Hello everyone! Welcome to my new story :D Hope you enjoy it, I'm having a lot of fun with it.

Disclaimer: I only own my Oc

A slender woman stared out at the barren shore of the ocean. An eerie feel resonated from all around. The chill of late autumn clung to the bracken air. Not a soul could be seen for several miles. Monstrous waves crashed into the sandbanks, creating strong riptides. Tall swells disturbed the resting place of many birds, making them take flight. The woman pushed up her large black framed glasses and went back to reading her book.

One of the originally released paperback copies of Pride and Prejudice sat nimbly in her hands, her dextrous fingers delicately handling the pages.

She worried her lower lip and a small crease formed between her brows.

Why can't Darcy just reveal his feelings? It's obvious to everyone including the majority of the characters and the readers that he wants to be with Elizabeth. Yet, they have to play a haphazard game of cat and mouse until they finally get together in the end.

Relationships are stupid. Always have been, always will be.

The woman couldn't help the smirk that lifted her bruised lip from the prison of her teeth.

Overanalyzing things. Always a recipe for a brilliant outing.

The woman committed the page number to memory- which wasn't too impressive, to be honest. She'd only gotten a couple chapters in. It was impossible to not get distracted by the ocean and the mindless observations that invaded her overactive mind.

Standing, she wiped the coarse sand from her slender legs which were encased in faded denim. The jeans were faded not by manufacturers, but rather years of use and trips to the beach. They rode low on her slender hips. The legs were rolled up, hopefully not getting the pesky sand granules inside. The woman slid her book carefully into the brown leather satchel she wrapped around her body. Adjusting the shoulder strap to rest comfortably across her body caused her vintage cropped band shirt to ride up, exposing the expanse of tanned, taught stomach.

Sending one last longing glance towards the ocean, the woman pulled her unruly collection of sun bleached, waist length hair into a loose bun at the crown of her head.

As if saying her final farewell, she sighed deeply, breathing in the salty air, the cool temperature shivering through her lungs. Finally she closed her eyes before departing.

The woman pulled her black 67 Chevy Impala in front of a large apartment complex. She entered the building and scaled the stairs up to the twelfth floor. She feared elevators more than a zombie apocalypse. The noise, the jostling motions... The blonde shuddered as she exited the dimly lit stairwell. Her breathing was steady, even after taking the steps two at a time. Once she reached a door marked 12F, she opened it with a key taken from the bag at her side. She pushed the door open, adjusting her glasses.

"Kira? You home?" The woman called, tossing the keys into small bowl in the entrance. The clatter echoed through the small apartment. She slipped off her worn Vans and walked into the living room.

"Kira? I'm back from the beach..." The words drifted off when she entered the kitchen. A large pool of thickened blood on the hardwood floor shocked the woman into motion. The sliding glass door that lead to the balcony was wide open, the drapes blowing in the wind. From the bathroom, she saw the large shadow of a man from the illuminated light. Running on light feet, she slipped into her bedroom. Quickly reaching under the mattress, she felt the smooth grip of her Walther P99.

Taking cover behind her wardrobe, the blonde checked her magazine and turning the safety off the weapon. She listened to the heavy clanging of metallic instruments in the porcelain sink in the bathroom. Moments later, there were stumbling footsteps and the sloshing noise of water soaked clothing. Bare feet silent on the floor, the woman emerged from the bedroom. She had a visual on the man long before he saw her.

In front of the mirror within the small bathroom, the man seemed to be digging a bullet from his side and chest with a deadly sharp knife from the kitchen. His blonde hair was closely cropped to his head. His back was turned to her and it was completely bare. Taut muscles bunched in his shoulders, revealing seemingly unbearable levels of tension. Sopping wet black slacks hung low on narrow hips. The woman stalked forward with lethal precision. Only inches away, the man finally saw her in the mirror. Even injured, the woman was surprised at how fast he moved.

He struck first, knocking the P99 from her grip. The woman rolled out of reach, jumping up and kicking the knife from his hand. He blocked her kick and sent a sharp punch to her abdomen. The force of the blow sent her to the ground, eyes wide. She used the momentum to bounce back to her feet before he could advance.

The two had now moved to the kitchen.

The man stumbled, his previous wounds effecting his movements. He reached for several cabinets, looking for another knife. Not finding anything to his liking, he started throwing plates of fine china at the woman. She skillfully dodged the deadly flying objects, mourning for the vintage plates which had been a gift from her grandmother years ago.

"Well aren't you an asshole!" The woman scoffed angrily, ducking under the last plate.

She had retrieved several steak knives from the wood block behind her. With accuracy that revealed years of training, one by one, knives were spun in the man's direction. Somehow able to evade them all, he advanced towards her.

That's when she noticed how light his blue eyes were. He was quite an attractive man.

So not the time!

Rolling over the marble counter, she ran for the gun in the living room, just outside the balcony doors. Heavy footfalls pounded behind her.

A muscled body tackled her to the ground, inches away from the weapon. The air left her lungs at the sudden weight pressing into her. Her head struck the hardwood floor. She bit back the gasp of pain. Strong arms snaked around her, taking her small wrists in his hands.

"Just-" The man's accented voice was cut off. The blonde woman snapped her head back, smashing into his nose.

"Stop..."

The word trailed off. The woman flipped around just before pulling both legs up to her chest. One powerful kick sent the man flying into the glass coffee table in the middle of the room. The glass shattered; thick pieces slid over the wood floor. The man rolled onto his knees, grunts of exertion filled with pain.

Just before he was about to stand, the man looked up. The woman stood above him, gun in hand.

With a swift blow with the butt of the gun, the blonde woman struck him over the back of the head.

The man fell to the ground, everything around him going black.

The woman stood above the man, grasping her head. Blood trailed down her temple.

A string of colorful swears left her lips as she gazed around the room.

It looked like a war zone.

She leant down, turning over the man. Her head was spinning. She blinked to clear her vision before searching the man. She found a soaked black designer wallet in his back pocket and pulled a Beretta Px4 Storm from the waistband of his slacks. She hummed in appreciation of the weapon and placed both on the marble kitchen countertop. She opened the wallet almost tentatively, as if there was going to be a card saying:

Hey, I'm here to kill you :)

The woman sighed at the idiotic thought. She looked through everything, only finding several waterlogged bills of various currencies. She also found some form of identification.

James Bond

Citizen of the United Kingdom

Then finally, the woman found a thicker plastic card and dropped it on the counter in shock.

SIS- SECRET INTELLIGENCE SERVICE

NAME: BOND, JAMES

RANK: COMMANDER

STATUS: 00 - LISENCE TO KILL

She looked over at the man, brow raised.

"Who the hell are you, Mr. Bond? And what are you doing here?"

In the hours in which James remained unconscious, the woman extracted the last of the bullets from his wounds, putting them in a small jar. She also had to take out all of the shard of glass that had sunk deep into the skin of his bare back. It took thirty nine stitches to close all his wounds, and whatever was left of the antiseptic and gauze in the medicine cabinet.

Afterwards, the blonde cleaned the apartment. She could only imagine how her OCD roommate would react to the demolition.

With the last of the glass and vintage china swept into a bulging trash bag, the woman heard a pained moan from her bedroom. She reached for her Walther and James's wallet.

When she entered the room, she could see that James was awake. The woman had stripped him of his soaking pants methodically and placed him within the warmth of a thick duvet. She had also handcuffed him to the bedpost. A bright flush filled her cheeks. The handcuffs weren't metallic. They were fluffy and hot pink. She couldn't find anything of her own in such short notice, but Kira on the other hand...

James quirked a brow at the blush.

"Well... this is new..."

"Sorry. Don't usually have men trying to kill me in my apartment."

He scowled. "I wasn't trying to-"

"Why are you here?" The woman interrupted, pulling a wooden chair from the bureau desk and sitting so she faced him. She placed the gun and James's wallet on the desk.

"I...I was shot."

"Yeah, I know. Pulled the fragments out and stitched you up." The woman crossed her arms over her chest.

Silence filled the room. The woman was the first to speak.

"Why are you trying to kill me?"

James looked confused.

"You were the one trying to kill me... I was defending myself."

The blonde lady sputtered out a laugh.

"This is my house! You're that one traipsing around, trying to murder me. I'm completely innocent here. I was defending my home."

James sighed and his head sunk down into the pillow under him.

"Well this just went tits up," he whispered, mostly to himself.

"So... I gather you weren't here to kill me?"

"No. I just needed somewhere safe."

"Twelve floors up?"

"Yours was the first balcony which had its doors unlocked."

How many times do I have to tell that stupid girl to lock the doors?

She sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Alright."

James looked over and saw his wallet on the desk. His face hardened.

"I gather you went through my things?"

"Yes."

"Do you know-"

"That you're SIS?"

He sighed exasperatedly. The woman smirked.

"Sorry, man. Had to know who I was dealing with."

"Well now you know," he growled angrily.

The lady tapped her nails on the desk.

"So what are you, MI5?"

"MI6," James deadpanned, gazing towards the ceiling, looking as though he were praying for some kind of divine intervention.

The woman cursed internally.

"How were you able to fight like that? You were able to take me down-"

The lady waved off his words, sensing their conversation was treading into dangerous waters.

"You were injured."

"What are you, CIA? You're obviously from America."

The woman flinched. She hoped James's eyes wouldn't notice. They did.

Standing, she reached for a small key on the desk. James watched her closely as she advanced. She crawled onto the bed.

"Well, well..." James chuckled huskily as the attractive woman unlocked his left wrist. Her face flamed.

"Shut it," she hissed as she freed him entirely, despite her laying haphazardly across him. Her face felt so hot. Her knee accidently grazed something hard. James grunted, gazing up at the ceiling again. She leaped off of the agent in seconds, then already at the door.

"What's your name?" James voice still had a layer of heat to it, but he was able to extinguish it quickly.

The woman met James's eyes directly.

"Rose. My name is Rose."

Then she was gone.

xD Think I should continue? Let me know!