Colin Firth paced back and forth like the trapped lion we all know he is. He was both passionate and upset, which is why he was wandering around outside the director's office. He knew it would come to this. Four months ago, when he had won the role of James Bond, he was passionate and overjoyed. The celebrations had lasted for weeks, and he'd developed a nagging feeling in the back of his brain, right under his charm gland, that his upstanding dedication to artistic perfection would ruin it all. Of course, he'd pushed in down deep inside like a sandwich, smiled for the photographers and said all the most passionate things. His livelihood was based on sales of Colin Firth's Patented Buoyancy Neutral Hair Gel, which was a fashion dream too fantastic to be profitable. In short, he was going in hard because he was hard up.
Filming on "Mansfield Casino" had begun two weeks ago, and the relationship between cast and crew had quickly deteriorated to the point where they were putting rat poison into each other's coffee. It wasn't all fun and games though, bad glances were exchanged illicitly and at one point a grip had accused Colin. Boiling point was reached earlier that day, when during a scene involving James Bond at a Casino, Colin Firth simply couldn't. He had stormed out like a bad cloud and flipped a car in the parking lot. A fight had occurred between two cameramen, both of whom started filming the fight. That was the final straw that broke the camel's toe, which is how Colin now found himself waiting aggressively for the director to see him.
Miss Moneypenny opened the office door and said to Colin, "The director will see you now." Colin stepped into the front office and threw his hat at the hat stand, before proceeding directly into the director's office, his hair neither raising nor falling.
"This is impossible," Colin yelled as he arrived, "absolutely impossible."
M was looking over some documents, and didn't even look up, because that made him seem extra important. "What's impossible, Colin?"
"This... film. All of this, I can't do it. I can't work with these plebs, they have no understanding of the craft."
M looked up now, because he felt that he had correctly established his level of importance. "Don't be silly Colin. These people are professionals. They know what they're doing, and so do you."
Colin acted as if he were annoyed, which was easy because he was annoyed. "That's easy for you to say. You don't have to go down there every day. Sometimes when I'm acting a scene down there, it's like everyone is staring at me. All these little spots in the dark focusing in on you. It's like one hundred and one dalmatians, except instead of dogs, it's people staring."
"Come on now, Colin," said M, playing it cool, "we're not making The King's Speech. We're not making high art here, we're appealing to the popcorn eaters. This is James Bond."
"That's what I'm talking about," said Colin. "I can't work with a character called James Bond. We must change his name to James Darcy."
"Not this shit again," said M, putting his face into his palms.
Colin walked slowly around M's office, as M tracked him with an expression of real physical pain. He casually walked behind M's desk, so he was standing directly behind M's luxurious chair. "The name's Darcy!" he screamed, "James Darcy!"
M let out a sigh. "That's wrong. You're mixing up different scenes. And don't scream it, that's not what James Bond does."
"It's what James Darcy does," said Colin, secretly imagining a high five because he thought that was an amazing retort.
"I'm sorry," said M. "I didn't want it to come to this... but we might have to drop you as James Bond."
"You can't drop me as James Darcy!" Colin screamed, still screaming. "It's too late, all the press know. The promotional material is out!"
"That might not be a problem," said M, "we could always hire... him..."
"Who?" said Colin. M didn't respond, but stared hard into Colin's eyes. "You can't possibly mean... no... it's impossible. Nobody knows about that! No!"
Colin ran out of the office feeling as if he would vomit. The world became blurry and he felt as if he were being crushed. He ran out of studio lot, down the road past the houses of parliament and kept running all the way to the english coastline. He fell down in the sand, gasping for air, and let the pacific ocean waves roll over him. Even in water, his hair neither sank not floated. He lay there for a while, until the tide started to come in, at which point he lay down a bit further up the beach. He hoped this day would never come, the day that MI5 discovered his darkest secret.
It had all started during the filming of Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason. During one of the scenes in Thailand, he had wandered into the jungle and become lost for several weeks. Surviving only on what he could forage and hunt, and wearing the skins of animals he had conquered, he had eventually stumbled into an ancient Mayan shrine. It had lain lost for millions of years. Inside, he found treasures so abundant that his passionate eyes could not speak of them. Unable to carry anything but a small statuette, he had eventually made his way back to society and smuggled it back to Britain using Bridget Jones's diplomatic immunity.
Upon researching it in his loft conversion, he had discovered that, when fitted with two AA batteries (not included) the statuette had the magical ability to duplicate objects. Naturally, he used it on himself, and created a second equally passionate Colin Firth. The statuette was then sealed away in his private safe in the Bank of England, never to be used again.
The Colins had managed to keep this under the radar, because radar is not sufficiently accurate to detect people. The press never found out. From a legal sense, they couldn't both be Colin Firth, so they had decided to split their names. As such, the duplicated Colin took the name C and the original Colin took the name Olin Firth. C retired from acting and became an undercover spy working for MI5 called Barry Tornado. Meanwhile, Olin Firth resumed the Colin Firth identity in many popular films.
Barry Tornado had gone so far undercover that he had disappeared completely. Even MI5 didn't know of his location. Could it be that M had uncovered him, and he was now without cover? All this thought of cover reminded Olin of the passionate nights him and C had spent under the covers. They had to share a bed because he couldn't afford another bed unless he sold another hundred gross of Buoyancy Neutral Hair Gel. One fumble had led to another, a gentle caress, a powerful embrace. After all, who wouldn't? How he longed to track down C and reunite, but he also didn't want M to track down C. Olin was really stuck in the middle.
He returned to his home and set about googling hard for Barry Tornado. He checked facebook, twitter and even myspace. It was like he never existed. Had he simply dreamed all that passion? No, the passion was as real as Olin's passionate eyes. He put himself in C's place, as an undercover spy. What would he do? How would he disappear?
"Ah," he didn't say, "I know what I would do. I would change my name, disappear into the wind like a gust of nothing."
He carefully scanned facebook for Barry Darcy, and located one entry, living in Hampshire. He was working as an up-and-coming actor, doing theatre work and commercials. It was definitely C. Olin was now one step ahead of M. He knew what he had to do it, but he had to do it tomorrow, so he went to bed.
The next day, he woke up and prepared his daily intake of passion fruit. He set off for Hampshire, taking his car so he wouldn't be recognised by anyone on a train. By mid-afternoon he arrived, and began scouting the area to find out where C lived. He drove towards the sort of places he thought he might like to live, knowing that his intuition about this would be the same as C's. He narrowed it down to one house, so he parked his car and got out and knocked on the door.
The man who opened the door looked just like him. It was like looking at a very clear video of oneself. "Olin?" said the man at the door, passionately.
Olin looked at him in the eye. "Barry?"
They embraced, physically. Unable to keep their hands off each other, they stumbled into Barry's house, clumsily slamming the door behind them. They fell onto the floor and ripped each others clothes off until the clothes were reduced to tiny scraps on the ground. Deep in their hearts, they were both Colin Firth, and no amount of legal pressure could deny their love. Years of pent up frustrations were about to be released in an evening of deep romance. A knock at the door interrupted the Colins, and they answered the door still nude but hiding behind each other to preserve what dignity they had left.
A tall, passionate man with perfectly floating hair was at the doorstep. He was wearing a tuxedo, and held a Walther PPk pistol in one hand and an unrotated martini in the other. It was James Bond. "The name's Darcy," he screamed, "James Darcy."
Colins Firth parkoured the door shut immediately and ducked as James Bond unloaded a couple of shots through it. He booted in the door and received a kickflip to the chin from Colin Firth just as Colin Firth choked him from behind. James Bond shot off a few more bullets in the struggle but only hit a few chandeliers. Colin Firth quickly kicked the gun from his hand. James Bond was an excellent hand-to-hand combat fighter, but so were Colin Firths. They launched into a kung-fu offensive, and James Bond responded with a kung-fu defensive. But the best defense is a good offense, so he spewed a torrent of punches, kicks and flips.
At once his Tuxedo was badly ripped, revealing his muscular, handsome body. A few more punches and kicks and his clothes had been completely destroyed. The Colins tackled James to the ground and started to grapple, but somewhere along the way it turned from grappling to gentle tickling and groping. The three nude men, all truly Colin Firth at heart, rolled around on the front lawn in a nude tangle. They knew that all was right with the world, and finally James Bond entered into the Colinworld.
James Bond will return.