Bond slid stealthily into Q-Branch. Q was in his usual position facing the wall of monitors, his slender elegant back to the room, the inky chaos of his hair a dark punctuation above his pale and vulnerable nape. Bond took a moment to enjoy the view before prowling forward, trying to ensure that he remained directly at Q's back, approaching slowly and silently.
"Good afternoon, 007. How may I help you?" Q said without turning, his fingers on the keyboard never breaking rhythm for even a moment.
Bond instinctively checked the room for reflections that might have given him away, but as usual there was nothing, the glare-proof monitors facing Q revealing nothing but lines of code, the white-painted brick walls and archways incapable of mirroring Bond's position back to Q.
"It's downright spooky how you do that, Q," Bond said, resignedly moving around to Q's side. "Some day I'll figure it out."
The corner of Q's mouth quirked in the slightest smile. "Cultivating an air of omniscience is part of being a good Quartermaster, 007. It's excellent for morale," Q quipped as he pushed a metal box in Bond's direction. "Equipment, please."
Bond placed his gun, radio, and earwig into the metal tray. Q pulled the tray back towards him, tsking briefly over the condition of the Walther.
"You're tutting like a schoolmarm," Bond said.
The barest flash of stormy grey-green eyes over the top of Q's glasses revealed his pique before he turned his head back to one of the monitors, resuming his typing.
Bond stood steadily, not budging an inch, just watching Q work. Q lasted seven minutes, more than most would.
"Was there something else you needed, 007?" he said, his voice showing the barest hint of exasperation.
Bond smiled. A reaction, any reaction, from the unflappable Q was a victory in his book. "What are you working on?" he asked.
Q's brow furrowed slightly, but he began gesturing to various parts of the bank of monitors in turn. "Repelling attacks on our firewalls, gathering intel for 003's next mission, debugging the schematics for the second-generation digital lockpick, and analyzing the after-action report from 006's jaunt to Kazakhstan." He shot Bond a sharp look. "And, apparently, engaging in idle chit-chat with a 007 who has nothing better to occupy him."
Bond just smiled, unperturbed. He stayed at Q's side for another ten minutes, in motionless silence, just because he could. Q worked steadily, his fingers dancing across his keyboard, his body moving and swaying almost imperceptibly like the conductor of some symphony audible only to himself. From time to time his eyes darted back to Bond suspiciously, but neither of them spoke again.
"Until tomorrow, Q," Bond finally said, the low rumble of his voice making Q jump. He saw Q open his mouth to argue — there was nothing Bond would require from Q-Branch until his next mission — but instead he compressed his mouth into a flat line and simply nodded.
"Goodbye, 007."
Bond ambled off to his physiotherapy appointment, feeling strangely content for reasons he couldn't even begin to explain.
On the second day, Bond carefully left his MI-6 identification, with its embedded RFID, in a locker at the weight room. It took him almost an hour to make his way to Q-Branch, piggybacking on others' doorcode authorizations.
He was forced to loiter outside of Q-Branch for an additional ten minutes before one of the minions emerged. The poor man seemed to practically wet himself upon finding a double oh agent lurking outside, ready to pounce. He dropped a sheaf of papers, and Bond had to act quickly, dodging past the startled minion and the fluttering paperwork and sliding through the door just before it closed. He smiled with triumph, creeping up on Q once again, savoring his victory in advance.
"007," Q said, again without turning even a hair. "How kind of you to pay us another visit."
Bond practically growled in his frustration, moving around to Q's side again. "You know that if you're using my embedded trackers it's cheating."
Q cast a wry glance in Bond's direction. "By all means, please do not start carving out pieces of yourself before your next attempt. I do not activate localization of your trackers unless you are on mission." Q's expression became suddenly earnest. "I try to afford our agents at least a modicum of privacy on their off-time. I consider it the least we can do to repay their service."
Bond shifted, suddenly uncomfortable under that serious gaze. That earnest idealism seemed so at odds with the jaded persona Q typically presented. Bond himself had long since abandoned any illusions of personal privacy. His body and mind belonged to MI-6, simple tools in their arsenal, to be used and exploited in any way that served queen and country until he was dead or damaged beyond usefulness.
"That's...actually quite considerate of you, Q." He hadn't realized until he said the words how true they were. It sent an odd flicker of warmth through Bond to know that Q understood how much of themselves the operatives sacrificed for their service, and that he tried to protect what little bit of their dignity fell within his small dominion.
Q's finger stuttered on the keyboard, the barest tinge of pink coloring his cheekbones. God, the man was achingly transparent, for the slightest compliment to rattle him so, Bond thought. For some reason he liked that thought. After a life surrounded by professional liars, it was nice to be around someone who was bloody awful at deception.
Q cleared his throat. "004 has been called to Macau," he volunteered this time, gesturing at the monitors. "A long-time informant requested an emergency meet. She seems confident that it will be secure, but..."
He trailed off. Puzzlingly, the blush intensified.
"But...?" Bond prompted.
Q shrugged somewhat self-consciously. "I have a bad feeling about it. I've analyzed past communications from this informant, and something seems different this time, but I couldn't pin it down enough to satisfy 004. She's insistent upon meeting, and..."
Q stopped, his mouth twisting wryly as he shot a challenging glance at Bond. "I suppose you're about to tell me that I should trust the instincts of an experienced field agent. Possibly with a few additional aspersions cast upon my youth, inexperience, appearance, or some combination of the above."
"You should trust the instincts of an experienced field agent," Bond said, noting the shadow of disappointment that passed fleetingly through Q's eyes. "But not at the expense of your own," he finished, with a hint of a smile.
"Oh." Q's remarkable eyes blinked owlishly behind his glasses, startled. "Er...thanks."
He returned to his work. The silence was more companionable this time, Q seeming to have adjusted already to Bond's steady scrutiny. Bond could hardly make heads or tails of what Q was doing...windows of surveillance footage were mixed in with codes and maps and after-action reports dating back decades, but Q's eyes darted back and forth, appearing to absorb and integrate it all. It was quite intimidating, actually.
Bond considered himself intelligent. All double ohs had to be or they didn't survive, and quick — some might say rash — decisions were certainly one of his specialities. Nonetheless, watching Q work his magic, bouncing from data stream to data stream and apparently missing nothing, was a little humbling.
It was almost mesmerizing watching Q work — the sharp eyes behind the ridiculous glasses, the slender, elegant hands, the graceful curve of his spine. A minion approached in what appeared to be a well-rehearsed ritual, leaving a cup of tea at the very edge of Q's desk in that ridiculous Scrabble mug. Q paused his work and reached for it, snapping Bond out of his reverie. He glanced at his watch, surprised to find he had been standing there for more than half an hour.
"Goodbye, Q," he said gruffly, somewhat embarrassed.
"Mmmm...what?" Q was engrossed in the data again, and it was a long moment before he seemed to be able to pull himself free and focus on Bond. "Oh, yes, goodbye, 007."
Today Bond was testing the theory that Q had some sort of hypersensitive sense of smell. He spent an overly-long time in the showers, hoping to eliminate any scent of chlorine, sweat, shampoo, or aftershave. He padded out in a towel, finding 006 in the locker room, peeling off a sweat-soaked tracksuit.
"Did you hear about 004?" Alec asked casually.
"No," Bond said simply, knowing that Trevelyan would provide all the relevant details without further prompting.
"She had an informant, they'd been buddies since the late '90's when they were both stationed in the Macau field office."
"An emergency meet," Bond mused aloud, remembering.
"Turns out the informant was compromised," Alec said. "Q found out in the nick of time, aborted the rendezvous. Half the building blew, but she was already pulling back. Came out of it with just a few scrapes and bruises."
Bond stifled his smile. Good for Q. Intellect was one thing, but good instincts were entirely another. It was reassuring to know their Quartermaster had both.
"Are you headed over to Q-Branch now?" Trevelyan asked unexpectedly.
"Probably. Why?"
"Tell Q thanks, from me. Margot's one of the good ones."
Bond nodded his agreement. He had only been on a few joint missions with 004, but she was, in fact, one of the best double ohs he knew. Stubborn, as they all were, but sharp and lively, with a wicked tongue.
"You've been spending a lot of time there lately," Trevelyan said, and only because Bond knew him so well could he detect the too-casual tone to his voice.
Bond hummed noncommittally, pulling his shirt on and buttoning it. "Something you want to say, Alec?"
He turned, and the two men regarded each other carefully. "He's a good Quartermaster," Alec finally said.
"Are you warning me off?" Bond asked, carefully keeping his voice neutral.
Alec smiled widely, but his green eyes remained sharp. "Just make sure you've thought it through. And — whichever way you go — don't fuck it up."
Bond nodded curtly. Alec gave him a nod in return, and ambled off toward the showers.
Bond was still a little ruffled by the time he made his way into Q-Branch. What did he even mean by asking Alec that — warning him off what, exactly? And what did Alec mean in return? It was not as if he were...courting Q, or something. The whole idea was ridiculous. Bond didn't do relationships. He just wanted to get to know the enigmatic Quartermaster a little better, that was all.
Q was in his usual position, back to the room, but his typical stiff-backed posture was entirely absent, his shoulders rounded and head hanging wearily from the slender stem of his neck.
Bond narrowed his eyes, surprised to some extent by the fierce protective instinct Q's bedraggled condition incited within him. He moved forward as Q raised his head, pushing his glasses back up his nose, his back still to Bond.
"007," Q said, his voice weary. "How may I help you?"
Bond glanced over Q's wrinkled clothing — the same clothing he had been wearing yesterday, in fact — the atrocious trousers and homely jumper improved not at all by the crumpling they had received in the intervening hours.
"Did you go home at all?" he asked preemptively, already knowing the answer.
"I am fit for duty, if that is what you're asking," Q said, apparently trying for a prickly tone that was somewhat undermined by the wide-mouthed yawn he was unable to fully suppress.
"Who is on mission at present?" Bond asked, giving Q's assurance all the credence it deserved — in other words, exactly none.
"003 is en route to the Maldives..." Q began weakly.
"I saw him outside M's office this afternoon, which means he won't arrive until morning. Go home, Q."
Q bristled visibly. "I am perfectly capable of managing my own schedule, 007. I am simply avoiding rush hour on the Tube, and then I will be leaving, I can assure you."
Some of Bond's building tension eased. He recalled Q in his ear during the Silva disaster.
[Welcome to rush hour on the Tube. Not something you'd know much about.]
"Contrary to the opinion of certain upstart Quartermasters..." Bond stated sarcastically. "I do in fact have some experience with rush hour on the Tube. And it should have ended..." — Bond checked his watch — "At least an hour ago."
Q opened his mouth to argue, and then checked the time on his monitor. Bond almost laughed aloud at his obvious double-take. Q turned around slowly, no doubt taking in the many empty desks behind him. Apparently he had lost track of time while most of Q-Branch had cleared out for the evening.
Q ran a hand through his already-chaotic hair, ruffling it up to truly epic proportions. "Did you just stop by to mother-hen me, 007?" he asked in exasperation.
"No, in fact," Bond returned calmly. "In addition to testing out my latest hypothesis..."
"Which was what, exactly?" Q interrupted. The sharp eyes scanned Bond's form. They looked more hazel now in Q's exhausted state. "Oh, I see...olfaction, was it?"
Bond shrugged, a bit peeved to have had his theory deduced so easily.
"No super-sniffer here," Q said wryly. "Probably a blessing right now, I'm sure there's a bit of a pong to me at the moment."
"As I was saying," Bond said, "My other reason for stopping by was to pass along the gratitude of the other double ohs. That was a good catch for Margot."
"Oh." Q's cheekbones flushed again, just a bit. Bond continued to find it inexpressibly charming. "Er...tell them thank you. I mean, in return."
"I know what you mean." Bond couldn't supress his smile at Q's discomfiture. "So, share your secret then. Your uncanny ability to have eyes in the back of your head, and now 004's compromised informant. Psychic powers, is it?"
A shadow of sadness crossed Q's face. He turned away from Bond, beginning to tidy his desk, packing his personal items into a tatty-looking messenger bag. "If I were psychic, I would have seen Silva coming," he mumbled, almost too low for Bond to hear but with a strong undercurrent of emotion in the muffled tones.
"Q." Bond circled around to the front of Q's desk, even as Q continued to avoid his eyes. "No one blames you for that."
Q's gaze shot up, pinning Bond in place, his body suddenly whipcord tense. "Well then they are fools," Q said sharply. "Because I certainly blame myself."
Q continued to shove items into his bag with unnecessary force, speaking half to himself, self-loathing dripping from his words like acid. "They told me they installed a secondary closed-loop system, allowing for central disengagement from the network, but I should have checked it myself. It was just another of the hundred things to do on my list, and we set up in such a hurry, but I should have checked the code myself, I would have seen Silva's hack in seconds..."
"Q." Bond put his hand on Q's shoulder. To his surprise Q startled, almost stumbling as he jerked back away from Bond's touch.
Bond looked at Q for a frozen moment and Q stared back, those hazel-green eyes wide behind the ridiculous glasses.
"Sorry," they both said at the same time — Bond with more of a question in his tone and Q with flustered weariness.
"I'm very tired," Q said, unnecessarily. "I didn't mean to burden you with all that about Silva. God knows you suffered more than just an injury to your pride."
Bond nodded, still trying to make sense of Q's odd reactions. "I meant what I said, Q. We could second-guess each other for the rest of our lives, and it wouldn't help. If Silva hadn't overstepped to hack China. If Boothroyd's cyanide capsule had worked. If I had recognized Silva's plan for what it was sooner. If M had left the inquiry when Tanner asked her to. It never ends."
He tried to put every ounce of the sincerity he felt into his voice. "You took over Q-Branch at the most chaotic time possible, still mourning the loss of your colleagues, and you did an admirable job. You are an excellent Quartermaster, Q, but you can and will make mistakes. It's messy out there in the field, always, and if you second-guess yourself you will burn out in no time. And that would be a shame for all involved."
Q regarded Bond seriously for a moment, and then finally nodded, some of the tension in his slender body easing. "Thank you, 007," he said quietly.
Bond shifted, a bit uncomfortable with the level of open emotion on display. "Come on. I'll walk you to the Tube."
"Thank you, 007, but no." Q"s smile was somewhat brittle. "I have a few more things to tie up here before I hand operations off to R."
"I can wait."
"Goodbye, 007." Q's voice was firm. "I do appreciate...you stopping by," he added, his voice gentling.
Bond set his jaw mutinously, but he could see Q would not be budged. "Goodnight, Q," he finally said, and walked briskly out of Q-Branch.
If Q noticed that 007 shadowed him from MI-6 to the Tube station, he gave no sign.
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