Ever wonder what would happen if the Queen's loyal servant, James Bond, swapped jobs for a week with England captain, Manchester United playmaker and over all useless pretty boy David Beckham? Chaos, anarchy and murder on the football ground are just some of things our two adventures will get up to!
~*~Disclaimer
One day I will own everything... alas that day has not yet come... so I own nothing.... absolutely nothing...
It was a pleasantly sunny day in down town London at the fabulous MI6 building overlooking the very healthy Thames River. M sat back in his gigantic Laz-e-boy leather upholstered chair and took a long draught of his Kenyan blend black coffee. He gingerly fingered the ever-growing mountains of paper work that littered his terribly expensive mahogany desk. The top sheet was an important looking dispatch from the Queen - complete with the royal seal and a harsh black stamp across the centre reading `top secret'. M looked at it worriedly - it had been a long time since he had received a dispatch like this and he couldn't imagine what it was about as his office didn't deal with these sorts of things anymore. He reached down and plucked the dispatch from its resting place above arguably the highest mountain of paperwork and hesitantly broke the seal. Inside was a short letter on pristine white paper. M sighed - the palace even had better paper than the MI6. The dispatch read:
TO M,
Have received important information regarding mass assassination attempts. Please deal with. If you fail in this task there'll be no tea party at the Queen's for you matey!
Yours hopefully
Sir Robert.
M rolled his eyes. Then, seemingly coming to a decision he reached over to his com-link and pressed the big red button.
"Money Penny send James in here as soon as you can please, and Money Penny please have an assortment of chocolate éclairs and fancy pastries sent in with him... Thankyou." M swivelled his chair around so the high back was facing the empty doorway. After a while he heard a loud deliberate knocking on the thick wood then, without waiting for reply, the door opened. In strode James looking the part in his impeccable Armani black silk suit complete with a devilishly slink satin tie. M turned around, he hoped quite dramatically.
"Ah James," but then M faltered "your not James! You... Your David Beckham!" M's jaw dropped open. Beckham smiled a little guiltily.
"Yeah - sorry about that...James's on holiday and asked me to fill in for him today... Sir." M recovered from his initial shock and nodded heavily. David reached into his pocket and produced James's standard issue Walther PPK and flipped it around in his hands thoughtfully.
"D...Don't do that!" M stammered. Then managed "Did James say when he will be back?" David shook his head and pocketed the gun.
"Nah he didn't Gaffer." David, incapable of sustaining the conversation, started systematically moving around the expensive office picking up objects, staring at them and putting them back down again. M tried desperately to compose himself.
"O-K-A-Y... I guess." M sighed, obviously giving in. " well I suppose you can go on with James's scheduled jobs." M grudgingly handed David an attractive cream manila folder. David opened it enthusiastically, he leafed through the papers, looked thoughtful then said.
"Oi Gaffer so you want me to deal with this `Mass assassination' thing then?" M nodded.
"Yeah sure thing but I gotta go home at 5 `cause I gotta watch the news." David looked impressed with himself, M nodded feebly.
"Ah good luck Ja... David." David smiled pleasantly.
Meanwhile at Carrington training centre in Manchester, England.
Sir Alex Ferguson was pacing along the immaculate chemical green fake grass and staring at the assembled players. Every one of the first team regulars was gathered, talking and stretching their gigantic muscles. Sir Alex Ferguson stoped turned around slowly, thought for a bit then.
"Where's David?" The words were cruelly distorted by his thick almost incomprehensible Scottish accent. The players just looked blank, some shaking their heads, some shrugging their shoulders. Suddenly the usual peaceful quietness of the training ground was broken by a soft almost slinky voice.
"Ah excuse me Sir I have some news on Mr David Beckham." Sir Alex twitched, startled by the sudden appearance of this stranger.
"Who the hell are you and where's my davo?" The stranger raised an eyebrow.
"The name's Bond, James Bond and I'm afraid David is in London doing his bit for the Queen this week so I'll be filling in for him." Sir Alex's eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
"WHAT?" All the players stoped what they were doing and crept closer to get a better view of the upcoming fight.
"Do calm down sir it's all perfectly legal and it's only for one week..." Alex tried but couldn't calm down.
"I can not believe this, we play Bayern Munich on Wednesday!" James looked puzzled.
"And I'm sure we'll win, now who has a spare pair of shorts, jersey, socks, boots and a jock strap I could borrow?" The players checked their pockets and soon a pile of garments appeared on the grass.
"Ah, good stuff, I'll just go change shall I?" Sir Alex nodded and James trotted off in the direction of the dressing rooms. All the players gaped in unison, after a while, from the direction of the dressing room there could be heard shouts of.
"This jock strap isn't even clean - what kind of a person lends someone a dirty jock strap?"
Meanwhile at the MI6 shared military training ground in a sheep's paddock outside Sussex. David and M have just arrived in a pristine limo. The suited chauffeur cautiously opened the door outside, waiting for David, was a whole swag of camouflage-garbed soldiers. David smiled foolishly. The soldiers smiled back, jostling each other for position.
"Let me see, I want to see David!"
"Get back damn it - that's it your for it - I'm going to hurt you a lot!"
"Hurt me a lot? You bloody ponce!" All at once the crowd bubbled then formed a perfect circle. David looked interested, m rather worried.
"Oi Gaffer there's a fight goin' on over there!"
"Yes... Ah lets go to the Admirals office now." M hurried off, David, rather curious, tried for a while to get a better view of the fight, but eventually gave up. He followed M to a squat dark black building. The windows were tinted and the building had a definite `leave me alone' look about it. When David caught up, M knocked firmly on the door. It opened to reveal a bleak looking room with a single large table in the middle and a pull down light overhead. The light wasn't on so it was hard to see but David could just make out a camouflaged tablecloth. While David was inspecting the tablecloth a shadowy figure emerged from the darkest corner in the room. M jumped, startled, but David didn't even look up.
"M" The mysterious figure said in a military clipped tone.
"Clarence! Good to see you old chap!" M leaned forward, clapping Clarence on the shoulder jovially.
"Now lets get down to business." At that moment David looked up from his inspection, the light from the open doorway catching his face.
"Who the hell is that?" Boomed Clarence.
"Oh yes, it's just David Beckham... Turns out James is sick today... unfortunate considering we have such a big job to do..." M looked visibly disappointed.
"David Beckham?" Said Clarence, questioning M's sanity.
"Oh aye, that's me!" Said David.
"Oh god it is him! Um... Do you think I could have your autograph David? I mean it's not for me, of course, it's for a friend who just happens to be your biggest fan...?" Clarence mumbled.
" Corse you can! I tell you what I could sign this nice lookin' tablecloth here? Hows about that then?" Clarence nodded delightedly. M sighed.
"Pull yourself together Clarence we have an important mission awaiting us."
Sometime latter, after M had fully explained the mission to Clarence, M decided to take David to the mess hall for a hearty army meal. He wanted to keep David nice and healthy, he'd heard about his manager and thought it best not to damage his star player.
The mess hall was full of guzzling soldiers, this all changed when David walked through the door. All eating stoped, cutlery was dropped, voices faltered and eyes opened wide with shock. M scanned the scene, looking for two empty chairs. There weren't any.
" I wonder if anyone would be so kind as to offer a seat to us David?" M inquired in what he had hoped was a whisper. Every single soldier rose quickly making inviting motions for their chairs.
"Bloody hell!" Said M under his breath. David walked over and sat in the closest chair, smiling at the shaking soldier thankfully. The soldier looked dazed then, with a triumphant glance around his fellow soldiers, started to dance. M looked amazedly from the dancing soldier to David.
"Alright David... Eat up then we'll start training..."
Back at Carrington.
James is keeping up with the training much to the annoyance of Sir Alex. They had just been on their 5km romp around the field everyone was huffing, except James.
"James why the hell aren't you out of breath?" Asked Ferguson, eyebrows drooping. James shrugged.
"It takes a lot for me to run out of breath." Alex looked sceptical.
"You're not even sweating!" James shook his head.
"James Bond doesn't sweat." He said defiantly.
"Why not? Everyone else does!" James couldn't lower himself to answer instead he harrumphed loudly.
And so all seems well in this wacky but Queen condoned crossover. Save for lurking in the shadows of this very true story lies the most evil baddy the world has ever and will ever see. He walks in shadow, speaks will style, has piercing blue eyes and a devilish smile.
That night both Bond and Beckham were eager to hear how the others day had been. So Beckham decided to use the mobile James had given him. Beckham vaguely remembered James saying something about the gadgets it was supposed to have but David didn't think it important at the time. He retrieved it from its resting place in the inside pocket of his jacket. Quite nonchalantly he flipped open the cover and dialled the number of his own mobile which was currently in the possession of 007.
"Ah hello? James?" David said hesitantly.
"Hello Mr Beckham, I trust your first day as Her Majesty's last defence went well?" James drawled.
"Oh aye, that was brilliant like! I got to go to this army camp in some sheep paddock and meet some soldiers and sign a table cloth!" Beckham's voice was quick, nearly squeaky, just like the excited child that he was, thought James.
"Ah good, good."
"And what about you Jamie, good day at the office?"
"Oh yes, splendid." said James, unenthused. Then he quietly added, under his breath. " Except for the incident with the jock strap."
"What?" Asked Beckham, rather confused.
"Never mind. This has been a delightful conversation Mr Beckham, but I'm afraid I have some research to do so I must be leaving. Good luck and good bye."
"Aye, good bye!"
~*~ Well that was day one i.e. chapter 1, one day there will be a chapter 2 though I know not when. Review if you care, flame if you dare.
~*~Disclaimer
One day I will own everything... alas that day has not yet come... so I own nothing.... absolutely nothing...
It was a pleasantly sunny day in down town London at the fabulous MI6 building overlooking the very healthy Thames River. M sat back in his gigantic Laz-e-boy leather upholstered chair and took a long draught of his Kenyan blend black coffee. He gingerly fingered the ever-growing mountains of paper work that littered his terribly expensive mahogany desk. The top sheet was an important looking dispatch from the Queen - complete with the royal seal and a harsh black stamp across the centre reading `top secret'. M looked at it worriedly - it had been a long time since he had received a dispatch like this and he couldn't imagine what it was about as his office didn't deal with these sorts of things anymore. He reached down and plucked the dispatch from its resting place above arguably the highest mountain of paperwork and hesitantly broke the seal. Inside was a short letter on pristine white paper. M sighed - the palace even had better paper than the MI6. The dispatch read:
TO M,
Have received important information regarding mass assassination attempts. Please deal with. If you fail in this task there'll be no tea party at the Queen's for you matey!
Yours hopefully
Sir Robert.
M rolled his eyes. Then, seemingly coming to a decision he reached over to his com-link and pressed the big red button.
"Money Penny send James in here as soon as you can please, and Money Penny please have an assortment of chocolate éclairs and fancy pastries sent in with him... Thankyou." M swivelled his chair around so the high back was facing the empty doorway. After a while he heard a loud deliberate knocking on the thick wood then, without waiting for reply, the door opened. In strode James looking the part in his impeccable Armani black silk suit complete with a devilishly slink satin tie. M turned around, he hoped quite dramatically.
"Ah James," but then M faltered "your not James! You... Your David Beckham!" M's jaw dropped open. Beckham smiled a little guiltily.
"Yeah - sorry about that...James's on holiday and asked me to fill in for him today... Sir." M recovered from his initial shock and nodded heavily. David reached into his pocket and produced James's standard issue Walther PPK and flipped it around in his hands thoughtfully.
"D...Don't do that!" M stammered. Then managed "Did James say when he will be back?" David shook his head and pocketed the gun.
"Nah he didn't Gaffer." David, incapable of sustaining the conversation, started systematically moving around the expensive office picking up objects, staring at them and putting them back down again. M tried desperately to compose himself.
"O-K-A-Y... I guess." M sighed, obviously giving in. " well I suppose you can go on with James's scheduled jobs." M grudgingly handed David an attractive cream manila folder. David opened it enthusiastically, he leafed through the papers, looked thoughtful then said.
"Oi Gaffer so you want me to deal with this `Mass assassination' thing then?" M nodded.
"Yeah sure thing but I gotta go home at 5 `cause I gotta watch the news." David looked impressed with himself, M nodded feebly.
"Ah good luck Ja... David." David smiled pleasantly.
Meanwhile at Carrington training centre in Manchester, England.
Sir Alex Ferguson was pacing along the immaculate chemical green fake grass and staring at the assembled players. Every one of the first team regulars was gathered, talking and stretching their gigantic muscles. Sir Alex Ferguson stoped turned around slowly, thought for a bit then.
"Where's David?" The words were cruelly distorted by his thick almost incomprehensible Scottish accent. The players just looked blank, some shaking their heads, some shrugging their shoulders. Suddenly the usual peaceful quietness of the training ground was broken by a soft almost slinky voice.
"Ah excuse me Sir I have some news on Mr David Beckham." Sir Alex twitched, startled by the sudden appearance of this stranger.
"Who the hell are you and where's my davo?" The stranger raised an eyebrow.
"The name's Bond, James Bond and I'm afraid David is in London doing his bit for the Queen this week so I'll be filling in for him." Sir Alex's eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
"WHAT?" All the players stoped what they were doing and crept closer to get a better view of the upcoming fight.
"Do calm down sir it's all perfectly legal and it's only for one week..." Alex tried but couldn't calm down.
"I can not believe this, we play Bayern Munich on Wednesday!" James looked puzzled.
"And I'm sure we'll win, now who has a spare pair of shorts, jersey, socks, boots and a jock strap I could borrow?" The players checked their pockets and soon a pile of garments appeared on the grass.
"Ah, good stuff, I'll just go change shall I?" Sir Alex nodded and James trotted off in the direction of the dressing rooms. All the players gaped in unison, after a while, from the direction of the dressing room there could be heard shouts of.
"This jock strap isn't even clean - what kind of a person lends someone a dirty jock strap?"
Meanwhile at the MI6 shared military training ground in a sheep's paddock outside Sussex. David and M have just arrived in a pristine limo. The suited chauffeur cautiously opened the door outside, waiting for David, was a whole swag of camouflage-garbed soldiers. David smiled foolishly. The soldiers smiled back, jostling each other for position.
"Let me see, I want to see David!"
"Get back damn it - that's it your for it - I'm going to hurt you a lot!"
"Hurt me a lot? You bloody ponce!" All at once the crowd bubbled then formed a perfect circle. David looked interested, m rather worried.
"Oi Gaffer there's a fight goin' on over there!"
"Yes... Ah lets go to the Admirals office now." M hurried off, David, rather curious, tried for a while to get a better view of the fight, but eventually gave up. He followed M to a squat dark black building. The windows were tinted and the building had a definite `leave me alone' look about it. When David caught up, M knocked firmly on the door. It opened to reveal a bleak looking room with a single large table in the middle and a pull down light overhead. The light wasn't on so it was hard to see but David could just make out a camouflaged tablecloth. While David was inspecting the tablecloth a shadowy figure emerged from the darkest corner in the room. M jumped, startled, but David didn't even look up.
"M" The mysterious figure said in a military clipped tone.
"Clarence! Good to see you old chap!" M leaned forward, clapping Clarence on the shoulder jovially.
"Now lets get down to business." At that moment David looked up from his inspection, the light from the open doorway catching his face.
"Who the hell is that?" Boomed Clarence.
"Oh yes, it's just David Beckham... Turns out James is sick today... unfortunate considering we have such a big job to do..." M looked visibly disappointed.
"David Beckham?" Said Clarence, questioning M's sanity.
"Oh aye, that's me!" Said David.
"Oh god it is him! Um... Do you think I could have your autograph David? I mean it's not for me, of course, it's for a friend who just happens to be your biggest fan...?" Clarence mumbled.
" Corse you can! I tell you what I could sign this nice lookin' tablecloth here? Hows about that then?" Clarence nodded delightedly. M sighed.
"Pull yourself together Clarence we have an important mission awaiting us."
Sometime latter, after M had fully explained the mission to Clarence, M decided to take David to the mess hall for a hearty army meal. He wanted to keep David nice and healthy, he'd heard about his manager and thought it best not to damage his star player.
The mess hall was full of guzzling soldiers, this all changed when David walked through the door. All eating stoped, cutlery was dropped, voices faltered and eyes opened wide with shock. M scanned the scene, looking for two empty chairs. There weren't any.
" I wonder if anyone would be so kind as to offer a seat to us David?" M inquired in what he had hoped was a whisper. Every single soldier rose quickly making inviting motions for their chairs.
"Bloody hell!" Said M under his breath. David walked over and sat in the closest chair, smiling at the shaking soldier thankfully. The soldier looked dazed then, with a triumphant glance around his fellow soldiers, started to dance. M looked amazedly from the dancing soldier to David.
"Alright David... Eat up then we'll start training..."
Back at Carrington.
James is keeping up with the training much to the annoyance of Sir Alex. They had just been on their 5km romp around the field everyone was huffing, except James.
"James why the hell aren't you out of breath?" Asked Ferguson, eyebrows drooping. James shrugged.
"It takes a lot for me to run out of breath." Alex looked sceptical.
"You're not even sweating!" James shook his head.
"James Bond doesn't sweat." He said defiantly.
"Why not? Everyone else does!" James couldn't lower himself to answer instead he harrumphed loudly.
And so all seems well in this wacky but Queen condoned crossover. Save for lurking in the shadows of this very true story lies the most evil baddy the world has ever and will ever see. He walks in shadow, speaks will style, has piercing blue eyes and a devilish smile.
That night both Bond and Beckham were eager to hear how the others day had been. So Beckham decided to use the mobile James had given him. Beckham vaguely remembered James saying something about the gadgets it was supposed to have but David didn't think it important at the time. He retrieved it from its resting place in the inside pocket of his jacket. Quite nonchalantly he flipped open the cover and dialled the number of his own mobile which was currently in the possession of 007.
"Ah hello? James?" David said hesitantly.
"Hello Mr Beckham, I trust your first day as Her Majesty's last defence went well?" James drawled.
"Oh aye, that was brilliant like! I got to go to this army camp in some sheep paddock and meet some soldiers and sign a table cloth!" Beckham's voice was quick, nearly squeaky, just like the excited child that he was, thought James.
"Ah good, good."
"And what about you Jamie, good day at the office?"
"Oh yes, splendid." said James, unenthused. Then he quietly added, under his breath. " Except for the incident with the jock strap."
"What?" Asked Beckham, rather confused.
"Never mind. This has been a delightful conversation Mr Beckham, but I'm afraid I have some research to do so I must be leaving. Good luck and good bye."
"Aye, good bye!"
~*~ Well that was day one i.e. chapter 1, one day there will be a chapter 2 though I know not when. Review if you care, flame if you dare.