James Bond isn't mine and I make no money from writing this

"Just move." He whispered to himself, wide eyes staring at the dark wall opposite. "They'll be long gone by now. Just fucking move."

The pep talk wasn't doing much for his nerves, but Q tried to gasp down as much air as possible; he really couldn't stay here, Bond wanted to know about the ring. The voices outside were just as loud as before, but the babbling of holiday makers gave him no hint about the location of the men.

"Stop hiding and go." He hissed, hands tightening on the strap of his bag. "Three, two, one… go."

Taking a deep breath, the man opened the door and half threw himself into the crowds milling about. He didn't dare glance around to see where they were, didn't dare try to spot any danger… he didn't want to draw attention to himself.

Head down, he quickly left the building and headed out onto the streets, trotting just behind a crowd of what seemed to be college students and several enthusiastic teachers pointing out rock formations before breaking off to enter the hotel Pevsner.

"Right." He mumbled as he stripped off his outdoor gear, toeing off his boots and debating the benefits of a shower before Bond arrived. "No. Get this sorted then relax."

He stuck his laptop on the table and switched it on before shuffling over to case to pull out the teabags he had brought with him. A hot drink would help him to think, to find the right words to say to Bond when he had to explain that Oberhauser was still alive. The boffin jammed his shoes under the radiators, turning the setting up on it to try and dry them out before pottering over to drop his teabag into a cup.

He should have known better than to doubt the man; Bond had amazing intuition.

A knock on the door made Q jump. He glanced at his watch and frowned- it hadn't been an hour yet. Moving over and picking up his laptop, he called out "Bond?" uncertainly. There was another knock, harder this time. Turning quickly, the quartermaster hurried into the bathroom and locked the door.

"Shit." He swore and sitting on the floor he worked to quickly send what he could of the files to Bond's email address. It was his work one, which could easily be opened by Q Branch and the hotel's Wi-Fi certainly wasn't the thing to use, but he had no choice. Bond would need the options that information could bring.

There was a bang as the door into his room opened and the young man could hear people moving inside. He trembled as he stared at the single door separating him from those he didn't want to meet. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." Swearing, Q spun up onto his knees to plug the sink up and turn the tap on.

There was shouting on the other side of the door, along with banging and threats to shoot the door if he didn't open it for them. But despite the threats of violence, what frightened him the most was hidden in the things they were shouting. "Open up, Quartermaster! We need your help!" "Quartermaster, we need your help to locate a microchip in one of your lost dogs!" and so on.

They knew who he was.

There was a mole at MI6 who had told them he could track the agents… and he would bet anything that it was Bond they wanted, and that this all linked back to Oberhauser and the organisation that he ran.

Three gunshots later and the door lay on the floor, but Q was ready for them. His laptop was drowning in the sink and he held one of the heavy glasses the hotel provided.

He threw the glass into the face of the first man, apparently with enough force that he stumbled. It was enough for Q, who scurried past into the main room. There were three other men in the room, two of whom had tried to get Q on the ski lift. "Bugger." He backed away, fear cutting away the logic he usually employed.

"Now, now." Tutted the unfamiliar man as he stepped forward. "We have to be going. Come along."

Q shoved the hand off him and tried to turn away, but the man grabbed him around his waist. He threw his head back and the man's grip loosened enough for Q to escape… back into the backroom that no longer had even a door to protect it.

"I told you, Quartermaster. We have a rogue agent to find and it seems the programme to find him is locked to all but two people." The man drew a Taurus handgun and smiled pleasantly at him. "We do have a flight to catch though."

"No!" Q replied, gripping the overflowing sink behind him as his legs shook. He'd refused to tell M exactly where Bond was and there was no chance he was going to tell anyone else. He had a responsibility as Quartermaster to protect his agents, and more than that, he liked to consider Bond a friend.

A shot permeated the air and Q dropped with a yelp, eyes wide as he stared at his ankle. He'd forgotten to put his boots back on… that thought was the only one he could hear over the roaring in his ears. Tears dripped from his eyes as he gasped desperately for air, curling over his damaged leg and letting out a wail.

The man was talking again, but shock and pain blotted the noise out. Even so he did noticed when grabbed him and he began to struggle, limbs lashing out as they dragged him from the room. It was only when they were on the balcony that one of the men swore and a sharp knock sent him into blackness.

"Why are you here, Q?"

"Oh, I just fancied a break, to be honest. I've been a tad stressed at work recently." Q's voice had been light, as though they had been discussing nothing more than a chance meeting on a skiing holiday. "What with C's people crawling all over us and the fact that M wants my balls for Christmas decorations."

Bond recalled the conversation as he pushed the door to room twelve open. It wasn't locked; it hadn't even been shut properly. Pausing for a moment, 007 listened carefully; he could hear the whistle of the wind, the steady drip of water onto a wet surface, the slight hum that came with older light fittings… but nothing else. He adjusted his grip on his gun before stepping silently into the room.

His stomach lurched as he glanced around and didn't see Q, instead noting the blood that trailed from the bathroom to the broken window; a quick check of the room, though he didn't expect anyone to be there still, and the agent motioned for Dr Swann to wait.

The bathroom door was on the floor, removed by the hinges and Bond acknowledged the dread that was filling him. The dripping came from the sink, water seeping over the edges as the faucet trickled water onto a familiar laptop, the stickers on the lid unmistakable.

"Q…" he whispered, moving back into the main room and over to the window. The balcony floor was covered in glass and on the snow laden ground below that, he could see evidence of their escape route… there was more blood leading up to tire tracks that were starting to fade in the light snow fall.

"Your colleague… Are you his best chance of staying alive?" The distrust still burnt fiercely in Dr Swann's eyes, but her voice was soft as she took in the mess: the bathroom door on the floor, a drinking glass with blood over it and the furniture is disarray.

"My friend." Bond corrected roughly. "He wasn't here as a colleague, he was here as a friend."

Guilt lanced though him as he moved back into the bathroom and picked up the laptop, turning the tap off and wrapping the machine in a towel that had been dropped next to the shower.

"I could go ask for some rice." Dr Swann was watching him dab at the laptop, pity in her eyes as she observed Bond's frustrated body language.

The agent didn't lift his eyes as he half-snapped "What?" at her, his mind flitting over all the things he could done to prevent this, starting with arming Q before he had left the clinic up to insisting on self-defence classes for the whole of Q Branch years ago.

"It is good for drying out a wet phone without breaking it. Maybe it will work for larger objects."

Q had only been here because he had been conflicted between obeying M and helping Bond, and he had been unwilling to give 007 up as rogue. Bond glanced around the room, spotting the small carry-on, a thick coat, and a chipped pair of glasses.

"I think…" Dr Swann hesitated as she watched Bond dig through the carry-on, ignoring the spare clothing and the papers and the boxes of medication. "We can pick some rice up on our way out of here."

Bond continued to ignore her as he found the case that he'd been looking for and carefully folded the arms up and placed the glasses inside to protect them from further damage. Q would want them when they found him.

"L'Americain is a place in Tangier. A hotel. We used to stay there."

Bond wondered just how pathetic he looked on his knees with a glasses case clutched in his hands… enough so that Dr Swann had decided to help him, apparently. "Rice…" he said softly, recalling her earlier comments.

"I do not know how you know my father, or what you hope to find there, but perhaps it will help your friend."

Bond stood, gathered up the remains of Q's possessions, including the boots that had been left to dry out under the room's one radiator and left without saying a word. Dr Swann followed, keeping her silence until they were in a car and on their way to the airport. "The quickest way to Morocco is to fly to Switzerland and then to find a flight there. This is only a small airport with not many flights to such far places."

Bond nodded, but didn't answer, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Your friend… Q, you called him? Did he know what he would be walking into?"

And Bond actually considered the question. He had a tendency to think of Q as omniscient, perhaps not with regards to emotions and the reactions of those around him (which had amused Bond more than once over the years in Q Branch when he got told off for being insensitive by his bolder minions and he would struggle to understand his blunder), but certainly when it came to what people were actually up to and anything that could be accessed online.

But Q honestly believed Oberhauser to be dead, naïvely trusting the treachery of an avalanche even though his body hadn't been recovered. The certainty of youth, he wanted to scoff… but it wasn't even that. Bond could remember telling the young quartermaster to let the past go, to live in the present and watch out for the future years ago, nearly a year after Mansfield had died and he had realised that Q was still battling guilt over her death. And when Bond had returned from a three month assignment after that, the bags under Q's eyes had lessened and he was even smiling again; Bond had no idea if his comment had helped or if the other had simply found someone to actually speak to, but those words came back to him.

Let the past go, live in the present and beware the future… talk about conversations coming back to bite you in the ass, because now Bond's past was catching up and he had no way to let it go.

"There is a store near here. We should stop and tidy ourselves up." Dr Swann interrupted his brooding as she stared blandly out the window.

Bond pulled into the carpark and stopped. "Do you need money?" and at the shake of her head continued "Go get what you need."

She slipped out the door and walked over to the store, her steps a bit too hasty to hide her nerves as she scurried inside. As he waited, he pulled out his mobile phone, looking to see if he had any signal. He had a single text message waiting for him:

-Check your email. Q-

The first thing he noticed was the headache, a tight, deep pain that seemed to spread from the back of his neck up to his temples. His ears were ringing and his whole body felt sluggish, his lower right leg throbbed, the pain almost immediately demanding his attention.

"Shit. Wha' happened?" Q slurred, trying to find the energy to lift his head and look around.

"Awake already, Quartermaster? I thought you'd sleep through the flight." The man's tone was bored, as though he himself had been dozing while they flew.

The idea of flying clicked and Q's eyes shot open. He was strapped into a seat in the back of what looked like a small cargo plane. Body still groggy even whilst it registered the pain, he squinted around to check who was there; at least three people, but he couldn't see very well.

"Where my glasses?" He asked, tongue still heavy in his mouth as he looked to the man opposite him.

"My apologies, I didn't think to pick them up. You were making such a fuss about coming with us…" There was a smirk in the man's tone, even if he couldn't see his face well enough to see it.

Q frowned, desperately trying to recall how he had ended up here… he'd been going to go and talk with Bond in Austria… Had he done that yet? Was this the flight there? What had happened to his leg? He fought down a bout of nausea, distantly thankful that he was apparently too drugged up to panic about being in the air.

"Where are we going?" He asked, before shifting in his seat and instantly regretting it as his head and his leg objected.

"Ernst Stavro Blofeld would like to speak to you." The man began to chuckle slightly. "However, he claims you may have heard of him under the name Franz Oberhauser."

"He's dead." Q's voice quivered slightly as he spoke, memories slowly but surely beginning to return. Oberhauser wasn't dead. Bond had been right, the man was alive and in charge of some organisation that linked Le Chiffre, Greene, Silva and various others… and he was going to meet him. "Shit."

There was a chuckle, and then Q felt a needle slide into his skin. If he'd been able, he probably would have sworn once more.

The journey to Morocco was uneventful, but it gave Bond time to think as he sat and relayed the information to Dr Swann in a quiet voice so the other passengers could not hear.

"There was a number of them, all linked by Oberhauser. Sciarra, Quantum, Silva…" He wondered if giving the ring to Q had been the cause of his kidnapping. "They were in an organisation, but that's all he was able to send me."

"Your friend, Q." She gave him a tired smile, apparently still reading the guilt that he carried. "This organisation, my father was a part of it. SPECTRE, it is called."

"SPECTRE? A name or an acronym?" He glanced around them, but no one was paying any attention as the aeroplane carried them closer to their destination.

"It is the Special Executive for Counter-Intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion." The name was so ridiculous that Bond almost laughed, but it was clear that she was being serious.

"And they want, what? To take down the British Government? To stop me? To take over the world?"

"Nothing so obvious. My father once described them as Siamese Fighting Fish; if you have three together then one will hide away until the other two are done fighting, then when the victor is weakened it can make a move."

"So this counts as hiding away?"

"I believe that in hiding they act from the shadows. But that is all I know. He never spoke to me about it in any detail."

He nodded and leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting over to look out the window at the clouds as Dr Swann turned to speak with the man on the other side of her. In Rome, SPECTRE had been discussing their counterfeit pharmaceuticals in South Africa, they had mentioned human trafficking and an increase in surveillance that meant they could easily counteract government intelligence agencies.

His mind drifted to the Joint Security Service that was underway in London. Would that be safe from this SPECTRE? It sounded like Q's decision to hide away from everyone else by moving his Branch was an excellent one… but Bond rather regretted that the young man hadn't stayed there.

"There have been bombings in Cape Town." Dr Swann told him, her voice conversational, but she sat up when she noticed Bond frowning. "What's the matter?"

"Just a hunch." He replied, but he had a feeling he knew who had been behind the attack on South Africa. After all, Tanner had told him of the plans for absolute surveillance called Nine-Eyes, and Moneypenny had mentioned that the South Africans had been averse to the idea. Now, he supposed they would rather like the ability to keep an eye on their streets.

"You must understand, Quartermaster, that of all the information we could be trying to wring out of you, James Bond's location really isn't such a big deal."

Q had awoken to find himself in a bright, metal room. Oberhauser had spoken to him at length; Q had realised there was a mole at MI6 when he had realised that the men after him knew that he was the Quartermaster, but he now began to comprehend that it had to be someone with access to Q Branch and the developmental projects that were in use – more specifically, someone who knew about the Smart Blood Project, which really shouldn't have been given to Bond yet as it hadn't finished the necessary trials.

"We could gain access to all of James' files, we could dig up all the information that you have squirrelled away on his bolt-holes. What we want however, is accessible only by two people; yourself and M."

It wasn't Oberhauser asking the questions, he had left earlier on when someone had arrived and murmured into his ear, but the man talking now had a pleasant mask to hide his cold eyes; Q knew this because more than once he had crouched close enough for the captive man to see him in detail.

He could barely feel the pain in his leg anymore, the adrenaline coursing through him enough to blot out that distraction.

"Quartermaster?" The man was crouched before him again, leaning forward to take his hand. "I don't want to hurt you, but please understand that we need to find James Bond."

"N-no." Q whimpered, pulling his hand back, then yelping when he was backhanded across the face.

"I'm under instructions to gain access in any way that I can, so please understand that I will indeed do so." Q was picked up off the ground and slammed into the wall. "I only have to leave your hands intact. It's not much of a setback."

"I refuse." He said, voice shaky but resolute. The eyes before him were frightening, but Q stood up to Double-0 agents on a regular basis; he kept his own expression bland and his breathing even.

"The security you have placed within your servers is good, we've been unable to get past it. Shame you didn't do the same for yourself." One arm pressing down on Q's throat, the other pulled back to strike a blow to his ribs.

Q shook his head in response, jerking at the pain but stubborn in his refusal. The man punched him again and the young man let out a whimper of pain.

"You should just agree. Blofeld has a machine that can dig into your brain; I expect that a clever young man such as yourself wouldn't enjoy that."

"B-B-bite me." He hissed, wondering briefly who Blofeld was (the name was familiar but he couldn't bring the reason why into any kind of clarity) before another fist stole his concentration.

There was a hot breath on his ear as the man pressed in too close. "James Bond is a big boy, he can take care of himself, no? Give us access to the Smart Blood, get us into the MI6 servers and you can have a rest."

"H-He's ripped out every tracker I've ever put in him. It wouldn't surprise me if he's found time to have some kind of dialysis to remove this new one."

The man pulled away and began to drag Q behind him and into another room. It was stiflingly hot in here and there was a sink of water against one wall with the tap still running.

"It- It may have broken now anyway. That project was only developmental and it had glitches. I imagine it may have shut down by now." His voice was high and reedy as they forced him to his knees.

He didn't have a fear of water… and he really didn't want to gain one.

"This is where they spent their wedding night." Dr Swann's face was sad, a wistful nostalgia etched across it. "They came back every year, then they brought me with them too. He kept coming back, even after the divorce."

"Well then, I'm… sorry." He replied awkwardly as he looked around the suite they had in L'Americain and acknowledging that he was more than willing to tear it apart if he could help Q.

"What for?" She cocked her head curiously as she watched him look around.

He pointed over to the bottle that had been brought up with them. "Have a drink. There's wine on the table."

She hesitantly poured herself a glass, her actions uncertain as Bond began to pull open drawers and turn over furniture.

"He must have sent me here for a reason." He murmured. For something more than sentiment. The cupboard was empty apart from a few empty hangers, and the drawers had a few spare blankets in but nothing else.

Dr Swann reached over and poured herself another glass as she sat against the footboard of the bed to watch him. However, Bond paid her no mind, she had done her part in leading him the L'Americain so now it was up to him to move forward.

None of the seating had anything down the sides, there were no floorboards under the rug but the same stone floor that covered the rest of the suite. The small, extra bedroom off to the side held no answers, nor did the bathroom. All he did encounter was an old bottle of vodka with the label peeled off.

In fact, it wasn't until a mouse woke him later on that Bond caught a break. It's scurrying on the stone floor had woken Bond from his uneasy doze in a chair and he watched the rodent as it ran into a mouse hole under the desk, and in doing so drawing his attention to the hollow wall. He found his answers in a room that had been sealed off. It was grotty, and White must have been working with the management to keep this room hidden from anyone who came across this hotel.

He stepped in, ignoring Dr Swann as she followed, having apparently woken when he had broken through the layer of plaster, and set about searching; there had to be a way to find Oberhauser in here, White had worked for him for years, there had to have been contact between them.

Fake IDs, money, old cyphers and notes written out neatly on now yellowed paper, several video tapes, including one labelled as a recording of Vesper Lynd's interrogation. He dropped it and turned away as fear for what Q was going through flared up again. Was it his connection to Bond that had caused them to take him, or did they know he was head of Q Branch? (Did they see him as valuable enough to keep alive, but no – Bond refused to even consider that line of thought!) Was he simply being held as bait for Bond, or were they torturing him for information? Now was not the time to linger on such thoughts.

He flicked on an old computer, a hint of a smile fluttering at his lips when he realised it was both still functioning and too old to require a log in. Using the co-ordinates Dr Swann found to narrow down the search perimeters, the agent quickly realised that he could find Oberhauser – and hopefully Q as well.

"I'm coming with you." Dr Swann stated, staring at the screen.

But Bond objected before she had even finished speaking. "No, you're not. I like you alive."

"I can look after myself." She glared up at him, determination written into her expression.

"That's beside the point. I might not be coming back." Out of principal if he failed to find Q alive. He'd blow the whole bloody place up if they'd killed him; fuck, he'd blow the place up if they'd even hurt him!

"I know. But I want to understand what happened to my father."

"I don't care. I'll tell you whatever you need to know when I get back to London, but this is going to be a rescue mission." He send a glare of his own at her. "I cannot be held back by wondering if you are safe when I'm looking for Q. I need to give this my full attention."

"I can help." She stepped forwards, her expression changing from determined to imploring; however, Bond refused to be swayed.

"No. You'd be a hindrance and you won't want to be near me if you cost me Q." Innocent party or not, he would not be kind. "His life is more important than your curiosity."

Stated like that, Dr Swann was unable to object and she visibly deflated.

"I'll give you a number to ring: Eve Moneypenny. I trust her as much as I do anyone right now. Tell her I sent you."

"I will." She nodded, but being denied the chance to discover for herself what had happened to her father had caused her to shrink in on herself slightly. She seemed smaller as she helped him search through the maps that scattered the central table.

"This matches up, but it's empty desert."

"Maybe they are keeping your Q here." She managed a gentle smile. "But if he has been with these men for the even the past day and a half, then I do not know how much of your friend will be there."

"He's a strong man. He'll be there."

But Bond really could only hope those words were true. After all, he had seen the creative streak they possessed when they wanted something. He'd been tortured, Vesper had been blackmailed, dictators ruined, countless other atrocities… Q was strong, and hopefully he would survive… but Bond had no idea how changed he might be.

He turned to pack up the few things that had left his bag. He wasn't going to sleep again tonight and they had an airport to get to.