Set after Tomorrow Never Dies but mixing Bond films and novels. Felix Leiter is based on the novel version (pre shark attack) with influence from the Jack Lord portrayal in Dr. No. James Bond is Pierce Brosnan esq but with some influence from the others. Please read and review!

James Bond entered his superior M's office with a tired ease mixed with apathy that came from experience and repetitiveness. It was another murky morning and he had decided, after crossing a busy street beneath a drizzle that was threatening to turn into a downpour, that he would accept whatever admonishment M had for him now if it meant a potential mission to somewhere less grim and grey.

The middle aged English agent was a little surprised to find American CIA agent Felix Leiter standing there just before M's desk. He looked to Felix with a small smile and greeted, "morning Felix." The bigger surprise was that James felt happy to see his overseas ally, it was a subdued happiness but it was there. It had been a long time since they had last spoken and only now did James realise he had in fact missed the American. He supposed dryly it was because Felix was one of the very few people who understood the nature of espionage, the dangers and the loss, and thus he was one of the very few people James could be honest with.

"Morning James," Felix retorted. As he spoke his Texan accent came through as a light flavouring to his generic American accent. With MI6 Felix could let a sliver of his real self show.

James flickered his dark cerulean gaze in M's direction. He offered the MI6 head a harmless smile before greeting her as well. "Good morning M." M was the one woman who was unwaveringly immune to James' charm but the agent was ever hopeful that one day she might thaw. He supposed privately that if she ever did she would only become less appealing to him, her stoic no nonsense attitude was part of the reason why she held his respect.

"Bond," she retorted bluntly. M was seated behind a wide mahogany table with a sleek, black laptop open before her. The desk was as professional and void of the personal touch as M herself. It had a wireless, black office phone resting in the charger at the end and beside it a hooded lamp with a flexible metal stem that was currently off and poised above an open case file. M didn't tolerate clutter, what was on her desk was her focus and she wasn't one for creating a 'for later' pile of notes, it was now or it was never.

"Am I going to be offered a much deserved, all expenses paid vacation to the States?" James quipped with mock hope.

M gave the agent a frown in retort. "No Bond you're going to be offered a job there."

"Are you friends slacking Felix?" James queried teasingly as he glanced over at the foreign agent.

Felix grinned back at James amicably and shook his head. "We've got a shared interest in this one James," he explained.

"The bomb in Leeds and the massacre in Sheffield," M alluded. "They were both enough of a mess that it was difficult to figure out the real target in all the carnage."

"Not just a terrorist act then?" James queried innocently with a raised eyebrow.

M's frown deepened. "If you're being sardonic don't and if you're not you're getting rusty 007," she scolded him quickly, "in which case you can find yourself a desk job. Neither attack was fixed around an obvious landmark or event, the one in Leeds took out eight town houses and left only ash and rubble, which is why it took so long figuring out a motive."

"So who were they after?"

"Drug dealers," Felix answered bluntly, "in the case of Leeds we now have reason to believe Texan fugitive Samuel Briggs was one of the causalities. He was a top heroin supplier back home before he vanished," Felix explained. "Sheffield we don't know any names yet but your guys turned up enough evidence to suggest there was heroin supplying going on there too."

"Isn't this D.E.A territory?" James queried warily.

"Usually and they have had their say in it," Felix replied wearily, "but the man they all link to is much more than a run of mill drug baron. Plus, when he took it international he made it CIA business."

James glanced from Felix to M, Felix looked tired and tense and had noticeably aged since James had last seen him. It had James pondering if Felix noticed a change in him, he didn't feel the stress of the years that had passed by since he had last seen the American but he wondered if he had just become numb to it.

"Emmanuel Trevino," Felix explained, "man has a finger in every pot- drugs, weapons and, we suspect, people too. Problem is no one can figure out his routes, we've tried to catch his men with illegal goods but they dodge us every time. He crosses borders and oceans with no difficulty, the man has friends in high places, that we know."

"Alright," James murmured, "so where do we begin?"

M turned the open file around and pushed it across the desk.

James stepped forward and felt an odd jolt run through him. Two glossy pictures shone back at him. The one on the left depicted the glamorous, beautiful and now very much dead Paris Carver. In the picture she was youthful, her dark brown hair up in tight, flattering curls, a tight, dark blue dress on to flatter every curve and a wide smile across her face that didn't quite reach her bitter stare. The picture on the right depicted a younger woman, this one just as jaded and unsmiling. She had dark brown eyebrows that gave away her copper hair as a dye job, honey-vanilla skin suggesting that her heritage held something other than Caucasian in it and turquoise eyes that gleamed with intelligence. James looked from the redhead to Paris once more though it cost him to see her smiling face knowing that he would never see it in the flesh again. There was a resemblance there, something in the mouth perhaps though the redhead was unsmiling, or perhaps the nose, James couldn't quite put his finger on it but for all their differences there was a suggest of familial ties too.

"Who is she?" James queried.

"Kendall McKenna," M retorted calmly. "Younger half-sister to your Paris."

'My Paris,' James thought dully, 'only fleetingly.'

"And what has she to do with all this?" James asked.

"She's a hostage of Trevino's," Felix answered, "why we don't know-"

"We can worry about the why later," M interrupted frostily. "At this very moment this girl is in Mexico City and American intelligence knows which hideout she's going to."

"Emmanuel isn't with her unfortunately so we can't get him," Felix explained, "but if we can get Miss McKenna out cleanly then maybe we can finally get him."

James looked from Felix to M with an unhidden suspicion. "Why would the CIA let England help with this? Surely they want to get this girl alone so they can find this Trevino man and have all the credit for themselves."

Felix gave an uncomfortable smile at this. "Call this an unofficial request for aid," he retorted awkwardly. "He caused mayhem in two of your cities, you deserve to be in on it."

"And you knew the girl's sister," M voiced the obvious in a firm tone that made it clear she would hear no objection. "We don't know what her role is yet or how willing she will be to talk."

"I'm sure the CIA has ways to make people talk," James answered coldly. He did not like where this was heading and despite himself he was rattled by the image of Paris, he wanted no reminder of her or his role in her demise.

"Honey is better than vinegar 007 and if there's one thing you're actually good at it's charm," M answered. Her expression of mild disgust made it clear how much it cost her to admit her admiration for James' charm aloud.

"So what, go to Mexico, get the girl and charm a confession out of her about Trevino?" James queried bitingly. "And what if she has nothing to confess?"

"According to her file Kendall McKenna has a masters in Geography and History, her topics of interest were the Americas, particularly South America and Mexico and she has served as a tour guide in France, a surveyor in Spain and she is a qualified cartographer. Additionally she is known to be fluent in French and Spanish, given her half-Mexican heritage that's no surprise," M replied bluntly. "She has something to confess 007."

"Emmanuel is shipping his products somehow," Felix murmured, "he has routes we can't find."

"You said she was his hostage not his ally," James countered, "that you don't know why he's taken her."

"She went to Mexico for a break after her sister's alleged suicide two years ago," M answered with an icy stare. "It's believed Trevino became aware of her in his territory, learned of her skills and then took her hostage. As I said, worry about the why later."

"Two years," James replied bluntly. He looked to Felix this time with an icy and curious stare.

"No one knew he had her until now," Felix explained, "one day she was in Mexico seeing the sights and the next she wasn't. Her boyfriend filed a missing persons case but Mexico has dozens of them a day, tourists go missing. It was only when she was spotted being moved by his men and later identified that we realised."

"Two years is a long time to be a prisoner," James commented calmly.

Felix met his gaze with equal calm and nodded. "I know," he retorted quietly.

"When do we leave?" James asked as he looked back to M for direction.

"Today, you and Agent Leiter here will be sharing the eight p.m flight out from London, direct to Mexico. Make sure you go to Q branch first."

"Right." James nodded and turned back to Felix again. He felt a sliver of relief to banish the photograph of Paris from sight.

"I've things to do," Felix remarked with a purposeful vagueness. "I'll meet you on the plane."

"See you there," James answered with another small smile. He headed out of the office, bypassing the moon eyed Moneypenny with only the briefest nod. The image of Paris was no longer before him but her face was now as clear as a bell in his mind. Worse was that it was more than an image, it was a scent of the lavender perfume she favoured, the harsh tone of her voice when she had greeted him at her husband's party, the sting of her slap on his cheek, the feel of her soft skin as he ran his fingers down her bare back... 'Stop James,' he thought bluntly.

It was sad, Paris had never meant much to him. She had been a brief two month fling in Europe and then business, as always, had called him away. He had left her in Europe with the parting words 'I'll be right back' it had been cruel but not purposeful, he had meant it. How could he have known work would call? He hadn't thought of her when he had left her, not even an inkling and when they had met again she was married to a man of interest to MI6 and James had felt only a physical stirring for her, nothing emotional. Then she had been murdered, fallen foul of her husband for knowing James and lying about it, even now James wasn't certain if it had been because he was a secret agent and Elliot had suspected Paris had knowledge of that fact or if jealousy and rage at her infidelity had led to Elliot Carver having her killed. James knew her death wasn't entirely his fault but she was yet another to add to the list of women who had died for knowing him and he was starting to feel the guilt of all those deaths.

The agent told himself as he entered the lift and hit the basement button for Q Branch that it was merely the surprise of seeing her face again and the idea that she had family out there, someone else who had known her. James realised coldly that he knew very little about the majority of women he bedded save what he had to know. If it was relevant to a case he knew it, otherwise he didn't even bother to vet them, the idea of bedding a potential enemy did cause a certain thrill after all and he liked mystery. He wondered dully if during his two month stint with Paris she had mentioned her half-sister. He supposed she probably had and he, uncaring to her family background, had promptly forgotten the information to make space for something important.

The lift binged open and he exited to a chilled corridor lit up with square panels of light in the ceiling and formed of plain, off-white walls and polished tiles that matched the dull off-white shade. Down here the scientists worked, hidden from the upper world of admin, safe from the public eye to carry out experiments in safety bunkers of steel and concrete where they could only pose a danger to themselves. Down here was the backbone of MI6 where the real work was carried out, where intel was gathered and tools vital to the job were created. It was vital to the organisation and James appreciated their work but equally it was a place he preferred to avoid as nothing was ever quite as it seemed and it made the agent feel a rare state of unsafe and unsure. Down here James was most definitely not in control, Q and his scientists were and James didn't exactly enjoy relinquishing control to the highly intelligent but slightly eccentric firearms expert.

Q was a title rather than a name, short for Quartermaster, the actual Q was one Major Boothroyd, a tall, fair skinned man with white, receding hair, bushy grey eyebrows and clear grey eyes. As James entered Q's domain the gadgets expert was quick to regard the agent with the same irritation one did a disobedient child. He was wearing a coal grey suit with a white shirt and red tie, his white hair was flat and smooth in a neat comb-over and at James' arrival his brow gained several new wrinkles.

"Bond," he greeted bluntly.

"Q," James retorted with a wide, innocent smile. His smile had as much effect on Q as it did on M. Sometimes it was difficult to tell who disapproved of Bond the most, the MI6 head or the weapons expert.

"I don't have much for you," Q murmured crossly, "not a lot of notice. This way." He waved James on passed numerous scientists and gadgets, each probably more fascinating than the last though Bond barely took them in. Ordinarily he enjoyed tinkering with them if only to vex Q just a little or to give into the schoolboy curiosity for toys that dwelled within him but with the late Paris on his mind all he wanted to do was get his stuff and go.

"Rolex," Q instructed as he opened a box containing an expensive looking wristwatch. "Press the top button on the right and it can record up to two hours of audio, press the button beneath it and you have a compass. Button on the left is a laser, it can cut through steel but has limited firepower. Be careful to mix them up." He snapped the box shut before handing it over.

James accepted the watch gratuitously as they moved on to a phone. An Ericsson mobile, it unlocked for his fingerprint alone, it had a GPS system, an internal tracking device, it could take high quality pictures and send them back for identification at rapid speed and it had a detachable lockpick, much like the phone he'd used in Vietnam.

Q's final gift was a Walther PPK. James ran a finger over the gun and felt an odd fondness. For a while he had used a Walther P99, courtesy of Chinese intelligence but whilst it had served its purpose it just wasn't the same as the familiar PPK. He plucked up the black pistol and gave it a quick inspection. "Any additions for this?" he queried.

"Nope," Q answered calmly, "just do your usual, point, shoot and hope for the best."

James rewarded Q with another smile. "Thanks."

Mexico City

There was a loud screech as rubber burned along the busy streets of Paseo de la Reforma. A blur of deep blue followed as a 1969 Ford Mustang roared around the roundabout of the Angel of Independence. The statue shone gold in the afternoon sun, a beacon in a busy city it took a lot to detract from its beauty but the mustang and the police car sirens singing after it provided a worthy opponent for attention.

James glanced up in the rear view mirror before shaking his head. Just three cop cars, it was child's play. He welcomed the rush as he urged the Mustang down the crowded roads of Mexico City's grand avenue, the Paseo de la Reforma.

James swung the Mustang out without warning sending pedestrians scattering with screams of alarm. Two mopeds were forced to come to a sudden halt, one falling hard against the pavement sending its rider rolling across the path's tiles with several curses. James barely noticed as he hit the accelerator.

"So much for subtly James," his passenger, Felix, groaned.

A blue Audi A5 came at them from the opposite direction. Its male driver blasted at his horn angrily whilst spitting unheard curses. As he hit his brakes James finally swerved the Mustang back to the correct lane. With another screech of tyres and barely an inch to spare the Mustang made it back to the right lane and speeded off again.

The Mustang hurried along barely avoiding a cyclist and another handful of pedestrians before the Cuauhtémoc monument loomed into view as James heard sirens again. He looked up in the mirror and frowned, one cop car was still coming.

They had arrived in Mexico just under an hour ago. Felix had procured the car, a little old fashioned for James' tastes the English spy had still insisted upon being the driver much to the CIA agent's chagrin. For the first thirty minutes things had been fine and then the cops had appeared. James had contemplated stopping assuming it was simple native paranoia until Felix had spied the already raised guns of the police. Grumbling about Trevino having corrupt cops on his payroll he had urged James to ditch them as fast as possible.

James was still expecting an easy ditch and run, it was just one police car, a battered 2010 Dodge Charger, not exactly a racing car. He looked ahead gauging the road and its many potential routes. He wondered which one he could ditch the cop in fastest.

He punched the gear stick up again and realised as a thrill of excitement flooded through him that he had been missing this adrenaline rush.

The rush shifted from one of joy to a prickle of irritation when he found himself charging towards a blockade. Didn't the Mexican police have someone better to be occupying their time with? Could this really be linked to Trevino?

The Mustang screeched again as James swung the steering wheel round causing the car to do a 180 putting himself directly face to face with his cop pursuer. The Dodge Charger had just one occupant, a young female driver with a heavy set scowl.

The Dodge came straight towards the Mustang. James noticed the addition to the front of it a little too late, thick iron bars with small hooks at the bottom, not exactly standard for police cars. He hit the reverse in time to lessen the blow of the impact but he could not prevent it. There was a terrible clanging sound as the metal hooks rammed hard into the Mustang's bonnet, ensnaring it.

BANG! BANG!

The police woman was hanging out her side window with a Glock 17 in hand. She was shooting!

BANG! BANG!

James cursed as he heard the bang and hiss that followed. The back right tyre had been shot out.

BANG! The front right tyre was deflated.

James glanced up in his mirror once more, the other police were out now, armed and ready to attack if necessary. "Plan Felix?" he queried calmly. "I'm guessing returning fire is out of the question."

"We have our own version of Q branch you know," Felix retorted brightly as he tugged out a set out of keyrings from his left trouser pocket. One was a black 8 snooker ball. "Hands up in surrender, get out slow and then on my count get ready to move."

James muttered several curses before cutting the engine and holding his hands up in surrender. Trusting in his friend he waited for the officers to get the just of surrender and hoped they weren't going to shoot anyway.

The fierce eyed police woman barked at them in Spanish. Understanding it to mean 'come out slow with your hands up' James and Felix obeyed.

They were at opposing sides of the car with their backs vulnerable to the other officers, James didn't like it one bit and he wondered what Felix had planned.

"On three James," Felix murmured in a low voice. "One, two, three."

There was a small click and then a burst of smoke. James had to admire it, a smoke bomb, crude but effective. The agents moved quick, James veering to the left and Felix to the right just before the startled gunfire erupted.

It took two hours of sweating on the streets of Mexico City before the agents were reunited. They reconciled on the outskirts of the city after a brief, coded phone call between them to arrange it. Felix arrived last with his straw hair out in all directions thanks to the humidity and sweat trickling down his fair skin as he greeted James with a slight pant.

James sat outside a small cafe on a white painted stool looking pristine. James wore all weather well- humidity, cold, rain, wind- none of it ever seemed to affect James' appearance much. It had Felix wondering if James suffered from vanity a little more than he would perhaps admit. Only a man conscious of appearance could still look unruffled even after running through Mexico City in the summer heat evading the local police.

"I've got another car," Felix announced, "and I'm driving this time."

James gave his companion a slight frown. "Very well," he murmured as he stood, "but let's try to avoid any more trouble."

Felix frowned back at the agent. "You're the one who drew the police on us."

"I wasn't even speeding," James murmured in protest.

The pair headed to the edge of the city where a dusty, beaten Dodge sat. It wasn't a police car mercifully but was instead a plain, rundown, black beast of a car.

"Felix-" James began a protest.

Felix waved him off with his left hand. "Inconspicuous James," he retorted, "learn it."

James lasted twenty minutes in the car before the sticky, leather seat and the stuffiness began to get to him. "Can you at least turn the air con on?" he quipped pointedly. The afternoon heat was merciless. In the Mustang he had been able to forget it but now he was beginning to feel suffocated by it.

"Doesn't work," Felix answered merrily. He looked the better of the two now, linen shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, ovular black shades on to block out the sun and an aura of tranquillity as he hummed along to the static plagued Spanish song coming out through the radio. James just appeared uncomfortable, unhappy at not being in control of the vehicle, on edge as he was in an unfamiliar territory and uneasy at the thought of having come up on the police radar already.

The drive continued for another scorching four hours, taking them out of the city and into the unknown of Mexico, at least unknown for James. He frowned out at the scenery as the sweat poured down his skin.

The English agent considered asking more about Trevino but he knew whatever Felix had to tell him he would tell him in his own damn time. Felix and the CIA in general could be a pain like that, selective with information, sharing only when they deemed it necessary. James supposed MI6 wasn't much different and he considered it a pity that they all couldn't get on just a little better. If people shared more they might get surprised less.

To James' relief the car finally pulled off the roads to sit comfortably behind a low cluster of trees. "Now we walk," Felix announced.

They stepped out to an air dead and stifling hot and started walking up the edge of a path of golden stones to reach a property nestled on a low hill, hidden behind tall, dark green trees and a low mist. Framed by mountains and dormant volcanos the scene was picturesque but James was too hot, tired and fed up to even notice.

There was a rundown, wooden barn sitting at the bottom of the hill within the grounds of the property, it was just visible above low stone walls with spiked iron fencing on top of them.

The house on the hill was two storeys tall, large and made of brick, guarded by the iron fence and two black, nondescript jeeps near the entrance, which consisted of two iron gates and an intercom system.

James and Felix paused in the shade of the trees to study the entrance. There were two men on patrol, both dressed in plain clothes and armed with a single gun holstered at their belts. They paced about with disinterest, one pausing to swat at what James assumed was a fly.

"She'll be in the barn," Felix murmured in a low voice.

James looked at his companion inquisitively. "How can you be so sure?"

Felix grinned back. "Intel."

"And how many other people does intel say are on the property?"

Felix shrugged at this. "No one's at home yet, this is just a pass by house, Trevino doesn't stay here, it's for his men to hide out in when they're on business in the city."

"Doesn't answer the question Felix," James grumbled.

"Well it would spoil the fun if we knew, wouldn't it James?" Felix answered teasingly.