He was thirty minutes late for work. R was very forgiving.
"No worries Q. I know you're good for it," she said with a wink, handing him her pad and signing off. "007 will be along shortly to be kitted out for assignment."
"Righto. Fine. I'll take care of that then."
As it happened, just as R exited, 007 entered Q Branch. He stood for a moment, and took in the sight of that familiar, reassuring pose of the long, lean, cardiganed body standing at his post. They hadn't seen each other properly since Bond pulled them out of the desert and back to civilisation, saving Q from the bullet he'd personally lodged in his body. Well, that is to say, Bond had visited him in Medical while Q was recuperating but he'd been drugged to the eyeballs so no doubt had no recollection of his presence. Watching him sleep for a few hours in his own bed last night had reassured Bond that Q was coming back to himself, albeit with some pieces missing. Bond took a levelling breath before adopting his usual swagger passed the minions towards the Quartermaster. Maybe it was better that Q didn't remember their months together. Bond had sucked up plenty of emotional pain and loss in his life. This would be no different. He was conditioned for it. Built for it. It's what made him such an efficient and thoroughly effective weapon in his job.
He assumed a respectful distance behind Q and waited. Q was performing his own calming meditations before he turned round.
"Welcome back, Quartermaster."
"Well if it isn't the man who killed me and then brought me back to life. Good to see you again, 007."
"Is it?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant and not at all wary.
"You got the job done and that's all anyone in this business could ever ask of you. You saved the day and saved me."
And that was that. Or so Bond thought.
"Let's get on, shall we?" said Q, turning back to his monitors. He nodded and stepped up to Q, both men standing shoulder to shoulder, watching the screens in front of them. Bond turned his head about to ask about the mission ahead when he noticed the slight blush creeping up Q's neck.
He dropped his gaze to Q's hand, which was sliding something face down on the desk in front of them towards Bond. James turned it over gently and found himself momentarily lost for words. He had completely forgotten about the one and only photo Q had taken on his phone, which evidently at some point, Q had chosen to print. The image therein captured a tender moment, the morning after his return from the Tel Aviv mission. A particularly lazy and rare morning where they were relaxing together in bed. Q was looking at the camera, a sleepy expression on his face, looking deliciously dishevelled. James' eyes were closed, his forehead resting against Q's cheekbone, lips not quite touching the line of his jaw. The hint of a smile barely noticeable but there. The image radiated everything they felt for each other. No words were needed.
Q made the first move, clumsy in his eagerness to reconnect with the man who obviously meant so much to him. Perhaps because he had to. The silence around them was deafening, drowned out by the pounding blood in Q's ears, heart thudding, threatening to burst from his chest while he refamiliarised himself with the agent. His agent. James, he thought absently. The world fell away, both men fell away with it. All eyes in Q Branch were trained on perhaps what was the most erotic display of affection to which many of those geeky minions had ever been subject. He leaned back and took a shuddering breath while taking in the features of the man before him, a flood of memories washed over him like a soothing balm. "Daft bloody bastard I am. How could I possibly forget you?" he whispered breathlessly.
It was a stern, authoritative, all-too-cool voice that caused Q to take a further step back from Bond while straightening his glasses and struggling to get his breath back under control.
"Gentlemen. What the blazes do you think you're doing?"
Both men turned to be faced down by Gareth Mallory, looking suitably thunderous at the inappropriate display in the heart of his domain. Flanked by Tanner and Moneypenny, both remained tight-lipped and looking very much like they were trying not to laugh. Moneypenny completely unfazed, while Tanner blushed ever so slightly.
"Tanner. Have a word with our Quartermaster, will you?" M said sternly.
With a backward tilt of his head and an equally firm look at Bond, he said flatly, "Walk with me, 007."
"Sir," he replied, falling into step beside him.
Tanner stepped in front of the man who was looking sufficiently embarrassed by his reckless assault of passion on the agent.
"One week's suspension without pay, Q." Q's mouth fell open and he was about to protest when he glanced behind Tanner at Moneypenny who threw him a conspiratorial wink. He looked back at Tanner whose well-crafted expression of impassivity, now that he had regained his composure, stayed steadily trained on the man. He raised an eyebrow.
"Something you wish to say, Q?"
"No, Tanner. Nothing. Nothing at all."
"Excellent." He turned away and with a clipped tone, "As of now, Q. Collect your things and make good use of this… mandatory break."
Without another word, and under the admiring stares of his minions, Q dismounted his post, handed his pad to R's assistant and departed Q Branch.
As the three entered the lift to return to M's office and the doors slipped shut, Moneypenny spoke.
"He's changed."
M nodded. "Yes. Indeed he has." He sighed. "He is, if it were at all possible, even more dangerous than he has ever been before."
Tanner frowned at the observation. "Sir?"
"Simply put, Mr Tanner, anything that lands in the hands of our Quartermaster becomes exponentially more dangerous. And after being treated to that little display, it is evident that 007 would burn the world to protect our Quartermaster, which frankly? Is quite alright by me…"
Bond, of course, had been given similar marching orders to Q. Walking calmly towards his office, he felt his phone vibrate and smiled with an uncharacteristic broadness that threatened to crack his steely features when he read the text message.
Meet you in the garage in 15.
Exiting the lift doors ten minutes later, Q saw the broad back of the agent down the row of cars, hips leaning against the bonnet. He walked to him and stood before him, not deigning to touch without an invitation. He'd already done that, surprising himself, Bond and half of MI6 into the bargain. So James decided for them both, pitching his upper body forward to grip Q by the waist and pull the man into him. Q fell forward, unresisting. "Did you know, when you shot me that it wouldn't kill me?"
"Honestly? I couldn't be sure. I hit you where Eve hit me. I admit, it was a gamble."
Q leaned forward to take Bond's lips in his own. "I absolutely should not be turned on right now, at the thought of the fact that we are the proud bearers of matching scars."
Bond's own eyes darkened, rolling himself so that Q was now pinned to the side of the car. "No you absolutely should not," returning the kiss like a man starved.
"I was wondering, 007, if you would consider taking me to dinner?" he said, reaching up to trail long, gentle fingers through the agent's hair. He was rewarded with a sigh and a closing of Bond's eyes briefly, revelling in the touch. God, how he had missed those touches, the intimacy, the care… "I have a feeling I'd quite like to get to know you. All over again…"
James opened his eyes, incandescent against the florescent light of the underground car park. Q felt as though he was clawing his way from beneath the earth, wanting nothing more in the world than to rediscover what it was to have that blue glow burn through skin, muscle, and into his very bones.
The corner of Bond's lips quirked, composure regained swift and smooth as ever."With pleasure, Q. With pleasure." Neither man took eyes from each other, Q rediscovering the orbit he hadn't realised until that moment he had been adrift from.
"Let me drop you home," said Bond, as they tore themselves away from each other and moved towards the car doors.
"Very well," replied Q.
"I'll pick you up later then. 9pm? For dinner I mean."
Q smiled and nodded. "I look forward to it, 007." He cleared his throat. "Dress code?"
"I believe you are the owner of a rather fine tailored, dark green suit. That should suffice for The Shard," replied James, both climbing into the vehicle, his look telling Q he'd had prior experience of said suit. Bond revved the engine of the Aston to life and both indulged in a private smile at the sound of her purr. A feral machine crafted by Q with 007 in mind, wielded now by the agent with the care and affection he would bestow upon Q himself.
Regardless of the world in which they lived and its unpredictable, dangerous and sometimes deadly tendencies, one fact remained steadfast, as Q scolded the unnecessary screeching of the tyres and Bond rolled his eyes with a smile. He, James Bond, 007, would always be his agent and Arthur Clifton, Q, would always be his Quartermaster.
Because while some things change, some remain irrevocably, the same.
THE END
Notes:
*DROPS MIKE* (Whoever the heck Mike is.)
Thanks everyone who read, kudos and commented. Feel at liberty to keep doing so. :)
I'm wrecked. Off for a vodka martini now.
00Q. Forever...