He'd woken up to sunsets basking in the scent of salt air infused with the lingering aroma of pineapple and coconut. He'd fallen asleep, nerves frayed, a disembodied shell until he regained the sense of self required to pull himself back to normality. But he never once entertained the possibility that between those times of staged seduction and bodily devastation, he would one day find the care and love of someone of whom he felt so unworthy. Arthur Clifton, however, had an entirely different perspective on the subject. Bond watched from his kitchen door while Q bustled around his kitchen - stark bollock naked as good fortune would have it - throwing together something that might vaguely pass for breakfast. James was fully dressed and mission ready. "Don't get dressed on my account will you, Arthur?"
"Oh don't worry, James. I have no intention of doing so," he replied smoothly, sashaying towards him (yes, you read that right), cup of coffee in one hand and suspicious looking box in the other. "I'm not due in for another 3 hours, but will be primed and ready at my post when you land."
He handed him the cup and held the box in front of him, flat on his palm. "R will kit you out before you leave." He reached up and lifted the lid. "This, however, is strictly a personal project, off the books, from me to you." Inside, a Rolex Submariner Oyster Perpetual sat comfortably nestled around its black cushion.
"Q. You shouldn't have…"
Q huffed. "I bloody know I shouldn't have. Don't make me regret it," he said, slipping it from the box and onto Bond's wrist, Bond who never took his eyes from Q's face while he fitted it on.
He took his chin in his free hand and supplied a warm, sensual smile. "This feels like a proposal."
"It's nothing of the sort, 007, don't be getting ideas above your station."
"Says the man standing in front of me stark bollock naked looking good enough to eat? I can't begin to classify the ideas above my station I'm having right now," he mumbled, running his gaze down his body before pulling him close. "Does it have any Q-approved quirks installed for a Double-O's pleasure?"
Q cleared his throat before pushing himself off Bond, determined not to be distracted. "As a matter of fact," he brought the watch-bound wrist between them. "A geiger counter," pointing to the button on the left, "and if you twist the ring around the face, it activates a demagnetiser. An electronic lock picker of sorts if you will. Works on magnetic cuffs as well of course."
"Does it now. Don't suppose…"
No, James. I do not have them here." He smiled. "They are at Q-Branch. However, and if you are a very good boy and bring everything, not to mention my gift back intact, I may let you test them on me when you return."
"Good enough," nodded Bond, holding out his hand as though to seal the deal only to pull Q against him again to whisper a "thank you," against his cheek.
Flanked by two men, led by a short grey-haired man in a grey suit, Q walked up the aisle of a large, elongated doomed room, either side of which were rows of computers, manned by nameless, faceless geniuses, weaving an intricate web of a spider's making, a spider who wanted to control all the flies in the world. Who was Q to argue with such logic? He had listened while the man in the grey suit had told him his plans, how he would elevate him to unrecognisable heights of power in the world of information control. He would be master of all, the man in the grey suit would make him so. The good they could do together! With Q's mind and the man in the grey suit's (who had since identified himself as Ernst Stavro Blofeld) influence. It would be beautiful!
Q felt at home amongst the screens and the soothing sounds of processors. Home. Where was home? He had occasionally glanced at the blond man sitting opposite him. Gagged and strapped into a chair. Why was none of Q's business as far as he was concerned. He just wanted to see this amazing piece of software called Nine Eyes and the hardware upon which such a powerful piece of kit could operate.
As he stepped onto the platform at the end of the room, all eyes on him, Q retreated into his mind and watched the codes flow back and forth, shaping, reforming, evolving into something vaguely recognisable. Deft fingers flew over the keys… And then… faint memories crossed and overlapped, flaring distractedly. The smell of bergamot, a subtle, familiar scent of musky cologne, gunpowder… Q shook his head, fingers faltering. A distant voice, Blofeld. Demanding.
What are you doing? Why have you stopped?
Continue.
Now.
A gun pressed into the small of his back.
Don't make me ask again.
Q resumed his movements across the keyboard, but now with revised intent. This man was not his friend. He had no intention of letting him live, his instincts screamed loud and unbidden in his head. Blofeld was watching the blond man. Q double-looped the code and triggered a cascade set to destroy the system. He stepped back, vacant neutral expression in place.
"It's done." Blofeld stepped forward eagerly to survey the input that should have told him Nine Eyes would be online within the hour. In that moment, the blond man grabbed his opportunity, demagnetising his wrist cuffs and disarming one guard while quickly using his weapon to shoot the other. Just then, the banks of computers began to short and spark, screens going blank. Blofeld only suffered a moment of confusion before grabbing Q and putting him bodily between the blond man and himself. The blond man, who now had his gun trained on him, while the computer hacks ran in confusion and fear from the hub.
"Sabotage… Oh I am so very disappointed in you, little Bombe." The fury in his eyes trained on Bond as he held Q with surprising strength against his chest, gun pressing hard into his temple. "Be disappointed in your futile attempts to turn me. I may not know who you are, but I know who I am," Q ground out.
"Not to worry. I wouldn't be a very good mastermind if I didn't have a contingency plan now, would I?" Blofeld spat.
He spoke to the blond man then. "We will walk out that door and you will let us, James."
James, thought Q to himself, who are you?
"I don't think so," said James. "You should have died on that mountain with your father. And I'm damn well going to finish the job," he stated.
"Ha! You won't shoot. What if you hit your precious Quartermaster?"
Bond shrugged. Love can be dangerous, James. Don't let it become a weakness, his father's words echoed in his mind. "A small price to see you buried for good, Obenhauser."
Q braced himself. So this is his end? As the banks of monitors flared, sparked and flamed around him, James looked to all intents and purposes like an Agent of Death Himself, sent to deal the final blow.
He didn't disappoint.
James looked at Q with such a heart-wrenching swell of affection and love, he felt his heart go still. "I'm sorry, Q," he whispered, just before he pulled the trigger.