Yo.

It. Is really late. I'm like, dead, but I had to finish this, because once I started it, I was like, "OH MY GOODNESS. Let's finish this. Now." And of course, I'm not that fast of a writer, so what could take someone half an hour takes me an hour to an hour and a half.

There are probably like, a billion typos in here, disregarding the fact that there's only about 1,500 words in this story... But ya know what? Fuck logic. t(-_-t)

I'll go to correct them when I get the chance, since I'm really tired and want to sleep. I'm already getting less than eight hours of sleep tonight, and for me, that isn't good. I need at least eight hours to be able to operate decently the next day. Call me weird, but hey, I like sleep. My bed and I are like, freaking soul mates. We'd be together forever if it wasn't for that bitch called my alarm clock.

I hope you enjoy. :)

PS - Set after Skyfall. It isn't apparent, but there's something I put in here (or changed, rather) that gives it away.

Q loves all patterns. He loves all sequences. He especially likes those of the puzzle kind. They occupy him, give him something to solve (although it doesn't take him very long to figure them out, mind you). However, something like a Rubik's cube can only keep him distracted for so long. He has one sitting by his computer. It's solved, all colors together on their respective sides. It's always solved when on his desk. He's a bit OCD about it. Sometimes a fellow agent, whilst conversing with him, will pick up the toy, shift it around, and then attempt to right it. He can't help but wince as he watches, always thinking, Didn't you memorize how you shuffled it? All you have to do is go backwards from there! But then he remembers that his memory is on a higher level than others. Well then, surely they must be able to figure out the pattern—oh, wait… Q sighs. He wishes there were other people on par with him. He sighs with this thought in mind every time.

After the agent has left, with the Rubik's cube back in its rightful place, Q has to stop whatever he's doing in order to solve it and make it right again. He'd done it once when talking to M. He hadn't been too happy about that. But he had gotten used to the quartermaster's quirks. At least, that's what Q hopes. It isn't like he can help these things…

"I'm an oddity of one, my strangeness too complicated to explain or share,'" is what Q had said to his boss, who gave him a quizzical glance. "Libba Bray. A Great and Terrible Beauty." M nodded like he understood. Q could tell he didn't.

But on the topic of solving puzzles, when 007 stepped into the picture, Q found himself drawn to him. It was easy for Q to tell that he would be a challenge. His face betrayed no emotion, and his blue eyes were ever guarded, a blue ocean frozen and impenetrable. This man is not just any puzzle. He's not a 100 piece, a 500 piece, or even a 1,000 piece puzzle. He's beyond such simple riddles and brain teasers, Q's definition of such too advanced for the average mind. He blinks. MI6 should be proud.

After a while of this conundrum, a fruitless attempt at figuring out this agent, Q becomes unnerved. His inability to solve the puzzle that is James Bond makes him furrow his eyebrows and stop typing every time he thinks about it. The damned agent is such an enigma! He leaves no room for inspection, no room for Q to determine the way his mind works. The man is good at his job. Perhaps he is too good. Even for Q, as much as said quartermaster wishes to deny it.

Is there such a thing as being too good at one's job? There's always room for improvement after all. Q tells himself this every day, despite the fact that everyone tells him that he has nothing more to learn, but rather, that other people have more to learn from him. Q feels a sense of pride at the compliment. It never gets old. Call him arrogant, but how else is he supposed to get through the day? Because certainly trying to decode 007 isn't enough…

That's the fifth Sudoku puzzle today. Q frowns as he tucks his pencil behind his ear and stands up straight. He had bought himself a book a week ago filled with Sudoku puzzles, but now it was already halfway done. The speed at which he completes these will cause him to go broke some day. That, or he saves his money and finds a new kind of problem to solve. Maybe he can take to solving riddles for people on the Internet. Riddles are always fun to think about.

For about two seconds since it never takes him anymore than that.

He would be studying Bond at the moment… if he were around. And he isn't about to tail the man throughout the entire base. There's a point where it can get out of hand. He just has to wait until the agent shows up in his part of the building. It's becoming more often, since he's being sent on more missions nowadays and needs to attend to Q for instructions.

Q started taking notes about the curiosity named James Bond (that's even what he called his set of notes). He observes, ponders, writes, observes some more. It's a process that he's quickly become accustomed to. He only reviews them while at home. It's too risky to do so at work. Those agents are stealthy, whether or not they realize that they are.

His notes had been comprised more of mindless rambling than anything, but it's not as if he cares. He'd decided that if he took them, then maybe it would help with solving the problem. He feels like Sherlock Holmes. That makes him pause his train of thought. He needs John Watson by his side. Yes, Sherlock cannot be complete without dear Watson nearby. Q decides that if he ever finds someone just like him, they can be his Watson.

He nods to himself at that conclusion as he sets aside his Sudoku book and begins to work for real. M used to have problems with him not starting to work right away ("There's always work to be done, Q."), but Q didn't relent. He has a way of working that, if disrupted, could alter the productiveness of his day. He's very meticulous, very precise. M came to be aware of that, gladly. Now if people were forbidden from holding a cup of coffee in front of him, he'd be very content. The caffeinated substance makes him cringe. How anybody can stand it… He shudders to even think about it.

"Good morning, Q."

Q looks up from his computer as James Bond walks over. His blue eyes are still guarded, but they seem… softer. He dons a small smile, and Q smiles back. "Good morning, 007. It's nice to see you bright and early. However, I don't recall you having a mission today." Indeed, the main reason 007 ever ventured here was for instructions, nothing more.

"No missions today…" The agent quickly becomes distracted when he spots the (solved) Rubik's cube on Q's desk. He points to it. "May I?"

Q nods in approval. As he watches Bond unscramble it, he watches him, scrutinizes him and all aspects of him. His eyes are now clouded over with concentration as he tries to fix the cube. Q had been observing him, and he had shifted it too much to be memorized. Q hadn't paid much attention, so he didn't pick up the sequence. 007's lips are set in a thin line as he works, and his fingers are lithe as they twist and move parts of the cube, slowly but surely getting the colors onto their respective sides.

"You enjoy puzzles?" Q asks.

Bond smirks a bit. "Here and there."

A man of few words. Q would have to store this information away in his mind to transfer onto his notes later on. A man of few words is someone who thinks before he speaks, a man who, when he says something, gets down to the point and doesn't waste his breath. Q wants to say something, to converse with him, but he can't speak. Nothing to talk about springs up in his mind. How is he supposed to solve this when he has no questions to be answered that could aid him?

"Here you are."

Q blinks as he sees Bond set the now completed Rubik's cube back on his desk. Bloody hell. He meets his cobalt hues, and the ice there is beginning to thaw. Q can see hints of who this enigma is. It isn't much, but it's progress.

"… Thanks." Q can't quite say much else. It's the first time someone else has solved the cube.

"You're welcome. Have a good day, Q."

"And you, 007." The agent gives him a smile that makes it seem like he knows what he's doing. Q watches him as he leaves, then returns his attention to the cube. He picks it up, looks it over, and sees that, yes, every color is now back on the sides they belong on. That man is much cleverer than Q had originally thought.

I am a man of few words, but many riddles, Q quotes. He glances at the door that Bond had left through, and he chuckles to himself, setting the cube back down and grabbing his Scrabble mug. He sips the warm Earl Grey as he returns to work. He's going to enjoy solving this puzzle.