Chapter 4

It rained the first day. No surprises there. The downpour was too heavy for James to claim it as a light shower and go for a run anyway, so he stayed home and watched the water stream down the windows of his flat. It had rained in Florida too, but there was something different about the rain in London. It even differed from the rest of England's rain. The rain in Florida had been hot and dense. The rain in London was cold and smoky.

James didn't really have a preference for either. But he appreciated both.

He had just finished his first cigarette of the afternoon, sitting in his armchair and staring out at the overcast sky through the drops, when the phone rang. With no sign of rush, he pushed up out of the chair and stepped over to where the handset waited by the answering machine. Lighting a new cigarette, setting it between his lips, and taking a drag, he considered picking up and hanging up, or just letting the machine get it, but obviously there was only one person it could be… and really it wasn't like James had anything better to do. Right?

Just before the machine kicked on, James brought the handset to his ear and answered the call.

"Q," he greeted and let out the smoke from his drag.

"James," came the near immediate reply.

But then silence took over, and James could almost imagine the uncertainty and confusion on the other man's face… except that he didn't know what Q looked like. He couldn't even look him up because he didn't know his name. Not his real one, anyway. He could get someone in I.T. to do a number look up and track it back and find who owned the mobile and there would be a name and a photo, but that entailed letting someone in I.T. know about the civilian calling 007. It could be R. It could be someone worse.

When Q spoke up, there was a slight sigh in his voice. "You may need to stop answering your phone. It's quite a shock, and I'm too young for a heart attack."

"Exactly how old are you?" James asked and leaned on the wall. "You sound like you're barely old enough to get a proper drink." And maybe he was stretching the truth a bit. Who would know?

A huff of indignation was his first response. Then, "I'm hardly that young. I'm twenty-eight."

"Young." And James couldn't help smirking as Q riled at his tease.

"And how old are you, exactly? Ninety?" Q asked, proud petulance coating his question.

"Forty. Come November," James answered honestly. "Practically your father."

That brought out a small giggle. "Exactly how old do you think my father was when he procreated? Eleven?"

"Isn't that when all the kids are doing it these days?"

The laughter sounded good in his ear, and James suspected it was because it wasn't muffled under his own need to use Q for information. He had made someone laugh… just to make them laugh. It was a rare thing indeed that James had the chance for such simple conversation.

When the laughter had died away, Q cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Well then. Good ice breaker, but now I don't know how to continue."

"You speak with Eve a lot, right?" James asked and got an affirmative noise in return. "What would you say to her?"

A half-laugh. "Too much." Then he paused and sighed out his next words. "Not enough."

Slightly curious, James pressed. "What would you not tell Eve?"

"What Riley's really like. What he does…" Q trailed off, and after a moment he made an aggravated sound. James was familiar with the noise – the sound people made when they thought they'd revealed too much.

He could let it go, let it slip by and change the subject. But the way Q said that, it made a defensive side of James rise and he pushed off the wall, as though he needed to be ready to fight.

"What does Riley do?" he asked, voice harder than he meant for it to be.

"Nothing. He sells homes." Q was diverting, but there was more to this. There was so much more and James itched to drag it out, to goad Q into telling him everything. But… "He stresses me out. That's all."

But if he pressed too hard, Q would just hang up, and he wouldn't call back. And James couldn't find him on his own. He'd lose Q and whatever issues he was dealing with. And… And now was the time to let the diversion work.

With a deep breath, James relaxed his grip on the handset. "So," he started and heard Q suck in a defensive breath. "Are you in school?"

"Yeah?" Q answered and then, "I mean, yes," with a relieved exhale. "I'm almost finished with my MSc in Information Systems Management. Just another two months."

"Impressive," James said and pursed his lips. Q was an I.T. person working for a real estate mogul? Did he man the website or something?

Q chuckled slightly. "No. Impressive is the degrees I already have."

"You have more than one?" James didn't even have one. Technically. He had plenty of training in plenty of fields, but he'd never officially gone to a university or received a degree. Numerous covers of his over the years boasted degrees, but not James Bond.

"Two others, to be precise. I have an MSc in Computer and Information Security and an MSc in Software Engineering as well." And he sounded rather pleased with himself, didn't he?

To be fair, he had every right to be pleased if this was all true.

"Three Master degrees before thirty?" James couldn't even compete. "Would that make you a super genius?"

"I really suppose it depends on who you ask," Q replied, but that pleased sound was still in his voice, so James took it as a yes. He snorted and Q asked, "What about you? What schooling do you have? Or what job, I guess."

Dangerous territory in light of how honest James had been up until this point, but he had prepared white lies from all his time as a spy. "I'm a consultant of sorts. It requires me to travel a lot."

"Ah. Explains why you never answer the phone." Q made a curious noise. "And why your message was so specific about only important people leaving messages. Well, and me."

"Do you not consider yourself important?" James asked, and that was interesting.

Q was obviously proud of himself for his schooling and thought he was more effective than his age proposed, so why would he not consider himself important? The self-degradation Q exhibited was common in James' line of work, but he usually found it in the lovers and wives of powerful criminals – in people who had been told repeatedly that they were nothing and were only good for the man pulling their strings. It was a control tactic.

"Of course I am," Q answered, but he didn't sound particularly sure of it. "I'm indispensible."

James glared at the far wall ahead of him. This was Riley's fault. That's what Riley was doing to Q – he was psychologically tying Q around his finger, wasn't he? A toxic, abusive workplace relationship. The thought made James cold and irritated.

"But not to you," Q continued. "I'm the fool who called you on accident and then didn't have sense enough to stop."

"Which makes me the fool who kept listening to the messages and then didn't have sense enough to not answer the phone." James was trying to make Q feel better, but it made him slightly uncomfortable to admit exactly how foolish he had been, was continuing to be. He cleared his throat. "In any case, you sounded like you needed someone new to talk to. Far be it from me to take that away."

Silence. Somehow, when it came to Q, silence sounded like a necessary part of the conversation, as if words were being spoken without sound. Usually, James took silence as incompetence or a hint that the conversation was over. But not with Q.

"Thank you," the other said after a brief time.

Instead of saying 'You're welcome' or 'anytime' or any other such nonsense, James just made a sound of confirmation, a sort of grunt in his deep voice. Then he lowered his gaze to the floor, to his bare feet, and he said, "Sorry. Did you have a specific reason for calling today? I believe I derailed you from the moment I picked up."

"Oh. Well, not really." Q admitted, bashful. "I guess I just needed… I'm at work, you see. But no one else is in on account of the rain. And I was upset that I was required to be in when no one else was and… Well, I thought about calling Eve but she's always at work or busy except for our weekly coffee dates. So I thought of you. And that's really the start and finish of it."

"Hm. Glad to be of service," he answered, and was surprised to find he wasn't just saying that to be social. It was true – at least most of the way. "Anything else you'd like to waste the work day talking about?"

"Well, I suppose if you're offering-"

James could hear the smile over the line and found himself smiling softly back as he took the handset to his window chair and sat down with it. Q had plenty to say about his job without ever going near whatever touchy subject lay at the heart of his work problems. As James went back to watching the smoky London rain roll down his windows he thought a very strange thought.

He could actually get used to this.


Sunday, Q called and James learned that his parents were actually elderly. His sister was some fifteen years his senior, so she usually disregarded any life advice he tried to give her. Q being born at all was something of a miracle, since his mother was almost too old to conceive. This made his parents love him more and his sister like him less.

His sister's name was Marnie. This was significant because it was the first new name Q brought up in conversation after realizing he had the wrong number. Eve and Riley were known, but to willingly bring up a family member's name? It was personal information. It was a show of trust. And James tucked it away in his mind for safe keeping now that he knew who the name belonged to.

After one long call, James got the gist of the situation. Marnie was dating Riley's son, Charlie. According to Q, his resemblance to a prince ended with his name. He was a pretentious prick who only wanted Marnie for her ass. "Erm… her assets. She's good with… paperwork?" Apparently, Q had been trying to convince his sister of how toxic Charlie and his father were for the past two years, but her favorite comeback was that Q was still working for Riley, so obviously he was no better judge of character than he claimed her to be – and oh, valiant Q, mum and dad's favorite little star, trying to save poor Marnie from the big bad wolf like some sort of fucking hero.

She never took him seriously, and thus they were locked in a standstill.

Shortly after that explanation and another where James learned Q had a soft spot for bad Chinese food, Q went to work and James went for a run. He ran all the way through the city to Prufrock. He looked around, scanning the crowd for possible couples or people that could be Q and Eve despite knowing Q was at work and Eve was only ever free when they met for coffee on Wednesdays. Then, since he was there, he got in line for a coffee.

The line was short considering it was the weekend, and he was at the counter before he had decided if he wanted straight black coffee or a latte… considering he wasn't going to be putting brandy in either.

"What can I get for you?" the woman behind the counter asked, a beautiful smile on her face. Her hair was shorter than a pixie cut and perfect white, and the same thought entered James' head that he thought every time he saw her. M would hate her. And that made James like her even more than her warm personality already did.

"Yes. Would you happen to know a man named… Q?" James asked and tried to smile pleasantly despite how silly he felt asking for a letter of the alphabet.

"Q?" the woman asked. Her name was Heidi, and she'd been working every time James had dropped in to do his silly searches. She was the lead barista, so maybe she'd seen Q and Eve enough to catch their names. Heidi's eyes widened a fraction and then returned to normal, and James knew the name registered with her. "Who's asking?"

"A friend," James said and his smile twitched. He leaned slightly toward her. "I just wanted to know if I could purchase his next drink."

"Well… he's not usually in on Sundays," Heidi said, warming to the idea but not about to give James Q's personal information. Good for her. "But if you want us to honor it the next time he comes in, I could make a note about it."

"That would be lovely. Thank you." James slid enough money for probably four drinks across the counter. "For him and Eve on their next visit. And I'll take a latte for today. Keep the change."

"Sure thing." Heidi picked up the money and then gave him a sly smile, as though she had deduced his purpose and deemed it worthy of a tease but wasn't going to make one. "And who should I say is his handsome benefactor?"

Shrugging on an air of unaffected grace, James tilted his head to the right and said, "James. If he even asks."

That got a laugh from Heidi as she rang up his latte. "Oh trust me," she said, "He'll ask."

A response may have been expected, but James didn't give one. He just stepped to the side and waited for his drink. He watched Heidi write her note and put it on James' change and then the whole bundle disappeared from sight under the counter.

When he had his drink, he sat against the wall and practiced picking up on details of the patrons without ever speaking to them. There was a painter in the other corner who did not want to be approached. She was reading a magazine over her drink and often paused to write something on her notepad. A man two tables away really wanted to close the distance and talk to her, and James was torn between hoping he did and wishing he wouldn't. He knew all too well what it was like to want to be left alone. He knew less what it was like to be anxious to go introduce himself to someone.

In the end, the man shook his head and left the shop without saying anything. Almost as soon as he was out on the street again, the painting woman glanced over at his table and let her gaze linger on his empty coffee cup. With a slight frown now adorning her lips, she returned to her magazine and notes.

And James was left puzzled. Had she wanted to be bothered by the man? She definitely put out the air of wanting solitude, but… perhaps she wanted to be bothered only by that specific man. It was an interesting conundrum, and not one James would figure out in the time it took to drink a latte.

"James?" a familiar voice asked and drew his attention. "I didn't know you frequented coffee houses."

"Moneypenny," he greeted and she took a seat. "I don't. I was out for a run and happened to spot it. I've heard good things about this place."

"You've heard?" she asked with a laugh in her voice. "From whom? You don't socialize with anybody." She waved a hand to brush away the idea and shook her head. "Never mind, actually. I don't want to know who whispers in your ear at night."

Maybe other people would be offended, but James found the jeer amusing. He wrapped both hands around his cup and leaned toward her. "Are you a gambling sort of woman, Miss Moneypenny?"

"If the prize is right," she said, a wicked gleam in her eyes and raised eyebrow as she tried to assess what he was playing at.

"Your next cup of coffee if you can guess how many people I've slipped into bed with, outside of a mission, in the last year," he offered and set his gaze to match her newly stern look.

"Now that's hardly a fair gamble, James," she scolded. "How am I to know how many poor men and women you've lured in with your sultry eyes and impressive pectorals? I could guess a hundred times and be wrong with every single one."

James lifted his cup and sipped at it. "Well, the prize is just a cup of coffee, after all. So I'm not surprised you won't take up the bet."

"Hang on now," Moneypenny said, reaching out to touch his wrist and keep him from drinking more. "What do I have to bet with? No gamble comes free."

True, he thought, and took a moment to decide on his prize if she failed. "Alright. For every wrong answer you give me, you owe me a drink – and I don't mean coffee."

Now she really laughed, full and loud. "That's poppycock, James, and you know it. The price of a drink is far more than my coffee. I forfeit the wager."

"Not even one go?" James asked, frowning. "You disappoint me."

Moneypenny groaned and rolled her eyes, but she smiled too. With another shake of her head, she conceded. "Fine. My guess is… I'll guess low based on your lack of shore leave and general antisocial personality, but give you some credit for the swagger and charm you exude. Ten. No. Six lucky lovers in the last year. Final answer."

Downing the rest of his latte while she spoke, James couldn't help but be amused. "Wrong." He set his empty cup down and stood up to leave. But before he did, he leaned close to her confused and curious expression and murmured, "Zero."

He stepped around her and into the aisle as she gasped in disbelief. He was ten feet away at the door when she said, "Not a chance. You're a liar."

Pausing, he turned back and shrugged. "You owe me a drink." And then he left her there, looking even more shocked and surprised than before.


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