James Bond leant his head against the cold glass of the window, looking down into the street below. It was a little after three in the morning and like many others that night, his sleep had been interrupted by worry.

Down the hall way, in his little used spare room, his goddaughter was asleep. She had barely said two words to him, just simply asked where she could sleep, and had promptly crashed out. James recognised that need, he knew that she was sleeping the sleep of someone who had been running for too long, constantly watching over their shoulder, unable to truly rest, and had finally arrived somewhere they considered safe.

A cat ran across the empty street below, and he watched as it disappeared down an alleyway. James knew he should sleep, but he was unnerved, and he didn't like that feeling. He needed to confront it. He needed to confront her.

He hesitated for only a moment outside her room, before slipping inside.

'Ashleigh?'

She was huddled under the covers, one hand tucked under her pillow, the other curled in a fist under her chin. Even in sleep, she frowned, unable to relax.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the woman who had given him so much to think about. He felt faintly flattered that she had come to him in her time of need, but what she wanted him to do about it, he wasn't sure.

''Leigh?' he whispered again, this time stroking her hair gently.

She came awake instantly, hitting out at him, drawing her hand out from under the pillow, her gun pointing straight at him, her thumb already dragging at the safety, her eyes wild.

'Ashleigh!' he almost shouted, slapping her gun hand hard. The weapon clattered to the floor, thankfully, he'd caught her before she'd completely disengaged the safety. She followed the path of the gun with wide eyes, before staring at James unseeingly.

'Ashleigh,' James moved awkwardly towards her. 'It's me. James.'

'James?' her voice was small, almost childlike.

'Yes. It's me. You came to me, remember.'

'Of course I do,' she snapped, instantly aggressive. She was tearing at the bed clothes around her, almost kicking him in her need to get out of them. He helped her, jerking back the blankets until he freed her. She scrambled across the room, and James stared, struck once more by the universal truth that men's shirts looked far better on half naked women. The black material fell to just above her knees, as she moved, he caught a glimpse of smooth, lightly tanned thigh and he had to look away.

'Where is it?' she muttered, but more to herself than to James. She was pulling at drawers, opening them and slamming them shut when she didn't find what she wanted.

Finally, she sighed a sigh of relief as she spotted whatever it was she was hunting for in a tangle of clothes. Her hand closed around it, and it seemed to calm her. Turning, she smiled at him.

It made him nervous.

He shifted uncomfortably as she knelt on the bed next to him, the shirt once more riding up her thighs. He had no doubt who the original owner had been, the material looked expensive and it was exquisitely cut, meeting even James's fussy standards. The black material darkened her eyes in the half light until they glittered with hidden meaning, and he heard her breathing come quickly in the silence of the room. He closed his eyes.

'I found this,' Ashleigh was saying, and opening his eyes cautiously, James saw a flash of gold in the palm of her hand. He reached for it, and for a moment her fingers cradled protectively around the object, but reluctantly she let him take it.

A signet ring. James sighed. He recognised it. Even knew half the story behind it.

'I saw Alec,' she said softly. 'In Cuba.'

'And?'

'And?' she repeated dangerously. 'And what?'

'You lost him, didn't you?'

'I walked out on him,' she snarled defensively.

'I don't doubt it.'

'I found the ring in his belongings. It's Le Loup's symbol, isn't it? Le Loup gave it to him.'

'Yes. Pierre Merkalov did.

'What do you know about him, James?'

'Alec or Merkalov?'

'Merkalov of course.' Anger flashed in her eyes once more at his flippancy.

'I believe he has your daughter. He was last heard of being based in Africa, but I don't believe he is still there.'

'Why?'

'Because he would be a fool to stay in one place. Or he'll be somewhere well hidden. He used to be based in Siberia, perhaps he's there.'

'So I have to go to Siberia.' Ashleigh slumped back onto the bed, thinking how vast the region was.

'If you believe that's what you have to do, then yes.'

'I'll travel to the ends of the earth to get my daughter back, James. I won't be hiding away here at any rate.'

'Is that what you think I'm doing?'

'It's what I know you're doing!' The anger that had been building up inside her erupted suddenly. 'I'm sorry about Jasmin, I truly am, but for Christ's sake James, you barely knew her! She worked for MI6 and we're both aware what a risk that is. Jasmin knew that risk too, it's what's drilled into us from the moment we sign up. She's not the first of your lovers to die, and she certainly won't be the last!'

James stood abruptly, drawing his robe tighter around him. 'Why are you here, Ashleigh?'

She seemed to realise that she had crossed some unspoken line. Unrepentant, a stubborn look of defiance settled on her usually open features. 'M sent me.'

'I should have guessed.'

'It's not the only reason though. I was intrigued.'

'Intrigued?' James turned round to face her.

'Yes, intrigued. You see, when I was going through Alec's belongings, I didn't just find a ring. I found an address. One that I recognised. This address, in fact. I wondered why he'd have it, I thought perhaps he had it from before, but I remembered that you bought this house when I was fifteen, you invited me out here for my sixteenth birthday to learn how to ski. Alec 'died' the first time when I was twelve. So it couldn't possibly have been from before.'

James remained silent.

'How long have you been in contact with my husband for?'

'He contacted me after he left Sicily. Asked me to keep an eye on you.'

Ashleigh snorted. 'Did he indeed? Well you certainly failed in that duty.'

'What did you want me to do, Ashleigh? Hold your hand throughout? Talk you through each event, step by step? I can't help you with this one. Alec is working for Merkalov. While Merkalov has your daughter, Alec can not refuse to do anything. He has to obey his every order. Otherwise Natasha dies. So tell me what to do, and I'll do it. M has tied my hands here. I'm on leave. I can't do anything.'

'Bullshit, James. Absolute bullshit. When the hell have you ever listened to M? You've always done your own thing, even when they revoked your licence to kill. It didn't stop you then. And it won't stop you in the future. The only thing stopping you now is self pity. Pathetic, James. You're pathetic.'

'You're not thinking straight, Ashleigh. Whatever I think of Alec, I know one thing. He's trying to protect you. Don't you realise that Merkalov could order him to do anything?' The question was loaded and he saw the stubbornness cross Ashleigh's face, but he knew he was getting through to her. 'Absolutely anything.'

She recoiled as if he had slapped her face. For a moment she said nothing, and then she rose, walked to the door and opened it. He sat for a moment, admiring her slim figure out of habit, the curve of her calves into her ankles and her small, neat feet.

'I think you should go now, James,' she said quietly. 'I need to sleep.'

'We both do,' he answered. As he reached the door, he leant down and brushed his lips against her cheek.

'Goodnight, James.'

The door closed firmly behind him.

The next morning, James expected a tense atmosphere in the house, but was surprised to discover that Ashleigh was nowhere to be found. He wondered for a moment if she had decided to leave, but on checking her room, found all of her belongings were still there. He shrugged, deciding that he would leave her for the moment and start on breakfast instead. She would turn up when she felt like it, he knew that much at least.

The smell of fried bread and coffee filled the kitchen and James was just finishing his second cup when he heard the front door open and shut. He turned to the door just as Ashleigh walked in.

She looked much more settled than she had been in the early hours of the morning. She wore a long black overcoat over jeans, a cream scarf tucked up under her chin. Her eyes were bright, and she was carrying a small paper bag, embellished with the logo of a local patisserie.

'I had a craving,' she admitted with a shy smile, placing it upon the table, reaching for the scarf around her neck. 'I wanted something sweet and comforting.'

'Here,' James said, pushing a plate of fried bread towards her. She took one look at it and grinned.

'Marmalade?' she asked, already reaching for a knife.

'Disgusting public school habit,' James grimaced, handing her the jar of Frank Cooper's Oxford Cut marmalade. 'You were sent to get an education and instead you pick up strange eating habits instead.'

'Oh shush,' Ashleigh grinned, as she spread a thick layer over the greasy bread. 'Don't knock it until you've tried it.'

'One of the many mottos I live my life by,' James smiled too, relieved that the tension had been so easily diffused. 'However, I shall still refrain from that.'

Ashleigh closed her eyes in bliss as she savoured the familiar taste from her teenage years. 'You have no idea what you're missing,' she sighed happily, licking marmalade from her thumb.

'Sadly, I do. You've forced it upon me before.'

They ate in companionable silence, the only sounds in the room being the rustle of paper as they both read the morning newspapers.

James inwardly said a silent prayer. For now, so it seemed, there was to be peace.

They managed to coexist for most of the morning and the afternoon. Later, as the day drew to a close, James found Ashleigh sitting on a window sill in the living room, staring outside, a cup of tea in her hands. She didn't seem to be drinking it, rather drawing warmth from it instead.

In the half light, it took James a moment to notice the tears streaking her face.

He stood awkwardly in the doorway. She hadn't noticed him.

'Don't just stand there, James,' she said, not turning away from the window.

Apparently she had. He looked away as she brushed at her face with her sleeve.

'How long have you really been in contact with him for, James?' she asked, hollow eyed.

Was there any point in lying? He repeated what he said previously, reiterating the details. 'Since he left Sicily. I told you, he asked me to look after you'

'As I said earlier, great job you did there.' She leant her head back against the wall.

Anger flared in James, suddenly, violently. 'You were the one who left, Ashleigh. You forced me to help you. You were the one pointing a gun at me.'

'Oh please,' she muttered scornfully. 'It was hardly the first time you've been on the wrong end of a gun.'

'That's no excuse.'

'And you have no excuse for telling Alec what I was doing. No wonder he was always one step in front of me. I don't understand, James. Why? I thought you hated him?'

'It doesn't matter what my feelings towards your husband are, I wanted to protect you.'

'How? How were you protecting me?'

James felt frustration building up in him. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her.

She turned away from him, angered by his silence. 'This is how it always is for me, James. No answers from anyone. No idea what to do next. Everyone is protecting me and no one is helping me.'

'The last thing anyone wants is for you to get hurt.'

'Like Jasmin did?'

'Like Jasmin did.'

There was a challenge in Ashleigh's eyes, and James met them. For a moment, he saw the same darkness in them that he had seen before, at her home in Sicily. She looked cold, and at that moment in time, she looked dangerous.

She blinked, and the look was gone. She sighed, and rested her head on her drawn up knees.

'How far would you go to protect me, James?' she asked, and James knew that it was a question he didn't want to answer.

He wondered if he even knew how to.

Minutes later James stared at his goddaughter in horror. It took a lot to shock him, but Ashleigh just had.

'No.' He stood, wanting to get as far away from her as possible.

They had been talking for what seemed liked hours. As Ashleigh had outlined what she wanted James to do, he had felt repulsion rising within him.

'James, please. You don't realise how much I need you to do this.'

'No, you're right. I don't. You're asking me to do something that I simply can't carry out.'

'James,' she stood, reaching for him, pleading. She pressed her hand against his face and he jerked away from her. 'James, please. You said you wanted to protect me, please, I'm asking you to.'

'I said no,' he caught her wrists and pushed her away from him.

'I can't do this myself!' she slumped onto a chair. 'If I could, I would, but …' she tailed off and buried her face in her hands.

'And if it goes wrong?'

'It won't. I promise.' She looked up at him with a fierce hope clear on her face.

'This is insane,' he shook his head.

'Perhaps.' She bit her lip. 'James, you're the only person I trust. The only person I can trust.'

'I have no choice, do I?' he said shakily.

'Is that a yes?' she moved closer to him, her hands on his arms, clutching at him, desperately, hopefully.

'Yes, I'll do it.' It was almost a whisper.

'Promise me one thing,' she said, her eyes dark once more.

'Haven't you asked enough of me?' he almost snapped.

'Don't miss, James. Whatever you do, don't miss. Promise me.'

'I promise,' the words were bitter on his tongue.

For a moment, she stared at him, her slim body almost touching his. She studied his face, as if trying to see how sincere he was. He reached for her, brushing her hair back from her face, wondering how it had come to this moment.

She leant forward, rising on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his, kissing him softly, sweetly, almost chastely. For just a moment, their lips touched and stayed together, and then she pulled away.

She smiled, but it seemed forced. 'Thank you,' she whispered.

James let out a shaky sigh as he thought about the enormity of the task that she had just set him. He should never have agreed to it.

But then, how could he have refused?

She paused at the door, one hand resting on the frame.

'We're all assassins now, James,' she said, and was gone.


A/N:

Ashleigh's marmalade on fried bread habit, is sadly, my own. However it is a very common breakfast in many English public schools (which, to confuse people, are private schools that you pay to attend… government funded schools are comprehensives). I wanted to add a light hearted scene before the end and this came to mind as soon as I wrote the word 'breakfast'.

As for Ashleigh's task for James, I will let you speculate on that matter. Needless to say, if I tell you now what it is, I will ruin the ending. And we don't want that, do we?