House Call

Bond is on a mission, but a certain Quartermaster hasn't had his rest and needs a house call before he does something regrettable. QBond. 00Q. Companion story for 'Kissing the Quartermaster.'

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So I wasn't planning on writing any more silly Q kissing stuff, but then this just spilled out of me. This is a companion fic for 'Kissing the Quartermaster' and really won't make sense without it.

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The air this high in the mountains was thin, but inside the plush resort it was thick with heat from fires and people and pressurizing systems. Your ears wouldn't quite pop if you went outside, but there was a definite change that even the common person could point out with ease. James Bond was acutely aware of it without ever leaving the building. Every time someone entered or left the great lounge on the first floor, he felt more than just the temperature drop.

He was seated in a plush armchair near the gently burning fire, which unfortunately provided more ambiance than heat. To any outsider, it would appear he was reading the book held open in his hands. The truth was that he was waiting for a man to check in at the front desk, and his eyes were constantly leaping from the pages of the book to see who had just walked in.

The MI6 issued mobile phone in his pocket began to buzz, drawing his eyebrows down low. Why was the office calling him rather than simply hailing his earpiece? Had something happened?

Smoothly but quickly, Bond pulled the phone from its cloth confines and saw the number for Eve Moneypenny. Of course it was Eve.

The tension bled out of Bond in an instant. He had a good idea now of what was going on.

"Eve," he greeted, holding the phone against the ear that did not house his earpiece.

"Bond," she responded. "It's been sixty-four hours."

He grinned. "Cutting it a bit close, aren't we?"

Monepenny gave an irritated sigh. "We thought he'd gone home for a time yesterday, but then surveillance came back that he'd been down in the basement again building new toys for adrenaline junkies like you. We only just tallied the time."

Bond flipped a page in his book. "I'll take care of it."

"You'd better," Monepenny shot back with a smile in her voice. "We'd lose half the staff if he got hurt for kissing another Double Oh."

She meant that James would take them out, and he couldn't truly contradict her. He wasn't sure what he'd do if another Double Oh purposefully injured the Quartermaster. It was bad enough knowing Q would kiss one of them, let alone that he could get hurt for an innocent action.

They didn't say goodbye when they hung up. Once the phone was in his pocket again, Bond reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He'd need a haircut soon. Then his hand trailed back to his ear and, in the same motion that pretended to scratch an itch on his ear, hailed Q-Branch.

"007. Q here. Has something happened?" came the almost immediate response.

Q was always so quick to answer him. Before the Silva incident, no member of Q branch had done that. Every time Bond called for technical back up, it was some random worker, always a different person. Now it was almost always Q. Bond had asked some of his fellow Double Ohs about it – about their opinions on Q branch's response time – and had learned that though Q did work with them sometimes, the regularity with which he handled Bond's missions was special treatment.

"How long have you been at the office, Q?" Bond asked casually.

He could practically see Q narrowing his eyes. "Not terribly long. Why? What does this have to do with your mission?"

Bond smiled down at his book, again flipping a page and pretending to read it. He made sure not to move his lips too much when he spoke. "I think you should head home for the evening," he murmured, almost suggestively. It was practically his default quiet voice.

For a few moments there was only silence in his ear. He noticed the security camera in the corner turning away from the front door until it could see Bond in the chair and smirked.

"You have abominable taste in literature."

Bond allowed himself to chuckle, knowing others would think it had to do with the autobiography of an American politician that he'd grabbed at the airport bookstore on his way here. "You know my tastes by now, Q, certainly well enough to know I'm not reading this book for pleasure." He tapped the edge of the book with his free index finger lightly. "Don't change the subject."

A small sigh. "I don't understand why I should leave just because you tell me to. I'm a functioning adult and fully capable of managing my own work schedule. I don't need a nanny."

"Oh I'd hate to nanny you," Bond murmured, definitely suggestively.

"You're incorrigible."

This time Bond only allowed himself a smile. Just then, the front door opened again and in walked Bond's target. He didn't need to kill the man – only bug him and track him until he gave away his suppliers, whom he was supposedly here to meet.

"Go home, Q."

"007-"

"I left a surprise for you in the kitchen cabinet next to the fridge," Bond interrupted speedily, though still as if he was the epitome of calm.

In the ensuing silence, Bond closed his book and set it on the table by the chair. It stayed there as he stood, adjusting his jacket and shirt, before heading for the elevators at the same time as his mark.

Just when he thought Q had left without goodbye, over his earpiece came, "You'd better behave yourself while I'm gone, Bond. If I come back to find you've blown up Kazakhstan-"

"-they'd never find the body," Bond finished with a small twitch of his lips.

He was close enough to other people now that he couldn't talk to Q anymore, but it didn't seem necessary. Q let out a wearied breath – likely due to his sixty-four hour work day – and then gave in.

"Be safe, James." Then, as if to cover for the slip in protocol, he quickly added, "I still want all of my equipment back. Q signing off."

The line went quiet just as the elevator opened and Bond and his target walked inside. Within ten seconds, the bug was planted without the mark even knowing he'd been touched. Bond then let himself imagine Q returning home and finding the Spanish chorizo Bond had picked up on his last mission. He was probably one of the few people who knew Q enjoyed cataloguing the different varieties, and he prided himself on getting the meats into Q's apartment without setting off Q's alarm system.

While the sausage was an admirable gift, Bond thought back to Q's final words today. Bond could absolutely bring Q back his equipment. After all, this mission was simply recon. All he had to do was identify the suppliers. That couldn't break anything, now could it?

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fin.