"If she's anything like me, she only wants the best weapons for her missions. Why come to you if you weren't the best?"

"Is that a compliment, sir?"

"No, it's not. Now, are you going to bet or not?"

Q remained silent for a moment, biting his lip as he thought it over. Finally, he sighed and continued typing. "Yes, I'm in, but I'll be doing things the right way. Now, is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually. I need a knife." At Q's questioning look, Bond raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

"No, it's just you and Miss Jones seem to be switching weapons."

"Hm. Well, you get started on my knife and I'll get started on figuring out why Miss Jones suddenly needs a gun."

"Don't do anything stupid." Q called out as Bond walked off.

"No promises!" Bond called back with a smirk before heading after Jones.

He was about to walk into the next hallway when he heard hushed voices, so with slightly narrowed eyes he edged his way to the corner of the wall and listened.

"I don't want to talk about this." A voice hissed, undoubtedly Jones. "Especially here in the middle of a freaking hallway where someone could hear us."

"If not now, when?" Clarence hissed back, the African man clearly sounding annoyed. "You'll ignore me."

"Of course I will! You know I don't like you."

"I don't care. M is starting to question you, Emerald. You didn't seem all too thrilled with your assignment."

"And you did? M never mentioned doing something like this. It's wrong."

"Since when do you care about right or wrong? You'll just as easily kill someone else, why not them?"

"I came here hoping to get away from the corrupt leaders and politics of America. I thought things would be different here."

"Hope?" Clarence snorted in amusement. "You, hoping? Hope is an emotion, and since when do you have any of those? Must be that time again."

The crunching sound of a fist colliding with someone's cheekbone echoed through the hallway, then the sound of rustling clothes, more punches, and bodies being slammed against walls. Bond clenched his fists, wanting to jump in and beat the lights out of Clarence, but he stayed where he was. The fight was over soon, with someone on their knees, coughing and panting, but to Bond's surprise it was Clarence who spoke.

"If you were anyone else, I would kill you." he spat.

"I could say the same for you."

"You could never kill me."

"Don't tempt me." came Jones' smart a** answer, and for that she received a slap across the face that echoed in the now silent hallway as Clarence left.

Bond waited for a few moments before stepping out, acting surprised but genuinely concerned as he saw Jones. She couldn't know he'd heard their conversation, nobody could, not until he figured out what it meant. Jones was kneeling on the ground, arms wrapped around her midsection and one cheek marked with a red hand print. Her curly hair had been pinned half up half down, but now a few pieces strayed around her face. She was panting, not noticing Bond walk up behind her.

"Emerald." he said quietly, kneeling down beside her. "Clarence...he did this to you?"

"How much of that did you hear?" she asked, looking up at him finally with a bit of panic in her eyes. Whatever she was hiding was important, and Bond needed to figure out what that was.

"Only a little bit. Why didn't you fight back?" Clarence was right, Jones wasn't the kind of person to hold back from a fight.

"I did, I tried." She sighed, wincing a little. "I can't. M favors Clarence. He'll believe Clarence over me, so if I even try, Clarence will make sure M knows about it. He'll twist it all up and M will make sure I pay for it." She shook her head, as if she couldn't believe she was telling him this. "But whatever, I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You need to see a medic." Bond said, grabbing her gently under her arms and pulling her to her feet.

"No, no medic!" she practically shouted, leaning away from the man. "Nobody can know about this. Just...help me to the bathroom."

Bond didn't answer her right away, just looked her over and sighed before doing as she asked. There was a bathroom in the next hallway, and luckily, it was empty. With one arm around her waist, he helped her into the bathroom and flipped on the light switch before locking the door behind them. He lifted her onto the counter and, to his delighted surprise, she didn't stop him when he took off her blazer and patterned tank top. To her surprise, it was Bond who stopped, his eyes not lingering on her breasts, but instead the oddly shaped scars that adorned her body.

"What happened?" he asked, his hands on her hips as he stood between her legs.

"From an old mission. Our sources were wrong...I got captured." She shook her head as if to get rid of the memories before looking back up at Bond. "Why do you seem so..." She didn't know how to finish her sentence. His look was something between concern, confusion, and desire. "Things like this happen even to the best of us. I'm sure you have scars too."

"Some, but not like these." Her scars were different shapes and sizes, derived from torture tools made to leave permanent scars. He glanced up into her eyes, before down to her ribs where a small purple bruise was forming. "Take in a deep breath." he told her, and she did without wincing this time. Next, his eyes found the hand print on her cheek, his hand moving to cover it. She hissed when he touched it and leaned away, looking down at the counter she was sitting on. "It's swelling up."

"I know." she replied, looking back to Bond.

Their eyes locked for a moment and neither one of them moved, blinked, breathed. Finally, Bond leaned in, wrapping on arm around Jones' tiny waist and pressing his lips to hers in a gentle, desirable kiss. It was slow at first, cautious, but then it became faster, full of lust. Emerald was the one who pulled away, both of them panting slightly. Her hands were on his chest, and she lightly pushed him away.

"You can go now, Mr. Bond." she said, her voice authoritative, but lacking conviction.

"Things were just getting interesting." he murmured with a smirk, his face only a few inches from hers. "Come on, it won't take long."

"So this is the famous Bond sex everybody raves over? Half a$$ed sex in a dirty office bathroom?"

"We could meet up somewhere else, you know, for the real thing." Her arms tensed up like she was about to push him away again, and so he reacted without really thinking. "You're afraid of getting attached." he blurted confidently, hoping it would strike a nerve. It did, and she paused, searching his face for answers.

"No, I'm just not easy."

"You don't want to get attached." he repeated.

"I have no problem with getting attached." she insisted.

"No? Then what is it? Hm?"

"I don't need someone to care about me. You have sex all the time because just for a while you can pretend like someone actually cares about you, that you're not an MI6 agent who's done the things you've done. I don't need to do that, I don't care."

Bond hesitated a second before smirking, but Jones noticed it. "You're wrong. I have sex because I like sex."

"I'm sure you do, but you won't be getting any from me."

Before she could push him away again, he leaned in again, pushing her back against the mirror. One hand wandered up to cup her breast, covered by only a nude colored bra. Emerald couldn't deny that she was starting to want this, his lips and hands sending tingles through her body, but she simply couldn't let it happen. It was a matter of principal. Bond, on the other hand, was feeling wonderfully proud. Hadn't he told Q this would happen? Hadn't he told everyone this would happen? And now it was. He had won, and he was once again going to get laid. But suddenly, Jones pushed him away again, her expression cold and unforgiving.

"You can go now, Mr. Bond." Bond just stood there, eyebrows furrowed as if he didn't understand. "I said, you can go now."

"You Americans are so stubborn." he muttered, straightening out his suit jacket before walking out of the bathroom. Did Bond really just get denied by a woman? Something was wrong, very wrong.