Chapter 7: Past and Present


Bond stands next to Tanner in front of a one-way mirrored wall, staring at the man inside sitting on a chair at a table with his hands tied behind him, two armed guards flanking the door.

They're waiting for Q to finish his brief and be let in to talk to their captive.

"Good thing that glass is bullet-proof," Tanner remarks, casually.

Bond coolly turns his head and raises an eyebrow, but remains otherwise unmoving. With his expensively tailored, dark suit, he looks like a statue within the bright room, standing firm with cutting edges.

Tanner's expression is... deceptively mild. As it usually is. He smiles a bit at Bond. "I remember what you did to Ronson's killer," he says and returns to looking into the interrogation room. "I can't even imagine what you'd do to this one if given the chance."

Bond shifts barely visibly. For the fraction of a second he tries to convince himself that it's a meaningless remark, but it's a fleeting second.
"Dubois didn't try to kill Q," he says after barely a moment's hesitation.

"His thugs might have got him killed, anyway," Tanner replies. "And while I'm sure Ronson was important in his own way..." he makes a short pause, only long enough to be noticeable, "he wasn't Q."

Bond's left eye twitches. He's saved from having to find a suitably neutral answer by the door opening and Q walking towards them with M and an interrogator following closely behind.
"Anything?" he asks Q.

Q sighs and apprehensively stares through the glass. "No. Apparently, we're supposed to have shared some classes at Cambridge, but..." He shakes his head.

"But?"

"I have a near eidetic memory, and while it's not quite as gapless for people, neither his name nor his face is in any way familiar."

Bond huffs. "I don't like this."

One corner of Q's lips quirks, and he tilts his head to look at Bond. "He's been x-rayed, ultrasounded and searched for any type of signal going to or from him. I checked the results, personally. He's not hiding anything, and there's nothing he can do."

Bond turns to face Q. "He wants to talk to you, not blow you to pieces."

M steps closer before Bond can list his (most likely well-founded) reasons. "Q can abort the questioning at any time." When Bond's icy cold eyes flicker to him, he holds up a hand. "And so can we." He holds Bond's intent gaze and doesn't back down.

Bond, interestingly enough, does. He exchanges a look with Q, who appears apprehensive but determined, and Bond can read something else in his expression… a need, perhaps? He then faces the window again. "Get it over with."
He knows that he could go on another tirade how it isn't Q's job to question prisoners, just as it isn't his job to go out into the field on an undercover mission, but he has a feeling his complaints would once again remain unheard, and he slowly begins to understand why.
It's not that he doubts his Quartermaster, far from it, but Q is much too valuable in his intended position behind the screens and in the labs (and at James' side, god fucking dammit!) to jeopardise that because of random demands made by criminals.

The interrogator leads Q to the door, looking as if he expects Bond to just grab Q and make a run for it.
"Remember. Your job is only to see what he wants from you. The interrogation will not be up to you."

Q nods. "I do hope I won't have to pretend to believe his made-up story… I don't think I could pull that off."

"No, but whatever he says, don't let him goad you."

Q nods, again. "I've heard all that. Let's just..." he waves a hand at the door, "... get it over with."

The interrogator opens the door and lets Q enter, before closing it, again.

Bond doesn't let his eyes stray from their captive for even a second. "At the first sign of trouble, you get him out," he demands from both M and the interrogator, the tone of his voice allowing no room for discussion.

They watch Q take a seat.

"Mister Dubois," Q greets the man, laying his hands on the table and folding them, casually.

"Quartermaster," Dubois says, nodding slightly.

"I trust you understand that my time is not unlimited. You wished to speak with me?"

Bond on the other side of the glass almost grins at Q's exasperated tone. It's refreshing to see it directed at someone else for a change.

Dubois smiles, slowly. "I think the fact that you are here at all shows that you will make all the time I want."

Q tilts his head. "Not at all, no. I am here to see what you want from me specifically, then I will leave you to the interrogators."

Dubois huffs, seemingly unimpressed.

Q leans forward, returning the slight smile. "You seem to be under the illusion that this is a film. Let me assure you that it is not. We will not play games with you on the off chance that the information you claim to have even exists. We will not be blackmailed. I do not care about you or what you want from me. I'm sure you're aware that our interrogation methods can range from this..." he gestures at the room, "... to something a lot less pleasant, and none of the interrogators particularly care whether or not you live through it."

Dubois' smile remains, but Q has no intention of backing down, now that he got started.

"It's quite obvious that you didn't act on your own; you were acting on someone's order, and we will find them, eventually. With or without your help."

"That is very unlikely."

Q almost laughs. "You see, I am somewhat impressed that you apparently managed to suss out my name, but since you were decidedly sloppy with your own fake CV, I'm assuming someone else found me for you. Someone who will be very unhappy that you blew apprehending me."

"Let me get one thing clear, Desmond. I don't take orders. I give them."

Q raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "If even the likes of me can tell that you're lying, you stand no chance against an interrogator." He nods towards the window. "One of them is behind that glass. I'm sure he's very entertained at this very moment, and my limited time is rapidly running out."

"I don't lie."

"That was almost convincing. However... you were never even close to where I went to university, and we both know it."

Dubois straightens in his seat as much as possible with his hands tied to the back of his chair. "I have been in no less than three of your classes with you..."

"And now you're going to impress me with names and dates, yes? Perhaps you even know a thing or two about the topic?" Q almost starts having fun. "Why don't you save your breath? We have the list..." He freezes, and his eyes stare into the middle distance, before they snap back, staring at the man in front of him.

Q abruptly stands and walks to the door. "Open up, please."

"Hey!" Dubois calls after him, his firm and loud tone obviously a last attempt to hide his insecurity. "I'm not done with you, yet!"

"That is a pity, then, isn't it?" Q says, sardonically and leaves the room, facing M, Bond, Tanner and the interrogator.
"We don't need him. He's a sockpuppet. Whoever got him onto this job, however, does know me."

"Taking the three classes mentioned?" M asks.

Q hesitates. "I don't think so. But someone who would know enough about the topic."

Bond steps closer and grabs Q's arm. "You have someone in mind?"

Q seems far away. Or perhaps long ago. "I can't..." His voice drifts off and he shakes his head.

"Q!"

Q blinks and becomes aware of the people with him, again. "I might have a hunch, but I need to do some research. This isn't... Something is not right."

Bond looks ready to demand more answers, so Q turns towards M.

"Sir? I don't believe there is an immediate danger."

M hesitates, his eyes wandering from Q to Bond and back. "Fine. You have twelve hours."

Q nods and then lays a hand over James' that's still tightly wrapped around his arm. "James. It's fine. I'll be alright. I won't be leaving HQ. Just let me do this."


It doesn't take twelve hours. Q has his hunch confirmed after three, his fears after five, and the tiny hope he's had almost completely disappears after eight. (Well. It was really no more than six, but one tends to cling to hope the longest.)
He sits staring his computer, his elbows on the desk, his hands clasped in front of his lips, telling himself that he will call M in just a minute.

That is when Bond finds him. "Your sockpuppet is surprisingly resilient," he says by way of a greeting.

Q startles and blinks at Bond. He isn't startled enough to not take the chance of stalling some more. "And?"

"As you said. He memorised the information about you, he doesn't actually have a memory of it. And while he is a hacker, he hasn't studied computational mathematics, or so one of your underlings who watched the interrogation claims."

Q isn't surprised, but he slumps a bit in his seat.

"Q," Bond prompts. He doesn't say anything else.

Q keeps staring unseeingly at the screen and is secretly glad that Bond doesn't just walk around the desk and looks at the information himself. Finally, he sighs.
"Professor Marjorie Patel."

"One of your professors?"

Q nods, absently, then breathes an empty laugh. "We had countless discussions about one of her pet subjects. She kept working on the code for a universal key." He huffs. "Which I always thought was ridiculous. You can't build a key for a lock that does not yet exist, but she was convinced that programming as such was limited, and that, eventually, you would have to find one key for all codes."

"And she's behind a kidnapping attempt?" Bond asks, dubious.

"Yes, I… Once I knew where to look, it was obvious. The individual cases are unconnected, but… She's been involved in," he clears his throat, "… a number of activities. At first I thought that perhaps somebody was using her family against her…"

"But?" Bond asks, once it becomes clear that Q isn't going to continue on his own.

"Her ex-husband and children are in France. There hasn't been any kind of contact in years." He straightens in his seat. "I would still suggest that the family be watched when she is apprehended, just in case. I can't find any traces of blackmail, but that doesn't have to mean that there isn't any."

"And what do those activities of hers include?"

Q's jaw sets, and he bursts out, "cyber terrorism, arms dealing, funding of terrorist activities, money laundering, people trafficking and probably tax fraud, come to think of it, since her official university projects kept getting ludicrous 'funds', and that is really only scratching the surface of what I could find on such a short notice." He stops his babble and slams a hand on the table. "I spent hours and hours hanging on every word that woman was saying, James! And if all the criminal activity wasn't bad enough, I'm not sure I even want to know why she would want to have me kidnapped by armed lunatics, and…" One of his hands covers his mouth, and he squeezes his eyes shut. When he can feel a strong hand on his shoulder, he slowly normalises his breathing.

James for a long moment just remains next to him. They could afford to waste another few minutes.

Q doesn't want to waste more than necessary, however. Not anymore. Now that it's out, he just wants to get it over with. He takes a deep breath and shrugs off the hand.
"It shouldn't be a problem to get her. She directs the criminal elements; she doesn't seem to be dealing with them in person. I doubt she ever even met with Mister Dubois, face to face."

Bond nods. "I expect she'll know that someone is coming."

"Well, we have Dubois. So I guess she knows it's only a matter of time, now."

Bond nods, again. "Right. I need everything you have on her." He straightens. "Send it to my phone."
With that, he turns and walks out, leaving Q behind.


Q doesn't leave his station. He remains resolutely behind of the safety of his computers and screens. He hardly notices when the bare-bones night crew is being replaced in the morning. He remains, he guides Bond, he watches developments.

In the end, it turns out to be frustratingly anticlimactic. Bond apprehends the professor just as she leaves her house. There are no explosions, no gun fire, no hired thugs. Nothing.
Q watches everything on CCTV. And he feels… numb. Then, after a while, stupid. Useless. Angry. And there is no adrenaline to compensate. Bond doesn't even exceed the speed limit, and Q feels irrationally angry at that, too.

Of all the times for Bond to end a mission without so much as a scratch on the car's paint job, did it have to be this one?


Frustrated and exhausted, he retreats to his office to rest his eyes for a bit on his couch… It is a nice couch. He likes that couch.
He has odd dreams of him and James getting married by Felix Leiter on a yacht, with Moneypenny giving them a blue exploding pen, each, instead of rings, and then the two of them blowing up Cambridge on the sandy beach. He is somewhat unsure of the geographic accuracy of that, and, for some reason, the first thought he has when he wakes is that blue exploding pens wouldn't leave tan lines on fingers…

He jerks and props himself up on one elbow before the odd thought even vanishes, then he shakes his head to clear it.

He peeks at the clock on his desk. He's only been asleep for a little over four hours.

"Sir?"

Seeing as he only just realised that Cambridge and beaches don't go hand in hand, the voice startles him some more, and he swivels around. (The back of his mind provides him with the information that there has been a knock on the door just before he woke up. At least, that's what the explosion in his dream sounded like.)

"Sorry to disturb you, sir."

Q waves her off and sits upright. "Miss Olmos, yes. Sorry. What's going on?"

She looks almost gleeful. "Professor Patel's harddrives have just been brought in, sir."

A slow, dark grin grows on Q's face. He decides that he's done feeling useless and to redirect his anger in a more productive way.


After several hours of hammering on numerous keyboards, Q has an epiphany. Well. Sort of.
What with all the things going on, recently... the field work, the attempted kidnapping, the shooting, the fighting, the questioning of criminals... one could almost forget where he really belongs.

He belongs here. Right here. With his computers, his monitors, his inventions, his team.

Bond is the one to be out there. And Bond is also one of the people who need Q where he is. They are such an effective team because they both know where they belong. Down to both their cores.

Q might love Bond, love him for who he is, but that doesn't mean that he has to become something more like him. He can't deny that taking Bond-like actions feels immediately satisfying and like he's doing something more, something to make it less likely that his love will be a love lost, soon. But that isn't the case, is it? On the contrary. All it does is make it more likely that Bond will be the one to lose a loved one, again, and Q would rather go through that himself than destroy James that much more thoroughly.

All of that isn't a sudden revelation that has him suddenly pause while typing or jump in shock, but rather a settling kind of feeling. As if he's melting into his wires, again.

He is the most explosive from where he stands, and while the attempted kidnapping could hardly be called his fault, he decides he will leave it at that. Enough's enough. He grins.

Yes. Only sort of an epiphany. More of a catharsis, then, really.


His eyes fly over numbers and locations and names as he follows a trail of laundered money to the Caribbean, leaving everyone around him clueless about his inner realisations.

"004 is in South America, currently, yes?" he asks the technician watching that particular agent. When he receives a nod, he sends the files he has worked with to his station. "Get the information to him and send him to Cuba, but clear with M, first," he says, distractedly, already working on the next chunk.

As it happens, he is interrupted before he can finish that part, and when M makes himself known with Bond in tow, Q waves a programmer over to his station to take over, making sure he doesn't lose the thread.

"Sir?" He addresses M, somewhat curious about the all-too-carefully neutral expression on James' face.

"You are making progress with the data?"

Q blinks a few times. "Yes, sir. Is there a problem?"

"Professor Patel has asked to speak with you."

Q's eyes flicker to James. That would explain the expression…
"And why are we even contemplating acquiescing to this demand? We are having no problems extracting information from her computers, and as has been seen, I am hardly an interrogator…"

James relaxes, slightly.

M nods. "It's of course your decision."

Q exchanges another look with James and shows the hint of a smile. "You may tell Professor Patel that I am not available."

James grins.

"I think I've had quite enough out-of-office adventures, recently," Q can't help but add.

M smiles his knowing, benign little smile that he's so good at. "I merely thought that you might be curious about the motivation of your former professor."

Q's eyes flicker to the side and over the row of computers. "Everything I need to know about her, I have right here."

"Fair enough." The knowing smile becomes a bit more knowing. After all, the Quartermaster wouldn't be much of a Quartermaster if the data about a person didn't tell him more than a discussion that is mostly made up of lies and manipulations, anyway.

Q decides to just go about his usual business. "With the information we have, I recommend sending 004 to Cuba, before Patel's associates there can close up shop and disappear."

M nods. "Do it. And send me the information."

"Has already been done, sir."

M's lips twitch again. "And you expect more situations to appear that require an intervention by an agent?"

Q smirks. "Only if we can't dismantle them from here."

James huffs a laugh.

Q tilts his head. "I'm sure you'll be able to pull a trigger, again, soon, 007," he says in reply to the laugh, drily, then turns to M. "Will that be all, sir?"

M simply nods. "Keep up the good work." He turns and walks out with a short look at James.

James remains.

"Yes? Was there anything else?" Q wants to know.

James reads Q for a few moments, as if weighing his options. Then, with three long strides, he walks up to him, frames his face with both hands and kisses him.

Q instinctively returns it, and once the realisation sinks in that they most probably shouldn't be doing this in the middle of his own department and surrounded by most of his staff, he's already enjoying himself too much and decides to bite James' head off, afterwards.

James only slowly ends the kiss, remaining close with his lips hovering over Q's.

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" Q demands to know, though the words contain a lot more sting than the tone of his voice, and his hands are still clutching James' jacket. He can't even hold back a small grin, dammit.

"Everybody in here already knew, anyway."

Q can only just resists the urge to look around. But, really, who is he kidding? "Point taken. But there is a certain conduct…"

Naturally, James is reacting exactly as Q expects him to and kisses him, again.

Q chuckles into the kiss.

When the kiss ends, James lowers his hands from Q's face to cup his neck. "Let me take you for a bite to eat." Before Q can protest, he continues. "Given the work your team is doing, right now, I'll be off, again, before long, and you and I both know that you're not going to get the good night's sleep you ought to get, so let me do this, at least."

Q wants to argue that point, but, eventually, his shoulders sag and he releases the breath he doesn't need to argue, after all. He knows James is right.
"Alright."

"As you keep reminding me, your team is the best. So, I'm sure they'll be able to manage…"

Q doesn't take his eyes off James. "Miss Keller. I assume you'll be able to keep the department going for two hours?"

"Three," James interrupts.

Q narrows his eyes at him but grins again. "Fine. Three hours."

To her credit, Keller manages to keep her voice even. "Of course, sir."

Q would currently rather not look at his team, so he doesn't as he grabs his bag (containing a laptop, just in case) and his jacket, and he justknows that James is smirking at all and sundry around him, the bastard.

James leads Q out of the room with a hand on the small of his back and leans in. "I also would like to discuss a thing or two with you…"

"If you insist."


Given the kissing and the heated looks, Q is somewhat surprised that James is actually taking him out to dinner (to a very nice restaurant that is not to James' usual standards; it's more comfortable, personal) and didn't just drag him into the next broom closet.

He doesn't press ahead with whatever matter he wanted to 'discuss'. They're nearly finished with their meal when Q decides that he'd rather get it off their chests.

"So, let me guess," he starts, and James perks up. "You didn't like me being dragged into the interrogation of Dubois."

James doesn't look surprised. "No," he admits freely. "Not because I think you couldn't do it." He pauses and tilts his head. "Though you weredoing most of the talking…"

"But he didn't know anything!" Q protests, immediately.

James smiles benignly. "I know," he agrees. "You do sometimes think best aloud, and you did find out what he didn't tell you, just by doing that, but…" He sighs, as if he isn't sure if he would anger Q with what he was planning on saying.

"But there was no need to drag me into it. Watching the interrogation would have been enough."

James releases his breath. "Yes."

"Just like being a voice in one of my agents' ear and helping with the hack might have been enough on the mission in Ecuador."

James studies him. "In retrospect, I liked having you on that one, actually…"

Q laughs a bit. "It did go rather well, didn't it? And the holiday to follow was quite nice."

James grins back.

"And the experience was useful to me, I guess."

James nods.

"It's also good to know that, if it comes down to it, I can actually hold up my own against armed assailants."

James has to agree, again, though there is something uncomfortable in his expression. He doesn't voice it, however and lets Q continue at his own pace.

Q licks his lips and blinks a few times. "It occurs to me…" he begins, slowly, licks his lips, again and sighs, "… that perhaps our… association… has prompted me to…" He huffs, frustrated and rubs a hand over his mouth before continuing. "Has prompted me to engage more in your type of work, because the immediacy of the actions simulates a feeling of accomplishment that made me inclined to believe that I was doing more to help you," he rushes out in one single breath.

"Q…"

"No, let me finish." He swallows. "Please."

James just takes one of Q's hands in his.

"And I kept being told that I did a good job on all fronts." His lips twitch. "It's not like I'm immune to flattery…" He raises an eyebrow, making James smirk. "But while I might actually not be half-bad at all that… it's not what makes me most useful to you. It's not where I'm exceptional, where I can give everything I am." He clears his throat. "So. Unless absolutely necessary, I'll stick to my branch." He smiles a bit. "I believe that is what you wanted to talk to me about?"

James lifts Q's hand and kisses the knuckles, then looks Q straight into the eyes. "You were perfect in Ecuador; your actions were outstanding when you were being attacked," he pauses and smiles, ruefully, "… and clearly you don't even have to interrogate people. You react to what they want to say before they say it."

Q snickers.

James turns Q's hand and presses his lips into the palm before laying it against his cheek. "Thank you," he whispers.

Q just smiles. "I want you safe, and you want me safe. Let's just do our jobs that we both love and make sure of that, shall we?"

"We shall," James says, laying their joint hands on the table and entwining their fingers, before waving over a waiter for the bill.

"Though I wouldn't be opposed to another holiday at some point…"

James grins. "To refresh the tan lines?"

Q laughs.


When they're back at HQ, James briefly disappears and lets Q fold out his couch while he waits.

Q takes off his cardigan and tie and sits on the edge, his head in his hands. He's so bloody tired that he'll probably just fall asleep if James doesn't return really quickly.

James walks into the room and closes the door, smiling at the picture Q makes.

"There you are…" Q says, smiling softly.

James takes off his jacket, tie, shirt and trousers and sits next to Q, who looks amused at how James apparently doesn't want to lose time. Then he's kissing him.
"I paid your underlings a visit."

Q blinks. "What?"

"They've got everything in hand, so you can catch a few hours of sleep. They'll come and get us when we're needed."

Q hasn't expected that. "James…"

"You're about to keel over, and, frankly, so am I."

Q snorts.

James grins at him. "Come on, lie down."

Q sees no reason to protest, puts his glasses onto the cabinet next to the couch and shimmies out of his trousers before slipping in under the blanket next to James.
"You don't need to baby me, you know," he still feels compelled to point out and shifts backwards into James' arms.

James pulls him closer and kisses the nape of his neck. "I'm not. I'd just prefer it if you and your deadly computers are in top shape when I need them."

Q hums. He's much too comfortable and warm to contest that statement. And then he's too asleep to feel the kisses James presses into his hair and the hands holding him gently until James follows him.


They're only woken nearly five hours later. Which is a good thing, seeing as they won't be sleeping much for a while, what with James chasing leads into the field, and Q being on his trail with his wires.

Right where they belong.


TBC


Notes: It would seem that we are approaching the end of this story. I expect there will be one more chapter to properly wrap it up :)