Disclaimer: Not mine.

AN: So, the conclusion for now. Thank you all very much for reading… and since this was fun writing, I am currently thinking whether I'll attempt one more fic. But for now, enjoy the conclusion.

Sabotage

Webber had read and witnessed enough about strangling incidents to realize the method wasn't foolproof. The moment Q's body went limb; he knew he had to make certain – even if those blue-tinted lips looked like a good indicator.

Instinctively, he leaned forward, wanting to check for a pulse, and let go of the cord still wrapped around Q's throat –

And in that moment Q snapped his eyes open, delivered a swift kick to Webber's groin and rolled away when the older man toppled to the ground, crippled by pain. The cord was still around his neck, uncomfortably tight, but he could breathe. His vision was spotty, his glasses missing and standing was out of question – and relying on memory, he went for the gun.

Agony flared in his leg, and for a moment the world faded into black, but then his hand connected with a piece of cold metal. Webber cursed loudly, and Q managed to gasp the gun and turn into Webber's direction, only to have a heavy object sail past his head, close enough to brush his hair.

"Stop!" he ordered, though not even half of it came out clearly. His throat was on fire, his voice hoarse – and that damn cord was still there, and even if he had the gun, his vision was atrocious without his glasses, and Webber was all but a moving blur.

Yet he did stop moving. At least that was what it looked like – Q realized he needed to find his glasses quick or shoot – and while his hand was steady enough he didn't -

Suddenly the door opened.

Doors to the rooms that held explosives, or were geared for experiments were solid, reinforced and soundproofed. Bond and M had no idea of the scene awaiting them – but both had their guns drawn in seconds.

"Freeze," M ordered, without a hitch in his voice.

Bond surveyed the room; there was blood on the floor, and Webber was leaning awkwardly against a desk, his lab coat askew and with bloody claw marks on the side of his face. Opposite him was Q, half propped up on one arm, with an extension cord tangled awkwardly around his throat, glasses missing, hair even more of a mess than usual and aiming a gun at Webber while blood was spreading around him.

Q turned toward them, letting the gun sink on M's order, while Webber sighed loudly.

Whatever tension had been in the air vanished abruptly. M felt it as well, so he put his own weapon away and instead stepped forward.

"Bond, inform medical – have them send a team down here. Q, Webber, what on earth is going on?"

Bond nodded and walked over to the phone installed on the wall – it was old, probably from the 70ties, but it had been installed for emergencies, and in-house calls got faster responses than those made from his mobile.

M walked straight over to Q who was, somewhat inefficiently, trying to untangle himself. Already dark bruises were appearing where the cable had been, and Q was steadily paling. Bond had definitely seen more blood spilled in his career, but this was not little. (And there had not been much when the former M had died either).

Instead of waiting for an explanation from either employee, M set to work, helping Q unwind the cord. And it may have been Bond's skewered line of vision, but he was fairly certain M was grimacing when the extent of Q's injuries became visible. Next was a tourniquet for the still bleeding leg wound – probably caused by a bullet, since Bond did not see any knifes in the vicinity.

Once Q was propped up against a wall, Bond caught sight of another movement from the corner of his eye. He whirled around, ready to shoot, only to see Webber swallowing something.

"Cheers," he said, but his eyes weren't smiling, "See you all in hell."

M rose, about to question his weird behavior, but Webber abruptly collapsed. He gasped for air, his body twitched awkwardly – and then went still.

"Poison," said Bond, and M nodded, the frown lines on his forehead deepening.

Both men had seen too much death to freeze in this situation. Like a clockwork both directed their attention back to Q, who was squinting in the direction of Webber's now motionless body. Bond saw his glasses on the floor, picked them up and brought them over.

"Thank you," rasped Q when Bond pressed them into Q's hands.

"You probably should refrain from speaking for the time being, Q," said M, eyeing the bruising on Q's throat with thinly veiled concern.

Which would not help with explanations, thought Bond, but he was in agreement with his superior. Q appeared to be running on willpower alone, and if he looked as if a strong wind could blow him over on a good day, he looked worse now.

Then medical arrived, and the doctor in question frowned darkly – and M and Bond understood that questions would have to wait for a while.

M returned to his office, to find Tanner chatting with Moneypenny. And there were a number of thick files that had not been here when he had left – there was that appointment with the Ministry of Defense later today; and he still hadn't gotten prepared. And he would need a change of clothes – there was blood on this set.

"Si – what on earth happened?" Tanner's eyes widened, and Moneypenny did not get up – but one of her hands dropped to the phone, stopping over two shortcut buttons – one for medical, another for a general emergency.

M sighed and lifted his hands, gesturing for both to calm down.

"Not mine," he offered, and while Tanner appeared a bit relieved, Moneypenny frowned.

"However, it appears the saboteur has been found," said M, and both straightened up, "This is a preliminary conclusion, so I would appreciate if you could treat the info as confidential for the time being."

M pulled another chair over, and sat down heavily. "A first analysis of the explosive brought showed certain similarities of our own manufacturing. Q did realize this, checked and found that two of these objects had been removed from storage using Mr. Webber's security codes."

He stopped, but neither Moneypenny nor Tanner showed any outward emotion. They had both been with the service too long to visibly react to unexpected news.

"Q informed me he intended to question Mr. Webber on this – however when 007 and I arrived on scene some sort of fight had taken place. It appears Mr. Webber was behind the bomb."

"A fight?" repeated Tanner and raised both eyebrows. Then his eyes found the bloodstains on M's shirt again. "Are they alright?"

M sighed. "Webber killed himself after we arrived. Q is being treated at medical right now."

He would have to get an update later on. Q had appeared okay on the scene, but there might have been injuries beyond the bullet wound and throat damage.

Moneypenny pursed her lips, while Tanner cleared his throat. "What happened there?"

"As of yet, we don't know. Mr. Webber did probably not take well to being confronted over his actions, but concerning his motives we remain in the dark. Possibly Q will be able to help us out once he is recovered enough," said M, and as a watch chimed, he realized he really needed to get ready for that meeting.

He had to be at the Ministry in fifty minutes – the commute along did take thirty, and he was still in bloodied clothes.

Moneypenny and Tanner had made a straight way up to medical on the third floor, and had been turned away. Q was in surgery, and wasn't expected to wake for at least four hours. Probably longer if the shadows under his eyes were taken into consideration

On their way back down they encountered Bond.

"You, here?" asked Eve, "I thought you were allergic to medical."

Bond shrugged. "They stuck me with the paperwork."

"Right, you went down to the lab with M," said Tanner, "Can you explain what happened? M sort of sketched it out for us, but I have to be honest, there are a number of details still quite blurry."

"I don't know more than M does," replied Bond, "You'd have to ask Q for details."

There was a frown on his face, and while everybody else would have read disdain for incomplete knowledge in this, Moneypenny could see concern hidden behind it. It made her feel better this bleak evening to realize that as mentally screwed and unstable as MI6's top personnel was, there was still space to actually develop human relations.

Sometimes when she met with old college friends, she couldn't help but feel a bit envious to hear them talking about their office jobs – where the major concerns were relationships, quarrels and just normal human interactions between colleagues.

"Aren't the labs under constant surveillance?" asked Tanner when they were getting off the elevator.

"They should be," said Moneypenny.

"Then we should check," suggested Bond.

When M returned from his meeting at the Ministry he felt ready to go home. However, he went to his desk, checking his emails to see whether any national emergency requiring his immediate attention had crept up – they had a nasty habit of doing this at the end of long days – though today luck was in his favor.

Then he saw a memo from Moneypenny, regarding the incidents at Q branch.

It turned out she, Tanner and Bond had tapped into their surveillance system and gotten hold of the feed from those installed in the armory. Moneypenny hadn't commented much, just suggested that this quite cleared up what had happened.

M pursed his lips, and let the video play.

There was Q entering the armory, engaging Webber, and while all seemed normal in the beginning, the situation grew tense and tenser when Webber failed to deny any accusation. Instead the long-time employee set out on a half-manic rant, and M could discern how Q tried to subtly make his way back to the door.

Then the gun was fired and chaos broke out. The fight, from what M could see on the grizzly images provided by the surveillance cameras, was nasty – and Webber easily had the upper hand. Q however was clever, and what M had to admit was a risky gambit, paid off.

Not long afterwards the video showed Bond and himself bursting in, and M stopped there.

He leaned back in his armchair, and glanced outside. Night had fallen hours ago – and even most other office building in London had turned off their lights. M could feel his own eyelids growing heavy.

It was time to go home.

Before going to her own desk in the next morning, Moneypenny dropped by at medical. Originally she had intended to ask the staff for information on Q's condition – to her surprise however, a nurse told her to go in and ask him herself.

Q was sitting upright in bed, a laptop balanced on his knees. When Moneypenny entered, he glanced up and smiled at her.

"Morning, Eve," he said, and then turned back to the screen.

"Good morning, Q," she replied and eyed him critically. The bandage around his head had been joined by one around his throat, the cardigan dropped over the standard issue hospital pajamas hung loosely off his bony shoulders and his face was as white as the wall.

"Shirking work?" Q asked, and cast her a smirk. Moneypenny returned it – Q may look as if a truck had run him over, but the shadows under his eyes were about gone, and there was a playful sparkle in his eyes.

"Not yet," replied Moneypenny, "But if you're offering, I'm going to come and hide here later on."

Q tilted his head. "I don't intend to be here later on."

"Really? Don't say you got homesick?" Moneypenny raised one well-shaped eyebrow.

Q shrugged. "No, but even cacti only survive so long without water. But I was thinking of finishing work here first. I do suppose there are questions?"

"Supposing medical will actually release you – which I honestly doubt – they will send you straight home. As for questions; we got to see the surveillance tape, so I believe most of them are answered."

Q swallowed. "That's good?"

"I suppose so," said Moneypenny with a gentle smile, "Well, they will need a report at some point, but I think you can concentrate on recovering for the time being."

When M entered his office, he found Bond sitting in his chair, reading the file on the sabotage incidents M had prepared last night. He made certain to shut the door loudly, and Bond glanced up, completely unperturbed.

"So, what exactly were those health concerns?" asked Bond, who remembered encountering Webber in the gym far more often than anybody else from his demographic.

M nodded. "Brain tumor. Untreatable, and from what I understand my predecessor decided he ought to have his remaining time to himself. That's why he wasn't promoted."

And also because MI6 had been in dire need of changes; the kind of changes that Webber would have been unable to introduce, which was why they had ended up with the youngest department head anybody could remember.

Bond shook his head. "Well, he's dead now anyway."

He closed the file, tossed it back on the desk and got up from M's chair. "Any update on Q?"

M set down his briefcase with a sigh. "You'll need to update yourself, 007. Anyhow, I'll be expecting you at 1400 concerning a situation in Ecuador. You're flying out tonight, so start packing."

Bond shrugged, and sauntered out without a further word.

M felt like groaning – instead he put his head in his hands for a moment and wondered how his predecessor had made Bond accept her authority.

Bond didn't really know what brought him to the third floor of MI6 – he had been here maybe five times during his entire career, and at three of those incidents he had been unconscious. Still, finding Q's room was ridiculously easy.

He entered after a short knock and found Q on a bed, surrounded by two laptops, three further monitors and one large screen mounted to a medical trolley. All were displaying rows and rows of code, as well as maps with blinking dots, and one monitor had four different camera feeds up.

Q glanced up. "007?"

Bond raised an eyebrow. "Back to work already?"

He received a shrug in return. "They won't let me leave any earlier than tonight, and it's not as if anything interesting is happening outside."

Bond followed the nod over to the medium-sized window. Beyond an overcast London sky and building rooftops nothing was visible. Granted, it were some pretty rooftops, including old churches, but Bond could see how they did get boring.

"So you're working instead," said Bond.

Q pursed his lips. "My options are a little limited, and I doubt MI6 would appreciate me downloading random movies over their network. To say nothing of testing the security of other institutions."

Bond translated this to mean hacking the CIA, the IMF and whatever else struck Q's fancy. He nodded with a quirk of his lips. "Indeed."

Outside, a nurse walked past – they only heard the clacking of her heels.

"Neither do I indulge in your pastimes, 007," said Q dryly.

"It's not a pastime – I am merely making best of my opportunities," replied Bond smoothly. Q clearly didn't believe him, but refrained from pushing the subject. Instead he called up a data sheet.

"You're off to Ecuador tonight," he said, "Smuggle, and possible biological weapons development. M's going to give you the details later on, and check with Dr. Marbach for gun and radio. They should have them ready by now."

Bond nodded. Q frowned, and then added: "They should be fine, but make sure you test both to see if they're functional."

"I'm sure they'll be fine," said Bond.

Q nodded, looking distracted for a moment. He still had to wrap his head around the fact that they had caught the saboteur, and that it had been Webber – a well-loved, familiar face in Q branch.

"He was a friend of yours, wasn't he?" Q inquired abruptly, then managed a thin smile. "In that case I'm sorry for your…"

"He wasn't a friend," interrupted Bond. He had liked Webber, but what had connected them had been a sense of camaraderie established over a fairly long time. They had been acquaintances, but never friends.

"And he brought it upon himself," said Bond with a careless shrug, "There is no need for any sympathies – least of all from you."

Q looked away from Bond's intense gaze. "Well, I … I was surprised myself. I mean I know some people weren't too happy with my promotion, but I didn't expect Webber of all people to react like that. It makes sense in hindsight, of course, but, well… it is a little depressing."

Bond frowned, and then sat down on the chair next to Q's bed, much to the younger man's surprise.

"That's human beings for you," said Bond. He had seen far worse betrayals – he couldn't bring himself to feel very shocked at Webber's actions.

"I suppose so," said Q, unhappy, "Anyway, I'll remember this the next time a similar situation occurs."

Once again Bond was reminded of the age gap between them. As brilliant as Q was, he definitely lacked experience – but apparently he was rather aware of that now.

"I would also recommend not confronting suspected traitors alone in the future," suggested Bond, with a pointed glance at the loose cardigan. A mandatory escort wouldn't have been out of place, considering Q's importance in the scheme of things either.

Q sighed. "I will try to remember it – and you try to remember to bring your equipment back this time."

It was dark again outside when Q finally received the okay to leave. Medical provided him with a crutch since his leg refused to bear his weight. Thanks to a gratuitous dose of painkillers he didn't feel anything, but it made walking a little difficult.

He'd probably take a cab, even though the tube was still running. But he'd draw to much attention now – a quick glance in the mirror had revealed he didn't really look too healthy.

When he reached the elevator he found M.

"Sir," Q said, intending to pass, but to his surprise M turned around and joined him in the elevator.

"Going home Q?" he asked.

"Yes, medical let me go," said Q.

"Well, if you want to, feel free to work from home the rest of the week," said M with a nod to Q's stiff leg, "Also, I would like you to consider an escort. I know you insisted on playing inconspicuous, so if not permanent, at least think about having one while on duty."

Q pursed his lips. "While I understand your concern, I still believe any action that might make me stand out in a situation outside of headquarters would be … ill-advised."

M sighed, and Q could see exhaustion in his features.

"At least consider it," said M, "We'd all be sleeping a little better for it."

The following day dawned rainy and grey and no different from its predecessors. Moneypenny arrived early, armed with coffee and donuts – which M and Tanner were quite thankful for. There were a number of updates from their agents – Bond had arrived in Ecuador, 002 was making his way through Laos and 008 had updates from Libya – and the press was wildly speculating about CIA involvement in a bombing in Pakistan.

Q limped in at quarter past eleven, and was greeted quite enthusiastically by his department. When Moneypenny dropped down to whisk him away for a lunch break, she found several boxes of tea, biscuits and donuts all over his desk. Also, a bright red alarm clock.

"It's not an intervention," said Q, "But Dr. Marbach and some others are threatening to kick me out if I stay overtime this week."

Moneypenny smiled. "I think you should introduce me to this Dr. Marbach, then."

Bond was just outside of Quito, gun in hand, making his way through a seemingly abandoned factory building, when the com in his ear came to life.

"Try the second door on your left, 007," said a familiar voice.

Bond smiled. "Q."

Fin