Under Suspicion
Full summary: A story of loyalty, betrayal, revelations and the forging of bonds. When an unbiased party is needed to determine the risk of Alex Riders' continued employment with MI6 and his loyalty to England, who better to determine then one who has given everything for Queen and Country? But the deeper they dig, the more questions that form. Why are they investigating a seventeen year old at all? And how is such a young man so experienced and jaded? They'll get answers one way or another, but they won't necessarily like what they find. James/Q, Alex/Yassen, Mycroft/Greg *Q is a Holmes*
Chapter 1:
Q-Branch was a bustle of activity, as it always was during and often even after daylight hours. James Bond, code name 007, had become a quite common sight amongst the boffins and programmers in recent months, to the point they scarcely spared him a glance as he strode confidently to the center console where their esteemed branch head stood. The petite man's fingers were hardly more than a blur as his eyes darted from one line of code to the next, moving faster than the average person could read a novel.
"007, to what do I owe the pleasure? I find I'm quite busy today." He stated, tone distracted and without a pause or glance at the intimidating man who just far enough away to maintain the required veneer of professionalism.
"M sent me to fetch you. You haven't responded to his urgent email, apparently. A man of your import really should be on top of these things, Quartermaster." A teasing note edged into his drawl as it quieted towards the end, lowering enough that the nearest minions should be unable to overhear him alluding to their coupling the night before.
Slender fingers came to a stop on the keyboard and a gusty sigh left red lips as tired eyes glared over at the looming agent, who looked none the worse for wear despite being the primary reason he was kept up so far into the early hours of the morn. "Because I have nothing better to do with my time than sit at my computer on the chance an email should chime up that demands my immediate attention." His response was snappy from too little sleep, much too little caffeine, and a headache that had been steadily growing since first stepping off the elevator and into his domain hours prior.
"I've told you before you should demand a secretary."
"Most of the stuff that crosses my desk is for my eyes only, or at least too high security for the average agent to gain access to. Setting a secretary there would cause me more work than it would save me." He sighed again, and ran a hand through already disheveled hair. "A 00 though would have high enough clearance for most of it. Tell me Bond, would you like to be my secretary?"
The familiar naughty glint in his eye grew more obvious as his head tilted to the side. "I could imagine worse jobs." He said slyly. "And I'm sure we could find ways to fill all the time I'd be saving you." The man lifted a hand and Q noticed for the first time the steaming paper cup from the café down the street he preferred if ordering pre-made tea. The smell hit his nose at the same time and his ire softened immediately. He accepted the offering with a small smile, lifting it to his lips immediately and humming in pleasure at finding it piping hot still.
It occurred to him that the man must have gone there after the order to fetch him for an apparently urgent matter, and so M would likely be growing more and more impatient as he waited, but Q couldn't bring himself to scold the man for it. Well, yet, anyway. He supposed it depended on the nature of the summoning. Still, better not to keep his boss waiting any longer.
He flagged down R to fill her in and then departed, his deadly companion trailing him so close he might as well have been glued to his shoulder. They made their way swiftly up to the executive floors, bypassing the elevator all together and taking the stairs instead. It was a bit of a jaunt, but Q had gotten precious little chance to stretch his legs and so took advantage of the opportunity. His shadow fell back slightly then, allowing the slighter man to pull several steps ahead, so that he might better appreciate the slender hips and taunt buttocks encased inside of the well-fitting, if hideously checkered, trousers James had watched him pull on that morning.
Q was well acquainted with the man's ways, and so when he felt him physically withdraw he simply rolled his eyes without glancing back. He'd finished the tea by the time they arrived on the correct floor, so he tossed it in the bin beside Moneypenny's desk as she looked up at their entrance. "About bloody time!" She scolded in a hiss. "Go on in, he's waiting for you." She didn't allow them to respond, but rather buzzed M immediately, informing him of their arrival.
His heavy wooden door was pulled open a second later, Tanner appearing in the gap with a frown of his own. He held it open for them and then closed it again once they'd entered. His hand moved to a hidden panel on the wall, punching in the command to place the room in black out mode. A quiet hum started up as the noise scramblers kicked on in the surrounding structure, the electronics disconnected for the majority of their servers (including the hidden security camera mounted in the corner above the door, placed to get an image of M's face and the back of his computer, but not his desktop of screen). Outside the room, a dim red light began blinking from its spot above the door.
"Thank you for joining us." M drawled from his place stood before the large glass windows that overlooked London, his back to the room. The pair remained silent as they took the remaining two seats before the desk, Tanner having returned to the one pushed over to the other side. M turned once they were all seated and joined them by sitting back in his own chair.
"I apologize, Sir." Q spoke when he saw the unapologetic smirk curling the edge of his partner's mouth. "I was on the floor and didn't receive your summons. Perhaps you might try calling next time? I'm rarely in my office during the day, after all." He hadn't intended to let that out, should have stopped after the apology, but the man really should have learned that lesson with how long he'd now held his position. It had been months since they'd lain the old M to rest, and things still felt a bit off. The old M knew better than to try and send him an email of all things. Honestly, all the technology at their fingertips and that was the method he preferred to communicate with his staff?
He received a sharp look in return, but the man didn't scold him for his tone. "I'll try to remember that." He drawled instead, pushing a folder towards him. Q's lip curled, nose twitching, as he reached out to accept the thin stack of papers.
The folder opened to reveal the photo of a young man with short, wavy blond hair and cold eyes staring out of a hard, jaded looking face. A few basic statistics were listed next to the photo.
Name: Alexander John Rider.
DOB: Restricted.
Height: 5'10.
Weight: 63.5 kilos.
Hair: Blond.
Eye colour: Brown.
Defining Characteristics: Birthmark, left shoulder. Bullet wound, left chest.
Q turned the page.
Associated Agencies: MI6, SIS, CIA, ASIS, Scorpia. Each organization was followed by a very small paragraph with a brief description of events, along with a much smaller picture of him after each operation.
The third and last page had three small lines typed neatly in the middle of the page.
Security level: Black.
Authorization level: Revoked.
Status: Undetermined.
Q looked up at M searchingly as he passed the folder over to 007 at M's gesture. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Sir. Who is he?"
"He's an agent. Currently under investigation for ties to the terrorist group SCORPIA. Our sister branch wants someone unbiased and neutral to determine if this Agent is still loyal to Her Majesty, or if he is a threat to be dealt with. You have been assigned to the task, 007. He is coming here in one week under the guise of a joint operation. It is your job to assess his possible threat risk. If you believe him a loyal agent you will finish the mission quietly with him none the wiser. If you believe him lost you are to determine whether or not he can be retired, or if he need be eliminated. If you find him to be a threat, your orders become elimination. You have no restrictions, and there will be no investigation or questions into your decision."
James' eyes glanced back down to the folder. "This boy hardly looks old enough to shave. And I don't believe I have ever seen a classified birth date before. What's really going on M?"
The man sighed, broad shoulders slumping slightly and his professionalism faltering for the briefest of moments. "He was recruited by our sister branch when he was fourteen. His employment with them has been… questionable, and would look very bad on Her Majesty should it become public knowledge. This is a very delicate operation 007, and the possible consequences are enormous. It is imperative that you use caution and come to the right decision. The information he has could be enough to topple the Monarchy, in the wrong hands."
"When you say no restrictions?"
"Well, they requested he not be given weapons, citing a lack of training and proficiency. Otherwise it is at your discretion."
007's brow raised as he glanced pointedly down at the list of associated agencies. The list didn't mesh well with the idea that the boy wouldn't be proficient with weapons. M looked as though he agreed, but lifted his hands in a show of helplessness. "That folder is all of the information I have. B is holding this one close to his chest."
"This is a lot of freedom and power to place in one man's hands, without giving me much to go on." Bond remarked back loftily, though his eyes had gone hard and cold already. It was not a good task to assign to anyone, but Bond himself had been scrutinized after his apparent death enough to have felt the surprising sting that resulted from a lack of faith aimed at him.
"You will have to discover much more before you reach a decision, I'm sure. I have faith you can accomplish it." His tone was almost challenging, brow half raised and eyes gazing over coolly. Bond smiled back, a flash of white visible with the motion. M glanced away a second later, though Bond continued to gaze steadily across at him. "Quartermaster, you will be 007's sole handler for this assignment. The fewer people involved, the better off we'll be for now."
"Sir." Q nodded in agreement, though he felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach at the thought. He too knew what it was like to be distrusted within the agency, having gained his start as a law-abiding citizen at the tender age of sixteen, when he'd been tracked down and arrested after a seventy-two hour coding session that had ended with a celebratory hacking into London's traffic grid and forming a gridlock to the likes of which were unheard of. It was only with satellite imagery that his creative genius was discovered in the form of a huge Fibonacci spiral unfurling across the ancient streets.
He knew it had been a stupid, careless thing to do, but he'd been high on the thrill of success that came with the new zeros filling his bank account, and cocky to boot. It might not have been so bad, if not for the fact that the Queen had apparently been traveling by car that day, and had become caught in the snare, creating something of a diplomatic incident when someone mentioned the possibility of a well-planned assassination attempt. There was little that left one more helpless after all, than being trapped in the middle of a London Traffic Jam- boxed in on either side by multiple cars and well and truly unable to break free.
MI6 had some of the best minds in the country, and so it hadn't taken them long to track him down after such a triggering event. He'd only just finally crashed on the mattress pushed off to the side of his one-room flat when they busted through his door and windows, and they had him restrained before he was fully able to open his eyes or sit up. He'd been dragged from his flat in naught by the boxer-briefs and hoodie he'd crashed in, and tossed in the back of a reinforced looking black SUV without care.
Within twenty minutes he found himself seated on a biting metal chair, the sharpish edge of its seat digging uncomfortably into the bare stretch of thigh, while equally cold cuffs bit sharply into his thin, pale wrists. Despite his bravado, he'd been young and it hadn't taken long before their intimidation tactics began to work- threats of a lifetime in prison for acts of treason against the crown, namely, that really broke through to him. It wasn't as though he was really a traitor, after all. He'd simply been playing the game of survival as best he could with what he had.
When he met M that first time, she wasn't anything like he was expecting. She scared the shite out of him, no doubt about that, but she was also fair. She laid things out for him bluntly and then allowed him to decide what he wanted to do with the rest of his life (stifled as the options now were).
He'd ended up working for Six after a brief mandatory incarceration in which he was kept out of Gen Pop due to his age (no matter that his documents showed him fully emancipated, as he'd altered them to read before he'd even turned fourteen). After that sentence, he was given assigned living quarters at a Six building nearby, along with an ankle tracker that would be difficult for even him to break through, given its sleek shape, invisible seam and unknown locking mechanism.
It had actually been the tracker that had truly caught his attention, for while it was a beautiful piece of tech, he knew he could make it better if given the chance. During the day, he found himself sat alone at a desk given simple tasks to perform, feeling a bit like a wind-up monkey with every action of his monitored both by video feed and from within the computer he'd been assigned to use.
Despite the drag of monotony, he'd decided to make the most of what had become his life having realized the chance he been given, and so he threw himself fully into the tedious work. He completed the tasks before they believe it possible, at first assuming he hadn't done it correctly or had half-arsed it out of spite, but they quickly realized how flawless of products he returned to them. It took time but he eventually graduated to larger and more difficult projects, though he was still monitored closely.
It wasn't until he was twenty-one that he'd been allowed in Q branch for the first time, after five full years of hard work on his part. He'd hoped his presence would simply be assumed a normal addition- and it was, for the most part. Q and R, however, had both been briefed on his record and were tasked with continuing to monitor him.
Despite the continued surveillance, he'd thrived in his new environment. Boothroyd, after witnesses his genus first hand, had quickly taken him under his wing. R though, remained stern and aloft, never fully taking his eyes off their youngest member. R's own suspicious garnered a fair share of attention on the boy, which had continued after he'd left the position of R to accept the Head of R&D position.
When everything happened with Silva, he'd felt the full force of that suspicion fall back onto his head. He had, after all, managed to advance from one of many Q-branch members to the Quartermaster under fairly suspicious circumstances. Plugging Silva's laptop into their server had been yet another strike against him, and so in addition to the feel of shame and failure that crept up his throat when their target had escaped, he also had to deal with the fierce rebuttal his promotion was receiving from the branch their division worked closest with.
When M died and Mallory stepped into the head position, he'd requested to meet individually with all branch leads. When Q received his own summons, it had been obvious his former superior had already brought his complaints to the man's attention- The old M had come to trust him in time, else she wouldn't have promoted him as she did, but perhaps this M would see more sense-? Q could only imagine what the older man hoped to accomplish, considering his otherwise flawless record over the past two decades.
Still, he was nothing if not brilliant, and so came prepared with figures and reports detailing all of the progress and advancement Q-branch had made under his leadership; the decline in tech malfunction incidents and thus the decline in Agent death and injury; the increased efficiency in their tools and tech, resulting in shortened mission length and thus allowing for quicker re-deployment; the decline in incidents of Agents going dark as they grew to trust the voice in their ear more and more as time passed… the list was impressive, and Mallory made no move to dismiss his successful transition, but rather complimented him on a job well done and bid he carry on.
Still, every one and a while, he got the sense that Mallory was wondering, and it sucked that the child he'd been once upon a time still had the ability to cast doubt on his character nearly two decades later. Because of his past, he sympathized with the position this Alexander Rider was in and the scrutiny he was under. While he wasn't thrilled to be a part of such an investigation, he'd do the job without protest as always.
Bond speaking up beside him helped break him free of this thoughts, and he looked over attentively at the question placed. "If this isn't to happen for a week, why's it urgent now?" It was a fair thing to ask, the use of 'urgent' in their setting usually meant something much more time sensitive. A week might as well have been a year for how far away it still was.
Mallory's expression grew even more serious. "To give us time to prepare for our secondary objective. While investigating Agent Rider's loyalty is paramount, we are also going to investigate B, and the way he's running the Royal and General division. If he's using one child soldier, what else is he doing over there?"