This story might have some plot holes or factual errors. This is a fictional story after all. If you want to nit-pick on it, fine, do so.

---

'Tim, are you coming or not? It's nearly seven!' Eric leaned against his car, asking impatiently. I could see why he was hurrying me along. It was a gloomy morning with a slight mist, not too heavy to have to worry about, but enough to irritate you. It was a normal day in the great country of England.

Unfortunately for me, I lived far, far from the MI6 headquarters, and unlike my workmates, I did not own a car. I had to rely on Eric to get me to work, as he lived the closest to me. Even though he was the 'closest' to me, he still lived 30 miles away.

'Yes, yes, I'm coming, I'm coming! Just hold on for two seconds, will you?' I replied from within the house. I brushed my hair back one last time, making sure it was the right height and shape. Yes, I am that type of person. I ran out of the bathroom, grabbing my briefcase packed with lunch and some files on the way out.

'Alright, let's go.' I threw my briefcase into the car, and jumped into the passenger seat. Eric hopped into the driver's seat. The steering wheel was on the left, still unmodified from when it was manufactured in the late 60s. Eric was British, but some colleagues still joked that he was an American spy, based on his obsession with American muscle cars. I could see why Eric liked them, since I had also lived in America for a few months. These timeless machines sure can turn a few heads on New York City streets.

'You ready, cowboy? No you're not. In fact, you're in for a surprise today.' He said, with a smile on his face. Eric inserted the key into the ignition. With a flick of the key, the Hemi engine roared to life. It sounded glorious, and I had the tickets to the front row seat of whatever his surprise was. Well, not like I had a choice, as the back seats were taken out.

Eric put the pedal to the metal, flooring the throttle. 'Yeeeehaw!' He yelled out, as the Hemi growled and spun the tyres relentlessly on the damp road, screaming for grip. Eric pressed on the horn, and the Dixie horn played.

'You like my Dixie horn?' I nodded a yes, not totally lying. If that was the surprise, then it was surprising, and half the neighbourhood probably thought the same. 'Well, wait until you hear what Director Johnson has to say to you. It will be a better surprise, I guarantee you.' Eric said, patting me on the shoulder.

I arrived at the agency in a red car that had a giant '01' painted on the doors. Hell, the doors won't even open, and I had to climb through the windows to get out. There wasn't even glass covering the windows. Whose genius idea was that?

---

Eric held the briefing room door open. I walked in, almost bumping into Director Johnson, who stood in the middle of the room. Director Johnson was my superior officer. Eric says that he grew up as a child soldier in Africa, but nobody knew exactly. He was a man with a troubled past, which he hoped to erase by coming to the MI6. He was well-built, tall. His dark skin absorbed any light that went into it. He had no attachments to anything, no sense of sentimental value, no warmth towards anything. He was one cold blooded sonuvabitch that everybody in the agency feared. His thick African accent only added to his mysterious past.

'Sit down, agent.' The director commanded me. 'For this next operation, you will be working for Emma Watson.'

I was taken aback. Emma Watson is an agent? And she was at a higher rank than me?

'Emma Watson, the Hollywood actress who starred in Harry Potter?' I asked for confirmation.

'Yes, rookie, and this is only your second operation. Do not mess it up for Ms. Watson. You will do everything she says. When she says shoot, what do you say?'

'"Head or hearts", sir.' It was an old training motto that we had to recite every morning at boot camp. The answer seemed to satisfy the director, and he nodded his head in approval.

Working alongside Emma Watson was a once in a life time opportunity that I would never let slip past me. I hid my excitement in the hopes of acting professional, but I was giggling inside like I had just won the lottery, and indeed I had. I slowly pitched a tent in my pants, as I thought about Emma Watson, my erection only hidden by my sitting position. I jerked off in my teenage years to her sexy photos, but I'd never thought I would meet her in real life. But this was real. I would be working with her.

'You will be meeting her sometime today. She will see you when she's ready.' Johnson said.

'Yes sir. What is the operation called?' I asked.

'Name it whatever you want, it does not matter. Read over her profile analysis; make sure you can recite it cover to cover.' Johnson handed me a thick bender. It was so filled with photos and paperwork that they were almost falling out. I adjusted some photos, seeing Emma's pretty face on one of them as I did. I had dirty thoughts about her as I exited the room. As soon as I was out, I opened the folder given to me earlier. Inside of it were some photos of Emma Watson which I've never seen before, plus some documents relating to her. My eyes stumbled upon a line in an analysis report of Emma, which was required for every agent who entered the MI6.

"Mother divorced in France. Has step-brother, twin sister."

I had to re-read the line three times. Emma Watson had a twin sister? That explained how she was able to work at MI6, but appear in public the same time, it was her twin sister! It would be disastrous if anyone found out. I swore to myself that I would never tell anyone.

Holding up one of her photos, I threw a rough glance down the seemingly empty hallway. This photo was taken on a Caribbean beach, but the resolution was poor. I couldn't make out whether it was Emma or just a random woman with big sunglasses. Not paying attention to where I walked, I forcefully bumped into someone, bouncing off with an almost audible impact.

The impact threw me onto the ground. I was about to curse out loud before realising that I was most likely at fault. If I couldn't focus on walking, how could I ever become a top agent? I got back to my feet as best I could without looking embarrassed. The man, no, the lady, appeared to be knocked over as well.

'Are you alright, madam?' I asked, as I put out my hand for the sake of chivalry.

'Yes, I'm quite alright, thank you. It's fine; I don't need your help.' Fine, have it your way. Her voice calmed me a bit though, as if it somehow got into my brain and smothered any sense of anger I had. She faced away from me as she got up, her back showing a bit of skin with her revealing long, blue dress.

I rushed to pick up my pictures and documents, which were lying all over the floor next to the woman. I apologized to her as best I could, keeping my anger in check. Where have I heard that voice before?

'Again, madam, I am very sorry for the accident.' I said. I looked up from my kneeling position. My jaw dropped to the floor as I match her voice to her face. There she was, Emma Watson, standing over me with a surprised expression as well.

'Hey there!' She laughed. 'Aren't you the agent I'll be working with?' I nodded at her question, still speechless from everything. 'Well, what a pleasant way to meet for the first time! I'm sorry; I was just looking at your profile analysis on my phone. I didn't know the hallway was occupied.' She said. I took that as an apology, and mentioned that I was looking at her pictures as well. Of course, I didn't mention the twin sister part. Not yet, at least.

---

Emma and I found ourselves getting acquainted with each other. She brought up the topic of the operation we were given, and we looked over the plans. I was still brimming with joy, still over-ecstatic that I would be working with Emma Watson.

'Operation... Dementor? Well someone in the agency likes their Harry Potter.' Emma half-chuckled, not knowing the whole truth. 'Funny enough, the operation has nothing to do with Dementors.'

'This is a standard operation.' She continued. 'We go in, take out anyone in the way, extract our target, and come out. This operation is going to be easier than all my previous ones! Tim, we really caught a break here.' Emma said "all my previous ones" casually, as if this was regular water-cooler chit-chat.

'Where is this operation going to be at, Emma? Please tell me it's not somewhere hot. I'm kind of afraid of heat after my first op.' I dreaded to recall my first operation. The operation failed as I passed out from a heatstroke in the hot Sahara desert.

'No, Tim, it's going to be the same weather like it is now, nice, warm temperatures.' She smiled. We went through the rest of the plan in detail. The extraction target was one C. Wilkerson. From the address given, the location was somewhere around outer London. A photo showed an abandoned warehouse. The intel estimated about 10-20 enemies from a terrorist group inside, holding Mr. Wilkerson hostage. They threatened to kill him if the British government didn't cough up 5 million pounds. Mr. Wilkerson must be one important sonuvabitch.

---

Emma and I were placed in a safe house. It was the penthouse suite in a 5-star hotel, with a large open area acting as the living room. One wall was pure glass, giving us a stunning view to the outside. There was only one bedroom, but in it were two king-sized beds, and an ensuite bathroom. I was disappointed that the agency didn't allow me to sleep in the same bed as Emma. Our room had a great view of the city of London, overseeing the Big Ben and the big Ferris wheel that is the London Eye. Being in a penthouse has its advantages. The hotel also had a short drive to the warehouse, but it was away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi, making it ideal for Emma and her celebrity status.

Emma went into the ensuite bathroom. I looked at my watch. It was just past two in the afternoon, and we were meant to arrive at the warehouse at seven o'clock at night. The TV remote was lying on the bedside table, as if it was shouting at me to grab it. I gave in, and pressed the red button on the remote. Top Gear was airing. I barely stayed awake while watching the episode. 20 seasons of Top Gear were too many. The show was getting very boring, only spiced up by random explosion of expensive cars and celebrity interviews. I curled into a foetal position, as I slowly fell asleep. It had been a tiring and unexpected day, with a lot to take in. In a single day, I was awed, shocked, and amazed. I slowly fell asleep, as my mind did the same.

I woke up to a shaking bed. As I looked out the window, the sun was setting over the skyline of London's commercial buildings. I couldn't find my watch, but Emma was here, so I presumed the operation hasn't begun yet. I turned over, still lying on the bed, and looked at Emma. She jumped up and down on the empty side of my bed, her head almost hitting the ceiling.

'Emma, watch out!' I tried to warn her. 'If you jump any higher, you...' My warning was interrupted with a loud thud, as Emma hit her head on the ceiling. 'Ow!' She groaned. I was prepared to say "I warned you!", but then I didn't really give her a full warning.

She dropped down next to me on the bed, her hands rubbing the top of her head. She looked like she was in pain, and I was going to grab an ice pack from the freezer. As I motioned to get off the bed, Emma grabbed me by my arm. 'Stay.' She said. 'Please.' I complied, and lied down with her. We stared into each other's eyes as I moved my hands to her head, weaving my fingers into her soft, brunette hair. She must have dyed it when she was in the bathroom, as I remembered her hair being dirty-blonde. With a soft touch, I gently massaged her scalp, hoping to relieve her of any pain she might still have. We still stared at each other; her brown eyes mesmerized me as I massaged her.

'Can I kiss it better?' It took nearly all the courage I'd saved up in my life, but I asked, not knowing how she'll respond.

She thought it over for a while, as we both lay flat on our backs, heads looking at each other. The uncertainty almost killed me, as I waited for her response. I was nervous. This was Emma Watson, was it not?

She moved closer to me. Her cheeks rested on my chest, her hair slightly brushing against my lips. 'I would love that, thanks.' I sighed in relief, the wind causing strands of her hair to dance around. She looked up at me from below, her eyes begging me to kiss her. My arm draped over her, and pulled her in closer, hugging her and buried her face into my chest. I tilted my head down, and buried my lips in her hair.

There was a different vibe being around her, something off-putting. Maybe it was just her hair colour, or me in my half-awake state, but something felt different after my nap. She sounded American. Her hair didn't smell like dye, but rather, a familiar smell. A faint smell of... New York City?

More unsettling thoughts floated into my head. Emma didn't go to New York City, she couldn't have. It had only been a few hours; no two-way trip to New York can be that short. Why did she sound American? Why was her hair a different colour?

She moved to my eye level. I had been deep in my thoughts, and was unaware of her advances. She dropped her soft, warm lips onto mine, giving me a taste of what's coming. I closed my eyes. Her lips crushed against mine, our tongues intertwining with each other. It felt amazing. My thoughts were wiped away, replaced by the new sensation of her wet tongue, slowly exploring, darting my mouth.

We were still locked in the kiss, when she took her hand off my neck and moved it lower. She slowly unzipped my fly, revealing my bulging boxers. Her hands ran over my boxers, my cock bulging as hard as diamonds. She broke the kiss to sit up, resting against the pillows. I finally had a chance to look at her closely. She wasn't wearing a fancy dress, only a large t-shirt stretching just below her hips, into her thighs. She grabbed her shirt, and took it off over her head. Her brunette hair was caught in the neck of the shirt as she pulled it off, but dropped back in position once the shirt came off over her head.

She wasn't wearing a bra. Her perfect breasts looked back at me, as I stared at it, hypnotized. They looked to be a B cup, but that was enough for me. Her areolas were brown, her nipples now stood erect within them. The breasts were the perfect size for my hands, as I sat up and cupped her breasts in my palms. I played around with her nipples with one hand, and lowered my hand to rub her vagina, only covered by a thin piece of fabric. I lay her flat on her back. I moved my head further and further down, zig-zagging my nose down her flat stomach until it reached her panties. I took in her intoxicating aroma, and licked her panties softly. She moaned slightly as my tongue touched her clitoris through her panties.

'Oh yeah, babe.' She moaned. 'Fuck me, fuck me with that tongue! I want to feel every bit of it in me!' She took off her panties. They slid down her smooth, long legs. My head dove into her, splitting her opening with my tongue. 'Mmm, keep going, that's the way.' She moaned. I looked up for a second. Her hand was on her nipple, rubbing and playing with it, and the other hand lowering down, weaving through my hair. My head pressed tightly against her opening, forcing my tongue further inside her. She was close to cumming, and I could sense it. Her movement, her moaning, her walls convulsing, all leading to one big finale.

I broke away from her wet pussy, and moved my head up to her breasts. Her nipples stood straight, begging for attention. My lips puckered up, and kissed her breasts. My tongue, still slick with her juices from a minute ago, flicked her nipple around. She gasped as I moved my hands down her body, my fingers rubbing her clit, increasing her pleasure.

'I'm gonna cum!' She warned, but her hand kept my mouth pressed against her dripping wet pussy, my tongue lapping her sweet juices and flicking the sensitive, sensual clitoris of hers. With a final flick of tongue, I pushed her over the edge. A torrent of wetness flowed from her vagina as the first wave of orgasm hit her. She arched her back and moaned in pleasure. Her hand released my head, incapable of power with the force of the pleasure.

As she rode the waves of her orgasm out, I got off the bed, sliding my pants down. If it wasn't for her unzipping my fly, my pants would've burst based on how hard my cock was. I jumped out of my underpants, revealing my cock. Finally calming down, she turned on her side, opening her eyelids. Her eyes locked onto my cock, her lips inaudibly mouthing a "wow". It wasn't particularly big, but I wouldn't know, I don't go around comparing my dick with other men. I jumped back into bed next to her, my erection poking at her door. She nodded a yes to me, giving me permission to do what came next.

She lay on her back, her dark, brunette hair splayed on the bed. I moved into the missionary position. Having done this many times before, I wasn't a stranger, but I'd never done it with someone so beautiful, so perfect. But right now I couldn't care less if she was the most unattractive woman in the world. My primal desires took over my thought chain. I thrust into her, her canal slick with her juices from earlier. The pressure was just right. I lifted her legs up, and she wrapped them around my torso, locking onto me as if she'll never let go.

'C'mon! Harder!' She screamed. My cock disappeared into her, over and over again, yet she screamed for more. It was warm in there, homey, even. My hands moved from caressing her legs, up to her breasts. I fondled with them, and she held my wrists, not letting me stop. My breath quickened. I was close.

She pushed me on, her legs now pushing my hips into her, satisfying her wild, sexual desires. 'I'm cumming! Oh god!' She screamed, as her walls suddenly clamped down on my cock. I couldn't hold it anymore, and exploded into her. I pushed every last drop of my seed I had into her, and collapsed onto her. My chest pressed against her breasts, both of us heaving heavily from our workout. It was my last memory before I passed out.

Some say a mutual orgasm only happened in a perfect world.

This was the perfect world.

---

The doorbell rang. I felt emptiness, as Emma wasn't on the bed when I turned over. She must've left after I fell asleep. Who was at the door? It certainly wasn't room service, but maybe Emma ordered something to eat when I was asleep. I hopped off the bed, this time with nobody grabbing onto me. I looked down, to find that I was fully dressed. The doorbell rang again. I jogged over to the door to open it.

There was poor lighting, but I can still see Emma in a red t-shirt. It was barely visible under her dark coloured bulletproof vest. She stood in the doorway, the corridor's lights casting a shadow on herself, her facial features darkened. Below the waist, she donned camouflage cargo pants. Some pockets were still full with clips of ammunition for her glock. I let her inside, thinking that she was getting ready for the operation, and I should be as well. I flipped the light switch on as I closed the door.

Emma sunk into the couch, her face almost fully covered in blood. Her t-shirt wasn't red to begin with; it was just soaked with blood. 'Oh my god, Emma! What happened?' was all I could get out. I stood there with my mouth hung open.

'Firstly, I extracted Mr. Wilkerson.' She said happily, despite the mess that she was. 'Secondly, the blood isn't mine. I'm fine, really. What did you expect from 17 close-range headshots?' She grinned, showing her teeth. She showed me an empty clip for her Glock 17. 'Didn't miss a shot.' I was impressed. She completed the operation by herself and left me with nothing to do.
'Emma, you sure you didn't get shot anywhere? No scratches, nothing?' I asked just to be sure.

'Nope. So, how was your nap? Did you dream of anything?' She said.

So what happened before with Emma was a dream? That would explain the weird feelings and brunette hair. It was all a dream. I knew I didn't have a chance with Emma. I sat down in an armchair, facing the couch where Emma sat.

'Oh, yes, I had a great dream. I went down on you. I mean, I was sucking on your...' Emma put her index finger out, her expression saying "Too many details". I continued. 'You have dirty-blonde hair, but in my dream, you were brunette and American. I think I blended up one of my ex-girlfriends with you, Emma!'

I laughed in hopes for Emma to follow, but I may have gone too far. Emma's face twitched slightly at "brunette and American." That look, although only lasting for one moment, was filled with jealousy. I have seen that look all but too many times on my ex-girlfriends' faces when I ran into them on the streets of New York City, with a new woman in my arms. But that look on Emma's face dissipated quickly, and the smile returned.

'You pervert,' Emma laughed. 'Only you would dream of such things, and with one of your colleagues! But, I am delighted to be the subject of your fantasies.' She switched to a teasing tone. 'Keep this up and I might have an award for you.' She purred sexily. I wanted to kiss her bad, but her face was still bloodied from some terrorist's blood. Maybe multiple.

'Emma, what happened at the warehouse? I wasn't there, obviously.' I asked, having missed out on the operation, and probably dodged a few bullets as well.

'It's all done and dusted. Out of the 17 people I killed, 14 were heavily drunk. They were almost unprofessional as you! I screwed on a silencer, and took care of most of them before engaging in open combat.' Emma said. 'Everything is fine, Tim, Mr. Wilkerson is safe and sound now.' I looked at the clock in the living room. The digital display showed 22:58, and although I had just woken up, I hopped back inside my bed. 'Goodnight, Emma' I said, and I closed my eyes, but couldn't quite fall asleep. The dream seemed so very real, but I had to convince myself it wasn't. Emma was out fighting terrorists for the name of the Queen while I slept in the bed. The bed was comfortable, at least.

Emma took a shower to wash off the blood on her as I tried to sleep. I was awake, but my eyes were still closed. I couldn't sleep no matter how hard I tried, as I just woke up a few minutes prior. I fantasised about Emma. Her smoky eyes, her dirty-blonde hair, her red lipstick, her bite on her lower lips, formed a perfect look like I'd never seen before.

Emma turned the shower off, and there was a knock on the main door. I pretended to be asleep as Emma shuffled past my bed. The door to the suite opened. Two women, one most likely Emma, were talking, maybe arguing, but not loud enough for me to hear the contents of it. After a few minutes, the argument subsided, and the door slammed shut. I heard Emma shuffle past me again, and dropped onto her bed. Finally tired, I fell asleep at about the same time as Emma, as she quietly snored, succumbing to the demon that is sleep.

---

I made breakfast in the kitchen. Two pancakes each for me and Emma. They weren't hard to make, as the mix came in boxes with instructions clearly printed on the sides. Emma was still asleep, and I hoped to finish making the pancakes before she woke up. The wet, gooey mixture quietly sizzled as it cooked on the frying pan. I made four large pancakes in total. As I placed the last pancake onto a plate, Emma walked up to the kitchen. Shame, I hoped to surprise her with some breakfast in bed. She looked better than yesterday, her creamy white skin not covered in blood anymore.

'Morning, beautiful!' I shouted over.

'Morning, handsome.' Emma giggled. 'Mmm, pancakes... Tim, did you know I love pancakes for breakfast? You did cook some for me, right? I could kill for some breakfast right now.'

I handed her a plate. 'Of course, beautiful, how could I forget?' Emma smiled; as she sat down to eat her pancakes. 'You don't have to call me "beautiful" every time you address me, silly.' She blushed. Even though she denied it, she appreciated the compliments.

I grabbed my own plate, and sat down next to the small dining table, facing her. Even though Emma had no makeup on, she looked beautiful. Her smooth skin reflected the sunlight coming through the window. There was an indescribable feeling that was dwelling inside me; it grew stronger with every passing second that I spent with her. The dream from last night only adding to that passion.

Emma finished her pancakes first, and I finished soon after. We had a free day with nothing to do, now that the operation was done with. Emma suggested some things for us to do today.

'What about the London Eye? Tim, will you come with me?' She asked. 'I could sign a few signatures. I miss that part of my life.' She was a public figure after all, and I had to respect that.

'Yes, of course, let's leave right now! We can take a cab.' I said, as I dragged her to the door. 'Wait, Tim! I need to dress up properly, and so do you.' Emma shouted, and I had forgotten that we just woke up, and Emma still had a bra on because her shirt from yesterday was soaked in blood. She went inside the bathroom to put her makeup on and to dress up. I quickly changed into a yellow t-shirt and some jeans. My hair was still in shape from yesterday, thanks to the gel I had put on. Emma came out of the bathroom. Boy, were the paparazzi about to have a field day. Emma looked dead gorgeous. Her dirty-blonde hair tied up at the end, forming a small bun. Her long, killer legs were barely clothed with short jeans, accompanied by a white tank top above it. She looked ready as ever. I opened the door for Emma, and I exited the room after her.

Emma asked the cab driver to drop us off just next to the Big Ben. We planned to have a quiet, pleasant Saturday morning walk to the London Eye. The weather was unusually clear, only a tiny batch of cloud in sight. The sun's radiance seemed to have no effect on the passers-by, as gentle breezes fought the temperature away. It was a beautiful day. We walked across the Thames, stopping occasionally for a signature or a photo for Emma's fans. They all walked away with a big grin on their faces, having met the celebrity of their dreams.

The area around the London Eye was crowded, not unusual on a Saturday morning. We blended into the crowd, the positive side being that tourists would not recognise Emma by simply brushing past her. She had put on some sunglasses as well, and blended in as yet another stranger on the streets of London.

"45 minutes", the sign at the back end of the queue said. If this was how long it took for a ride on a normal day, I dreaded to think about what it was like during holiday season. 'Stay.' Emma said. That sounded familiar. 'I have to take a piss before I enter that long queue.' That didn't. I never knew Emma could be so vulgar at times. I stood by to the queue, not entering it. An American tourist came asking for directions, and I pointed to the bridge, then the Big Ben. She thanked me, and left. Her ass wiggled as she walked away, and I couldn't help but stare.

After a short wait, Emma came back. Her straight, dark hair glisten-... hold on a minute. Emma looked as if she was from yesterday's dream. She definitely had the dark hair, but the girl of my dreams had an American accent.

'Hey Emma! Can you tell me, what's the last letter of the alphabet?' I tested her.

'Z.' She replied, the Z sounding like a Zed, exactly how an American will pronounce it. This was indeed the girl from my dreams, but how? Emma and she had different accents, different hair colours, but identical looks. There was only one possible answer.

A familiar voice shouted from a distance. 'The lines at the ladies' toilet were too long, so I just pissed in the bushes. I hope nobody saw that.' A dirty-blonde said, looking behind her as she weaved through the crowd, not paying attention towards me and the brunette. She turned her head, and her eyes rested on the brunette. The identical expressions on their faces suggested one thing: Shock.

'Emma, what are you doing here?' The blonde spoke with a tone of anger.

'I- I-' The brunette stammered, struggling to come up with words.

Emma Watson and her twin sister stood in front of me, arguing. It all made sense now, the arguments, the dream, the operation, everything. The dream, was not a dream. Overhearing the argument, I learned that I had indeed pleasured a woman, but it wasn't Emma. Emma was upset at her twin sister, as she had only instructed her twin sister to babysit me for the night, in case I woke up and was worried about her. Not to have sex with me, then leave me for the night.

'Emma!' I raised my voice, stopping the twins' argument. They turned to me, both responding to the name I'd just called. At least I knew how they identified each other. 'Listen, Emma... and Emma. Both of you are very beautiful women, and I don't care for what happened last night. I'm not upset, and neither should you be, Emma.' The twins both tilted their heads sideways, looking confused. 'That's for blonde Emma. Damn it, Emma, how do I get one of you to pay attention when both of you respond to the same name?'

'I don't know. But we might be getting a little bit of attention here, people are looking this way. I suggest we sort this out back at the hotel.' The blonde said, looking around her. The brunette simply shrugged a "Whatever" with her shoulders. We hired a cab and instructed the driver to take us back to the hotel.

I sat in the front, next to the driver. The twins sat in the back, not making any noise. In the rear view mirror, I could see them looking out their windows, thinking about what had just happened. From what I had seen, the brunette seemed more adventurous, not tied down by the golden handcuffs. Most reported sightings of Emma Watson must be of the brunette, as she lived out her life in America. She definitely seemed more casual. The blonde was more used to the fame, suggesting that she appeared in front of the cameras most of the time.

We arrived back at the hotel. The twins sat down on the couch, and I did the same in an armchair, facing them. There was tension in the air, as the silence settled in.

The blonde spoke. 'Look, Tim, please don't tell anyone what me and my sister about to tell you.' I nodded. 'You have my word, Emma.'

She started, her hands gesturing whenever necessary. 'We were born as twins, as you can see. We went to separate schools. Nobody has ever seen us together, and there is no public knowledge about us as twins. When I starred in the first Harry Potter movie, I still had to attend school to keep up my grades. Emilia, my dear sister here, took my place in school and maintained my grades while I was away filming. Every day when I came back home from the film set, Emilia briefed me on what I'd missed that day. That's how we made it through the early years.'

Emilia, the brunette, continued. 'When the films started getting popular, so did my school life, as people took me for Emma. It was inevitable, and with mom and Emma's permission, I slowly merged into Emma's celebrity life. Emilia slowly disappeared from the world, shadowed by her big sister's success. My brother knew about this, but kept it a secret regardless. Despite what you might think, I did not appear in any of the movies. I don't have any acting talents. After the movie series finally finished, I stayed in America, while Emma went back to England, and stayed with the family.'

Emma spoke again. 'Although we're twins, and we look the same, deep down, we are very different. She's a normal girl, unlike me, a celebrity. She can live a normal life, as long as she was Emilia, not Emma. Fame can be a bitch, and I was even jealous of her normal life at times. We'd actually swapped roles a couple of times in the past few years. But we each have a separate set of skills, and mine were acting and killing. Hers were studying and, well... sex.'

Emilia's voice was breaking, but not crying. 'To live in the shadow of Emma... it was difficult. I didn't want that. That's the main reason why I gave up my life, and played in Emma's. And, I'm so, so sorry for having sex with you, I just wanted a taste of what Emma and you had together...' Her voice trailed off, her face looking down and away from my widening eyes.

'What? Emilia, me and Tim are not... couples! We're still workmates!' Emma gasped in disbelief, glaring at her sister.

Silence ensued. Our eyes shifted to and from each other's. None of us knew what to do in this situation. I had sex with Emilia, whom I thought was Emma. Emilia thought Emma and I were couples, and she wanted that. There was a simple solution.

'Emilia.' I said, getting her attention. She tilted her head, looking at me at me quizzingly.

'Will you be my girlfriend?'

---

End note: If you had read the first version of Agent Watson (just over 10,000 people, that is), it was a wreck. I admit it. It was rushed. This version was intended to be a small edit, but that was impossible. I started writing part 2, but then saw some ideas that could really fit into part 1, improving and fixing this part up better. Almost the entire story was rewritten, only a few paragraphs or so were all that remained of the original. Sequels, part 2? Maybe. This ending left lots of room for expansion. Let me know what you think.

Feedback is definitely appreciated, whether positive or negative. Every suggestion is taken into consideration.

Thanks for reading.