A/N: Thank you for all the comments and continued support. Here is the fourth chapter of Tessitura, and happy holidays.

IV

Black and Whyte

When Rachel Whyte regained a fragment of her consciousness, the first sensation she felt were cold fingers that brushed against the side of her rib. The foreign gesture alarmed her, and before she found herself to be fully aware of the situation, she was sitting up with her fist in air watching a fallen quartermaster gasp wildly as he rolled onto the floor after impact. Whyte hastily looked around and recognised the dim-lit environment, and the confining interiors that held shelves of prototypes and tools. She was in the bunker - Q's workshop - and as she looked back at her clenched fist then to the squirming man on the floor, the MI6 agent finally realised what she had done. Her head still heaved a small pain from waking up so instantly, but the present became priority.

"Habits. What can you do?" Whyte cursed darkly, sliding off the table's surface where she seemed to have been resting on. She knelt on the cold floor, grabbed on Q's shoulders, and forced him to face her. "Please tell me I didn't kill you."

"You almost did." Q replied, his words strained by his groans. The quartermaster covered his nose with one hand, while the other lay flat on the floor to keep himself still. His glasses sat crooked on the bridge of his nose, dark hair disheveled, and his attention occupied by the pain of impact. When his eyes finally met hers, he quickly looked away with his cheeks red, "Bloody hell, 009. Please put some clothes on."

At his words, she took a moment to glance at herself. She was not naked, but she was exposed to a certain point. What caught her attention, however, was the compression wrap circled around her lower rib area. Whyte looked back at him, rolling her eyes at his overreaction, "Q, I am wearing a sports bra and boyshort underwear. If I was going to seduce you, I'd be doing a better job than this dodgy attire. Besides, and clearly so, my current state is your doing. Now off with your hand and let me - you are bleeding."

"Now isn't that obvious?"

"Pardon me, I couldn't see it through your whining." she sneered, her grey eyes wandering, clicking her tongue as she held his wrist with one hand and took off his glasses with the other. Aside from the bleeding and the obvious redness that she had marked on his pale skin, a minor swelling ensued at the bridge of his nose. It looked slightly bent, but only because of trauma. "There's nothing broken, you can stop arsing about it now."

Whyte stood up and looked around, a hand on her head as she finally started feeling more of the dull headache of waking up so quickly. Q's glasses were still in her grasp, but it remained absent from her thoughts as she searched for her dress. "How long was I - no - the body. What did you do to his body?"

From behind her, the quartermaster slowly recovered and his footsteps shuffled. Her eyes searched quietly, but as she heaved a deep breath, Whyte felt an uneasiness within the compression bandage. It was a tolerable pain, and not as inconveniencing as it did before. Where was her dress? She trailed the cold floor with bare feet, Q's grumbling and sniffling louder in the silence, and her head still slightly disarrayed. A part of her expected the night to go through this way, but she had not expected it to end the way it did. When she arrived in London, Whyte knew she was strong enough to still have endured her damage in Prague, but even her body had a limit. A part of her was glad the bastard died before she fainted, but the bitter regret of not being able to shoot him herself stayed in her thoughts. She knew they were watching, they always were. That Quantum agent was never alone, and she expected that much from them, but what she did not expect was the perfection of the timing they decided to pursue her.

"We moved the body to a quiet corner in the street before taking you here." Q told her as he settled onto the stool next to his work desk, his hand bundled with tissue paper to soak up the blood that flowed from his nose, "You were out quite a while, 009. I've been tracking your vitals using your Smart Blood file, and you were stable albeit unconscious. There's a crack in your rib area that is at least about 12 hours old, something I was about to check on before you punched me blind. I assume this was from Prague?"

Whyte paused at the mention of one word, uncaring of the rest, "We?"

"009, you are clearly overestimating me if you thought I could get you here on my own. I called Moneypenny." he scowled, his voice muffled underneath the volume of tissue paper that covered his swelling nose. She watched him look at her, but with a gaze half-blank. His eyes seemed to struggle without his glasses. "With interesting coincidence, Bond called her around the time we were dealing with our situation. He seemed to be onto something, one that I assume could be connected with whatever that Quantum agent went on about. I tracked him down when we arrived - Bond's in Rome."

He proceeded to tap a few keys with one hand on his laptop, his face closer to the screen than usual. Whyte approached to his side to inspect his findings, the dress now absent from her mind. Now that she was closer to his proximity, Q attempted to wriggle off his glasses from her grasp. She surrendered them quickly, her eyes now busy eyeing Bond's location and movement for the past few hours. Bond was on his trail, and the locations he has ventured through was just as she thought it would happen. For a man capable of the most interesting decisions, Rome was a predictable course of action and Whyte was glad that it was. Bond was as smart as they make him to be, but at the same time, it could only be the obsession that drove him to the right places.

Whyte felt a bag being pushed to her shoulder, and when she finally looked away from the screen, Q handed her a black paper bag with his eyes still focused on the screen yet with a face slightly tinted pink. "Your... Your dress was soiled - Moneypenny and I's fault. We struggled to sneak you through the MI6's security on the boat to the bunker, and things were a little... Complicated. She was kind enough to lend you some of her clothes. She left a few minutes before you woke up to attend to M before he left for Tokyo."

She looked at the bag before taking it from him, pulling on its thick strings to find an oversized cable-knit sweater, decently-sized jeans, and black trainers. Immediately, she began fitting into the sweater and then started on the jeans. As she fastened the button on her waist, she eyed his distracted face for a moment, then reluctant but necessary words flew out of her mouth, "I'm sorry for... For... The face."

Q did not reply for a few moments, and Whyte began to feel a little embarrassed. It was a word she rarely said, and most of the time, she decided to live with most of the things she had done. But when he finally spoke, it surprised her, "I'm sorry as well."

Taken aback, she raised a brow at his reply, "For what?"

"Prague." he said briefly, before another cycle of silence entered between them. He did not look at her all this time that he spoke, and Whyte wished he did so she could read his mind, "I felt that I haven't assisted you to the best of my abilities."

She chuckled dryly, shrugging her shoulders as she shook her head slightly. Whyte did not expect him to apologise for Prague, especially for Prague, because the intention was clear - the mystery established. When it happened, she had a sliver of what it meant for her and what it was supposed to look like for them. But Q held everything in his mind, and she knew it when she saw it this morning, "There's nothing you could have done. Everything about Prague was meant to be difficult, if it weren't, then that other gun wouldn't have disappeared so quickly."

When Q did not reply after, and things returned to the uncomfortable. Whyte, who felt impatience and frustration when things weren't in her control, did not appreciate the atmosphere. She hated apologies, especially the process that it took. Frowning at Q's growing indifference, Whyte moved him by the arm and turned him away from his laptop. She ignored his surprise as she pulled the bundle of tissue paper from his face, inspecting the redness at the bridge of his nose. There was nothing, really, nothing life-threatening about what she did to him. But she was compelled to make a scene because his silence made her uncomfortable, especially now that things were cutting into the chase. Can this man, this quartermaster, really...?

"For the last time, there is nothing broken." she murmured, squinting her eyes as she shook her head. His eyes was a curious green hue, one that only shone in direct light. It surprised her, for she thought his eyes were black. "Stop holding it like it's a bloody mess."

Q pursed his lips, unenthusiastic about her assurance, and held at her wrists before prying her grasp off of his shoulders. He refused to meet her eyes, and continued on with his work, "I think you have made your point clear, 009, even if unscientific in analysis. Shall we get to work? I have to brief you."

"It's just as scientific as you telling me that running fast enough would enable me to jump buildings." Whyte retorted, unaffected by his suspicions at her confidence. Her eyes watched as his fingers pause slightly at the mention of Prague, she smiled at her victory and said no more. She gave him little proof as to why he should believe her, and from how he acted around her, she could feel his caution.

A clicking sound echoed at the doorway right in front of them, glancing away from Q, Whyte watched as the door opened slowly and revealed the figure of Eve Moneypenny into the dim light. Their eyes met for a moment in mutual understanding, before the she turned slightly to the guards standing by the doorway to see if they were alarmed. Whyte wondered how they managed to get her in the bunker without detection, especially with Q in tow. Q, from what she had observed, had both a sense of duty and a sense of loyalty. A contradiction that made him bold yet fear for his job at the same time. He fascinated her, because in a field where everyone smiled with daggers hidden behind their backs existed someone like him - who just wanted to do what they were supposed to do.

"Did I interrupt anything?" was Moneypenny's first question as her eyes travelled back and forth at their faces. When her eyes widened as she glanced at Q, Whyte knew what caused her reaction, "What happe-"

"Long story. Nothing broken, I assure you." she quickly replied, attempting to avoid an explanation. More so, Whyte only feared Q possibly mentioning her notion of apology. But she doubt he would.

Moneypenny walked towards the desk slowly, her eyes momentarily at Whyte's before focusing on Q. The redness had a dangerous effect on his pale skin, and it made the matter more controversial than it looked like. But instead of pressing on the matter further, Whyte noticed her shoulders relax as she began to accept the situation. Her arms were occupied with a brown paper bag hooked on her left, and a box tucked under her right. They met eyes again before Moneypenny handed her the bag, "I heard from Q that you were at the Playhouse before all the commotion. Apparently, you left your coat with the staff."

Whyte hastily took the coat from the bag and searched the pockets, sighing at the familiar form of a small black cardboard box. She was desperate for a smoke since before she even fainted, and now that it was in her reach, it was something to be done. As she lit one with her lighter, Whyte exhaled a slight puff of smoke, "I'm beginning to really like you, Eve Moneypenny. I already liked you when I heard you were the shot that killed Bond into a temporary retirement. Rachel Whyte, by the way."

"009, I don't appreciate you smoking in my premises." Q interfered into the conversation, finally without the awkwardness from earlier. Eager to spite him, Whyte leaned down till she was close to his face before puffing out a small cloud of smoke at his face. "Whyte!"

A sound laugh escaped her lips as she leaned away, watching him cough with his arms as she pressed the cigarette between her lips, "I hope you appreciate it now."

Q passed her a small, brewing glance as he recovered - something she gave little regard as contempt. Fixing his posture, he went back to his laptop and pressed a few keys before a window surfaced on the screen, "Moving on. As I was saying, I am to brief you. While you were unconscious, I ran the bullet through the system and interestingly, I quickly found a match. According to our database, the rifling of the bullet matches those of others found dead by the same sniper rifle. The rifle belongs to an assassin going by the name 'Volkov', who, was also responsible for the death of agents 003, 004, 006 more than 10 years ago. All killed in action."

"Volkov... I know this name." Moneypenny nodded, as she moved around the desk to take a better look at the screen. Volkov's profile in the database had no pictures to show of the assassin himself, only the evidences found in his crime scenes. "I heard he was the reason the M made her decision to reduce the amount of active Double-O's in the field. There used to be eight, now there's only three. Bond, Whyte, and 005. But this... This is impossible. He was taken down by the MI6 in 2006 - dead, I presume. Look, here at the text, see? Deceased. Strange, there are no details of how."

Whyte watched them as their thoughts stirred, before landing another gaze at Q with furrowed brows, "How are you so sure it's Volkov, when he's dead? Did you check everything?"

"009, may I remind you that this is an MI6 facility, not an underfunded American state police department." Q replied, reaching for his mug of cold tea that sat by his laptop. She watched him eye the cigarette between her fingers before proceeding, "Everything points to Volkov, no matter how I examine it. The bullet itself is an answer. This bullet is not surplus, but handloaded - catered and crafted to the weapon's potential. From the similar bullets found in his files, the very same components were used in Volkov's other targets that were killed by this rifle. The Quantum agent's phone was clean, I have nothing else but this bullet."

"If this man is a Volkov impostor, he went into detail with even copying bullet components." Moneypenny contemplated under her breath, "I had no idea Volkov was this particular with his craft."

"If you are going to kill someone for a substantial amount of wealth Moneypenny, you might as well do so with your sharpest sword. Besides, if this impostor managed to get his hands on Volkov's weaponry, he should have also taken his bullets. Which means, no immediate handloading was needed. He could simply shoot people as Volkov till his supply runs out." Whyte shrugged as she folded her arms for a slight moment, before bringing her cigarette back to her lips. She turned and began walking around the workshop, eyeing Q's hanged prototypes like it was the first time, "Volkov or not, this information confirms why I missed my shot. A 'renowned assassin' was interfering with my work."

Progress was steady from when the time she had fainted and caused a scene. Bond was on his way to figure things out for himself, while they stood here holding another part of a related puzzle. But no matter in what way Rachel Whyte looked at it, they were all pieces in a large, complicated game. The kind of pieces they each were to represent, however, was something to still be figured out. But from what she has observed here in the MI6, and what she knew about them and their goals, Whyte knew she was far from being a pawn. Not now, not anytime soon. This game was never about winning, but how many you can take down with you. In a world like this, there were no true winners.

"He shot first, and you followed, but it was done with such narrow time difference that it was not so noticeable in the feed." Q muttered, but the spaces in his speech made Whyte wonder if he was still submerged in thought, "But I understand it now, that mole... He thought you were Volkov."

Her wandering eyes stilled as he came down to his conclusion, and suddenly turned towards them as she leaned her back against the nearest surface. She was standing at the darkest corner of the workshop, but everything in this place was dim enough for her to notice the difference. Her mind was set to his hypothesis, "Where exactly does that fit? This was not my mission in the first place, this was supposed to be Bond's."

"No, look here. I've studied this feed more than enough times." Q insisted, firm on his proposition as brought up the feed from Prague with a few keystrokes. After brushing the tip of her cigarette against a hard surface, Whyte took the initiative to leave the corner and move back to where his desk was, curious of his proof.

"I know about you studying the feed, I saw it personally myself. You even passed out." she noted, chuckling breathily at the memory. Her words spoken aloud did not seem to settle well with Q, who cleared his throat as if to evade her laughter.

"The wet floor?" Moneypenny interjected, as if finally realising something. Whyte raised a curious brow to how she knew, before nodding to confirm, "That was you?"

"I swam. Couldn't risk security tattling to M I have arrived without the DB10." Whyte shrugged, which earned her a judgemental glance through Q's thick black frames, "What? I thought a quartermaster like you would be more open to creative ideas."

"Not when it involves soiling my workshop." he responded, cross in tone.

"They said... They said he would come for me, but it was you... It was you. You are..." the mole agent began to speak as the feed played those crucial seconds once more. Q seemed numb to the scenario, and when the agent died, he did not blink an eye.

"He said 'he', then he ended with 'but it was you'. As if solving a puzzle. Then when you watch his lips move, it doesn't seem like he was about to say 'Bond'. 'Fo-' and 'Vo-' were my first two choices when I studied this scene, now that we know it's Volkov. His lips saying 'Vo-', in an attempt to say 'Volkov' fits." Q explained, attempting to rationalise what already is a confusing situation. A dead man shooting at her target, and disappearing Quantum agents.

"Taken that this is not all just confirmation bias," Whyte said after a moment, absorbing all of the information the quartermaster tried to piece together, "It seems even that sorry piece of work does not know what Volkov looks like, and your generously funded database can't provide a picture either. However, I believe this assassin is working with the Quantum. Put it in perspective: if this mole has been collecting data for months, and finally surrender this information - a ghost organisation like Quantum would never let you return alive."

"But why hire an assassin? They could just send their own men." Moneypenny argued, a fair point in all costs.

"To leave no trace." Q concluded for them both, taking another quiet sip from his mug. "Volkov has a signature - his bullets and his selection of weapons. By making Volkov the seeming culprit, they leave without evidence. The blood belongs to Volkov, and they remain a ghost."

"Regardless, I have to call this in with M. Volkov or impostor." Moneypenny sighed, shaking her head as she slipped her phone out of her pocket as she began to dial in M's number. "Hopefully, he has not boarded his plane yet. MI6 took down Volkov, but the data is strangely lacking. If anything, he should know what we should do next."

Whyte stayed silent, contemplating, as she determined for herself where it was she should go from here. For a moment, she thought she was certain - she still was certain, although broadly. As time went by, it became harder to contain the changes that were meant to happen. Adapting to change did not necessarily mean she was in favour of it, yet strangely, it was in favour for her. Her eyes fell on Moneypenny's figure who was busy trying to get in touch with M, and then to Q - who attempted to find solid ground in broken pieces. Whyte stayed her gaze at him, watching his mind work under a heavy expression on his face that almost looked like a scorn. For some reason, she felt like she made a mistake.

"This better be good, Moneypenny." Gareth Mallory's voice echoed from Moneypenny's phone as she pressed the loudspeaker button, and settled the device by Q's laptop. "My plane is about to take off."

"Sir," Q spoke without further delay, his fingers busy with his keyboard, "We have obtained the bullet from the Prague incident, and our database matches it with an assassin by the name of 'Volkov'. I am now sending you all the details of my report to Tanner's tablet so you may see for yourself."

Once he had sent the data they had so far, no word was spoken from the other line. Whyte looked at Moneypenny, who seemed to be looking back at her while Q remained still and swallowed. A static breath rose from the line, as M's quiet cursing lingered before it ceased, "This is not possible, the MI6 has taken down Volkov. When I was Chairman of the Intelligence and Security Committee, I made sure this fact was known to all departments. Especially after that bastard took down our Double-O's."

"We have thought of the possibility of an impostor, but on paper, it is Volkov." Q replied shortly after, although Whyte noticed the dissatisfaction on his face as he uttered his words. The issue kept Q in constant thought, that in the process his thinking began to show on his face. "I have already bypassed many security checks to obtain more detail on Volkov, but little information is listed. If there's anything more that you know, sir, it would be extremely helpful."

While they interacted with M, Whyte could only watch them her lips pursed sealed. To M's knowledge, she was not in London but still in Prague. Because Q held all the Smart Blood files, her location being known to M would be more of a difficult task to find out. The longer Bond fooled around with the DB10, the more fragile were her steps to make. But she knew, with all of the certainty her mind could make, that Bond will fail to return the car properly. It was just like him, that James, to use and expend. As her grey gaze found itself upon the clock by the wall, Whyte began to wonder how long exactly has it been since the incident by the Playhouse? If Bond called not too long ago, he must still be on the move.

"There are only two people in this agency who knew exactly how Volkov was taken down." M spoke with his words carefully chosen, and his voice was reduced to a lower volume as he continued, "Those two would be Agent 007, and Olivia Mansfield - the late M. 007 was the one who killed Volkov, and she supervised the whole process."

A/N: Thank you for reading the fourth chapter of Tessitura, don't forget to leave a review/comment. All are appreciated.