"Right. I'm off," said Stephen, checking his watch and stuffing his bag with the books procured from the shelves of the main library where they were currently working on their dissertations.
Jonathan didn't look up from the text when he enquired. "Off where exactly?"
"Terence…" Stephen began. He did look up then.
"Finally grew a pair and asked you on a date, did he?" Jonathan said, leaning back in his chair with a smile.
"I'd hardly call it a date, Quinn," he tsked. "He just wants to broaden his horizons…"
"Hmmm. I'm sure that's not the only thing you'll be helping him broaden before the week's end," he said with a mocking leer.
Stephen looked affronted, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "You, Sir, have a cesspool for a mind."
"Pot, kettle methinks," replied Jonathan, grinning unabashedly.
"Well. I'm forced to seek out other quarters if you won't attend to my carnal needs," he flipped back.
"You know me. All or nothing, Chaucer. And until I get my dissertation completed, that's the only "all" I can afford to focus on." He was still smiling when drawing his attention back to the book on the mechanics of Enigma. "Besides, you can't help being so gorgeously irresistible. Far too much of a distraction…"
"Well that's something we can agree on at least." Stephen gave a little wave before retreating from their corner. "Toodle Ooo."
"Have fun," Jonathan singsonged after him, "be gentle with the lad!" he quipped, a little too loudly for the likes of one of the librarians who had just at that moment decided to walk nearby.
"You will respect the rules of this establishment or find elsewhere to study, young man!" she stated primly.
Quinn waited until her back was turned before sticking out his tongue at her.
"Very mature, Mr Quinn," the quietly deep timbre tone said, Mr Bond materialising from around the side of one of the bookshelves just as Jonathan's tongue retreated back behind his lips. He whipped his head around, giving the man a narrow-eyed look of suspicion. Bond was not looking at him at all, choosing instead to focus on the rows of shelves that the books on the lesser known events of World War Two called home.
Jonathan shifted slightly in his seat taking a heartbeat to recover from the sudden appearance. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were stalking me. If I may observe, Mr Bond, your proximity to my location is too frequent to be coincidence."
Bond pulled a book from the shelf and sat down opposite him, to his mild surprise.
"You may observe, though your speculation on my proximity is incorrect I assure you, Mr Quinn. The law of averages are not in your favour in this instance. Cambridge is a close-knit community and you and I are part of an elite and intensely-focussed group of that community. It is only natural that our paths would cross more than what is perceived to be normal."
"Indeed, what is the definition of normal in the circumstances which we presently find ourselves," Jonathan mused.
"What indeed," nodded James in agreement. "In any event," he continued, "you are here because it is ideally located amongst the books required for the preliminary work on your dissertation, and I am here because you have in effect forced me out of my comfort zone."
"Really. And what zone might that be?" Jonathan enquired, his mind flitting back to several nights ago when they had crossed paths with Bond and his companion, Michael Vance.
"Much as it galls me to admit my ignorance on the subject, I am largely unfamiliar with the work of Alan Turing," Bond replied candidly, opening the book before him to peruse the index in a show of seeing if it was suitable for his purpose.
"One can't be expected to know everything in this world, Mr Bond, however high their station in life may be," he said, leaning forward to rest his chin in the palm of his hands. "Turing was much the enigma himself, one of Churchill's many and best kept secrets I'd hazard."
"I can't disagree with that I suppose. I can only look forward to learning more as your dissertation work progresses." Bond shut the book and tucked it under his arm as he stood up. "Tell me, Mr Quinn. Why haven't you yet selected a personal tutor for the year?"
"I don't require one, Mr Bond," Jonathan stated bluntly. "In case you haven't noticed, I am incredibly competent and function much better on my own terms."
So fucking cocksure of himself, thought Bond, that in itself is very interesting, given his age and limited life experience. The SIS are so sure about him… What am I missing? he pondered between the moment of rising from his seat and moving forward. He rested a thigh on the corner of the desk next to Jonathan who looked up slowly and leaned back in his chair again, his body language relaxed but wary.
Bond turned the charm up to 11.
"Personally, Mr Quinn, I think you are denying someone an immense privilege who could benefit from working with you." He allowed his eyes to linger on the long, slender hand resting on the arm of his chair, "pick apart that startling mind of yours," he glanced up to take in the thick, unruly waves atop his head before meeting his eyes. "I'd like to put myself forward for the position."
While unaccustomed to the forwardness, particularly in such a situation, Jonathan would be damned if he betrayed any indication that he was fazed by the proximity of the man and the proposition laid before him. He held his gaze while he replied. "To the best of my knowledge, Mr Bond, you are only at the College for one term. I wouldn't want us to… start something we would be unable to see through to its natural conclusion…"
"I hope you will at least consider the proposal, Mr Quinn," Bond allowed his eyes to glance briefly (but suggestively nonetheless) downwards to his mouth while he stood up. "Carpe diem and all that. Let's not look beyond tomorrow…"
"… Because tomorrow never comes," murmured Jonathan. He was staring into the middle distance, lost for several more moments before he snapped himself back to reality and the knowledge that Bond had vanished, silent and stealthily as he had appeared. He looked over his shoulder but the man was well and truly gone. He sat up straight, admonishing himself for being so easily distracted and resumed his studies, nonetheless, finding his thoughts stray back to his mysterious visiting lecturer to whom he was vaguely beginning to suspect there was much more than met the eye.
Jonathan Quinn thoughts flitted forward and back, pondering his next move and wondered, did he really want to know exactly what that more was. Fuck it, he thought to himself, shutting his textbooks with somewhat more force than was necessary. He needed to clear his head and treat the challenge presented him as he would any other.
Dispassionate appraisal of the pros and cons was the only way forward.
He packed his bag and headed for the exit, unbeknownst to him, watched from one of those quiet, silent corners of the Cambridge Library.