Christ Almighty. What a bloody day. Not even a vat of Earl Grey could ease the pain of this one…

Q grabbed his parka off the coat rack in his office, bunched it on his desk, collapsed on the chair and lay a weary head gently down as though it would shatter if he dropped it too quickly. He'd only barely managed to get 007 out of a rather precarious situation, after he'd had to rescue a diplomat that had basically been a doppelgänger of Yusef Kabira, the once boyfriend of Vesper Lynd. Somehow, and with a little subtle coaxing from Q to keep him on track, Bond had managed to keep his, no doubt, still fragile wits about him. He wasn't sure why MI6 didn't just save government funding and take a blasted whisk to Bond's brain, scramble it and send him to a funny farm. He closed his eyes. He had no idea how the Double-Os managed their jobs. The only thing he could think was that they had to be seriously buggered up individuals in the first place for MI6 to be able to piece them together into something workable for intelligence service. Workable in a deadly, assassin, shoot-first-ask-questions-later kind of way, but workable nonetheless.

But Bond was safe. Halfway to London now, en route from Rome.

The desk lamp behind his head was the only source of illumination in the room so he groaned when he recognised the harsh glare of corridor fluorescence spill through the crack in his door currently being pushed open. His quiet solitude interrupted no doubt by a minion who didn't know better than to disturb a Quartermaster on the verge of mental collapse.

"Sir?" Tanner.

Q barely opened his eyes as he spoke, rising his head a fraction from his parka pillow. "Unless your presence in my immediate vicinity is a matter of life and death, Tanner, this interruption will be a matter of YOUR death. And I know where to hide the bodies," he said, before lowering his head again, too exhausted to even take off his glasses.

"I was only going to suggest maybe you should go home, Q?"

"Office. Sofa bed. Fine…" he muttered.

The man was like a cat. He could sleep anywhere. "Very well." Tanner knew better than to push the point. Q had spent many nights at HQ. It would take its toll eventually, but he was young enough and fit enough in mind and body to cope with the pressure. For now.


No sooner had Q fallen into a deep and restful sleep (or at least, that was what it felt like) - despite the position - than he was roused from his slumber by a brisk and purposeful knock. He sat back in his chair, stiff from lack of movement, eyes screwed up with the back of his hand against his face and grumbled through the yawn he was attempting and failing to stifle. He stood to stretch, long and lithe, his sweater riding up his body with the effort.

The door opened but Q didn't spare his intruder a glance. "For goodness sake, Tanner, I thought I told you I was fine to sleep here tonight…" He was still in stretch mode and drowsy so he barely had time to register strong hands around his waist and a heartbeat pass in which he was hoisted onto his table, books and files scattering on the floor around him. He was flat on his back before he realised that although he was under attack, it wasn't by an enemy agent. He squinted down the length of his torso, barely able to see over the edge of the sweater, bunched up around his chest.

"007?!"

A hot mouth landed on a taut belly and it took Q's brain several seconds to catch up to his own body's involuntary responses. God… It had been so long… too long…

"Shouldn't— Shouldn't you be onaplanefromItaly?" Q somehow managed to force the words into a coherent sentence from an addled brain.

"That was hours ago," Bond muttered, putting his hands behind Q's thighs and pulling him closer, causing the sweater to ride up further. "Thanks to you, I made it out at all." He was working his way up his chest and back down again, reaching for his belt.

It was in that moment, the rational, analytical part of Q's mind kicked itself into motion.

Venice. Vesper.

Tanner's words overheard suddenly echoed in his memory and the alarm bells sounded loud.

"…good luck to the next unfortunate that falls for his charms. That'll be a rebound hard enough to cause a shift in the planet's orbit…"

Q's rational and animal subconscious were at war.

Bond is an agent. This is improper.

"Stop…"

I am his Quartermaster.

"No." Bond ignored the request, feeling Q's body respond to his touch.

I am his superior…

The rational part won out. Barely, and not without a fight. Q felt himself flail around above his head until a hand came in contact with a hardback book.

"Dammit, Bond, I said STOP!" Q almost shouted as he swung the object towards the side of Bond's head.

Bond was so caught off-guard by the move that he fell backwards, landing with an unceremonious thump of his arse on the floor. Q sat up, breathing erratically and looking thoroughly confused. He had to stifle an hysterical laugh at the look of surprise on Bond's face. This may well have been the first rejection of his advances since trying it on with unsuspecting females during his adolescent school years.

Q pushed himself off the table and pulled down his sweater while Bond stood up with as much dignity as he could muster and brushed himself down.

Q took a deep, steadying breath. "Get out of my office, 007."

"As you wish, Q. My apologies for disturbing you." He strolled out the door, whether it was with as much confidence as it looked, Q couldn't tell, nor for that matter could he care less, as he slumped down in his chair and tossed his head back to look up to the sky for deliverance.

Could this day get any crazier?