Chapter 2.

New Friends

Q entered the 'Sparkle' and looked around. Well, he tried to. It was too dark for his liking, too smoky, and also too noisy. Not only because of the blaring music (or that something they called music here… more like rhythmical drumming if he wanted to be honest…) but also hundreds of people trying to shout over the commotion. It all instantly made his head hurt.

But he had decided to give this whole thing a chance, so he wasn't about to give it up so quickly. He made his way towards the bar with difficulty, fighting with the crowd all the way, and asked for a beer as soon as he had managed to reach his destination. Of course, the barkeeper couldn't hear him and signaled for the blushing Quartermaster to speak a bit louder.

"A beer, please!" – Shouted Q desperately, still without success. He was just about to look for a piece of paper and write down his order when he felt someone sit down next to him.

The man was about his age, maybe a bit older but not by much. He was wearing an earring, had little to no hair at all, had good visible tattoos on his bare arms (he only wore a sleeveless white shirt and military pants) and presented the air of confidence Q could never in a million years hope to achieve.

The newcomer signaled to the barkeeper to come and ordered for both of them a cocktail, clearly not caring for the Quartermaster's own choice of beverage.

"Never ask for a simple beer here, mate. They'll rather pretend not to understand. It's so uncool. Only old people drink beer!"

"Really?" – He hadn't known that. Super, he'd only been here for ten minutes and had already made a complete fool of himself. Not a good start. But at least it probably couldn't get any worse… – "Thanks for the help then."

"It's okay, I can see you're new here. Are you from far away?"

"Actually, only from across the road…" – Admitted Q, blushing again. The man had thought he was a foreigner; he must have looked very out of place then; maybe he should have put on another pullover? Or a bottom up cardigan perhaps?

"Oh… come on, let's go outside, we can't talk in here!" – Said the man and already grabbed his arm to pull him towards a door in the back Q hadn't even notices before. The frantic Quartermaster only had enough time to quickly snatch his drink off the counter before he was ushered towards said exit.

Once outside, the man let go of his arm and lit a cigarette.

"My name's Aaron. And yours?"

"I'm… ahm…" – What should he say? His name was top secret after all and he hadn't come up with a plausible story for himself yet. – "I'm… Jack Roberts." – That had been 003's last alias but he had used it in Italy. Surely, nobody in England could have heard it. Besides, it was a common enough name in his opinion.

"Would you like one?" – Aaron casually offered him a cigarette.

"No, thanks. I don't smoke."

Aaron looked at him with a combination of amusement and pity.

"It's not a cigarette, man. It's weed!"

"What?"

"Weed! Don't tell me you don't even know what it is; nobody can be that innocent! Next, you'll tell me you're a blushing virgin!" – Seeing Q's expression, he asked horrified. – "You're not a virgin, are you!?"

"Of course not! I'll try it!" – Said Q quickly, and took a puff just to avoid any further questions.

He instantly felt horrible and collapsed in a very undignified, coughing heap onto the ground.

"Jesus, you're like a child!" – Was all Aaron said, before taking the smoke from the suffering man. – "Stop it! You're going to alert someone! It's illegal stuff, ya know!"

It was easier said than done: the Quartermaster was in agony! He couldn't breathe, he couldn't even get up… He couldn't do anything for minutes. Aaron just watched, never trying to help him. After a while, Q managed to gather himself enough to sit up and lean back against the wall. Only then did Aaron speak again.

"Remind me the next time not to give you anything. Maybe you can't even keep your alcohol?"

"No, no, it's okay. Of course I can." – In reality, he had no idea as he had never drunk a cocktail before. He didn't even know what it was. But he desperately wanted to prove his companion that he wasn't a complete sissy, and after this little fiasco with the smoke, he really couldn't afford to say no to anything anymore.

So, he thought, 'now or never', and drank out his whole glass at one go to get it over with. It burnt all the way down his throat as he swallowed and he nearly started choking again.

"Wow. That was… certainly unexpected. Do you always drink like that?"

"Of course." – Q wanted to say more but then thought better of it for fear he would throw up. He felt terrible. What the hell had been in that drink!? Maybe he should have asked before drinking it…

"So, you're not hopeless after all. That's good. What are you doing tomorrow?"

"I… nothing." – Admitted Q.

"Wrong. You're meeting with me and my friends. I want to introduce you to them. They'll like you; you have an adorably innocent air around you."

"I can be tough." – He insisted, without any real conviction.

Aaron smirked.

"No doubt about that. You can prove it tomorrow."

They agreed on the time and place then said goodbye and went their separate ways. As soon as Q entered his apartment, he had to run into the bathroom. This time he did throw up. But still: he had found a friend and tomorrow he'd most probably make more new pals! This was worth any hangover he knew he would have soon!

J * B * J * B * J * B * J * B * J * B * J * B

Just as he had expected: Q's sleep had been fitful and he had woken with a killer headache. It was not how he had wanted to spend his vacation! But neither was it with sitting alone at home, so, it was still the smaller of two bad things, he decided, as he started to get ready for the day's upcoming adventures.

Aaron had told him the night before to dress a bit 'less like an old grandpa and more like a cool guy'. He didn't know what that meant and didn't have a clue what to do, since he only owned clothes like the ones he'd had on yesterday. Now he had a sneaking suspicion this might be one of the reasons nobody had ever wanted to befriend him in MI6. He wasn't 'cool' enough; whatever that was.

In the end, he chose a plain white shirt (though short-sleeved and not sleeveless like Aaron's – he simply couldn't find one like his new friend's) and blue jeans with slightly shabby trainers. He hoped this outfit would be up to par with that mysterious group.

He needn't have worried: when he arrived at the pre-arranged place some guys were already present, and all of them looked similar to him. Though they all had tattoos and earrings as well, there was nothing he could (or wanted…) to do about it at that time.

Aaron grabbed him in a bear-hug and pulled him into the middle of the circle of friends with a proud smile.

"Guys, this is Rocky." – He had informed Q the other night that 'Jack' was too common a name, so he had christened him 'Rocky' which was; in Aaron's opinion; a much better choice for someone who wanted to belong to their group. He had never asked Q if he actually wanted to join; he had always just presumed he would. – "He's not used to weed but drinks alcohol like water."

Everyone looked impressed and the Quartermaster winced inwardly. This was not what he had wanted them to be told, since it could mean they'd expect him to demonstrate this skill in the future and he really didn't wish to suffer through another night like the one he'd just had…

"You'll have ample opportunities to show us this skill, pal!" – Assured him one of the guys who was – as later turned out – called by everyone just Spikey.

The others were introduced as Smokey, Cutter, Bobby, Dino and Gary. Q cringed at the cliché, feeling as if he had entered a Z-rated action movie, but thought it better not to giggle out loud. He was fairly certain the other men's names were just as fakes as his own. Apparently, he wasn't the only one whose civilian name wasn't considered cool enough for a gang. A 'cutter' indeed… The Double-Os would definitely die of laughter here.

Well, but the Double-Os had better things to do than keep Q company, so… It didn't really matter what they would think of his newfound friends. They'd never learn about any of this anyway.

"So, what will we do today?" – Asked the one who had said was named Dino.

"Let's hang around 'Dashers'. It opens at 6 PM." – Said Bobby, referring; as Q later learned; to a rundown disco at the edge of the city.

Everyone agreed so they made their way there. As soon as Q sat eyes on the place, he paled. That was even worse than the other one he had been to the day before! He had never thought he'd ever enter a place like that. He, who hadn't ever tried a simple cigarette before because it disgusted him… He, who had always kept away from any kind of trouble and had preferred the company of his computers and gadgets instead of noisy, crowded places. 'Oh, God…' – He thought desperately then tried to forcefully remind himself why he was doing this in the first place. – 'I want friends… No: I need friends! My old ways only secured solitude for me. I need to change. I need to be more like them!'

"So, Rocky. What do you think?" – Asked Gary, and Q needed a few seconds to register that he was talking to him.

"Oh… I'm… speechless."

This seemed to be the correct answer, seeing that the others obviously mistook his reluctance for astonishment.

"I agree. This is the most brilliant place. Come on, then! The owner of the club is a good friend of ours, let's visit him!" – Continued the man, completely misinterpreting Q's reaction, and so they dragged him into a hidden room just behind the stage where a drugged-looking DJ provided some noise others probably called 'cool music' but Q only detested with all his heart. His head was already starting to pound again in time with the rhythm and he felt slightly nauseous.

"Dick, this is our new friend, Ricky." – Introduced him Aaron to the boss of the place, who was a frightening-looking, very tall and fat man with his long, greasy hair pulled back in a pony-tail and a moustache that seemed too surreal to be real.

'Dick' seemed to have similar reservations towards Q, as he silently regarded him with narrowed eyes for what felt like an eternity, before apparently deciding he wasn't a threat. Then – and only then – did he take the smaller man's outstretched hand to shake it so violently, Q became afraid he'd lose the limb in the end.

In the end, he had to smoke a cigarette and drink two cans of beer during their stay. The 'boss' seemed accepting enough of him by the time he had finished his first can even if he found his lack of tolerance for the smoke somewhat embarrassing and amusing at the same time.

Despite the small coughing fit though, Q realized that the smoke didn't bother him as much that time as before.

He was definitely making progress, he noted with delight.