A/N: Welcome to the first story I've put on here. Any comments or critique would be brilliant and metaphorical cookies may be available. Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: All known characters belong to Ian Fleming and the portrayals to the lovely people who bring us the films. All recognisable information belongs to original authors!

"Why then methinks 'tis time to smile again." Twelfth Night, William Shakespeare

Seeing him now, after knowing the facts, didn't appease him at all. He had worked for Her Majesty's Secret Service a handful of years and seen more than a few lifetimes pass by (through to the very end in a regretful number of cases) but life was still surprising him. His emotions, and reactions, still surprised him: relief and instantly anger ate each other up.

'I hope everything's intact,' he quipped. He was ignored, rightfully so. He was being rude – professional they called it – it was unavoidable. 'It was a success, congratulations.'

'I don't need that.' 007 replied finally looking the Quartermaster in the eyes.

'It's too much like luck.'

'And luck's never going to get you anywhere in the field, is it?'

He smiled slyly. 'On the contrary, I rely on it. Half of everything's luck.'

Q fought down a smile. He reminded himself he needed to be very angry. The mission had nearly failed – more times than usual – as one man had taken the plan into his own hands and moulded and squished it as he liked. One man who happened to be in front of him with annoyingly blue eyes. One man who he was supposed to be mad at. One man who brought one more smile to Q's face than he had had in weeks.

'The Coms broke off in Argentina.'

'You pulled it out.' He corrected the agent.

007 smirked and shook his head. 'Hope I don't see you too soon, Q. I'm planning on a holiday.'

'I thought you just got back from one.'

'I'm looking for something with less danger.'

He raised his eyebrows, as if saying Really?

'I think I've narrowed it down to Wales…' he smiled.

'Their financial stability as a Providence is terrifically dangerous, I would avoid it if I were you.'

'Wouldn't want anything to happen to any shares now would we,' 007 smiled again. He was smiling far too much – there had to be a law against it somewhere, or surely he could add one in, he had a few minutes to hack in to—

'Where would you recommend then?' The-agent-know-it-all-now-criminal smiled again, thoughtlessly.

The desperation to say something ghastly inappropriate for the workplace landed on his lips and suddenly the reasons against it (embarrassment, unemployment) seemed minimal. He opened his mouth and his phone rang from under the table—

—Reality sucked him up and threw him into a Tuesday morning in a rainy London where he hadn't left his desk since the night before and the only sound he could hear as the phone cut off unanswered was the static ridden breathing down the Coms that hadn't yet been taken off. The smiling agent slept on in Argentina and the Quartermaster – his Quartermaster – woke up to another day of waiting for him to come home, so he could be relieved, so he could be angry, so he could forgive him. And so he could smile again.

Sleep wasn't coming easily, and when it did it was doing a fine job of buggering off quite quickly; but he knew he should be enjoying the unlikely chance whilst he got it. Criminals, assassins, murderers, he could catch, but forty winks of sleep – or anything more than four really – was evading him expertly. It could have the Mafia out of a job.

'Q,' he murmured, into his earpiece, knowing there was no one around but not willing to believe it. Just in case.

'Q I know you're…' A muffled sigh a…snore emitted from the Coms in his ear. James chuckled. The Quartermaster was asleep on the job instead of waiting avidly for the agent – his agent – to report back. Q never slept on the job he was meticulous and dedicated and…

It was only then that time caught up on him. It had been over two days since he had last slept and Q had been there on the other end waiting for him the whole while, through all of it, the whining and the egotistical boasts, the jokes and the anger, across half of South America he'd put up with him in his ear without sleep for two days. Of course he deserved a mere hour off.

It suddenly occurred to him that they should pay Q a whole lot more than they did.

For a moment he just listened to the sound of the other man sleep, the sounds pushing him nearer to the edge of dreams: he indulged in the sound whilst he could, knowing the improbability, the selfishness of his thoughts. The impossibility of reality.

Abruptly Q muttered a word that wasn't quite a whisper and James realised he must be asleep already, because awake, asleep or dreaming there were some things he would never hear him say.

But all the same, he pretended he had heard correctly, that the man on the other end had really said that word and the agent drifted happily over the edge and into dreams: of being in England again, of having proper food, sleep, of seeing him, and of maybe – just maybe – smiling again.

A/N: Thanks for reading!