Q looked up from his cup of Earl Grey, sighing, exasperated. Thirty-seven. Thirty-seven, what James crudely referred to as "gadgets", that had been destroyed by MI6's one and only. Q stared lamely into his laptop screen, rubbing his eyes. Did James have any idea how hard it was to even come up with new ideas for those things, let alone construct them.
Instead of getting ready for the tedious journey on the tube to get to headquarters, he was sat hacking into Her accounts, to search for any sign of contact between the two.
Her. Q refused to recognise her by her true name. She was just, Her. The Woman.
The Psycho Bitch From Hell was more like it, he thought angrily. Q always knew he was never a morning person.
Why did she have to be assigned to fieldwork. Why her. Of all the women at MI6, of all the women in England, why her. They meant nothing to Q, the women. It didn't matter how much James flirted around with them. Q didn't care, he knew they meant nothing to him. Although this was slightly disheartening, to know that the person that one pines over is a little of a, dare he say it, "player", it was also comforting to know that maybe James was holding out...
Q slammed his laptop shut, and chugged the last of his Earl Grey with gusto, almost choking on the tea bag. No, it wouldn't do to think like that. It was a job, just a job, only a job.
Looking at the clock, Q almost dropped his now empty mug, and scrambled around the house trying to find his tie. Late, again! After a frantic ten minutes of getting ready, Q rushed out of the door, hastily locking it and shoving the keys with the "I 3 Computing" keyring into his messenger bag and fumbling with his wallet, trying desperately to find his Oyster card.
No, James would have to wait.
