Disclaimer: Still don't own Bond, but my copy of Casino Royale finally came in the mail! Honestly, it would have been faster for me to drive to Wal-Mart and buy it!

I'm sure fans of "Nightmares" must hate me right now! I'm nearly done with that story, but I just got Hayley Westenra's new album, and one of the songs reminded me so much of Bond and Vesper that I had to write this! The song is called "The Last Rose of Summer."

On an unrelated note, I finally know why I write fan fiction! I stink at trying to create videos on You Tube, so this is the only alternative I have…

'Tis the last rose of summer
Left blooming all alone,
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone.

His phone chirped in the early morning hours, and Bond rolled over in bed. He wanted nothing more than to throw the blasted thing into the ocean right now. As the lingering cobwebs of sleep cleared, he saw that M was calling him. He accepted the call and silently put the phone up to his ear.

"Bond? How are you doing?"

"Fine," he replied curtly.

"I wanted to talk to you about your resignation. I need you to officially rescind it before I can put you back on active duty."

"Alright," he answered. "Do I just send you another email?"

"No, I'm afraid this needs to be done in person." There was a pause. "When can we expect you back in London?"

Bond looked around the darkness of the hotel room. "In a day or so. I have something I have to do first."

M hesitated. "Bond, I felt you should know… Ms. Lynd's body is being brought back here, and the funeral is going to be in three days." There was no response. "Bond?"

"I heard. I don't think I'll be back in time." James really didn't know how long it would take him to track down Mr. White – not that he had any intention of going to a funeral, even if he was back.

"May I ask what it is that's keeping you in Venice?" He could hear the masked concern in her voice, and had a sudden urge to hang up immediately. He didn't need a mother.

"See you in a few days," he said, and pushed the End button.

No flower of her kindred,
No rose bud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.

Bond shoved his Walther into its holster and grabbed his suit coat. Gruffly pushing his arms in the sleeves, he looked in the mirror to straighten his tie. As he finished tucking it into his vest, James was suddenly tempted to look out the bathroom door – surely she would be there, mocking his vanity with a smile.

His eyes fluttered closed as the wound of grief broke open again. For a moment, James allowed himself to remember her – walking in to kiss him on the cheek during the game (she was even more beautiful than he realized), their relaxed dinner after he had won, that day on the beach…

Bond shook his head viciously and tried to swallow the rising lump in his throat. You do what I do for too long, and there won't be any soul left to salvage. I'm leaving with what little I have left. Is that enough for you? James stared at his reflection. Soulless blue eyes stared back.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem;

Since the lovely are sleeping,

Oh! Sleep thou with them.

Bond casually sauntered up to Mr. White – reveling in the man's pain. A grin surfaced as he hung up Vesper's phone and placed it back in his pocket, his sub-machine gun still menacingly held at the ready.

"The name's Bond. James Bond."

"What do you want?" gasped Mr. White.

"Everything," Bond answered. "You are going to tell me all about the organization you work for, and you are going to get me the contents of the silver briefcase." Bond's expression was so cold, that Mr. White began to tremble in fear.

"I'm sorry about the girl. I would have let her go, after this was done."

At this, James seemed to snap. He dropped the gun and grabbed Mr. White by the lapels of his jacket, hauling him to his feet. Breathing heavily, he began to think of everything he could do to cause pain to the parasite before him. But Bond quickly came to his senses and contained his rage – while cursing himself for showing weakness.

White seemed to smile, "Meant a lot to you, did she?"

James bit back his reply. White was trying to throw him off; hoping to distract him into making a mistake. Well, it's not going to work… Bond head-butted the man and dropped him – watching as his body rolled back down the steps.

Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

M sat alone in her office – finishing her report of what had been dubbed the Casino Royale case.

"Agent 007 discovered the withdrawal of the winnings from a local branch of the Swiss bank, and followed the traitor, Lynd, to the exchange."

Sitting back in her chair, M sighed. Should she classify Lynd as a traitor, or a victim? The full extent of what Lynd had passed on to the enemy was still unknown – as was how long she had been doing it. Shaking her head, M decided to let the label of traitor stand for now, and prepared to continue typing. Just as her fingers found the keyboard, her phone rang, startling her.

Recognizing the number on caller I.D., she picked it up immediately. "Bond?" she asked, "Where are you?"

"Downstairs," came the reply. "But I can't stay. I left you a present, though." M tried desperately to read Bond's tone, but his voice was neutral, as usual. Still, he needed to know.

"Listen, Bond… The funeral – "

"I've gotta go," Bond answered curtly, and hung up the phone. M bit back her frustration. The man was still grieving – he just did it in his own way. She pushed the button to talk to her assistant.

"Villiers, Bond said he left a present for me in the lobby. Would you be so good as to find out what it is?" M heard a slight rustling as he rose from his chair.

"Yes ma'am. One moment."

Villiers called her from his cell phone. "Um… it seems that Bond captured a man known as Mr. White. According to the note Bond left, White is part of the same organization as Le Chiffre."

"What?!" M sat back in shock. He had been able to find a link after all.

"The prisoner appears to have been shot in the knee, and possibly dropped a few times on the way here. Armed guards are escorting him to the infirmary now."

M suppressed a smile – knowing, as her assistant did, that Bond had likely taken a few frustrations out on the man. "Thank you, Villiers. Please keep me informed of White's condition. I want him isolated from Mathis, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Villiers before hanging up.

The head of MI6 sat back again, the report instantly on hold. She wondered how Bond had found out about this mysterious Mr. White.

So soon may I follow
When friendships decay,
And from love's shining circle
The gems drop away!

Bond stepped out of the Military Intelligence building and took a deep breath. His hands – clenched into fists since grabbing White – finally began to relax. Bond had controlled his impulses long enough; Mr. White would live. But as James had come to realize, there were things worse than death.

Like being left behind, he thought. He started walking down the street, lost in his memories. He wandered aimlessly through London. It was home, and yet, it was not. The only home he had ever found was in Vesper's arms. It was the one place he had felt at peace.

And that peace had been stolen from him.

Bond watched as a man walked past him and into a nearby building. When he caught a glimpse of what he thought was Vesper inside, Bond realized he was losing his grip. Then he noticed the hearse parked outside of the small church.

The funeral, James thought, dully. M was trying to tell me about it. I can't have stumbled across it by accident… He laughed bitterly and climbed the stone steps, determined to prove his outrageous theory wrong.

When true hearts lie withered
And fond ones are flown
Oh! Who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?

James entered and found himself standing at the back of the church, near a portrait of Vesper that had been wreathed in roses. This was indeed her funeral. Up on the altar, he could see her coffin – the lid standing open. Bond was familiar with corpses; he had been around many of them in his military career. There was something… phony about them – like bad wax impressions.

In his mind, he knew she was dead. He had watched her die – and had failed to bring her back. But there were times he could still feel her in his arms; her soft breath on his cheek. He saw her face on strangers in the street. If this is love, Bond thought, it's a curse.

He turned and stumbled out of the church. Slamming the large oak door behind him, he walked to the nearest pub. After downing so much scotch that he could barely see straight, he picked up on the first brunette to cross his path and led her to a hotel. As she lay in his arms late into the night, it seemed to James, just for a moment, to be Vesper. He held the woman – the object, the means to an end – closer, and could almost hear the soft heartbeat of his lost love.

So, what do you think? ;-D

I was wondering if anyone caught what I'm doing with the use of Bond verses James in the narrative…

Or am I being too subtle?