MI6 was not a place for pranks. The cool, white walls, the whirring of computers, and the threat of imminent death and destruction somewhat discouraged such frivolity.
It was probably a good thing, then, that Q-Branch did not entirely count itself as a part of the main intelligence grid. MI6 had yet to adjust itself to the myriad of computer geeks it suddenly found itself in command of as the new age forced itself upon them, and the computer geeks had yet to accept taking commands from II6.
"Q?"
"Bond, now is not a good time," Q hissed into the mouthpiece as he picked up his work mobile.
"Q?" Bond's voice again, but with a darker undertone. An unspoken question. Q rolled his eyes
"No, Bond, I am not tied up in a cellar somewhere, with another man, or tied up in a cellar with another man. Now, as I said, now is not a good time."
He almost heard Bond's smirk,
"Am I allowed to ask why?"
"No."
"Should I be worried?"
Q sighed, rubbing his temple with one hand, the other hand still gliding across his keyboard, the phone sandwiched between ear and shoulder,
"Bond, I know you don't make it a habit to keep track of dates, but today happens to be April first. There are no hanging threats to national security at the moment, and don't promise to be any for at least another week. Q branch is dead board; R & D is in a similar state. Everyone in this little basement, including me, is looking for something, anything to do, and I have a sneaking suspicion April Fools is about to be celebrated in a rather unorthodox manner. As I said. Not. Now."
A quick jerk of his chin, and Q ended the call, executing a few more integral keystrokes as he finished shoring up any and all gaps in his firewalls, double-encrypting, triple-encrypting, and all but disconnecting his personal computer from the network. He had seen Q-Branch's furtive glances and smirks, had noticed the rather large list of unsanctioned projects being undertaken, had seen R & D coming in and out, exchanging what looked suspiciously like blueprints with Q-branch members, and generally giving the impression of an impending apocalypse approaching.
Q wasn't an idiot. There was a reason Q-branch was usually constantly working; boredom, a room of geniuses, and a research and development lab were a dangerous combination. All hell was about to break loose, and Q intended to be ready.
Good. Now that was done. Q had done the best he could, given the short time frame, and now turned to his e-mails, on the off chance that this thing (whatever 'this thing' was) started before he could deal with whatever pressing issues presented themselves.
He scrolled down through a variety of Bond's messages, shooting off a quick, pacifying response, then reached M's status updates, quickly archiving them out of sight. A few from Q-Branch: one from Eaton, one of the branch's newer members, one from John, and finally, one from…
Bloody Hell.
Q cursed himself as he opened Sarah's e-mail to a blank page, watching as his screen, then each successive screen in Q-Branch, was replaced by a full-color image from one of the surveillance tapes of Bond and Q kissing in an empty corridor, Bond's hand flat against Q's chest, Q's eyes all but fluttering.
"Sarah!" He yelled, as all of Q-Branch did the same. His fingers were already flitting across the keyboard, analyzing, twisting, breaking, desperately attempting to remove the offending image. In three minutes, his screen was back to normal, although the rest of Q-Branch was still struggling vainly with Sarah's virus. Q swiveled around in his special chair, padded to accommodate long hours at a keyboard, swinging until he could stare Sarah straight in the eye, raising one delicate eyebrow in a simple question:
Do you really think you're good enough for this?
Sarah's answer was a simple, quick smile.
That was the problem with the newbies. They all saw Q's stature and gangly limbs and automatically assumed his mind was equally undeveloped.
Q never tired of proving them wrong.
Never let it be said that Q didn't posses a sense of humor. As his subordinates tried to tackle Sarah's codes, with varying success, Q spent a moment reversing the link, and soon he was searching through Sarah's internet history, personal files, a rather amusing personal blog, and personal e-mail account. Five minutes since Q and Bond's portrait adorned Q-branch, and the worst of Sarah's personal life was scrolling across not just the quartermaster's domain, but all of MI6. Nothing with a screen was safe from Q and his codes.
Q turned again to grin at Sarah, whose eyes had gone wide in shock.
Check and mate.
Q checked his watch. 8:45. It was going to be a long day.