Q doesn't have the time or inclination to worry about Bond at this exact moment. He had his own job to do at the moment, he would save the worry for Bond's admirers, they always seemed to do enough hand ringing for the lot of them. After all, it wasn't like Bond couldn't more than take care of himself, at least for a short while. It's not like the man is a complete incompetent. But if his fingers fly a little faster over the computer keys, no one has the guts to comment. Just as no one comments on the lines of code flashing by, broadcasting to the entire room how far he is willing to go to bring back what is his. And that is what his agents are, of course, his, and he will make those who doubted it pay for their arrogance and stupidity for thinking otherwise.
The lines of computer code spiraled over the center console's screens. A deadly bit of code, designed to be used only in the truest of deist circumstances. It certainly wasn't his fault that the tracker implanted in Bond by the former Q had more potential than the good old Major had imagined, of one only knew how to manipulate the code, and the will to hack through the layers of encryption.
Hacking had always come as second nature to Q. It had to when one grew up in an environment that fostered genius and dealt swiftly and harshly with those who simply didn't measure up. It's no wonder Q turned out to be the best. He simply hadn't had the option not to. He, just like Bond, was a survivor. Willing to do what was necessary, whatever was necessary, to guarantee his own survival. And as one survivor to another, he was willing to lend a hand. It was time to throw 007 a metaphorical life raft. Even if M wasn't going to like the shit storm that was to follow as a result.