Eighteenth century French literature invades my pop culture dreams

I am a Bond Girl in an action-packed adventure. People are dying left and right, but we have little time to think of them. When James gets bitten by a snake Felix and I hide him under a piece of rubble from the ceiling in the bathtub so the enemy won't find him and get any information from him before he's dead. To tell the truth I'm glad to be rid of that bastard; he was such a dick.
A little while later I think that there is something wrong with this picture. The main character of the series isn't supposed to die, and the woman and sidekick share the spotlight... but then I remember that the Bond movies were written by Voltaire, so he must come back later in the story, somehow having miraculously escaped death. How disappointing.