I know, I know, I'm starting another story when I have so many unfinished. I've actually been keeping this on the backburner for quite awhile (ever since the first of the Craig movies really) so this isn't actually 'new'. I just couldn't figure out how to extend the length and ended up deciding to put it up as is.

This really stretched my English abilities to sound posh. And while I do have a plan on where this story is going, please know that there is very little actual story-type plot in this story. I'll introduce the OC, and then we'll be off. No world-ending (well, mostly in the background), no sinister masterminds (except in reference) and while there are Bond moments, she's not a Bond girl. She is, actually, a Q girl. Though not in a romantic manner. I'm contradicting myself too much LOL.

Just know that this is more slice-of-life than anything.

When Kris brings Shelly into MI6, she's impressed. The place is basically Geek Central, in that there are the latest tech gadgets and gimmicks everywhere. Everyone is outfitted with tiny, wireless communicators that have international range, static-less frequency, and secured network. (You can also store the number to your local pizza delivery for better convenience.)

So she accepts when Q offers her the position as R. Or rather, just Shelly, but serving as his unofficial go-to second in command.

She starts out as a newbie, but with everyone aware that she is on the fast track to upper levels. She's watched by agents and fellow Q Branch members. They eye her work: her research and info-gathering and hacking and gadget-repairing, and subtly side-eye Q as he continues seemingly obliviously to their scrutiny.

It's a tough job for tough people, and Shelly isn't that confident—who is, really? But she sticks it out, because this is Q, who knows her and understands her, whom she knows and understands in turn. Because between the two of them, they had outsmarted governmental organisations and fellow hackers alike. Because him with his instant comprehension and her with her deft touch—they are a team that had created and invented and breathed the future of electronics. They had inspired and supported each other, despite being in different Majors, despite him being in Computer Programming and her in Psychology.

Because they knew each other.

So she stuck it out, learnt to emulate the calm, collected manner of every hotel staff and online helpdesk alike. Learnt to look at maps and blueprints and through different camera angles and say into her tiny, retractable mic, "Take a left and look out at 3 o' clock for 2 gunmen. One hand pistol, and the other with a rifle. Do take cover under the desk 2 metres 11 o'clock from the doorway."

She'd learnt to take her freak outs in Q's office, after hours. When everybody was logging off and swapping shifts, too sleep-deprived to notice 'R' huddling on Q's couch with a cup of mint tea. Kris is Q, too awkward and rigid to curl up with her, but willing enough to weather her tears stoically with scrabble mug in hand. (It had been funny to her, seeing how much he'd embraced the letter title.)

She wasn't cleared for handling double-os though, a fact she had actually been delighted at…up to the point Q threw her into the fire with him when he decided a particular mission required 2 speaking handlers.

(It didn't. No. Really.)

"And who is this?" The low, sly drawl of the disreputable James Bond had sounded through the impeccable system, the subtle, seductive nuances captured bright and clear.

"This, Agent Bond, is Q-two," Kris/Q declares loftily, with maybe a tinge of smugness. She glares at him over their shared screens and he dares to smirk. The bastard.

The double-o obviously discovers a veritable goldmine of gossip in that, "Why Q, I had no idea you had discovered cloning. Should I be concerned that this one's female? Has a line of Q been established?"

(They both exchange a well-practised grimace at that. Well, sure, if she never finds a partner, they would probably be married, but this was Kris. It was a lot like getting hitched with one's shadow. They were so in tune with each other it didn't really matter but it wasn't very exciting either. And the sex would be boring, if there even was any.)

"The specifics of such a plan would be out of your clearance level," Kris states primly in that intentionally irritating posh tone of his, "Now 007, if you would pay attention to what two is telling you…"

"I don't think Q2 is a good name," Bond tells his Quartermaster in a half-jesting tone, "She sounds too pretty to be just your replacement. You should give her her very own letter."

There is no mention of how dehumanizing numbers are (or letters), though Shelly had mentioned the topic once offhandedly.

(Kris had shrugged, and that was that. They had grown up in the era of anonymity.)

Kris—Q, as always, stumbles when meeting any humane issue, "Yes. Well. I suppose we could pick something. Which letter do you want?"

"How about B?" she teases gently, watching him blink because he'd been expecting 'R'. "If I'm going to pick a letter, why don't I take the second one?"

"And here I thought you were thanking me," Bond muses wryly, "If that's why you're picking, you should just take A. Always aim for the best after all."

Shelly laughs silently at Kris' eye roll, "Yes, well, I'd rather not really. On to business then?"

"Indeed, Miss B," 007 agrees dryly, "My ego is taking rather large hits today."

"As it deserves," Q declares loftily, always needing to have the last word.

And that was that.

xXXx

Unfortunately, 'B' doesn't stick very well, because 'Q' is worlds away and if MI6 is anything, it is logical.

(Barring certain branches whose names rhyme with 'bauble' and 'hero')

'R' eventually worms around and rather too soon, that's the letter she is saddled with. Kris shrugs when she replies to the call sign, and they both neglect to react when even James Bond starts to call her that—apparently resurrection is bad for memory.

But soon enough, the Q Branch gets used to a second in command and well, nerds and geeks take numerical values very seriously. The only scrabble tile that is worth as much as Q is Z and the lot of them can't agree on whether it should be pronounced 'Zee' or 'Zed'.

(Kris makes pained faces at every 'zee', because MI6 might be British, but talented people are a race onto themselves. While loyalty is a rather essential trait, loyalty can be taught.

It's still particularly trying, how Americans have re-pieced English in a strange, awkward puzzle of too many themes.)

In the end, it comes down to a row.

Or rather, as Kris pointedly describes to her, it comes down to a 'royal hiding of great proportion from your disproportionately diminutive frame'.

Which was why, when she sits down at her desk one day, there is an UpWords mug with 'Qu10' on it, in nearly the exact same style as Kris' Scrabble mug. On a post-it stuck to the side, there's a scrawl of 'Red Queen', though which reference was unclear.

Both are reasonable conclusions from the row, and Shelly decides to take pride in it. So she's 'Queen' in Q Branch, though Kris disagreeably calls her Que, like the word 'cue'.

("What?!"

"Exactly."

"Oh—you un-punny little git."

"Ou contraire, I dare say I'm quite the punmaster. I could call you Quilly. You know, for Quill."

"No. I'm not an actual bloody bird, you unfunny, skinny pillock."

"Oi! That was uncalled for!")

Eventually, she gets used to the letters and numbers, and finds her place in MI6, along with her friend. The high expectations do not break her, and with a little help, she meets them well enough.

(She also bribes the entire department with beignets and coffee.)

And this is how 'R' AKA 'Qu' AKA 'Queen Quill' or 'QQ' found her place in the MI6.

("…I hate you."

"It's not my fault Q.Q is a basic emotion.")

If you didn't get the super convoluted joke that Q made, he called her Q. Que = Cue = Q. Also Que in Spanish means 'what' so he was anticipating her reaction. British also call women 'birds', so by calling her Quill, which is the ancient pen made of a feather, he's calling her a 'bird'.

Yeah, it's not funny at all when you have to explain everything. Gosh you guys, why do you have to be so clever that straight pun jokes don't even phase you anymore?!

This was supposed to be co-written with a friend, so if someone would like to co-write this with me (or at least give me ideas?) I could share what plot I've been brewing and it would be so much easier on me. I like both POVs but I guess it might be more consistent with one person taking one POV...

Oh well, let me know how you find this?

Mem