Q & A
A Skyfall Fanfiction Adventure
Chapter 3
"These are the designs we've come up with so far," said Q. "We're trying to keep them simple, but effective."
Gareth Mallory, examining the sparse array of gadgets arranged on the small table, did not seem impressed. "You've achieved simplicity, at the very least."
Q sighed. He hoped that Mallory, of all people, would appreciate the importance of change. Some of the devices his predecessors had sent into the field were not only ridiculous, but also utterly ineffectual in aiding the agents. He could produce much more complicated weapons and tools, but that wasn't what this part of his job required.
"What's that on the gun?" Mallory asked, pointing to the unusual-looking trigger.
"Fingerprint recognition," said Q. He picked the gun up to demonstrate. "Since I am not Bond, the gun will not allow me to shoot." He adjusted his grip and waited for the buzz and red light that signaled the lack of recognition, but it didn't come. He frowned. Of course this would happen.
Mallory snorted.
Q knew his design was correct—perhaps he had put in an old or faulty light. He aimed at the floor between him and his supervisor and was about to pull the trigger when his secretary practically barreled into him.
"No! Don't shoot!" A grabbed his arm and wrested the gun from his grip with alarming speed.
Q could only stare at her in confusion. "What are you doing?"
"This is an earlier design," she said. Her almond-shaped eyes were wide, and she panted slightly between words. "It's configured to accept your fingerprint, sir, not Bond's."
Mallory raised an eyebrow. "I'll let you work this out. Call me when you can label your products correctly." He turned and left the room.
Q ran a hand through his unruly hair. He hated to show anger in front of people, preferring to wait until he was in the privacy of his apartment to mutter curses and make himself an Earl Grey martini.
A, however, did not seem to have any such inhibitions. She stomped a stiletto-clad foot, red spots of rage appearing on her tan cheeks. "You need to be more careful! You could be accused of trying to injure, or worse, assassinate Mallory! You heard what he said! Why don't you have labels on these things?"
Her anger caught him off guard. He had never heard her speak above a carefully-controlled medium. "Isn't that your department?" he asked coolly.
"It's supposed to be!" she said. "But you wouldn't let me near the designs! Did you think I was going to mix them up? Now that you've taken care of that, am I allowed to work in here?"
Q felt his ears redden. "Yes," he said. Keep the words simple. No need to provoke her further.
And besides, said the small voice in the back of his mind, she was right.
An ominous silence hung in the air as A formulated an answer. "I'm not here to antagonize you, you know," she said, her voice dropping to its usual volume. "I'm here to do my job."
He had only been trying to maintain his superior position, not keep her from having one. He was usually so competent at office politics—why couldn't he manage her?
Before she left the room, a question that he had been meaning to ask for a while slipped out before he could stop it. "What does the 'A' really stand for?"
"Abrasive," said A. She slammed the door behind her.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to everyone who favorited or followed this story! Special thanks to Giulia, PirateGyrl, Agent007Tomato, Blairx6661, KandeeReads, and Bond for their reviews!