Once again, thank you for the reviews. Weaponry blatantly stolen from Dan Brown's 'Deception Point'. I was on holiday. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Screams of panic suddenly started throughout the ballroom reaching a horrifying crescendo. Startled, Ashleigh looked round, tearing her eyes away from Charles's body on the ground.

Events seemed to be happening in slow motion, she saw a body fly slowly through the air, to land awkwardly in one of the deep fountains. A single hand flopped limply over the edge, a gold ring adorning one of the long slim fingers. Cries of panic continued to howl around her, as the partygoers frantically tried to crush their way through the far too few exits, terrified they would be the next victims.

Automatically Ashleigh scanned the faces, and saw with dismay that Jacques Le Frenicet was not among them. She watched as his bodyguards surrounded the body in the fountain, and knew all too well who they saw lying in there.

Shakily, Ashleigh knelt down, the marble cool and hard beneath her bare knees. Her fingers pressed tentatively at Charles's throat, and with a surge of relief she felt a pulse there, faint, but insistent.

'Ashleigh?' Charles whispered hoarsely.

'I'm here,' she answered automatically, still trying to take in the scene around her.

'My leg.'

Trying to gain control Ashleigh moved so she could examine Charles's leg. His black trousers were shredded by his right knee, and the mangled wound beneath was all too visible. Ashleigh could see little white flecks mingled in with the exposed bloody flesh and realised with a shudder of horror that they were the remains of Charles's knee cap.

'Bastard kneecapped me!' Charles gasped indignantly. His dark skin had taken on an unhealthy ashen look, and he was obviously trying to control his pain.

'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,' she murmured, not really hearing Charles's words or her own reply. Her attention had been caught elsewhere, puzzled she was staring at a small object that glistened damply near her left hand.

She scooped it up, and saw to her surprise it was a lump of ice, about the size of a marble, she rolled it slowly in her palm, feeling it melt as the heat of her skin warmed it. Unlike a marble though, it wasn't smooth, instead it was cracked and in some places jagged edges protruded. It was also stained pink, no, she realised, it was coated in blood, blood that diluted by the melted ice was now pooling in the palm of her hand.

Horrified, Ashleigh finally recognised it, and with a shudder of disgust she almost threw it to the floor.

A bullet. Or rather a pellet, a projectile made of ice. Ashleigh had heard of these weapons before, rifles, or automatic weapons that meant soldiers could utilise their environments to create a never ending supply of ammunition. In the desert, sand could be compressed and heated into glass, creating these lethal pellets, in snowy conditions snow would be packed into ice, and fired with the same lethal results as regular ammunition. Troops would no longer have to carry heavy supplies of cartridges or other ammunition, all they would have to do is scoop up a handful of sand or snow…

Or crushed ice.

Ashleigh glanced over at the fountain. The crushed ice could have been used to create the small pellet that was now melting by her feet. It would explain the jagged edges. But this technology was so new that it was yet to be authorised for regular military use, only the most advanced, not to mention secret, units were using this form of weaponry.

With a sickening realisation Ashleigh knew what the message was. They were taunting her. Whoever had her daughter, whoever had shot Charles, assassinated Le Frenicet, they were telling her how powerful they were. What weapons they had access to, and how prepared they were to use them. If they had the latest technology who knew what else they had? Frightened, Ashleigh once more scanned the room, trying to work out where the shot had come from.

Movement in the higher levels caught her eye, and for a moment she saw sandy hair and green eyes staring straight at her. She froze, and stared, refusing to acknowledge what her eyes told her, it couldn't have been Alec, she was seeing things, like she had earlier in the week, it was nothing more than her imagination…

She blinked.

And he was gone.

'Ashleigh?' Charles saw her blanch, and groped awkwardly for her hand. 'What? What do you see?'

'Alec.'

'Where?' Anger coursed through Charles, fury that the bastard had shot him, anger that he would then taunt Ashleigh with his presence.

'In the balconies.' She was struggling to form the words through lips that were numb with shock, if she hadn't already been on the floor she thought she might have crashed to it, she was shaking, her body in indecision, half of her telling to run after him, the other half demanding that she stay where she was.

A hand clamped upon her shoulder, and she only just managed not to scream.

Even in her confusion, to him, she was beautiful.

Alec stared at his wife, as if committing her every feature to memory, and perhaps he was. The deep, dark pink strapless dress showed off the elegant curve of her shoulders, the colour was perfect against her pale skin, contrasting sharply with her darker than ever hair. It brought out the English rose flush of her skin, and the fullness of her lips.

Alec wanted her. He ached to vault over the balcony and to take her into his arms, to kiss her, to touch her, to tell her he was sorry for so many things.

But he couldn't.

He knew there were women in this world far more stunning than her, far more attractive, but to him, Ashleigh was life itself. Her imperfections merely added to her unusual looks, and he had been drawn to her personality as much as her looks. Her sheer determination and stubbornness rivalled even his, and he could see that now as she stood in Paris, having tracked him this far. He had no doubt that he could run forever, and she would still be there, searching for him, always on his tail.

But for now he had to go.

He knew that she had seen him.

And he was glad that she had.

A final glance and he was gone.

James Bond could fill a dinner jacket like no other man on Earth. Even in the stark fluorescent lights of the hospital, he still drew admiring looks. Ashleigh doubted that quite so many nurses had business on this corridor, yet since they had been standing there, there had been a never ending stream of uniformed women filing past them.

'I don't want another coffee,' Ashleigh complained bitterly.

'Its not coffee, its tea. And it's good for shock,' James argued, forcing the plastic cup into her hands.

'With plenty of sugar,' his companion coerced.

Ashleigh looked over the other woman with distaste. In the shadow of the tall brunette, she suddenly felt almost shabby in comparison. Infuriated by her reaction, Ashleigh decided to ignore the other woman. Pointedly she put her cup on one of the small plastic tables nearby and stared at the door opposite.

Behind it, Charles was being treated, having been stretchered away when the emergency services had arrived at the scene. It had been too late for Jacques Le Frenicet, and already the world newspapers were preparing their sycophantic tributes to the peaceful man, obituaries that would focus on his achievements and ignore the man behind the headlines. On the front pages, sensationalist headlines would announce his death, and speculate on who exactly was behind the assassination.

It was a thought that Ashleigh refused to contemplate. Charles was convinced that she had indeed seen Alec, and had continued to reiterate his theory that it was the work of a terrorist cell, one with Alec firmly in the centre of it.

It was a theory that Bond agreed with. However for now he kept his thoughts private, instead waiting to hear the extent of his friend's injuries.

With an irritated shrug of his shoulders, he once more glanced around the deserted Parisian hospital corridor. It was now the early hours of the morning, and apart from the odd nurse, or rarer still a white coated doctor, they were alone.

'They' were an unusual trio. Bond couldn't resist but steal another look at his glamorous companion.

The dark green satin set off the olive skin. Like Ashleigh's dark pink dress, Jasmin's was strapless, showing off neat, angular shoulders. Unlike Ashleigh's knee length, flared skirt, Jasmin's fell sharply to the floor, a thigh length split giving a glimpse of long, shapely legs beneath. She was, Bond decided, the most ravishing creature he had seen in some time. He had enjoyed being seen with her at the ball, enjoying the envious glances of the other men in the vicinity, knowing that later that night; Jasmin would be in his bed, while the others could only dream of such pleasure. He ran a hand down a toned arm, his fingers finding hers, and was rewarded with a warm welcoming smile. Almost imperceptibly, they moved towards each other, drawn by their mutual desire.

'For Christ's sake…' a muttered, and somewhat irritated voice interrupted them. Ashleigh rose jerkily to her feet and stalked off down the corridor, away from the smouldering heat that surrounded her godfather and his latest conquest before it scorched her.

Jasmin arched an eyebrow, an unconscious imitation of Bond's own pointed gesture. The unvoiced question was loud and clear, and Bond felt his own glimmer of annoyance at his goddaughter's surly behaviour.

'Monsieur Bond?' The door to Charles's room opened, and a thin, neat looking doctor slid out, before quietly shutting the door behind him.

'Doctor?' Ashleigh hurried back down towards the room, concern once more etched on her face. 'Is Charles alright?'

'Oui,' the doctor nodded briskly. 'His knee will require further surgery, but it is not urgent. We will release him to return to England within a few days, he will be able to wait until then.'

'May we see him?' Jasmin asked softly.

'It is late,' the doctor shook his head, tapping his watch to reiterate his statement. 'Monsieur Robinson will require much rest. Perhaps you could return in the morning.'

'Doctor, please? Just a few minutes?' Ashleigh pleaded. She desperately wanted to see Charles, to make sure that he was ok, and, if she was honest with herself, to try to alleviate some of the guilt she was feeling over his injuries.

A pause, and then another brisk nod. 'A few minutes. No more.'

Beneath his dark complexion, Charles's skin had an unhealthy looking ashen tone. With his leg heavily bandaged, and a slightly dazed expression from the heavy dose of painkillers he had received, he looked fragile, and to all of their concern, very tired.

There was an uncomfortable silence, made even more so by Ashleigh's quiet fuming that Jasmin fawned over her superior in an overly familiar manner.

The talk was strained, focusing entirely on Charles's wellbeing. Ashleigh was shocked by just how withdrawn he was. He was refusing to catch her eye, and she flushed as yet another clumsy attempt to draw him out failed miserably.

'M will have to know,' Jasmin finally ventured.

'Really?' Ashleigh muttered sarcastically. The older woman shot her a dark glance that neither Bond nor Charles noticed.

'I suppose I'll have that pleasure,' Bond sighed.

'What are you going to tell her?' Ashleigh asked, feeling fear beginning to grow in the pit of her stomach.

Bond's gaze was cold. 'The truth, of course.'

'But…' Ashleigh feebly protested, 'We can't be sure it was… that …'

'Ashleigh's right, we're not entirely sure that it was Trevelyan.' To Bond's surprise Charles came to his goddaughter's defence. 'Perhaps it would be best to omit that information in the preliminary report.'

'She saw him!' Jasmin pointed out fiercely.

Ashleigh looked away. She didn't want to think about that moment, when she saw those brilliant green eyes staring straight at her. Her hands were clenched into tense fists, hidden by the folds of her skirt, she couldn't bear to think that Alec had been there, and all that it implied, yet at the same time she couldn't bear to think that he hadn't been.

'Perhaps Ashleigh isn't the most objective of witnesses,' Charles suggested. 'Put what she saw down to wishful thinking. She's been under a lot of stress recently.'

Bond snorted, and Ashleigh saw a look of disbelief cross Jasmin's face.

'What if he was there,' Ashleigh asked softly. 'What does that mean?'

Bond and Charles exchanged a look. 'We all know what he is capable of, Ashleigh,' Charles said after a long pause. 'We all know he's your husband, but we have to face facts. Alec Trevelyan has killed in cold blood before, and it appears that he did so again tonight.'

'That's all in the past,' Ashleigh hissed, the colour draining from her face. 'He wouldn't, not again, he promised me.'

'Did he?' Jasmin asked.

The urge to slap the other woman's face was growing with every word. Ashleigh hated the arrogance that surrounded her, hated the way she fawned over Bond and Charles, hated the way that her entire countenance cast doubt on every aspect of Ashleigh's relationship.

'What the hell would you know?' Ashleigh snapped her temper dangerously close to fraying.

'Actually, quite a bit,' Bond interrupted. He wasn't sure that this was the best moment to bring the information to light, but he could see he needed to distract Ashleigh before she clawed the other woman's eyes out. 'Jasmin has been working on Alec's file for many years now. Every since Natasha was kidnapped, she's been assisting with the investigation, and knows more about your husband than perhaps any other agent.'

'What?' Ashleigh tensed, trying to take the information in. This woman had made Alec her speciality? Had dedicated her career to focusing on a man that she didn't even know? Ashleigh gave a bitter, short laugh, and crossed the room to the window. She leant her head against the cool glass, letting it soothe her. The others watched her anxiously.

'You're a profiler?' Ashleigh finally turned around. Her face was set with something close to resignation, yet anger was still there, hidden beneath the mask.

Jasmin glanced at James for reassurance before she answered. 'Its one of my duties, yes. Amongst other things.'

'And you've been profiling my husband?' Ashleigh ignored the rest of Jamsin's words.

Once more Jasmin carefully phrased her words before replying. 'I've been profiling Janus since –'

'My husband!' Ashleigh had almost shouted the words before catching herself, swallowing the words of protest that had immediately sprung to her lips. She paused, before continuing in a calmer tone. 'My husband…Alec has not been Janus for many years now. Please do not call him that. He is not Janus.'

Jasmin nodded slowly. 'I've been profiling Alec for since his defection,' she amended, 'he's been something of a specialist subject of mine.'

'Unbelievable,' Ashleigh whispered. Did this woman have to be so … so brazen? 'Is this some kind of a joke?' she snarled at James and Charles.

Undeterred, Jasmin pushed on. 'James asked me for assistance. He seems to think that because I've spent so long studying Trevelyan that I might somehow get inside his head, work out where he might go next, what he might do next…' Jasmin trailed off, Ashleigh was slowly shaking her head.

'No one gets inside Alec's head,' she said sorrowfully. 'Even I haven't been able to. I'm sorry, but I think you've had a wasted journey. You all have.'

She looked at each of them in turn, her godfather, the beautiful woman in the green dress, and Charles, Charles lying injured in bed, his knee a grotesque mess under the heavy white linen bandages, and she started to feel the walls close in on her.

'I'm sorry,' she murmured once more and fled from the room.

It didn't take long to find her.

James saw her sitting alone outside, perched on the edge of a small wall that bordered the hospital gardens. Her small shoulders were slumped, weighed down under such a heavy burden he thought sympathetically. He approached her slowly, knowing she sensed his presence, giving her time to compose herself if she needed to. She still had her pride, perhaps it was the only thing she had left.

'Can't the entire world just sod off and leave me alone for five minutes?' she grumbled as he sat next to her, but he knew that she was pleased that he had followed.

'Apparently not,' he said idly, wrapping his dinner jacket around her bare arms and shoulders.

Ashleigh glanced behind him. 'I see you managed to leave Miss World alone for five minutes.'

He was more amused by her jealousy than offended by it. Women could be such silly creatures when faced with someone they believed to be more attractive than them. He had seen it far too many times before.

'So where did you find her?' Ashleigh asked with a stubborn little jerk of her chin back towards the hospital. 'No, don't tell me, you simply fell over her in the sacred hallways of MI6.'

Almost, James thought humourlessly, if you substitute the MI6 hallways for the cemetery where your parents are buried. 'Something like that.'

'And were you going to tell me about her? Or where you just planning to spring her on me at the dance tonight?'

James felt more than a glimmer of annoyance with his goddaughter's sudden possessiveness. 'I was going to introduce the pair of you later, in fact, I thought it prudent that the pair of you should meet.'

Ashleigh wasn't listening to him. 'Forgive me, James, but I have more important things on my mind thank thinking about you and your latest conquest. 'Specialist subject' indeed,' she snorted softly, thinking back to Jasmin's words about Alec. How the hell could that overgrown preying mantis ever know anything about Alec? He was her husband for Christ's sake, she knew Alec better than anyone, not some stupid, overly glamourous woman who considered Alec Trevelyan to be her research subject.

But do you? A traitorous little voice piped up somewhere in the back of her mind. Are you entirely sure that you know Alec at all? After all, if you knew him, wouldn't you and Natasha be at home now? Wouldn't you still be playing happy families? Again Ashleigh mentally pushed thoughts of her daughter far to the back of her mind. She would think about Natasha when she felt she could cope with it. She would try not to think of childishly she was acting, how frightened she was when her daughter was somewhere out there, a true child, and probably more frightened than Ashleigh had ever been in her life.

'Charles Robinson?' James suddenly asked.

Charles Robinson indeed, Ashleigh coloured.

'I never knew.'

'No one really did. M found out in the end.'

'Was it serious?'

Was it? Ashleigh wondered now. It had felt so at the time, it had felt so unbelievably serious, so passionate, intense, and good. She could have been happy with Charles, but fate had dealt her so many wild cards that it had seemed any sort of normal life had been out of the question.

She shrugged. 'I don't know.'

'It was Charles who found you. He recognised the name you used. He's still watching out for you Ashleigh. We all are.'

James shifted slightly, uncomfortable at the intimate tone of the conversation, but it seemed to have the result he wanted, Ashleigh glanced up at him, and gave a brief smile.

'I think I know that now.'

He reached for the jacket around her shoulders, and fumbled in the inside pocket. When he brought out his hand again, he was holding a folded white handkerchief. 'I brought something for you.'

'For me?'

He held his hand out flat towards her, expecting Ashleigh to take it from him. She stared at the neatly folded white square, and felt a strange sense of foreboding surround her. She didn't want to take it, but she knew she had to open it. With cold fingers she fumbled the cotton open.

Nestled inside was a single leaf. There was nothing unusual about the leaf, it was merely a simple small leaf, once a delicate silver green colour but that had faded leaving it almost pewter coloured in the dark night. She knew she had seen leaves like that before, and she wondered where, racking her memory, and suddenly she saw them, clear in her mind's eye.

Spring days, summer days, autumn days, winter days. She had seen that leaf in every single one of its states, from the delicate opal gleam of the newly budded leaf, to the deep dark brown decaying carpet of dead leaves under her feet.

They were the leaves that fell on her parents' graves, from the trees that shaded them from the heat of the summer, and protected them from the bitter elements in winter. How long ago had it been since she had been there, standing in front of the two simple white marble headstones that marked her mother and father's final resting place.

She looked at James, wondering why he had brought her such a painful reminder of her past, wondering why he wanted to hurt her so much.

'I swore at your christening that I would protect you from the evil in this world. And I tried. But you've made your bed Ashleigh, and now you have to lie in it. You need to know what sort of a man you married. What he's capable of. You owe it to yourself, and you owe it to your daughter. That's why I brought Jasmin here. She can talk to you, tell you about Trevelyan. And I want you to accompany her on a trip.'

'Where?' Ashleigh's eyes narrowed in the darkness.

'Cuba.'

'Cuba? Why Cuba?'

'You know why.' James' tone dropped several degrees in temperature.

Goldeneye. Alec had taken the device to Cuba. Alec had almost died in Cuba.

'No.'

'Aren't you curious, Ashleigh?'

Yes.

'No.'

'You have to do this, Ashleigh. You have to do it if you ever want to see your daughter alive again. You have to understand what he is capable of. What he could do. What he has done.'

She looked at him with eyes that sparkled wetly, but none fell. He held up his hand once more, the leaf there mocking her, dragging her past once more into the presence, and with a shaking hand she struck it to the ground.

'Damn you, James,' she hissed. 'Damn you.'