Friday, 4 January 2013
The coal cellar discovery three days ago had been an interesting diversion. Breaking through the machine shop floor had been a group event, putting Q in mind of explorers sending cam-bots up into the shafts of the Great Pyramid at Giza. But then, a scheduling conflict had left Q alone, so he'd thought to clear the way for further exploration. The offer of help — especially from the new guy with the uninterested husband — was a godsend.
James was as strong as he looked, and he cleared out the coal almost faster than Q could rake it away. Already a corner of his mind was wondering what they could actually do with the coal. Immediately he got distracted by the potential not just for fire but for methane gas production, but did they need methane gas?
More to the point, did anyone, at least on a hobby level? He'd have to put out a call for ideas, maybe make it into a contest. That or he could sell it, he supposed, though he really didn't need the money.
Technically, he didn't even need the dues collected from the members, nor did he need the equipment and consumables donations. He just preferred to avoid drawing attention. As it was, a couple of people had noticed him coming and going from one of the flats upstairs. He'd become more careful about that lately, though.
Once James had gone as far as was really safe, Q said, "Let me get down there and — headlamp, right." He diverted from the hole, abandoning the rake, and tried to remember what he'd done with his headlamp. Not in his locker... He went to the computer area instead, vaguely recalling using it for a build after the halogen over one of the tables had died.
A minute later, excitement singing through him, he put on the headlamp and switched it to full brightness. He put on his goggles and asked, "See anything down there?"
"A structural design that indicates this was more than just a coal cellar," James said in a low voice. He shuffled on his stomach as he twisted to get a better look.
Q laid down next to him and inched forward. The headlamp beam swept over the coal, but also picked out an open space. "Beautiful," he said excitedly, crawling carefully forward, inching down into the hole. The coal was bitingly rough on his hands and forearms, adding to the array of scratches already there.
"Easy there, Professor Challenger," James said in low voice, catching the back of Q's blue jeans. "If you fall in there, I can almost guarantee it will be deeply unpleasant."
"I should be fine," Q insisted with a little laugh. He pushed a few more pieces of coal out of the way, feeling a momentary apprehension that he might end up starting an avalanche. "It can't be that deep." Then, to prove his theory, he deliberately shoved a piece of coal down the pile, and listened with satisfaction as it bounced and came to a halt not too far away at all. "See?"
James didn't let go, however. "All that proves is that it landed on something, Q. You have no concept of what that something is, nor what its structural integrity might be. It could be the floor of what was formerly a lift shaft, full of rusted-out and sharp edged machinery. Or the unstable roof of an old Underground tunnel. Perhaps even a door to hell, for all you know." Bond's voice was tense but amused. "Don't you think some safety precautions are in order?"
Q considered arguing; if the weight of all that coal hadn't caused a collapse, surely his weight wouldn't. But James did have a point. "Well, that's why we have bots," he conceded, and let James help him crawl backwards and up out of the hole. He took a deep breath, coughed at the coal dust, and bellowed, "I need a mini-camera!"
"On it!" came the answering yell from up front.
"You didn't happen to have an architectural drawing of this building or what's underneath it, do you?" James asked, standing and brushing himself off. "It's not important to know just what the hole is or how deep it goes, but what it might be connected to."
"Tunnels would be fantastic," Q said, rolling onto his back. He exchanged his goggles for his glasses, squinted up at the overhead lights, and arched his back to stretch. Tunnels went places. If he had a tunnel entrance in his building, he could go places. Explore.
Bond stood over him, smiling crookedly. "You were the type of boy who liked pirate adventure novels, weren't you?" He nudged Q's ankle with his foot in an apparent attempt to get his attention. "I hope you're fully aware of how dangerous the exploration of tunnels can be, and will take appropriate steps to keep yourself safe."
"I read programming manuals," Q said distractedly. He lifted his head and grinned up at James. "Besides, I'll send a bot in first. It'll be fine." He got up to his feet — James helped halfway — and went to the robotics pen behind the computers.
Half the robotics work took place up front, where circuit boards, sensor arrays, and controls were assembled. The rest happened back here, between the machine shop for the bodies and the computers for the actual coding. For this, though, he only needed a big, durable RC truck with a retrieval line. Anything more sophisticated would have to wait at least a little while.
"Heads up!" came the call from the doorway, and Q turned in time to see James catch a camera thrown his way.
"Good reflexes," Q approved, and went to find batteries for the truck. Most of them were stored up front, but he kept a few in the back for emergency robotics testing. "Could you grab a line? Ropes are by the lockers."
James walked over to the lockers and crouched to start sorting through the several types of rope that lay in a pile on the floor. "Don't you have anything likely to withstand..." he muttered, until he pulled a bright blue braided coil from the pile. "This should do the trick."
Q snapped the batteries into the truck and the remote control. He set the truck down and gave it a test drive, sending it right to James. "Line to the back axle," he said, thinking of camera mounting. Then, because James was the new guy and probably had a boring life, he offered, "You can mount the camera if you want, too. Just don't cover the antenna."
James cast an amused glance Q's way. "Oh, can I?" he asked with a smirk. He wrapped the rope three times around the back axle, leaving himself a generous measure of slack. Then with quick, efficient, and apparently well-practised movements, he tied a series of knots that would be impossible for the RC to break free from unless the rope was cut.
"Climbing or —" Q snapped his mouth shut before asking bondage, and then his brain stalled, because he couldn't think of any other conventional use for rope. He finally blurted, "Hanging things?" and then hoped James didn't think he meant people.
"Something like that," James replied without looking up. He took the other end of the rope and lashed it to the nearest support beam with the same meticulous knot-work. "It's a short length of rope," he explained. "Wouldn't want it to slip from our hands."
Overcautious, but that was better than the alternative. Q smiled approvingly and went to where he'd dumped his jacket on the floor near the hole. He fished through the pockets to find his tablet computer and then sat down on the floor, opening the network interface. "How did you attach the camera?" he asked without looking up, since James was still holding the truck.
"Duct tape," James said with perfect calm.
"Oh, good. You found it," Q said, relieved. He hated when new people asked where the duct tape was. As if it wasn't everywhere? He started searching on the network for the camera.
James burst out into a sudden fit of laughter, staring at him. "I think I like you, Q," he said, grinning, looking back down at the car. When Q looked over, he saw that Bond had actually removed the plastic cover from the car (keeping the attaching pins in their holes) and was currently screwing the camera's tripod mount to the caging, with a piece of wired mesh in between. Then he wrapped wire through the mesh and over the mount for extra security.
Q blinked in surprise, and then grinned, pleased. The initial application assessment for 'Bond, James' had been very unremarkable, but he'd paid at the highest level and offered a new bench grinder, so there was no reason at all to deny the application. Not that he would have, but still.
Besides, he wasn't asking what the 'Q' stood for. That got him extra points.
"Aha," he said as the camera finally showed up on the network. "We're up. Oh" — he pulled off the headlamp, which he'd forgotten was still powered up, and tossed it to James — "can you mount that to the front? We may as well have light for the camera, since it's not infrared. And I hope to hell that nothing with body heat is down there."
James frowned as he looked down at the headlamp, and his hand twitched to his side in a subtle movement Q barely caught. Then James was attaching the headlamp to the car, securing it behind the front metal bumper, where the bars would obscure the light slightly but would ensure that it wouldn't get dislodged. He secured it with wire, using tools and materials from his rucksack.
Q tested the camera controls — strictly zoom and focus, but every little bit helped. "I've always wanted to do this for real," he admitted. "Like at the pyramids, only with less tourism."
"An out-of-the-box RC truck probably isn't your best bet for this sort of work, especially one that big. Something smaller, with a lighter frame, lower to the ground, with bigger tyres might be worth the build if you have the time," James said, sitting on the floor next to Q. "If you plan to make a habit of this, that is."
"We've got a couple in the planning or build stages now." Q tipped his head back enough to see James through his fringe. "Do you do robotics?"
"Are you mapping the car's movements, or just looking?" James asked. He kept his eyes on the screen. "The rope is too short for the car to get very far."
Regretfully, Q shook his head. "I have nothing —" He cut off and tipped his head. He had mobile phones. "But that precision —" Unless he built an array himself. GPS? Too much power, too small a package, unless he used a relay. Distance to relay, three axes...
James nudged him lightly. "You're extremely distractible, aren't you?"
"Sorry." He felt himself flush; he tried not to do that in front of people who didn't know him. At least he hadn't said most of that out loud. Nothing was more disruptive than a poorly timed helpful suggestion — or, worse, a baffled 'What?'
"Don't be. I'm sure the ideas flying lightning fast under that hair of yours are worth the attention," James said with a small smile.
Q smiled a bit tensely and looked back down at the tablet. That was perilously close to flirtatious, and whatever was going on between James and Alec, Q was not going to get caught between them — as interesting as a tiny part of him thought it could be. More likely, if James was flirting, then there was something wrong, and Q wasn't about to be the other guy. Especially not given Alec's sheer size.
"Ready to see what's down there?" he asked, setting up a program to record the camera feed, rather than just viewing it live.
James leaned forward and set the car down on the coal, taking hold of the rope. "I'll use this to keep it stable on the way down," he offered.
Q nodded, his smile returning. "Perfect." He wedged the tablet between his knee and a pile of coal, where both he and James could see it. Then he picked up the remote and started the car moving forward. The ride was shaky, but together they managed to keep the car moving slowly enough that it didn't tip or skid.
"Careful, now," he warned as the front end of the truck tipped forward, and James' hand clenched on the rope. "We're at a precipice."
"Got it," James assured him, and Q pressed the car forward as James eased up his grip of the rope.
The camera's view went wild for a moment as the truck lost its orientation. It bounced and jolted and landed hard on something. Both Q and James bent close to the tablet screen. There were gridlines — only a few visible, so either they were big, close-up, or both. Though the camera was colour, there was apparently no colour to be had, besides a thick coating of black coal-dust over what might be a brown or grey surface. "It looks —"
"Cobblestone," James said at once. He held out both hands, orienting one at a visible intersection of the gridlines, the other up above the tablet. "Probably standard in size. The camera's back twelve centimetres, and look at the angle of the light. It's resting on the front bumper and front tyres."
The description slotted into place with the visual, and Q realised with some surprise that he was absolutely correct. "Very good eye," he approved, wondering if James was good at those visual puzzles involving macro-photography. "So if it's cobblestone, then it's probably an original coal cellar." His fingers twitched on the remote control for the car. "Give it a twitch, and let's see if we can get it righted. Drive around a bit, see what else is there."
With his eyes on the camera, James gave the rope a few careful tugs. The car resisted at first, but eventually it caved to James' persistence. It rolled and flipped upright, settling on the tyres quickly. James shot a triumphant grin at Q.
Grinning back, Q started the car in a slow, careful turn, with James inching forward to hold up the retrieval rope to keep it from fouling. "Wish I had the other bot. It has independent wheel drive for on-the-spot turns —" He cut off and twitched the car back a bit, leaning in towards the tablet. "Oh, what are you, lovely?" he breathed, heart skipping when he saw a door. It looked small and metallic, possibly involved in coal delivery or distribution, and every cell in his body twitched with the urge to crawl down there himself and explore.
"Well, that solves the question of whether it's attached to the Underground," James said, peering over Q's shoulder. "You'll need a map — or more likely several — safety gear, and rappelling gear before you even think about it."
"Can't get a map without sending down a cartographer," Q countered logically. "I have the building blueprints, but they're far from complete. But the block — Oh, historical maps would show that. Can you get the bot?" he asked, scrambling to his feet; the controller fell onto the coal pile. Without waiting for an answer, he rushed over to the caged metal ladder that led up to what had once been an office overlooking the warehouse. It had long since been converted to a hallway access for the first storey, which was used in part for storage; Q also used it as a more convenient access to the upper levels of the building, rather than going out to the main door.
He had the plans in his office, awaiting the chance to get them scanned in. It was on his to-do list, but had never been a priority, until now. With the right plans, he could build a 3D model and project just how far the basement would go.
Bond watched Q race up the ladder with a grin that may very well have approached fondness. He didn't know Q at all yet, but he knew — and deeply appreciated — the type: inquisitive, persistent, spacey, creative, and intelligent. There weren't enough people in the world like Q, diving headlong into adventures and projects, and when Bond managed to come across one, he tended to view them with a guarded protectiveness. That sort of innocent delight was far, far too easily squashed by the demands of a cold world that would try its best to suck them into corporate hell.
Bond looked back down at the tablet with the camera feed, then at the controller Q had dropped in his mad dash to get to... wherever he was going. He didn't want to haul the heavy truck up by the rope unless necessary; the camera's mounting was good but not perfect, and a sharp impact could cause damage.
From upstairs, he heard a door crash closed, though Q didn't immediately return. The ladder looked like it might have once led to a catwalk; the drywall at the top of the ladder was new, still covered with tape and spackle. Just how much of the building did this hackerspace have? Judging by the connecting door to the coffee shop, they probably had a deal with the building owner.
With a combination of careful manoeuvring and gentle tugs on the rope, Bond worked the truck safely back out of the hole. Once it was back at his feet, he busied himself with removing the camera and headlamp. The camera he left next to Q's tablet. So far, he was enjoying the improvisational, solution-focused attitude that hopefully characterised the whole hackerspace and not just one director. Being here made Bond feel like he was out in the field, only without the danger that someone would shoot him at any moment. While waiting for Q, he leaned against the wall and started coiling the rope.
Q came down the ladder a few minutes later, with a long cardboard tube stuck under one arm, getting in his way as he climbed. When he was three feet from the floor, he let go and pushed back, landing in a crouch. Immediately he turned, eyes flicking over Bond, the rope, and the dig site.
"Thanks," he said, and tipped his head in invitation as he headed for the doorway to the front room.
"You're welcome," Bond answered with amusement. A quick glance at the tube and the chicken-scratch on the end cap confirmed that Q had probably found one of the historical maps he had mentioned. He felt a flush of unease at the thought; while he didn't have anything against dark, small spaces, he did have a particular desire to not get lost in them. Bond knew enough about the London Underground to know that it was an absolute mess; there wasn't a map in the world that was able to trace what hundreds of years of human engineering had wrought. And the worst part? GPS and cellular traces didn't work underground.
Q uncapped the tube and slid out a messy stack of large blueprint-sized papers. The heavy thump drew attention from the three people doing component work at the other table, though none of them came over. Bond had the feeling that Q was a hurricane that blew in and out with enough frequency that people grew accustomed to his manic phases. He just hoped there wasn't a corresponding low period.
A shove unrolled the stack of papers, and then Q started turning them aside. Bond caught glimpses of the building's four storeys; he assumed the upper two floors were residential flats, with the first storey given over to storage — it was connected to the hackerspace, after all — and possibly another residence. The ground floor, of course, was split between the hackerspace and the cafe.
The stack of blueprints traced back through three iterations of the building's life, all the way to a crumbling, hard-edged page with hand-drawn lines cataloguing repairs after the London Blitz. "The original survey — the oldest I have," Q explained, turning the page aside more gently now. "Aha. Here, ground level..."
Bond looked over the map, quickly cataloguing the lines and measurements, finding that they matched up to the estimations he'd made for size when he first had seen the building. He located the lift and pointed it out, gently tracing a finger down to the coal shaft. "There it is. I'm surprised you didn't pull this out when you first discovered the shaft."
"Well, that is why I decided to cut through the floor there," Q said, flashing him a grin like a magnesium flare. "I suspected something was below. It's always nice to be proven right. But there isn't a damned thing to tell us what's actually below," he said, rubbing a finger gently over the old paper beneath the front-view of the building. "Concrete floor, sewer pipes, but the sewer line is here" — he moved his finger to the right of the building — "and a secondary connection on the other side, for the cafe. It could be no one's dug there since the new foundation was poured."
"Looks like it's a trip to the library for you then, Q," Bond said with a smile, thumbing over the page. "Reference librarians tend to be enthusiastic about helping with inquiries like yours..." He trailed off, meeting Q's somewhat baffled stare. "What?"
"The library can be my second stop, assuming the City of London's Environment and Planning department doesn't have it all online," he said, gently starting to roll the pages back up. Then he let go of the paper; as it flopped back down, he unholstered the phone from his belt. "If nothing else, I can get plans for modern sewer lines — perhaps even the Underground."
Bond shrugged. "Reference librarians are much more fun to flirt with than the retired engineers in planning department archives."
"Mmm. If I'm lucky" — he snapped a photo of the information box at the bottom corner of the oldest blueprint — "I won't have to talk to anyone at all." He holstered the phone and started rolling up the pages. Then he stopped partway through and blinked over at Bond. "Key?"
Bond pulled the original key from his pocket and held it up, but didn't pass it over just yet. "You're not going to go down there without the safety measures I suggested, I hope." It wasn't a question, but Bond raised his eyebrow anyway.
For all his apparent genius, Q was a terrible liar, even without factoring in Bond's uncanny skill at reading people. Q glanced down and to the side, momentarily looking the wrong way to pretend to pay attention to what his hands were doing. He shifted his gaze appropriately, went back to rolling up the papers, and said, "I won't take any unnecessary risks."
Bond snorted. "Right. Text me if you change your mind. I happen to have some very high-quality rappelling and safety gear." He dropped the key onto the blueprints, went to the back room to find his rucksack, and hoisted it on his shoulder. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket to text Alec. As filthy as he was, he didn't feel like working on the lockpicks; it wasn't as if he had a mission on his immediate horizon, so he'd need the distraction. He went back to the front room, where Q was tapping the rolled blueprints back into the tube. "Have a good evening, Q."
Q looked up from the tube and smiled. "Thanks for your help. See you around," he added as he picked up the tube and went to the back room.
With one last acknowledging nod, Bond left the workshop, stopping only long enough to pick up a handful of discarded wires. Then he went outside, looked across the street at the pub, and considered going to hunt Alec down himself. He sent a text instead, knowing it would irritate Alec.
Then he leaned against the wall by the hackerspace door, deftly twisting the wires in his fingers, and tried not to think about the skinny director getting caught in a cave-in. By the time Alec came out of the pub and tossed him the keys to the Maserati, though, Bond had shaped the wires into a multi-coloured scorpion, and he hadn't been able to put Q out of his mind.
Sunday, 6 January 2013
It was foggy and rainy and miserable at five in the morning. Sundays, the cafe opened late, so Q stood alone behind the counter, head resting on the espresso machine, idly thinking of ways to speed up the water heating process. In his fuzzy, not-quite-awake state, he realised that contemplating 'improvements' on a high-pressure system was probably not a good thing, but there was no harm in treating it like a mental exercise.
Fortunately, the most dangerous tools in the hackerspace were behind a safety lock that required solving a complex, random maths problem to disengage the latch. He'd installed that little mod after the incident with the plasma torch.
A tap on the front window jerked him out of his half-doze. He blinked and looked at the dark figure looming against the fog, but there wasn't a chance he'd actually see an identity — not without his glasses. He shuffled forward, only then remembering that he was barefoot and that health inspectors might object. But if it was a health inspector at five in the morning on a Sunday, he'd eat the espresso machine piece by piece.
When he was three feet away, he recognised the new guy's partner. Alan? Something like that. Hoping like hell not to get caught up in a domestic, Q dragged himself to the door and undid the locks.
"Morning, sunshine," the tall, distractingly broad-shouldered man said cheerfully as he let himself in. He was dripping wet but not muddy, so Q didn't say anything. "Glad to see you're — Good god, you're not awake, are you? Do you always open the cafe in your pyjamas?"
"Espresso," Q said, and headed back in the direction of the machine that promised caffeine and consciousness in tiny, delicious cups.
"Should you be doing that in your condition?"
What the hell was his name? It would be rude to ask, wouldn't it? Q stared at him, wondering how the hell his eyes were that green. Just like James', only not blue. Green and blue; Christ, they made a striking pair. No wonder why they were together. Probably against the law for them to date anyone not half so beautiful.
Q leaned back against the counter and closed his eyes, listening to the hiss and gurgle of the espresso machine waking up. Poor thing was just as tired as he was. He patted the steel housing.
"Right. Rehabilitation for burns is horrid," Adam — no, not Adam — said, and put a hand on Q's arm.
"Customers on the other side," Q said, remembering that Mr Siegel got upset when the customers wandered.
"You play customer, I'll play barista."
Q let himself be pulled to the table by the display of coffee grinders. They never actually sold worth a damn, except to the hackers who needed motors for experiments. Of course, that was the whole point of having the machines for sale — to provide a readily available source of components.
"Alec!" he said, lifting his head from where he'd pillowed it on his arms.
"Hm?" came the answer, followed by the wonderful hiss of steam that told Q the espresso machine was finally ready to start saving lives.
"Right." Satisfied, he put his head back down on the table. Really, he needed to automate this. It would require some very complex engineering, though. Tamping the grounds in the portafilter would be easy, with some force-feedback programming to reach the correct pressure. But the precision for a robot arm to get the portafilter in place... He could use optics for alignment and verification. He'd need optics in any case to make sure the portafilter basket was clean of grounds for subsequent pulls. But there were variations — subtle changes in water and steam temperature, for example — that people always said required a human touch.
Well, not a human touch. Advanced robotics. Adaptive programming that could learn and change itself.
He snickered into his sleeves, thinking that it would be incredibly amusing to accidentally create Skynet out of a robot barista. But at least the human slaves working for the Machine State would have damned good coffee. That counted for something.
"Better than most offices," he muttered as Alec — yes, that was definitely his name — set down a cup with at least two shots in it. Maybe three. Q slid the cup closer, swiped a finger over the lovely brown crema at the top, and licked it off.
"You look like you take it black, in this state," Alec said as he sat down. Q was a bit surprised that the chair didn't break. It wasn't that he was fat — not at all. He just looked solidly muscled, like James.
"You met at a gym," he guessed, and pulled the cup of espresso into the circle of his arms so he could breathe in the steam. He'd been rubbish at biology, so he had no idea if his body could process any aerosolised molecules of caffeine that were clinging to the steam, but it seemed to help jump-start his brain all the same.
"Sorry?" Alec asked.
"Nothing." Too late, Q remembered his rule about personal questions. Asking them would result in being asked, and that led to him being required to lie.
"So, I'm guessing you're not an employee of the cafe," Alec said.
Q shook his head, and then rested his forehead in one hand. His fingers helped keep the fringe out of his eyes. "No. Mr Siegel made pastries last night, but they're racked, not baked. He'll be..." He dropped a hand below the table and patted his pockets, wondering if he'd brought his mobile down. He hadn't. "What time is it? Sunday, right?"
Alec made a slightly choked sound. "Yes. Sunday. Sunday at... twelve past five in the bloody morning. I rather agree with your nonverbal assessment of mornings, you know. Awful things."
Why are you here? Q thought about asking, but that verged on personal. Instead, he lowered his head so he could tip the cup enough to take a test sip. The effort to actually lift the cup seemed unreasonable and sent his mind off on a tangent about the effects of a localised antigravity field attached to a heavy coffee cup full of liquid. He had a feeling it would end up causing a coffee-style rain once the droplets left the field.
"I am not sleep-engineering," he said, more for his own benefit than for Alec's.
"God, I wish you would. It's bloody adorable."
Q raised his brows, looking across the table. "Aren't you —" slipped out before he could stop himself.
Alec's grin narrowed his green, green eyes in a way that was just... well, the word 'sinful' came to mind. "Aren't I what? I'm very flexible."
"Oh, god," Q mumbled as those words sank claws into his brain. "Where's James?"
"Making our lockpicks. Someone distracted him yesterday."
He didn't sound angry, thankfully, though Q quickly let that pass. He started to look down, thinking the espresso was a perfectly safe visual target, except he stalled somewhere around mid-chest. Alec was obviously the better dresser of the two, wearing a button-down shirt just visible at the collar under a light cream knitted jumper. It looked soft, and Q's fingers itched to touch. Of course, that just put Q in mind of how James' black shirt had clung to him yesterday — a shirt full of little scorch marks and holes burnt through the fabric to give teasing glances of bare skin.
"Fucking hell," Q muttered uncomfortably. Morning sex was one of his weaknesses. Lazy, half-asleep, uninhibited morning sex. No urgency, no fumbling, no 'getting late, must get to sleep soon' rush. Just the foggy grey morning light outside the window and a sleep-warm bed and he was not going to have these thoughts sitting across from one half of the most gorgeous married pair in London.
"You all right?" Alec asked. It sounded like he was trying not to laugh. Bastard.
"Breakers," Q said, a flash of brilliant inspiration shining through the fog like the sudden headlamp of an oncoming train. "Could you tell James the panel's behind the ladder if he blows something up?"
Alec's grin just got wider. "Uh huh. Don't touch anything hot while I'm gone," he said, and left the table.
Q let his head fall to the table surface beside his cup. Naturally he wasn't lucky enough to have the floor under his seat open up to swallow him. So he hid his face and listened as Alec let himself through the connecting door to the hackerspace.
Then, desperately, he took the cup of espresso and fled for the back staircase that led up to the privacy of his flat.
If this became a regular occurrence, he'd damned well buy himself his own espresso machine.
"Oi! James!" Alec shouted over the sparking whirr of the bench grinder.
Bond didn't turn his head to spare Alec a look — his fingers were far too valuable to be distracted by Alec's bellowing. If it were truly important, the lazy git could walk over and talk to him directly. Not to mention, of course, he was making excellent progress on getting the shape of the steel right. He loved watching a project, and idea, start to form from the purity of raw material.
Alec did eventually make his way over, wearing scratched yellow safety glasses that looked like he'd taken them from the rack by the door. "You just missed the most adorable thing I've seen in months," he shouted, lifting a ceramic mug of espresso.
"If you're referring to the one with blue hair, I somehow doubt that," Bond replied dryly. He'd seen her glare a self-possessed, arrogant twenty-something into silent submission when the kid tried to flirt with her. "Bring me any coffee?"
"I made two cups, but gave one to Q. It seemed medically critical. I think he might be undead." Alec snickered. "He was barely coherent."
"He's pale enough; undead is a possibility." Bond slid the metal just a few degrees to the left and watched the rounded corner fall into perfect symmetry with the other side. He flipped off the grinder, sat back, and set the start of a new pick on the worktable. "He didn't strike me as the morning type. I wonder if he's just still up from last night."
"You planning to find out if he is a morning type?" Alec asked too casually.
"Alec," Bond warned, turning back to the row of metal pieces he had queued up next to the machine. "This is the best hackerspace I've been to in years."
Alec gave him an innocent look that didn't fool him for a moment. "What are you implying?"
"That if you want us to not be banned from one of the few bloody places left in London where I can show my face in the machine shop and not have people run screaming, you should avoid seducing the director." Bond tapped the metal unnecessarily on the edge of the worktable. "Lockpicks are good, remember?"
"You didn't see him," Alec pointed out. "He was practically asleep on the espresso machine. No glasses, bare feet, hair a wreck... I wanted to take him home and feed him. If not for the whole 'burned down the bloody house' thing."
"He's not your type," Bond tried, not exactly certain why he was bothering to protest. He didn't actually have any plans to seduce Q, but he didn't want Alec to take a crack at him either. "He's the sort of genius you find in TSS. Remember what happened the last time you tangled with a hacker?"
"Look, shagging someone who thinks you're shagging her only to get access to experimental tech is one thing. I have no ulterior motives here. I'm absolutely innocent," Alec declared.
Bond couldn't help the disbelieving chuckle that escaped him. "If you say so, Alec," he said, shaking his head. "Go on, then. And if you're stuck trying to fix your credit rating again, don't expect me to let you borrow my car."
"Oh, now there's a thought," Alec all but purred. "Think he likes cars? The Maserati always works. Just exotic enough to make them look twice. I should go find out. He's probably asleep on the table, poor thing. Have fun with your bench grinder."
Bond thought about the look of excitement Q got when he saw the old door, the way he lit up at the thought that he was about to go exploring. "I doubt that car is going to do it, Alec," he said, looking down at the lockpick in his hand. "Try old, broken things with a lot of potential for repair. Or a date that's actually a shipwreck tour or the exploration of an abandoned building. I think even a junkyard tour with a project in mind for whatever components you're looking for would be considered romantic to him."
"Battersea Power Station," Alec decided at once. "A little trespassing is appropriate for a first date." He clapped a hand on Bond's shoulder. "Thanks. For that, I'll get you a coffee."
Bond shook his head and turned to the grinder. "Right. Thanks." He flipped it on before Alec had a chance to respond, and started on the second bit of metal. What was the harm in letting Alec have his fun? If anything went badly, Bond could just make sure he didn't bring Alec around anymore. It wasn't as if Bond were looking for a relationship... especially with a director of one of the few hackerspaces in greater London that didn't know better than to have him around yet.
Pressing all thoughts of an adorably rumpled Q out of his mind, Bond went back to smoothing and rounding the edges of his picks.