Synopsis: James Bond has driven off into the London Skyline with Madeleine Swann leaving the remnants of MI6 behind and Gareth Mallory and his team to clean up the mess of a post-Spectre world. Let's hope he's up to the challenge.

Note: As a dedicated 00Q shipper (which I have not abandoned!), I feel it necessary to write that, if you are not into the idea of MallQry, then this story is probably not for you. If, like me however, you like to stretch your sensibilities and just see where these things go, hop on!

This story is inspired by exchanges on Facebook with the fandom. I want to blame them, but I really can't.

Present Day

Q isn't sure how it started. Well, actually no, he knows full well how they got here, sitting across from each other, challenging, goading and testing one another. Gareth Mallory's keen intellectualism was a welcome diversion from his Q Branch duties. Despite his complete devotion to his vocation, Q was under no illusion about the threat of burnout in his line of work so welcomed such distractions on the rare occasion they presented themselves.

He watched Mallory's fingers drum absent-mindedly on the mahogany of his expansive desk. Decadent. The thought of his superior being equally so, briefly flitted through his mind but Q chastised himself for the notion. He knew nothing of the man bar the intellectual repartee they shared when circumstances permitted.

"Check."

Q was pulled from his musings abruptly, realising he had unusually allowed his contemplations to wander from the task at hand. He refocussed on the chessboard between them, while M leaned back against his chair doing his best not to look smug. Q stepped onto the board laid out in his mind and quickly calculated his opponent was only three moves away from pining his Quartermaster into an inescapable corner.

Q however, was nothing if not equally as intellectually resourceful himself and just on the verge of seeing a way through, his phone beeped.

Q stood. "Excuse me, Sir. Q Branch needs me. I hope we can resume the game same time next week?"

M stood and slid his hands into his pockets, tilting his head smoothly forward in the affirmative. "Of course, Quartermaster. Don't let me keep you. Though could we perhaps make it a little later in the evening?"

"Of course, Sir."

Q took his leave and exited Mallory's office, tossing Moneypenny a small, fond smile on his way through the anteroom. Mallory carefully lifted the chessboard and set it on the small table in the corner by his window. He leaned back into the large leather-bound seat behind his desk and took one last lingering look at the position of the pieces before turning his attention to the latest world events flitting across the tablet screen on his desk.

6 weeks previously…

Q stood at the entrance to his lab and watched 007 climb into the Aston Martin. He never could say no to the Agent. He had suffered and sacrificed so much, so much beyond the comprehension of the young boffin. Such understanding did nothing to ease the pang in his chest as Bond threw him a parting smile of gratitude before screeching down the corridor towards the lab's underground exit. Q smiled depreciatingly and sighed. His breath was deep and resigned when he turned back to the parts strewn across his workbench.

Alan, evidently sensing the coast was clear, hopped up onto the bench seeking attention and reassurance that the metal monster would not be returning. "You never know with 007, Alan," whispered Q, bundling the ball of fur into his welcome arms and breathing into his neck. "He's a living, breathing embodiment of every contradiction in existence." He placed the cat in his basket and sat down, sketching out the plans for a new improved replacement of the Aston.

Five days later…

"It's certainly quieter without him around…"

"And you must be saving a fortune on equipment that you can use for future Q Branch projects," said Moneypenny with a cheery smile. Sentimentality was not an affliction from which M's right hand girl suffered. A good stint in the field will do that to a former agent.

Q laughed. "Well that's certainly true. I'll be the flavour of the budgetary committee's month during the next round of funding requests."

They were in Q's office, Alan weaving his way in that seductively sleek manner in which cats are prone to do between and around Moneypenny's slender, stockinged calves.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Moneypenny? You don't often grace the less-than-modest confines of Q Branch."

Moneypenny, it seemed, was in the mood to be frank. A rare treat in one embroiled in the world of espionage. "If I'm honest, I'm missing him myself. I was hoping you'd like to grab a drink after work so we could regale each other with tales of the mischief and mayhem of one mutually acquainted former agent." She folded her arms and casually jutted out the curve of her hip. "I don't think I ever did tell you the full details of what happened in Istanbul…"

Q had to force his mouth not to drop open. "Istanbul? I thought— Macau?"

"Oh this wasn't with Bond." She leaned closer towards him across his desk and Q mirrored the move, fellow conspirators in kind. "He wasn't the only one forced to put out for Queen and Country you know," her eyes sparkling.

"Why, Miss Moneypenny. I do declare!" whispered Q, feigning the look and tone of one completely scandalised by such behaviour.

She straightened up again, recomposing herself with that uncanny flick-switch response she was continuously honing to perfection.

"So. Drinks later?" she enquired in a clipped tone.

Q smiled and nodded. "It would be a pleasure."

The Morpeth Arms was an infrequently used haunt of MI6 staff situated opposite River House. It didn't do to converge en masse on the place and they never did so in large groups. But it was Tuesday evening and it was relatively quiet. Q and Moneypenny entered the establishment just before 8pm. Moneypenny glanced around, her instinctive MO, and as Q stepped up beside her towards the bar, that was when they both clocked the broad shoulders encased in a blue pinstripe waistcoat ordering drinks at that same bar. As he turned and headed towards a booth in which two other men were sitting, he made no indication nor acknowledgement of his staff. They did him the same courtesy, ignoring each other completely.

Drinks orders they sat in one of the few available booths which, much to Q's chagrin, was within the line of sight of M's position. He shifted uncomfortably before taking a sip of his beer. Moneypenny being Moneypenny of course, instantly picked up on the disquiet.

"Surely you're not bothered by M's presence?"

The question caused Q to involuntarily glance in the man's direction who it just so happened was bestowing his own unreadable look at the Quartermaster while his companions sitting opposite exchanged words. Q was by no means easily intimidated. He was the genius behind the inventions and security of MI6 for fuck's sake, but there was something about the eyes of Gareth Mallory when pinpoint focussed in your direction that were quite unsettling. He quickly looked back at his companion and smiled. "I have a meeting with him tomorrow," Q took a breath and smoothed his hand down his cardigan focussing on his inner composure. "He wants to discuss the "disappearance" of the Aston Martin…"

Moneypenny couldn't help but laugh. "You mean the one you practically handed to Bond on a silver platter? Good luck with that."

"Your sympathies for my plight will be well remembered, Moneypenny," he intoned rancourously. Moneypenny merely presented the palms of her hands in mock submission. "I'm sure you'll think of something to appease our glorious leader."

"Maybe I should just resign before he fires me."

Eve scoffed into her own drink. "You're the best thing to have happened to MI6 in an age. Cars are easily replaced. Quartermasters less so."

Q glanced over again. Director and Quartermaster caught each other's eye. Again. Q buried his nose in his beer. Good God, he thought to himself while Moneypenny launched into the events in Istanbul, I am in so much trouble…