I own nothing, but a very vivid imagination
The knock on his door was distinctive. Only Miss Moneypenny ever managed such a congruent mix of urgent, yet polite knocking. Q was halfway to the door, when the second knock was equally as distinctive, but this one was the brute force of a double-00 agent wrapped in a thin veneer of charm. Together, it quite possibly meant the world was ending. Q went from groggily half asleep to wide-awake in an instant.
He opened his door in a hurry, already rearming the defences before James Bond had set a first step through. It didn't help his adrenaline any that both he and Eve slipped inside while facing the hallway, guns out and cocked, ready for action. Q almost slammed the door closed, but Bond caught his hand before he could. "Be as quiet as you possible can," Eve murmured in a gentle whisper, just as gently letting the door fall soundlessly in the lock.
Bond used his hold on Q's arm to tug him further into the room, but Eve stayed right there at the door, gun aimed at chest height. Bond seemed very reluctant to stow his gun, but did regardless. "Hands out," he ordered, though with less force than normally, as he didn't raise his voice above a smooth whisper. Perplexed, Q obeyed.
Bond carefully fitted twin silver bands around each of his wrists, adjusting them to the right size. Q flinched a little as a thick needle pierced his flesh and stayed like that, though the sting quickly faded even after he'd twisted his wrists around. A quick glance proved Bond and Moneypenny were outfitted with the same accessories.
"No," Q whispered in dread. "These were a joke! I designed these as a joke!"
He remembered to keep his voice down, because though he might expect suck a tasteless joke as this from Bond or even Moneypenny, they wouldn't have done this together. Also, he only ever made two pairs of the cuffs and yet he definitely counted three now.
"And the world might thank you for it one day," Bond remarked dryly, his gun back in hand and pointed back at the door they'd come through. "MI5 started mass production yesterday eve, when they got confirmation that they worked on the little problem they've been hiding for the last couple weeks." The agent's eyes flashed with barely restrained fury.
"If you have a weapon here, get it. M send us to bring you back to HQ. Make as little noise as you can. They don't seem to register much beside it, but they've proven right persistent buggers once they've locked onto a target."
"Fuck!" It was a good thing his voice failed him, otherwise the exclamation would have been far too loud indeed. Twirling into motion with all the experience handling 00-related crisises brought him, Q ducked into his bedroom on silent feet, rooting through his closet all the way to the back for a chest he didn't usually need in real life.
"007, to me," he ordered in a terse whisper. "Put that on, then send Eve back here for the same." It figured that the roleplaying outfits he'd gotten for the latest hit in zombie-killing games would have to be used in a real life situation. He himself was already stripping down, reaching for his own sturdy black threads.
"Is this kevlar?" Bond murmured in appreciation, buttoning up the commando-style clothing, somewhat uncomfortable with the high collar, yet pleased his neck would be protected.
"I almost went for the cheap knock-off version, but it isn't like I have anything else to spend my money on and I actually get paid a ridiculous amount," Q confided, dividing the entirety of his arsenal into three separate army bags, keeping only two guns and a knife on himself.
Eve gave him an appreciative squeeze on the shoulder once she had tucked herself into her suit, fishing an extra gun out of her bag to slip into a pocket. Q nodded at her, handing out ear-pieces to the agents.
"Eve, get all the medication from the bathroom please," the young quartermaster asked, while he emptied his fridge of all the bottles of water, stuffing them in their bags as well. Handing one of the bags to Bond, he asked: "Do I divide the food as well, or is it better to travel as light as possible?"
Weighing the bag in hand, eyes never leaving the door, Bond decided: "Add non-perishables of nutritional value. Be quick about it. We need to head back, before the official story breaks on the news and the roads close because of panicked civilian travel."
Q nodded and hurried through his cupboards. He didn't have a lot that qualified, so he was back in less than a minute, closing the three bags and swinging his own on his back.
"Done." Eve returned. "Good thinking, Q," she praised in a horse voice, visibly uneasy at having to head back out again.
"They walk and run at normal speed, but at least they're easily recognisable. Gun out, Quartermaster. When you see a zombie, aim for the brain. Don't stop to help anyone. We need you inside Q-branche to coordinate if we want to stand any chance of convincing the rest of the world not to nuke us as a quarantine measure."
Q swallowed heavily and tried to take comfort at the silver shine around his wrist, which would at least insure that if he died, he would not be rising again.