This strange idea popped in my head, and I ended up writing something…pretty much different. I like it though, sort of, even though it's just scene narration, but I thought it turned out well.

Drowning Man

Bond had killed men before. He knew how to defend himself, and the last half of his life had been surrounded by death and violence. But as he and the man he had been fighting in the restroom crashed through and decimated a series of flimsily constructed stalls, he hardly had time to reflect that this was the first time he had been directly ordered to kill. Orders and necessity of an assignment were two very different things. As were killing an enemy soldier in the chaos of a melee and a hand-to-hand fight to the death.

In his time in the Royal Navy, specifically when he went into the Special Boat Service as opposed to a regular shipboard intelligence officer, he hadn't been opposed to taking out men with stealth, a knife to the throat, or something of the like. The body would drop and he would move on immediately, without a second thought of it. It was the necessity of the mission, not the mission itself. Now, this was all he was required to think about.

His opponent picked himself up after having his face smashed into the mirror, but Bond was on him before he could get passed his knees. Hands wrapped around the man's neck, Bond shook him violently, like a dog innocently playing with a chew-toy. Only there was nothing innocent about it. This man was guilty of espionage. Bond was his executioner.

The man grabbed Bond's hands, trying to pry his fingers off of the soft flesh of his neck, where they sought to crush his throat. He gasped and struggled – the grip of a man who knows he is about to die is a strong, painful one. Bond pushed him against the overflowing sink to get rid of the grip.

As if he just remembered, the man released his hands and reached back for his gun. Eyes narrowing, Bond reached up, smashing the man's hand against the cracked mirror until the gun clattered to the floor. He used the same hand to plunge the man's head in the sink full of water.

He stood behind the victim as the executioner, holding the man's head under the water. The squirming and fighting intensified, and the man tried to gain traction with his feet on the wet tiled floor, with no success. Bond only watched the bubbles in the sink start to dissipate. The feeling of life began to drown under his hands, as if he could physically feel it fading away. The man's body gave one last twitch before he stopped moving.

Letting go of the man slowly, Bond took a step back. The body of the man slipped lifelessly to the floor. This time there was no immediate distraction – only the death before him. Hitman. Assassin. Executioner. This man was guilty as a spy, it was his duty to his country, to take his life. But it didn't stop the cold feeling from the bottom of his core that nearly made him shiver. Bond felt his stomach churn, as it did the first time he had seen a dead body. This wasn't the first time, he reminded himself. It was the first time he was the executioner.

He turned around, leaving the body there, and walked over to the other side of the room to pick up his gun where it had fallen. He could still hear the water running from the broken sink. Suddenly, Bond had a feeling. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something was terribly wrong, his instinct told him so, and they were the only thing he trusted without question.

As he turned around again, the man was sitting up, not dead, weapon aimed at him. Bond didn't hesitate, but drew quickly and squeezed off one shot, hitting the man square in the head.

"How did he die?"

"Your contact? Not well."

"Ah.. made you feel it, did he? Not to worry. The second is-…"

Pfft. Thud.

"Yes, considerably."

By the end, as Bond walked away, he felt as if he could take on the entire world. If only it would be enough.