Summary: Cutting my teeth on Ian Fleming paperbacks, I've been a little distressed on how the series has been going as of late. There are ways I feel, to modernize the series and yet maintain the human interest side of the story with proper character development. This is my take on how the series might move forward.

Rating: M, of course. After all, it's James Bond.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'll even throw in the OC's.

A/N: I'll try to update on a timely basis, but I won't swear to every week. It will depend on the readers, and I'm a little unsure about what to expect in this fandom.

A/N2: Added a new chapter (No Stone Unturned 2 1/2) (12.8.17)

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Say you Love Me

Chapter 1.

Good Morning Mister Bond

There are moments in the life of a secret agent when determination and the call of duty give way to self preservation and common sense. For James Bond, one of those moments was occurring right now. Weighing his options in a deserted car park, the small force of rational thought he had left told him it should be a simple thing to pull off. Le Chiffres' automobile would be making its way down International Boulevard before the light of dawn. The silver Mercedes should be easy to spot under the street lights and the Aston Martin would be more than a match for it. But the devil was in the details and the tip to intercept Le Chiffre had not come without a price. Going at it for twenty eight hours straight, he was suffering from all the demons of sleep deprivation. It could have been one or two too many martinis. It could have been too many custom made Morlands but either way his vision was failing as images appeared to bleed together like a cheap watercolor.

If he called off the hunt tonight then it might take days or weeks of work to get this kind of opportunity again. But if he continued and made a mess of things then he might find himself completely out of the running – or dead. Bond took several deep breaths and felt the pulse slow to a normal beat. He felt the reassuring tug of the ancient Walther against his jacket. A quick glance at the Rolex and the second hand seemed to be moving too slow. For years, the gun stood bravely between him and the specter of death. And on occasions like this it was one of his dearest friends. M had tried for years to persuade him to upgrade. 'The Ballistics are dismal, it holds too few rounds, and impossible around airports', he would say.

Bond took another deep breath and his vision cleared. Right on cue as a silver Mercedes coupe flew past with a single passenger. He reached for the ignition button and pressed. After a brief growl of the starter, twelve sirens began their throaty song. He pulled out of the alley and entered the deserted Boulevard and pressed hard on the pedal. Acceleration pushed him back into the seat...

Six Months Earlier

Muffled voices, and random patches of light were interrupting a wonderful dream. With reality tugging at his sleeve, Bond grudgingly awoke from the dream. Everything looked bright white and his first thought was one of heaven and an afterlife that was always nipping at his heels. Logic finally prevailed as Bond knew he was no candidate for heaven. Squinting until his eyes adjusted to the light, the outline of a hospital room began clearly taking form.

"Good morning Mister Bond," called a beautiful female voice.

Turning to face the voice, a lovely face with a nurse's cap was smiling pleasantly.

"Good morning," Bond finally managed. "Have I died and gone to heaven?"

"Not quite, but you gave us a frightful scare."

"Sorry about that," he said and shook cobwebs out of his head. "Where am I and how long have I been here?"

"Saint Pancres Hospital," she replied and hesitated. "...for two weeks."

"Christ... what the bloody hell happened?"

"Not too fast Mister Bond. You need to rest and the doctor will be in to answer those questions shortly."

Bond clenched the muscles of his jaw and a stabbing shot of pain ran over the side and top of his head. Hands buried under the covers, he struggles to get them out and to feel his head. The nurse was opening the blinds to let in light when his hand reached the troubling area on his head. Only he couldn't feel his head. His head was covered in a turban of gauze wrapped several layers deep.

"What the hell?"

The nurse twisted around to see Bond fumbling with his bandages. The belt over her white nurses frock cinched her waist tightly. Her figure was curvacious and ample.

"Mister Bond please... you shouldn't do that. You've suffered an injury to the head."

"Well, why didn't you tell me?" he fired back.

She pointed a lovely finger complete with nail varnish.

"You be still – I'll get the doctor."

"What's your name?"

"Huh?" she asked with a perplexed face.

"Your name," he repeated and managed a smile.

"Miss Perkins."

"Miss Perkins, please hurry."

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With his frustrations becoming unbearable, a grey haired bespectacled man entered the room. He was rather tall and thin and thumbing new pages on a worn clipboard. The tag over the pocket of his white smock read 'Dr. Adams'. Bond watched the man read carefully from the clipboard before looking up or speaking. He turned over one more page meticulously, shook his head and then looked up to Bond. He had piercing clear grey eyes.

"Well, glad to hear from Miss Perkins you're awake this morning."

"Yes, what's the story doc... how long have I been out and when can I go?"

"Please, Mister Bond you've had a serious accident."

"Yes, I realize that – but what kind of accident?"

"A gun shot – to the head."

"Oh I see," replied Bond, and he touched the side of his head figuratively.

"Oh, you needn't worry about it. You're much better. It was a graze actually, and along the hairline. Once the swelling has gone done, none will be the wiser," he and smiled.

"Well, how the hell did this happen?"

The doctor flushed slightly.

"I really couldn't say Mister Bond. When they brought you in you were in and out of it. Pressure on the brain from a blood clot. We induced a coma to reduce the swelling and fed you blood thinners for the first week."

"The first week – my God, how long have I been here?"

"Ten days Mister Bond," he replied flatly.

"Well, I've got to get out of here. I have to report to superiors, you see..."

Bond began to rise and then fell back. Doctor Adams threw up his right palm in protest.

"We've been given complete instructions – by M – to keep you here as long as we need to," he insisted.

All this time nurse Perkins had been standing behind the doctor for support, but wearing a helpless and confused expression along with the tight white nurses frock. Bond fixed his gaze on her steadily.

"Well, hell. We don't want to disappoint the boss, do we?"

‡‡‡‡‡

It was a beautiful morning on his first day back. His first day back – hell, it had been another week before Doctor Adams had finally consented to let him leave. Nurse Perkins had helped, he'd imagined. He'd chatted her up constantly during the week and he was quite sure she was glad to see the last of him.

Moneypenny's perfume sent a strong signal to his damaged senses that he was back. He could smell it before he opened the door to M's compartment.

"James!" Moneypenny exclaimed and jumped up. "Let me look at you," she added and checked him out from head to toe, but concentrating more on his head.

He gave her a little kiss on the forehead, reassuringly.

"All in one piece Moneypenny."

"You had us worried James."

"I'll try not to do it again," he said and Moneypenny smiled but looked a little nervous.

"Well, I've got a letter to finish James and M had a ring from a foreign dignitary. We'll talk after – and M will be with you in a minute," she added and glanced toward the row of uncomfortable waiting chairs.

Bond caught the nervous look from Moneypenny. It meant M was pissed. The old man was probably furious after the flap on his last assignment. His last assignment – it was coming back to him clearly now – what had happened. That last punter had come from nowhere – out of thin air and taken a lucky potshot from behind his back. It had been like a crack in the side of the head with a cricket bat. He'd been knocked out cold and the hostage he'd been assigned to rescue was taken. Taken, and then assassinated a few days later. All on his cock-up.

The leather padded door opened with a pneumatic swish followed by soft heavy footsteps. Normally M had Moneypenny clear him to go in. It was a rare thing for M to personally escort him and Bond could make no sense of it. It must have something to do with the injury he thought.

"James, so good to see you – come in."

Bond popped out of the chair and followed M into the room. This was not the reception he'd expected. Maybe his wounds had been more serious than he had known because of all of his years in the service M had never referred to him as 'James'.

M casually motioned toward the leather chair opposite his desk and spun on one heel toward his own. Bond took the chair obediently and waited for M to begin.

"Well, 007 – first off, we're happy to have you back."

"Thank you sir."

M reached for the pipe and while holding it from the bowl, he pointed the stem at Bond.

"You know you were lucky after that last assignment. If your assailant hadn't been such a lousy shot you'd be 'Hor's de Combat'."

Okay this is where his mood would change. Now that the formalities were out the way, his arse-chewing would begin very soon.

"Sir, I'm very sorry about that mistake – and the hostage of course."

But M didn't begin with an arse-chewing, he only nodded deeply and with regret.

"Yes – well," he began slowly and most uncharacteristically. "It's water over the dam Bond – all water over the dam."

At least he was back to 'Bond' now. That was a damned relief.

It was time for Bond to nod deeply and after a moments silence he noticed M nervously checking a teleprompter panel on his desk. When the silence was damn near uncomfortable a little green light blinked and M pressed a lever switch and bent over the machine to speak.

"Send her in," he said to Moneypenny.

"Yes sir," she replied, statically.

The outer door of the leather covered double doors opened and then the second. A tall and rather good looking woman entered formally and paused in front of M. She paid no attention to Bond who had began to rise politely.

"Good morning M," she spoke with a copper colored voice.

"Good morning double-O nine," he addressed. "Bond meet Samantha Starling," he stated and motioned for her to take a chair alongside Bond's.

"Please sir, just Sam," she added and took Bond's extended hand. Her touch was cool and dry.

"Glad to meet you Sam."

"Good to meet you double O seven," she replied dryly.

Sam, as she preferred to be called, took the seat as M had instructed. In a matter of seconds Bond saw the woman in an entirely different light. With her attention moved towards the chair, Bond gave her a quick look over. She was tall at about five foot ten or close to it. Her straight hair was a mousey brown pageboy with a fringe and cut rather short, just past the nape of the neck and shy of the shoulders. She was wearing a midnight blue suit with a double-breasted jacket and a white blouse. The matching skirt was short and almost to mid-thigh. Shapely legs came to an end with two inch heels. My-God, the woman was almost all legs. Bond imagined she ran three to five miles a day and at least put an hour or more on a stair-master to build race-boat gams. With those legs, it would be a shame if she wasn't trained in the martial arts. She was a damned attractive killing machine.

"Getting on to business," announced M. "You two will working together – until Sam gets adjusted to the double O section. You'll have a series of light duties until such a time that 009 can take it on her on."

"Roughly; how long will that be sir?" she asked, rather uncomfortably.

"Until 007 thinks you're ready," he came back, hard and flat.

"Yes, sir."

There was an uncomfortable silence that fell across the room.

"Well then, welcome aboard 009," said M, trying to be upbeat. "We won't hold you any longer on this, but I will talk with you again later."

"Thank you sir," she replied to M and nodded politely to Bond before leaving through the padded doors.

Bond sat there with a slightly puzzled look on his face.

"I know what you're thinking," snapped M.

"Well, yes sir – but are we wet-maiding the new double Os now?"

"Well get to that in a moment – but first take a look at this."

M studied Bond's reaction carefully and then lifted a folder from his desk and slid it over to him. The folder was labeled ' Steganography' in red letters.

"What do you know about this subject?" asked M.

"Some sort of computer coding I think."

"That's pretty close. It's the process of cryptically embedding information in computer picture files – files that would be viewable on websites anywhere in the world. Common trading sites like Ebay - social media sites like Facebook and damned thing called Twitter or something. They all begin by altering the files, JPEGs I think they call them, by inserting hidden codes – oh, and those little moving picture files too. The pictures look perfectly innocent and you'd never know the codes exist until you run a special program to extract the information."

"That's all very interesting, but how does it concern us?"

"With the information we've been intercepting it concerns us quite a bit. Some of it turns out to be involved in the business of human trafficking into various places in Europe. We've been picking out this information for years with no idea what it was connected to. Now that we know - we need to see who's behind this 007. It should be a good start for our new agent. A fair test, but not too dangerous."

"A fair test but not too dangerous," Bond repeated with a hint of amusement. "Human trafficking – Young females?"

"Not all – some children."

"Where's it originating from – do we know?"

"We don't know for sure, but suspect some of it's from London. Q-branch can fill you in on the technicalities."

Bond took time to consider M's comment.

"Very well sir, I'll get started with Q-branch, but it leads to my original question. I've never worked with someone before, so why start now."

"She'll need some of your experience Bond – some of your skills."

"Of course sir – but why."

"Because you're training her to be your replacement Bond."

Bond fell back in the chair, his mouth slightly agape.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"No, it certainly is not. And don't underestimate this woman or take her for granted. I've read her dossier and it's damned near unbelievable."

Bond took the shot gracefully. You could tell it hurt, but he held back the pain. He paused a moment or two to formulate the response.

"I know you're upset over that last one sir – but I can assure you that won't happen again. I can promise you that. Maybe with a little time in Shrublands – you know, to eliminate the free radicals," he added, trying his best to be upbeat.

M shook his head slowly.

"I'm afraid not James." Twice, M had referred to him by his christian name. A first if Bond's memory was correct. "You've been in the field long enough, I'm afraid. You'll hold the double O rank until your replacement is ready... and then I'm afraid that's it old man. We'll try and keep you in a training position as long as possible. That would be better than polishing a chair with your arse wouldn't it?"

"Just barely," Bond reluctantly agreed.