Bella stumbled, collapsing onto her target's lap with a giggle.

"Oh, sir… thank you catching me." She fluttered her eyelashes and pretended not to notice the way Fudge flushed puce.

"No problem, no problem at all," he rambled, trying to keep her upright as she swooned over him. Bella clutched at his meaty thigh, the needle strapped to her index finger sliding through his corduroy trousers and into his flesh. She counted to three, distracting him from the small prick of pain by attempting get to her feet, only to fall back into his lap.

Mission accomplished. When Fudge's bouncers got bored of her flailing and pulled her off him, Bella let them grab her without a fight. She pressed a kiss to Dawlish's cheek.

"Thanks, sweetheart," she slurred, and staggered toward the bathroom.

Once out of sight, Bella straightened. She yanked the needle from the device that lay flat against her palm, discarding it onto the floor of the nightclub as she strode toward the fire exit. As she pushed open the door, screams echoed down the corridor, no doubt at the sight of Cornelius Fudge, the corrupt Chief of the Metropolitan Police, collapsing to the floor, slowly turning purple as he choked on his tongue.

Bella smiled and hailed a taxi. MI5 would be pleased.

Father had always said "if you're the smartest person in the room, get out of there". Well, Bella disagreed. She thought being the smartest in the room was the best position to be in.

People were so easy to manipulate when they were acting like fools.

James waited in the dark as one by one the lights in London's most controversial skyscraper turned off. Only one remained; a sliver of light still shone from beneath Tom Riddle's office door.

He was likely plotting ways to use his newfound money and reputation for nefarious purposes. Riddle Tower was powered solely by an energy source the man had invented. Many people lauded his genius as the coming of a new age.

However, the Agency, and so James, knew the truth. The man was using a chemical found only in human brains to produce this new energy source. He was farming clones and murdering them by the thousand.

Silently, James stepped forward, his Walther PPK cradled in his hands, safety off. His glasses scanned the room, showing him an X-ray image of what lay beyond. He kicked open the door and had a heartbeat to bask in the shock on Tom Riddle's face before he pulled the trigger twice. Despite the silencer, the room still echoed with the gunshot. Riddle slid to the floor in a pool of blood.

Dead.

Mission accomplished, James reached into his pocket, removing the USB that revealed Riddle's crimes and tossed it onto the body. Then he ran at the shattered window behind Riddle, crashing through it. He fell, hollering in delight at the free fall, before pulling the release on his 'chute.

The parachute snapped out behind him and James soared through the London skies, high on the ecstasy of another kill, another win.

Bella stared at the footage of the man that had murdered Tom Riddle. He was tall and well-built, with dark messy hair, and he wore a pair of glasses that were far too thick to be prescription. She watched in disbelief as he jumped out of the window of a hundred-story skyscraper after shooting Riddle and leaving them the USB that had driven her bosses to distraction, trying to work out who exactly the man was working for. Facial rec had brought nothing back, which indicated he wasn't just a nobody: there was someone out that had taken him out of all and every database.

Rewinding to the image of the man's face scrunched in concentration as he took the shot, Bella looked up and across the pub.

Same man. Same glasses. Same artfully messy hair. She tucked her phone away into her purse and wet her lips, checking her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She looked good and she knew it.

The man was throwing darts with his friends, laughing as they each missed and cheering when they hit, the little idiots.

"Bet you ten quid I can beat you all," Bella purred, resting her hip on the unused pool table beside them. All three men stiffened, but her eyes were only for the agency's mystery man. She quirked a brow.

"How about a round?" the mystery man's tall and equally handsome friend said. "We'll buy you one if we win, you buy us one if you lose."

"Deal," Bella said. When she played, she played to win. After all, what use was entering a bet if you didn't know if you'd win? She ticked off another mental point against her father's motto. She was all for taking risks. She was just smart about it when she did.

James sipped his beer and watched as the woman that had approached them for a game of darts flirted with Sirius.

"Mine's bigger than yours, treacle," she said, squinting at the dart in her hand.

James spluttered his mouthful even as Sirius howled with laughter.

She turned and winked at him. "You can call me Jane, by the way," she said.

"James," he said. "That's Sirius, and the quiet one is Remus."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Remus said, ever the gentleman.

Jane eyed him up and down and James tried not to cackle as Remus squirmed. He could face down a squad of armed soldiers with nothing but his knives, but put Remus in front of a woman and he blushed like a girl.

"Aren't you a charmer?" she said.

She then proceeded to trounce them all at darts and buy them a round.

James was in love.

It was a shame he had to lie about his profession.

James Smith was a dorky man with a heart of gold, when he wasn't murdering billionaires. He came from old money and claimed to be a banker, of all the ludicrous things.

When they moved in together, Bella had gone through all of his things while packing up his flat, but he must have had someone in to hide any evidence, as he just watched in amusement at her little 'idiosyncrasies'.

Or, perhaps he'd never kept any of his tools of the trade at home anyway. He travelled for long stretches of time, claiming that investment bankers were often needed abroad. Bella let him have his lies, if only because she took the opportunity to take jobs herself.

It was while she was pondering the mystery of James Smith that Bella got caught with her metaphorical pants down. One of the sons of the Mexican cartel boss she'd assassinated earlier in the year had hunted her down while she was working another job in Chicago. She survived; he didn't.

Still, Bella fucking hated Chicago. She had to catch a long-haul flight home with a cracked rib and a broken arm.

Even worse, James was already there when she arrived.

When Jane walked in the door, bruised and beaten, James's heart dropped into his stomach.

"Jane!" he cried, surging forward, and only just stopping himself from holding her close.

"Mugging," she mumbled, a black eye and a cast on her left arm only serving to make him even more worried.

"I'll kill them," James growled. When Jane looked at him sharply, he offered her a weak smile. "Sit down, sit down. Let me get the ice. Why didn't you call me?"

He thought he heard her snort, but after poking his head into the lounge and finding her wrapped in a blanket and looking sorry for herself, he knew he'd imagined it.

"I know you said the law firm sent you to Chicago, but you really ought to refuse next time," he murmured, stroking his thumb along her cheek. He offered her the ice and she pressed it against her ribs.

James hid a wince. Even if they were just bruised, she'd be hurting for days.

"It's my job, James," Jane snapped. She relaxed when he began stroking her hair back from her shoulders.

"I know, love, I know," James murmured. "I just want you to be safe."

He flicked on the tv, skimming until he found an episode of Doctor Who. As usual, it sent Jane straight to sleep and he held her as she rested, engrossed in the soap, only occasionally glancing down to watch Jane as she slept.

Bella hummed to herself as she ambled down the supermarket aisle, collecting Weetabix for James and making a note to buy some of the wine that he liked, the pinot that she found a little on the sharp side.

She caught herself at that and stared down at the trolly in her hands.

When had she become so domestic?

With a sick feeling in her stomach, she knew when: three months ago, after she'd taken a beating in Chicago and James had nursed her back to health.

He'd been his usual kind, charming, handsome, sickeningly nice self. And, even worse, she'd still not discovered a single true thing about him or the company he worked for.

"Oh fuck," Bella said, staring at the shopping cart, which was full of James's favourite things.

"Are you alright, deary?"

A little old man was peering at her, a worried expression on his face.

Bella curled her lip. "I just realised that I'm in love with an idiot," she said, finding the words to be cleansing.

The man cackled. "Ha! You sound just like my wife." He patted her on the arm. "You'll be alright."

Bella shook her head in an attempt to clear it and pulled out her phone. She texted Minnie, her supervisor.

I need a job, ASAP.

It was all very well and good being the smartest in the room, but when it made you arrogant… well, that was no use at all. Bella was beginning to understand exactly what her father had meant.

When the alert came in about a hit on a Russian arms dealer in Cardiff, James yawned, reaching for the other side of the bed.

He startled awake when he found it empty.

"Jane?" he said, but it was evident that she was gone. Instead, there was just a note.

Urgent business up North - speak soon x

James sighed, tempted to roll back into bed and pull the covers over his head. Of course, his phone beeped again.

"Piss off, Arthur," he muttered, but pulled on his glasses and read the mission briefing as he got dressed.

Cardiff was an alright city, not one of James's favourites if he was honest. However, it was where his favourite TV show was filmed, Doctor Who, so he supposed he'd give it points for that.

He was perched in the gallery of the Opera House, staring down the sight of his rifle, waiting for the crescendo of the music.

That was when he saw Jane.

She was laughing loudly, much to the chagrin of those around her trying to watch the opera. As James watched, she took the arms dealer's hand, pressing her lips to his knuckles.

But — there! She slipped something into his drink.

"Are you seeing this?" James muttered, aware that the mic on his glasses would pick up his voice.

"Affirmative," Arthur said. After a long pause, he spoke again. "We're sorry, James."

Jane excused herself from her company, and less than a minute later, the arms dealer began having some sort of fit. His job done, if not completed by himself, James withdrew.

He didn't know what to do.

Anger boiled up in his gut and he clenched his fists. Despite all of the dangerous situations he'd thrown himself into, he hadn't even thought to have his guard up with her.

At home, in his sock drawer, was a ring.

All he could see was the image of Jane laughing as she poured poison in the arms dealer's drink.

He wondered: had she ever considered doing the same to him?

Bella opened the front door, a smile upon her face. Perhaps she was in love with James and perhaps he was a silly little idiot, but it didn't stop her from doing her job. If, and when, she found out more information about the company he worked for, excellent, but as it was, she was still MI5's most formidable agent and they'd let her live her life as she wished in her downtime.

"Hello Jane," James said.

"Sugar," Bella greeted him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Normally, James took that as invitation to pull her close and trace her jaw with his lips. Instead, he was stoic, frozen in the hallway.

"Is that even your name?" James asked.

Bella blinked. "Sweetie?"

James drew his hands down his face. "Fuck. It's not, is it? And to think, like an idiot, I told you my actual name."

Realisation began to dawn on her. She took a step back, then another. She'd seen James in action; he was formidable. To her left was a knife hidden behind a painting, to her right a gun tucked into a wellington boot. It would take her two seconds to get to the knife and a little longer to pull out the gun. Whether she should go for one of them or try to grapple with him depended entirely on how prepared he was.

Probably more prepared than her.

"I'm not going to hurt you!" James growled.

Stilling, she fixed her gaze upon him. His eyes, normally so placid and kind, were glowing with fury. How could she possibly believe him? That was just how things worked in their world.

"Why?" he snarled. "Why did you do it?"

"Which part?" Bella asked, forcing a smile. When James didn't answer, she shook herself, and smirked. "For the fun of it, of course."

James paled like she'd stabbed him and Bella immediately regretted it; all of it. He had lied to her just as much as she had to him, but he at least had entered into this relationship with no ulterior motives.

"I'm sorry," she said. Bella looked down, pursing her lips. "I am sorry. I'm not sure there's anything I can say to make you believe me, but I am."

"Was any of it real?" James asked. He seemed to have lost his anger, but his stance was still tense, his expression guarded.

"At first… no. But, now? I love you, James. I don't care who you work for, or what you do. I love you." She drew from her pocket a souvenir she'd bought in Cardiff. It was a stupid little TARDIS magnet. She'd thought they'd put it on their fridge.

James stared at it. He choked on a laugh. "Really?" he said.

"Really," Bella replied. "I love you like Rory loves Amy." She took a cautious step forward.

Indecision flickered across James' face.

"Fuck," he said. "If you're lying, I don't want to know." He closed the distance and kissed her breathless.

"My name is Bella, by the way," Bella said.

James chuckled, pressing their foreheads together.

"That's a prettier name than Jane," he said.

Bella smiled. Perhaps loving James wasn't smart, but it was true. Screw everyone else. With James by her side, she felt like she could do anything. Together, the whole world was at their feet.

QLFC Round 13 Chaser 2 Prompt - Leprechaun: write about someone who thrives on manipulating or cheating others

Optional prompts: (role) Spy (dialogue) "If you're the smartest person in the room, get out of there. (emotion) anger

Word count: 2566