"Q," the single letter that made up his name really shouldn't be so intimidating, really. But somehow, and the Chinchilla really didn't want to know how, M had perfected her monotone intimidation and eyebrow raise pairing so flawlessly that he could feel his tail duck between his legs and ears flatted to his head. Honestly. Q shuffled forward through the door, allowing the bullet-proof, sound-proof monstrosity to close after him with a barely heard 'click'. He was trapped now, truly, and he had to make due.
"You wanted to speak with me, M?" The head of MI6 eyed him for half a second before she gestured to the two leather chairs before her desk, a simple piece of furniture made of chrome and frosted glass. Falk again shuffled forward until he could sit, slowly, onto the edge of one cushion. He'd chosen the left chair. His ears remained flat and his tail had attempted to slide up the back of his cardigan. For a rodent Falk wasn't exactly submissive, he was too snarky and bristly to truly be what his species demanded, but how M watched him, pale eyed sharp, made him feel every bit the prey he was. Foxes weren't the largest predator he dealt with daily, not even slightly, but very few people have ever intimidated him like M did. And she hadn't even said more than his designation.
"Yes," she didn't continue and Falk suddenly felt as though he was missing something important.
"Ah...if I may be so bold...why?" He winced at the slight squeak in his voice.
M's hands folded on top of the desk, "I've gotten reports that Bond has taken to spending his free time in Q-branch. I want to know why."
Falk blinked, slightly thrown. The double-oh, for as long as he'd been working directly in Q-branch and not in R&D, had always been a fixture in his department. The new Quartermaster had taken it as a means to alleviate boredom rather than anything productive. But if M's simple sounding request was what he thought, than apparently having a field agent with a license to kill hanging about wasn't supposed to be normal.
"Ah, I hadn't realized it was a problem, Sir." The dark-haired man swallowed, mind whirring, "As far as I know he isn't actively disrupting our schedules and hasn't commandeered any of my resources, minus an intern here or there. I...I suppose my inexperience is to blame for not noticing his presence as a problem, I apologize. In the future I will ensure that he spend his off-time elsewhere, I – "
"You will not." Q blinked, ears flicking up and then back down.
"Ah...Sir?"
"Quartermaster, in all the years that I have known Double-Oh-Seven I have never seen him so..." She paused for a moment, considering. "So...tame," Falk blinked, tame wasn't an adjective he would have ever applied to the double-oh. "He's always been blowing up this, or seducing that, or terrorizing this department. But never before has he spent so much time in one place without some great fallout."
"So should I assume that something is coming then?"
"Heavens no! Don't invite trouble where the is none, child!" The chastising look and matching tone were laced with amused fondness. "I am not complaining; Double-Oh-Seven being occupied in such a way as this means less paperwork and fewer counselling sessions for our support staff. As you well know, Bond more than enjoys stirring the pot, as it were. No, what I want from you is for you to, subtly, find out why Double-Oh-Seven is so enamoured with Q-branch."
"Yes Sir," that was all Falk said because, really, what else did one say to the second most powerful woman in Britain?
After the horribly awkward meeting in M's office the newest Quartermaster escaped to the cafeteria. Moneypenny called after him to save her a seat and a slice of pie. He did, raspberry, and took a seat by the window overlooking the Thames. As a Chinchilla he pointedly avoided water; the moisture that inevitably got trapped in his fur was murder and worth more pain and anti-biotic use than was strictly necessary. Fur rot was not fun in the least. But he enjoyed watching the water regardless and assumed, correctly, that Moneypenny would. Falk was so mesmerized by the thoughts in his head that he didn't notice another body at the table until something cool and firm prodded his side. Falk yelped and flailed one hand out, nearly knocking over his still piping tea.
A cool hand caught his and held it, the skin slightly rough. Ears again pinned back, Falk stared over at Bond. The reptile was grinning lazily back at him, baring a slim line of white teeth amongst the pale pink of his lips. His grip on Q's hand was gentle but firm. Pale blue eyes twinkled with mirth and Falk felt a flush climb across his nose and cheeks. He tugged weakly and Bond released the younger man's hand, returning his own to the table where it curled around a steaming cup of coffee. Falk's tail twitched against his back, thumping once or twice in irritation. Bond's tail curled lazily in the space between them, writhing back and forth leisurely. The double-oh was the picture of contented amusement.
Falk huffed and raised his hand, the same one that Bond had caught, and prodded the agent in the shoulder with his index finger. Bond's pale brows twitched upward, his grin widening slightly, but otherwise didn't move. Q's finger honestly felt as though he'd pressed against concrete, the agent's upper bicep was so firm. He grimaced and pulled his hand back only to have it caught again by Bond. His ears twitched and green eyes narrowed but Falk remained still, waiting. Bond, holding his Quartermaster's right hand in his left, gently turned it over until the soft flesh of Q's palm faced up. The double-oh then shifted in his seat, tail swinging for balance, until he properly faced Falk.
He released his coffee cup and brought that hand to cup the other side of Falk's palm. Bond's eyes, which up until this point hadn't broken contact with Falk's, dropped to stare at the palm he held. Bond's fingertips were warm, likely from the mug of coffee, and slightly calloused. Like the scratch of a well-loved wool blanket rather than sandpaper, like Falk had expected. The tip of Bond's right index finger touched his palm by the heel of his hand and drew downwards, eliciting a shiver from Q. He did this a few more times, up from the space between his thumb and forefinger, and across the width of his palm twice, three times. Bond hummed and repeated each motion. He only stopped when, after the third pass along the upper line crossing Falk's palm just below the pads of his hand, Falk squeaked. He glanced up and Falk looked away, knowing that his cheeks were darkly flushed and his tail was quivering against his back, once again hiding under his cardigan.
The double-oh cocked his head to one side and smiled slowly. "You have an interesting palm, Quartermaster."
Q jumped at the soft tone and glanced back, meeting Bond's eyes for half a second before glancing back down to where the other man cradled his hand; tan, calloused skin against long, pale digits. "I sincerely doubt that, Double-Oh-Seven."
Instead of being offended Bond merely chuckled and pointed down at Q's hand, "would you like to know what I'm looking at?"
"No thank you," he huffed, having quite enough of the agent's disregard for personal space. "If I could have my hand back please," to Falk's surprise Bond gently released his palm and folded his fingers back around his mug, still watching Q. "Don't you have somewhere to be, Double-Oh-Seven?"
"Hmm, not at present, no, I had hoped that the boffin pen would have something to entertain me today; I was sadly disappointed." Bond's gravelling draw sent shivers down Falk's back and his stiffened trying to hide them. "Your minions (subordinates!) had nothing new for me to play with, and as the head boffin was off frolicking elsewhere," Bond didn't even flinch at Falk's withering glare, "I thought to seek you out. See if maybe you had something to keep me entertained.
"That's Emperor Boffin, to you...peasant..." Falk narrowed his eyes comically and squinted in mock-anger at the field agent whom promptly burst out laughing. Startled, and never before having heard the loud, booming noise that was Bond's laughter, Falk squeaked. Bond paused mid-laugh and stared at Q for a second. Then his grin slid wide and his eyes dropped to slits.
"Quite a mouth on you, I think I like it, Emperor." The gravel had increased ten-fold, echoed by a faint hiss; likely Bond's creature attributes taking hold. "I wonder what else – "
Bond was cut off by a stream of water splattering against the right side of his face. He shouted and flew to his feet, tail lashing angrily. He turned on his aggressor, fingers having shifted into long, deadly claws, teeth bard in a snarl only to get another stream of icy water to the face. He backed away and hissed, swiping at the stream.
Eve Moneypenny cackled; a high pitched yelp that was at home with her Fennec heritage. She continued to fire streams of cold water from her water pistol, which was a vibrant neon pink with darker leopard spots, until Bond was five feet back and crowded against the next table. Falk could only sit and watch, awe struck.
Actually, that was a lie; he made sure to plaster himself against the window, well out of the way of the water, and then continued to stare.
Wearing a shit-eating grin Moneypenny said, "this boffin's mine, Bond, go find your own," ad promptly tucked away the water pistol, sat, and dug into her cooling piece of pie.
Falk was left slack-jawed and more than a little impressed.
Bond? Not so much.
