Q was a man of habit. He woke up every morning exactly at six o'clock, made a cup of coffee and smoke a cigarette, then took a shower and dressed a cardigan. The whole process took an hour and he could left out anzthing but his cardigan. He always wore his cardigan.
James Bond was a total mess. If he woke up in his own bed, he didn't even know the date. The coffee was never in the cabinet and believe me, he looked everywhere. Toothpaste was old and brush destroyed. When took his shower, the only towel stinked like devil eggs and last shirt in the wardrobe had a blood spot. He ended up in jeans and Puma t-shirt.
Bond never knew what to do in London when not on a mission. He had never much friends. M - the old M, the true M - was one of them. Mallory - yes, he knows, M like moron - is a fine bloke, just not as fine as... for example Q. Yes, Q is a friend - Q is a guy whos flat would Bond break into. So Q-Branch it is.
Q stood by his table and was highly annoyed. His back hurt and there was so much work he couldn't sit down. Modern technology is a great thing, but a pain in the ass, too.
"Morning," a voice almost caused him a heart attack. The Q-Branch was a quiet place, he was the only one there. Bloody double oh seven.
Bond looked like... well, Q saw many bad boys and that's just how they looked like.
"What's with the jeans?" Q asked.
"What's with the cardigan?" Bond raised an eyebrow.
"I always wear a cardigan."
"And I always ask."
Q came back to his work and very quietly mummed - "And I will never tell."
Of course Bond heard it - no, no because he was double oh, his ears suffered more explosions and gun shots than Barbar Conan - but beause of the silence in Q-Branch. It kicked him into "agent mode". He smelled a secret.
"How is your boyfrend?" he came to him, looking at his computer and not understanding a thing.
"I don't have a boyfriend," Q hated being mocking because of his orientation. Bond saw him once with one man, not very bright man, not very good in bed. Q was pretty sure Bond doesn't consider him a man. And Q was a man, oh, just let him show you!
"So how is your friends with benefits?"
"If you really have to know, he's propably with his wife and children somewhere on brunch."
Bond noticed that Q's nose was moving as he spoke. It was fascinating. He just wanted him to speak more.
"You surprise me," he said. "Sleeping with married man, that's so non cardigan."
"And what is it, if not cardigan?" asked Q with little smile.
"Well," Bond laid against the table. "If honestly, little slut."
"Little slut?" Q left everything be and turned to him in surprise.
"I ment little like a slut..."
"I know, what you ment," Q wasn't angry, in fact, he was pleased. In some way it was nice, not to be an IT nerd once in a while. But slut still wasn't very manly.
"I didn't mean to insult you," Bond started to grin.
"How could I be insulted? It's always nice to be appreciated for something that isn't true," the turned to his PC again. "As always."
"Do you have any problem here?" Bond stepped a little closer.
"I have no problem in job where a problem could kill me or destroy England."
"Q, you're too tight," Bond stood right behind him. "Let England fall once in a time."
"What are you doing, Bond?" Q's voice rang like an alarm.
"Just a little experiment," Bond's hands just tried to touch his hips. Q didn't move away but he was too aware of what Bond is and that he has to have some reason to act all pink-butterfly.
"Bond, I'm not a woman," he said, but Bond just leaned his chest against Q's back.
"I don't expect you to buy me a chocolate heart, I'd just like to explore your... tightness."
"Bond, you're ridicolous," Q tried to slip from his embrace but in that moment Bond decided his quatermaster should REALLY work on his work relationships.
"I am double oh, right? That means you have to help me with every mission, official and unofficial."
"Let me phone Mallory about it, would you?"
"Why, do you want him to join?"
"That's just not you," Q turned and faced him, as he later admited, was a mistake.
"Q, what would I have to do to make you tell me the story of your cardigans?" asked Bond silently, his breath warm on Q's lips.
"Leave me alone," whispered Q.
"Hmmm..." just a second before he left him his personal space he rubbed a nose against his. "Pitty."
Q turned to the computer quickly hide his brushing face.
"So the story," said Bond then, smiling almost wildly when Q couldn't see him.
"The story is absolutly boring."
"I bet. Still wanna hear it."
Q sighed, annoyed by this while situation. He just hated to lie. He never knew if lie or say the truth so he looked like a really bad lier. So he resigned.
"It's just stupid past of MI6 employe. There were few things a decent civilan doesn't do, like some police records and things even police didn't know... and, as you pointed out, I'm a little slut."
"What police records?"
"I'm a hacker, Bond," said Q firmly. "And those who are not paid for breaking into world's databazes do it against the law. Before I was that good to cover my foot steps, someone cought me. Thank godness I didn't break into FBI till I knew how to hide myself."
"And the old Q found you, I guess," said Bond, interested.
"Not till I showed myself to him. I broke into MI6 databaze in age eighteen, left my name and note - In case of needed help. Q thought I'm some big fish. He didn't suppose to find teeneger with spots and daddy issues."
He found himself typing nothing particular.
"So the cardigans. Can you imagine a dres code of a young criminal? T-shirts with my favorit bands, ragged jeans... my cardigans remind me who I became and what theatre I have to play."
Bond was looking at him like a brand new man. It wasn't that he never thought of Q's old life, just always saw him as Oxford graduated.
"I'd love to see you in one of those t-shirts," he said after a while.
"There is one or two left, maybe..." Q said absently. Ten he turned on him and scanned that decent body.
"What is it, Q?" asked Bond with knowing smile.
"Nothing..." he answered, still watching him. Bond broke into laughter.
"You missed your chance."