Finally
AN- Short story (4-5 chapters /might be longer) just because I've seen the movie twice and I still can't get enough of it! Enjoy
Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
No matter how hard he brushed and smoothed down his unruly black waves, Q just couldn't seem to get them to look less 'bird-nest like'. He gave one last tug at his fringe before giving up with an exasperated sigh. He reached into the cupboard for some soap and moved onto his face. Usually he wouldn't even glance at his appearance before leaving his flat in the morning; 5 minutes in the office and a series of tricky quadratic equations would take him back to square one and he'd be ripping bits out by lunch on a particularly stressful day.
Nevertheless, this morning he was trying unusually hard to look his best. Why, you ask? Maybe because the greatest spy in her Majesty's secret service, James Bond, was returning from his month long mission in Russia and Q was crushing on him like a Twilight obsessed teenage fan girl? Out loud he would deny it and say that Bond was a friend, who he trusted and respected, and that he felt no more for him than he felt for his dad. Inside though, his stomach would be fluttering at even the thought of James; his strong face that rarely shows emotion unless he is talking to Q, his bright blue eyes that sparkle when he is on a mission, fuelled by pure adrenaline and passion, his defined muscles that flex and stretch with ease when he relaxes in the lab before briefing, everything about him, every little minute detail that he discovered when James let his true persona show though, like how he taps incessantly when he's thinking or how he scratches the back of his neck and looks down when he's embarrassed, every little thing made him fall deeper and deeper for the agent.
He could only ever admire though, as James only thought of him as a little kid that he has to make do with until reassigned. He probably thinks of him as a fly that he can't quite flick off. A nuisance. Still, he lets himself dream that maybe, by some trick of fate, one day James might reciprocate his feelings and in the meantime, the quartermaster busies himself in his work.
Satisfied that he could do no more to fix his appearance, Q grabbed his coat, satchel and house keys, straightened his tie, and exited the apartment, practically buzzing with nervous energy, and two cups of coffee.