"It is truly a fascinating thing, the brain. The whole of our being, dictated by something so small... So fragile." Blofeld, or Oberhauser as he had once been known, had Q stuck on what the young man had originally compared to a Spartan dentist's chair when he had first seen it.

But now he didn't care. It was far less comfortable than a dentist's chair and far more traumatic. Q still hadn't told them how to track Bond and they were running out of patience – he couldn't believe Bond knack for making enemies was going to get him killed though. Hopefully Bond would make it back alive and Moneypenny could rant on his behalf.

"You'll be the death of me one day." Q had joked on more than one occasion, usually when he was holding the bitter remains of his tech in his hands. "You'll come back with some sorry tale about what has happened to my tech that I try so hard to make indestructible and the despair will wipe me out."

"Nonsense Q, a fine you lad like you can surely outlast me." Bond would joke, usually half-flirting in the way he did with most people.

"Not if you keep bringing back stuff like this. Where is most of it?"

"Have you seen Moraine Lake? It's absolutely stunning."

"What does that have to do with this conversation?"

"We could have a lovely weekend break together out there. You bring the car and I'll do the driving. We can stop by where I last saw that particular gadget."

"Give me your gun and leave before I'm tempted to design something that will drown you as well when you chuck into a Lake."

"Oh, Q! I have to say, murder would probably ruin the mood."

"But the brain is, as many would agree, the seat of your soul." Blofeld was still chattering away as though they were having a philosophical debate about consciousness down at the pub. "A man live inside his brain, do you not agree?"

Q disagreed personally, feeling overly aware of every ache and pain in his own body, the feeling of helplessness as he lay with his arms tied behind his back seeming to amplify every discomfort.

"Now, James and I, we were present when a man was deprived of his eyes recently. It was most fascinating; a chance to see a man alive when he himself was no longer present."

"No…" The boffin whispered, wishing the man would shut up.

"James didn't tell you?" He sounded perplexed and Q supposed his face would show innocent bafflement if he'd been able to see more than a peachy shape. "Word at the office is that the two of you are quite close. My friend over there has even heard there is a betting pool around you two." His voice was filled with warm amusement, but this statement actually made Q feel a little better. Even Q had seen the chart that made the rounds on occasions, and there was one for any number of things. If this friend had only heard of it then he wasn't deep in MI6 so much as deep in the merger, either someone from MI5 or someone who had been brought in at a high level with the Joint Security Service.

It made him feel better to know it wasn't one of his lot, because he did have a tendency to trust them entirely.

There was a rattle of a wheeled computer table being pulled over, and the light voice filled the air again. "Someone such as yourself, I've no doubt you understand the importance of brains over brawn. While some people get by lumbering around without a single complex thought throughout the day, you and I engage in far more."

A slide of a chair and footsteps over. "I've been told that you are the youngest quartermaster has ever had, the brightest person there. I wonder what it will be like to play with your brain…"

"If-If you do that… Then I won't be able to help you." Q's voice had gone up in pitch, fear for his brain far more effective that fear for his body.

Two fingers trailed softly down his cheek, then up to stroke again and again as the man moved close enough for Q to see. "You don't need your hearing to type, nor your ability to smell. Your balance isn't even all that important so long as you have enough to be able to type." At this distance, that grin made Q shiver.

"If-If you think I'll help you find Bond then you're wrong. I don't know what he'd done to piss you o-off so much, but I don't care."

"As his quartermaster, I'm sure you are aware that James lost his parents when he was young." Blofeld pushed Q's hair back gently, mindful to not tug at it.

"As with many at MI6."

"Yes… Do you know who took him in after the tragedy?"

"Yes. Hannes Oberhauser, from January 1983 until his death twenty six months later in 1985." He'd learnt a fair bit about the Oberhauser family of late.

"My father," Blofeld was unable to keep the snarl out of his voice, "taught young James how to ski, to hunt, to climb. I was never good at the more physical activities and so was something of a disappointment. I was supposed to treat this boy as a brother while he took my father from me."

"How would killing your father make him like you anymore?" Q had been raised by his Grandfather in theory, but outside of private school he'd spent most of his time with his grandfather's work colleagues; he'd ended up very close to one of them, but between the pain he was in, the fear he felt and the adrenaline that was going again in response to both of these and his determination to keep Bond safe, Q really couldn't spare the energy to figure out someone else's family issues.

"I decided to show him that brains really are more effective than brawn." The man snarled turned to go back to his chair. "But he called me a monster and said he was glad that my mother was dead."

"I can understand the sentiment." Q replied, his voice croaky but the taunt was out before he could think it through.

"I am not the monster!" He snapped, coming over to glare into Q's eyes. "I am far more intelligent than my father, more intelligent than James Bond and I can easily overcome you!"

"It was the brawn you hate so much that got me here." His throat was dry and painful, but he didn't dare swallow to try and relieve it with the man so close.

A finger stroked behind his ear, a fingertip tapping softly in one place. "Do you know that my needle can take your memories from you? These is a spot in the fusiform gyrus and then you will help me find James Bond because you won't remember who James Bond is. You'll have no idea he was every important to you."

"Not if you're sticking your needle in the wrong place you won't." Q had spent a lot of time and effort discussing different trackers. He'd been working closely with biologists and specialists such as neurosurgeons to work out the effects of nanotechnology in the bloodstream and whether or not it was likely to cause problems. Unfortunately for Q's workload, more than one of the specialists had insisted he have a good understanding of the anatomy and functions of the human organs, including the brain and the heart. If Blofeld was wanting to drill into his brain, he really didn't want him taking random guesses at where he was going.

Before the man had chance to answer, Q heard a door softly open. There was some whispering, too soft for Q to hear and then a laugh.

"It seems, my dear quartermaster, that your efforts have been for nothing. Dear James is on his way here anyway." The man's voice was gleeful, which was almost more terrifying than this attempts to threaten Q. "Put him back in his cell. When our guest arrives, move this one to one of the solar rooms."

Bond was tense as he sat alone in the back of a beautiful 1948 Silver Wraith, too on-edge to appreciate the car as he usually would. He leaned back as he typically would while being ferried about, affecting an air of nonchalance but it was a ruse. The agent was perfectly aware of what he could lose if he failed here: Q.

There has been one of Oberhauser's men on the train, a large fellow who had been very nearly impossible to fight. There has been a brawl in which Bond had been outmatched, and then there had been a struggle in which Bond has nearly been shot with his own gun (and Bond could acknowledge that he really ought to try and get Q to fit his personal weapons with micro dermal sensors to avoid this particular problem again) then the conflict had ended with a sheep accidentally knocking Bond's foe out the open door of the stock car– although if the agent discussed this with anyone then he wouldn't mentioned the sheep.

The building that they pulled up outside didn't resemble anything else he'd seen, not since leaving the airport. It was far more modern and well kept, and it was easy to imagine the well financed SPECTRE keeping residence here.

"Good afternoon Mr Bond." Bond was greeted as he stepped out the car by an average looking guy who spoke in a monotone voice. "I want you to know how excited we all are to finally meet you."

Bond kept his expression blank. "Well, it's a pleasure to be here." He replied genially as he stopped in front of him.

"Your host invites you to rest, relax and join him for drinks at 9." The man managed a slight, if brittle smile as he relayed the information.

"Tell my host that I won't be late."

"Wonderful. Before we show you to your room, just one more thing."

A man stepped forward holding a platter and, once he was given an encouraging nod, the agent scowled slightly and handed over the weapon on his belt. "Careful with that. It's loaded."

Another man, clearly muscle, led the way to his room without speaking a word. Bond didn't really care about conversation, but he was looking forward to a moment to collect his thoughts. The room seemed bland, almost Spartan in its decoration… except for one photograph, an intact copy of the burnt one Bond had in his own flat: Hannes Oberhauser with Franz and James.

If he'd had any doubts lingering about whether or not this base in the middle of the Sahara belonged to his supposedly late foster brother, this would have expelled them. He glanced around the room, refusing to let his mind rest on it.

Beside the bed was his own suitcase, he knelt down to check everything was still in there when something else under the bed caught his eye: it was the striped jumper that Q had been wearing at the clinic. Pulling it out, Bond stared down at the fabric.

Q was here. Bond had known that he would be, but having it confirmed was worse than he had expected. "At least you know where he is." The man half-breathed to himself. "No need to hunt out any other megalomaniac's lair."

But it wasn't a comfort, knowing Q was here with someone who had likely killed his own father before setting up his own international crime syndicate. Pressing his face into the jumper, Bond took a deep breath to calm himself; Q would be fine. This jumper smelt of fresh sweat, after all, so he had been alive not too long ago; he likely still was as no one was going to kill him before they'd been able to taunt Bond with him.

A glance at his watch told him he had a little over an hour to get ready, and a plan was already forming. He opened his case and pulled out the carry-on that Q had left at the Pevsner; then he pulled a rucksack out as well. He put a change of clothing for each of them into the bottom of it, then jammed the still broken laptop in as well. Then he got passports and money for them both and the set of keys that were in Q's case. Next went the boxes of medications that Q had brought, likely to get him through a flight… and after a moment's hesitation, Bond decided to add his own first-aid kit too.

"Maybe a spare?" He got up and went into the bathroom. It was large, opulent and thankfully the medicine cabinet above the sink held a variety of painkillers, plasters, bandages and alcoholic wipes. He gathered them and stuff them into the rucksack too. Q's mobile phone went in, then the book that Bond had in his own bag, and he began to shut it… then he paused and added toiletry bags in.

He closed the drawstring and clipped it top shut before grabbing water bottles, filling them at the sink and adding them into the side pockets. "What else?" he muttered, before looped Q's bootlaces through one of the straps and tying them together. Finally, he opened the top pocket and slipped in Q's glasses case.

"Right." He stood up and stripped off, grabbing his towel and heading for the shower.

The pounding water relaxed him as tried to prepare himself for whatever would come next… for whatever state he would find Q in. Bond already knew he'd bled enough to leave a trail of blood across that hotel room floor, but hopefully that was the worst of it. Realistically though, he knew that he'd have to prepare himself in case Q was in no state to walk.

Getting out and drying off, Bond put his fresh suit on the bed and pulled his underwear on, then he began stretching, rolling his muscles for get ready for lifting something more substantial than his weapon. He then knelt down and curled over as he took a moment to focus on breathing, pushing out his stomach before he went back to raising his core body temperature.

When he was done getting ready for physical exertion, he dressed smartly, fastening his watch in place and strapping back on his ankle holster. Once ready, Bond placed his rucksack beside the door and stepped out, following his silent guard into the open and across to a doorway in which the smarmy man who had originally greeted him was waiting.

"This way, Mr Bond." but once he led them inside, he merely held the door to the open to the next room. When Bond entered, it shut behind him with an almost ominous hiss.

"You can touch it, if you like." A soft voice spoke up in the darkened room as Bond stared at the open illuminated item; a lump of dark rock on a fancy stand. "Do you know what it is?"

"A rock." Bond stated, an unimpressed look on his face as Oberhauser stepped into the light. "Where's Q?"

"The Kartenhoff." Oberhauser continued, as though Bond hadn't spoken. "It's a meteorite, the oldest in human possession. It made this very crater in which we stand."

"It's a rock."

"So many years, alone and silent." The man was apparently enjoying his chance to monologue, but Bond was talking in as many details as he could: the jeans, the stiff posture, the slight limp. "Building momentum until it chose to make its mark on Earth. A huge, unstoppable force."

"Except it did stop. Right here." Bon tried to play along, but he honestly didn't care. He wanted to get his quartermaster and leave, preferably while reducing the place to rubble.

"I can't tell you how much I've been looking forward to this." The man informed him, his face blank as he spoke. "Two foster brothers, reunited once more."

"Perhaps. But we're missing someone."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. He's resting at the moment." A door hissed loudly. "Shall we?"

As they walked across to the nest area, Bond clocked the pipelines and barrels that where about, mentally noting the best places to make shots. He liked to have a plan for escaping in advance, hopefully it could be adapted to accommodate bringing Q along.

Without a word, Bond was led into a room that reminded him of the IT branch at MI6, one long path down the middle with rows of computers either side, all shiny and clean and even more soulless than the MI6 branch managed to be.

Oberhauser stopped at one of the computers, and the man in front of it got to his feet. "Is this live?" he pointed to the man's screen.

"No. Nearly 5 hours ago. 16:20 GMT."

Bond looked at the screen. They had access to MI6 CCTV, visual and audio. Bond ignored both men in favour of watching M say good bye to what looked like mostly the admin team, with Moneypenny and Tanner standing silently behind him.

"Well James." Oberhauser spoke again, leading him down the aisle when M had finished speaking. "It looks like you're all alone."

"Not much more than a voyeur, are you?" Bond taunted him slightly, testing his temperament to judge how far he could push. "Too scared to join in."

"I don't quite think you understand." Chuckled Oberhauser, but Bond interrupted him.

"Oh, I think I do." He straightened up as they continued. "You set cities on fire and watch innocent people burn so you can convince governments to join an intelligence network you've paid for. Not that complicated. I'm guessing our little friend, C, he's one of your disciples."

It really was obvious. Bond rather wondered if anyone had asked where in the private sector the large donation for the new Centre for National Security had come from. Watching output that must have come from cameras inside MI6, it seemed obvious that Max Denbigh was the mole. Even if the South Africans had changed their mind about the Nine Eyes surveillance system after the attack in Cape Town, there wouldn't have been enough time to set it all up yet; Oberhauser had someone in there already feeding him information.

"You could say that."

"And what does he get out of it?"

"Nothing. He's a visionary, like me." Oberhauser stated, as though it was very simple but most admirable.

"Visionaries. Psychiatric wards are full of them." It was a word synonymous with maniac… and in this particular case, raving lunatic, it seemed.

"And yet you couldn't see what was right in front of you. You came across me so many times and yet you never saw me." He actually sounded a little bothered by that. Had the man been vying for his attention? "Le Chiffre, Greene, Silva."

"All dead." Not much of a network if they could be picked off one at a time.

"Yeah. That's right." The man smiled at him softly. "A nice pattern developed. You interfered in my world, I destroyed yours… or did you think it was coincidence that all the women in your life ended up dead? Vesper Lynd, for example."

Bond glared at him in silence, wanting to ask about Q again, but unwilling to do so when the man was discussing destroying his world.

"I was surprised that you sent dear Madeline away. I met her when she was a little girl you know." Oberhauser smirked at him, but Bond wasn't attached to her in any way. She wasn't the one he was here for. "Then of course, your beloved M. Gone forever."

The man looked at him, his smile becoming a smirk and he let the hand holding his tablet fall to his side.

"And now you've moved on, if gossip is to be believed. And soon you will lose that dear boy too." He paused, as though waiting for Bond to speak, but the agent's throat had clogged up so he simply stood tall and kept his face unaffected. "Me. It was all me, James. It's always been me. The author of all your pain."

Then he clicked something on his tablet resulting in the lights doing down and the workers standing up in silence, then without a word, they all filed out.

"Are you ready to have your world destroyed again? It was quite a mess you caused in Mexico, wasn't it? Shall I remind you of what you will lose? We don't have access to the more recent videos of Q branch, your beautiful quartermaster kept them well protected, but we have ones dating make to before he was even Q."

On the screens above, an old video feed began to play. It was of old Boothroyd's office, not the last quartermaster, but the one before him. The major was sat at his desk, writing something, though the video wasn't clear enough to see what.

"Ah, 007. You're back." The door opened and a dark-haired man entered. Bond knew the face, had passed it several times when he'd been a junior agent, though he hadn't realised this had been 007. It was a face younger than the one he had known.

"Q. I didn't realise you knew what paperwork was!" his voice was amused and the surprise comfortably fake.

Before either of the men spoke, a small boy pushed the office door open.

"You're late. You missed the Dads and Lads weekend!" The boy was small and skinny, clearly not yet into his teenage years yet, but he apparently had the attitude as he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.

"Sorry Junior. Got held up in Russia." The late 007 turned to accept the embrace that the boy forced on him. "Have you seen how much snow there is over there? Makes for slow traffic."

"You never drive slow." The boy objected into the man's chest.

The video cut off, but Bond kept staring at it. "From what we've found, it seems your new quartermaster is the grandson of the old one, and he'd been unofficially fostered by the old 007." Oberhauser's expression was one of curiosity as he looked back down at his tablet and tapped again. On screen, there was a professional photo of old Boothroyd as he sat beside the old 007, who had the young future Q in his lap. It was a far clearer image than the video had been, and Bond could easily spot the affection between the young boy and the 00 agent.

"We also found this one." It was a photo of Q at a university graduation, in his gown and hat with the agent's arm around him as they both grinned happily. For all Bond considered Q very young, it was almost bizarre how child-like he looked in this photo in comparison with the Q that Bond knew; this one definitely did have spots. "I wonder if the gossip is right and you two are edging your way into a romance, or if he really is just replacing his old foster father with you."

"You really have no room to talk about daddy issues." Bond snarled, feeling protective of this Q that he had never known but who had clearly managed to maintain an edge of innocence, even while working at MI6.

Oberhauser smiled mildly at him and simply played another video, another one from Q Branch, this time showing Q nagging at people as he tried to update the computer systems… but then Bond watched as the previous Q came into the room and addressed the young man as Junior; this must have been after Boothroyd had died.

Then another video of the future Q trying to explain to the old M, Olivia Mansfield, what he had changed on a small, handheld device that Bond couldn't quite see on the video feed.

Another video, and this one made Bond realise why he'd sent the others from the room. It was Q on his knees, wearing that tatty jumper that was in Bond's suitcase right now. He was spluttering, sobbing, whispering "No." over and over, interspersed with swear words. Q's head was pushed into a sink full of water, held under as he thrashed around.

"Where is he!?" Bond snapped, he turned and took a step towards Oberhauser, who watched as one of the guards stepped forwards.

"Play nicely, James, or you don't get to see you dear quartermaster at all. Do we not want any more videos?"

"Fine." He gritted his teeth and held himself still, ignoring the itch to draw his weapon and put the maniac down. "Let's go see him then."

The man signalled his guards, who stepped forwards to force Bond to his knees as they tied his arms behind his back, his foster brother smirking as he watched.

Oberhauser walked at a very slow, leisurely pace as he led Bond back towards the guest rooms, past the turn off for the door Bond had stayed in and up a flight of stairs. It led to a steel room with high walls and no roof; there was only one door into the room, the one they had entered though. It had a slit in the door at about head height, probably to let others view whoever was inside.

"Where is he? Where is Q?" Bond demanded, his temper fraying badly.

"Your next door neighbour." Oberhauser spoke in that pleasant tone again. He signalled the guards, and they pulled Bond back through the room and over to another door just beside the first. this too had a slit in it, which the men pushed him up against, allowing him to peer through into the next room.

It took Bond a moment to recognise the broken figure on the floor; Q was slumped in the corner, dressed in only a grubby t-shirt and the trousers that he had worn in Austria. His whole being froze as he stared in and saw the evidence of beatings, the gunshot wound in his lower right leg, the damage to his face… but he was pulled away before he could look his fill.

"He touchingly refused to help us track your special blood." Oberhauser informed him conversationally. "The man is barely alive, but I saved him so you might watch each other die."

Bond bared his teeth, beyond ready to grab Q and go.

"I'd really like to have stayed, but I'm on a rather strict schedule. We have a whole surveillance system to get up and running in less than 48 hours, and I do want to check everything is running as it should." Then he grinned and looked up and the gap where the ceiling should have been. "Besides, there really isn't anything to see. Too bright for the naked eye."

The man turned and strolled out as one of the guards stepped forwards and knocked Bond out. As he blacked out, he missed Oberhauser wondering aloud whether or not they would wake before they began to burn alive with the African sun beating down on them in a metal room.