Chapter Two
Three days earlier
If M was trying to keep this a secret, she'd failed rather miserably. Everybody, from Moneypenny right down to the guy who refilled the coffee machine in the cafeteria, knew that the former 007, the infamous James Bond, had been caught several hours ago and detained in an MI6 holding cell.
Q would never deny that he was curious. He'd practically grown up at MI6 hearing about the former legend, the man who could do anything and seemingly escape death time and time again; the man who had seemed so loyal to M and Britain, only to defect and disappear with a fellow double-oh.
Q was sitting in his office, tapping his stylus against the mess that he called his desk. He usually kept it in order, but he'd been up and running for over 24 hours now, and had more important things to focus on then the clutter of paperwork, tablets, and pens. Who used paper anymore, anyway? M knew that Q detested it, yet every other department sent him thick clumps of paper. What a waste.
He was brought out of his musings when a few Q-Branch techs raced past his office, all suddenly dropping whatever they were screwing around with in favour of sitting at their desks, or standing before the projects that they were supposed to be working on. Q was puzzled for all of four seconds before M herself strode into the large underground room.
She bypassed everybody, not looking aside, and made her way to Q's office. Q didn't both sitting straight, or fixing his desk/hair/clothing. M knew what he was like, and if she wanted him to act any differently she could go to hell.
'Q,' she greeted when she stepped into the office.
'M,' he responded. She was holding a black box, about the size of your average shoe box, and Q tilted his head. 'Is that for me?'
'Yes,' she said, not beating around the bush. Hmm, must be important. 'This is everything that we found on James Bond when we brought him in.'
That made Q sit up, and he had to stop himself from making grabby hands and trying to rip the contents from her fingers. Instead he took a breath and watched as M quirked an eyebrow before crossing the distance between them. She set the box down and removed the lid.
Inside was a belt, a smartphone, a set of cuff-links, and what looked like a bottle of nail varnish. Interesting.
'I need you to scan all of this and see if you can find something that security couldn't,' M ordered.
'And the mobile?' Q asked.
'Won't turn on, no matter what we tried,' M relayed. 'We didn't want to try any further in case...'
She trailed off, but Q understood; in case it was a bomb. Or poisonous gas. Or whatever the hell else rogue double-ohs carried on their person.
'Understood,' Q nodded. He hesitated, eyes uncertain on the box, and M raised her white eyebrows.
'A problem?' she asked.
'Can I see him?' Q asked. He knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that M would say no. Stupid, stupid. Of course M wouldn't let the Quartermaster have face time with a rogue, dangerous double-oh. Especially not this Quartermaster. It might give him ideas.
'No,' M said, like he knew she would. 'Just get to work, Q.'
And with that she was gone, sweeping out of his office and out of Q-Branch, like she had better things to do. Perhaps she did, Q mused as he reached into the box for the contents. She had a former friend to interrogate.
'You are gorgeous,' Q breathed as he looked over the mobile. It was an old design, about three years out of date, but Q could tell that it was different. It was too bulky, the casing too hard. 'What secrets are you hiding?' he murmured and switched the tabs on his computer.
{oOo}
'I already said no, Q,' M stated.
Q ran a frustrated hand through his hair. 'You don't seem to understand what I'm saying,' he said with barely contained anger. 'We can get into the phone, but there's a problem.'
'And that would be?' M asked.
'There's a virus installed on the phone's memory; some of the best coding I've ever glimpsed.'
'Glimpsed?' M interrupted, and Q nodded.
'Yes, glimpsed. Because I can't unlock the phone without setting off the virus, which would destroy everything saved on the phone, as well as the phone itself. If I had the password, I could bypass activating it. Then I could study the virus, or my techs could. We can find the coding and work out how to counteract it. Because this?'
He brandished the phone at her. M didn't look amused.
'This is an old phone, M,' Q continued, 'but the coding's been on it since Bond got it. Whoever programmed it probably gave him the phone. That means that there's someone out there selling highly protected devices to rogue agents and anyone else who has a problem with Britain. And we can't stop it.'
M was silent for a few seconds, red nails tapping slowly at her smooth, polished desk. 'You're telling me that you can't hack the phone yourself?' she demanded.
Q scowled at the prod at his skills, but ignored it. 'I could in two or three weeks,' he admitted. 'But if Bond gives me the password I can start studying it today.'
'Q-'
'What have we got to lose?' Q demanded. 'If he says no, then I hack into it myself. If he says yes, we save ourselves three weeks.'
M sighed almost noiselessly, her eyes roaming over Q's face slowly. Q tried to keep himself a mask of professionalism. Yes, he did want to find out how the virus worked, where Bond had gotten it, etc. But a larger part of him just wanted to meet the man. He'd looked 007 up in the past and found him fascinating. He wanted to speak with him, perhaps learn something, figure out how the man had gotten out of MI6.
'Fine,' M finally said. Q had to stop himself from doing a dance. 'But listen to me carefully,' she continued, making Q stand completely still. 'Your conversation will be monitored,' M stated, 'and under no circumstances are you to discuss anything that could put this organisation in danger, do you understand?'
'Of course,' Q said through gritted teeth. It was like she didn't trust him. Q wouldn't.
'If you discuss something that I dislike, we will be having words,' M said, her blue eyes sharp. 'Is that understood, Quartermaster?'
Q bowed slightly. 'Yes, ma'am.'
She nodded after another beat of silence, and Q knew that he was dismissed. He walked stiffly out of her office, and didn't offer Moneypenny his usual small smile. He was too focused on what she'd said, and what he would say to 007.
It seemed that M still didn't trust Q, which was understandable. Four years wasn't enough time to completely wipe out what Q had once been. Q was sure that those feelings, that mind-set, would never actually leave him. M seemed to hope that it would; that, one day, Q would be the good little programmer that she told the British government he was.
It wouldn't happen, Q thought as he entered the elevator, watching the silver doors slide shut before him. Q had been part of MI6 for four years. He'd been a criminal for nine.
{oOo}
James Bond was being kept in one of the lowest parts of MI6, only storage and weapons kept on the floors below his. Q-Branch was at the other end of the building, as was the doors that led to the underground garage. Q wondered if it was a good idea, keeping a man well known for his daring feats of escape near the exit.
But it wasn't his problem. Q twirled the mobile phone in his fingers as he was escorted down the brightly lit, concrete hallway. He had to pass through two security checks, his credentials looked over, his pockets and person searched, as though they didn't know who he was. Q had to ponder if M had added the extra checks just because it was him.
No matter. Q's heart beat slightly faster in his chest when he finally entered the main room. It was rectangular, a bare concrete wall on one side, glass-fronted cells on the other. There were only six, with a stainless steel table bolted to the floor before each one. Q passed all of them, two security guards either side of him, before they came to the very end.
Q had already noted the mistakes M had made. They should have put Bond in the middle, or at the very front. Q knew from hacking the CCTV cameras that there was a blind spot it you stood in the very front corner of Bond's cell, where the glass connected with the wall. The microphones also didn't quite reach that far, if you spoke quietly enough.
While Q had been thinking, the guards had finally left him alone just beside the table bolted before Bond's cell. They'd gone back to the door, sitting either side of it on chairs that had also been bolted to the floor. Their jobs must be so boring, Q mused before turning to face the cell.
It was blindingly white, the walls, floor, and ceiling all painted the same bright shade. There was a bunk bolted to the wall and floor to the right, a small stainless steel sink and toilet to the left. Other than that, nothing. Air holes had been drilled into the glass before Q, and the reinforced glass door had a small flap cut into the bottom to allow food to be pushed through. A small card-reader was stuck to the door, lights currently red.
Bond himself was sitting on the bunk, back pressed to the wall, facing the room at large. He was wearing grey trousers and a matching shirt with a serial number stencilled on the right breast.
Q had seen pictures of Bond, of course, but it was nothing like seeing the man in person. For one thing, Bond was four years older, had fresh scars on his neck and hands, his wrinkles a little deeper, eyes a little different. He was broader, taller than Q would have thought, with dark blonde hair cut short and bright, bright blue eyes. His face was also covered in stubble, grey mixed in with the blonde, and Q wondered if he'd go grey prematurely due to his occupation.
Bond was handsome, Q supposed. He had a strong jaw, pretty eyes, and hair that would look good styled. Q also knew that Bond looked really good in a suit. His ears were a bit wonky, though.
'Hello,' Bond broke the silence first.
Q took a soft breath and sat on the table; there were no chairs. 'Hello,' he echoed.
Bond tilted his head. 'I was told that the Quartermaster wanted to talk to me.'
Q stiffened, eyes narrowing. 'I am the Quartermaster.'
Bond barked out a laugh before saying, 'You must be joking.'
'Why, because I'm not wearing a lab coat?' Q demanded.
'Because you've still got spots,' Bond retorted.
'I don't have spots!' Q snapped, hand twitching to come up and touch his face. He was still in his twenties, okay? It was perfectly normal to still get a pimple or two, and the cold weather wreaked havoc on his skin.
Bond chuckled softly, and Q internally cursed him. Damn it, the man was attractive. Why did Q always have to go for the bad boys? And Bond was a little more dangerous than a teenager in a leather coat with a motorbike.
'Okay,' Bond said, breaking the silence once more, 'so you're the Quartermaster. Where did M find you?'
'That's not important.'
'I think it is.'
'Why?'
Bond stood suddenly, long legs unfolding beneath him. His feet were bare, and Q could see the scars across his toes, the tops of his feet, as though someone had sliced into them for weeks. He swallowed thickly and looked away.
Bond walked across the small cell until he could lean against both the white wall and the glass, legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded over his broad chest. Q's heartbeat quickened once more. Did Bond know that that was the one spot that the cameras and microphones had trouble picking up?
'Where did M find you?' he asked again, voice soft.
'I'm not here to discuss myself, 007,' Q replied.
'007?' Bond echoed. 'I haven't been called that in a while.'
'007 and 006 were never re-assigned,' Q told him. 'You defected, you weren't killed in action. The first few new double-ohs refused the call-signs, and eventually M gave up.'
'Interesting,' Bond hummed. 'Anyway-'
'This phone,' Q interrupted. He held it up, and watched recognition flood Bond's eyes, followed by satisfaction.
'Let me guess,' the older man said, 'you can't get into it?'
'I could, given enough time,' Q replied.
'How long?' Bond asked.
'Between two and three weeks, depending on how little sleep I get and how many meals I skip.'
Bond whistled, 'Impressive.' He then looked Q up and down, eyes narrowed and calculating. 'You shouldn't skip meals.'
'Why not?'
'You're skinny enough as it is.'
Great, just what Q needed; someone else worrying about his weight. Moneypenny cared because she was a sort-of-friend. M cared because she had no use for an anaemic Quartermaster. Medical cared because they thought that it was Q's way of "rebelling" and "lashing out". Load of shit.
'The mobile,' Q decided to move on, 'I need the password.'
'Why?' Bond asked.
'Because I thought I'd be nice and ask,' Q retorted, making the blonde chuckle again. 'If you tell me it saves me two weeks of work. If not, I'll get into it anyway.'
'Eventually,' Bond said.
'Yes, eventually,' Q agreed.
'Mm,' Bond hummed. 'Tell me, why is my mobile so important to you?'
'Because it's clearly important to you,' Q responded.
'How so?' Bond asked.
'You didn't get rid of it,' Q said. He rolled the phone over in his fingers, the black of the case a stark contrast to his pale fingers. 'You had ample opportunity to do so. I read the reports of how you were captured. You managed to evade the agents sent after you for six hours. You were invisible for four of those hours. You could have dropped the mobile anywhere, but you didn't; you held onto it. Which tells me that it must have something on it that's important to you.'
'And that means that it's important to MI6?' Bond questioned.
'Negative,' Q said with a head shake. 'It could just have pictures of your favourite stripper for all I know.'
Bond snorted. 'Yet all this drama, all this effort, just to find out what?'
'I'm curious,' Q shrugged a shoulder. 'And I want to study the virus that was installed three years ago.'
Bond ran his eyes over Q again, but this time there was more to it than blatant amusement. 'You're clever,' he finally said.
'Of course I am,' Q responded, 'I'm the Quartermaster.'
'No,' Bond shook his head, 'no, you're intelligent, I got that. Otherwise M wouldn't have assigned you as Quartermaster. No, you're clever in a way that none of the other techs are. At least, not the techs that I worked with at MI6. You think outside the box. You think like an agent.' He paused, watched as Q squirmed ever so slightly. 'You think like a criminal.'
If Q were less of a man, he'd have run right then. Instead he simply raised an eyebrow and held Bond's eyes with his own. It seemed to be what Bond was looking for, but it still surprised the man. His lips twitched upward, and he shuffled back ever so slightly.
Suddenly Bond stood and went back to the bunk, re-taking the position he'd been in when Q had first entered. '22365-dash-alpha-LJT-question mark-KK4,' Bond stated. He quirked an eyebrow. 'Do you need me to repeat it?'
'I have an eidetic memory,' Q responded and slid from the desk.
Bond chuckled. 'Good evening, Q,' he said.
'Bond,' Q responded. It wasn't until he was back in his office, after having been thoroughly searched again, that he wondered how Bond had known that it was evening. And why it was that the ex-agent hadn't called him "Q" until Q was leaving.
Author's Note: I think I should point out that Skyfall didn't happen in this story. I just couldn't be bothered trying to figure out how it did happen without Bond there. Also, yes. I have continued it. Bravo. The words "drabble" and "one-shot" are not in my muse's vocabulary. Which means that I'll have to change the title at some point. Maybe. If you have any ideas, let me know.
Cheers,
{Dreamer}
