It had been a while since James Bond had been in the Kwoon Combat Room. It still looked the same. Maybe a little bit less well-maintained, with a rougher look, but essentially it was what he remembered it to be. The Kwoon was a specialized arena in the Shatterdome where the Rangers were taught to fight in order to amplify their proficiency in combat situations. He had been through countless such sessions, had found Vesper here, had fought with her for seemingly forever.
There were memories here.
Not all of them good.
As was standard, people taught in self-defense, Navy personnel and neural physiologists were brought in to ensure that Rangers were pushed to their physical and mental limits. There had always been a group of watchers, making notes, remarking to each other on the trainee's performance, and later huddling together and exchanging notes.
Bond could still hear his teacher from when he had gone through the grueling Academy training.
"You will be constantly tested and pushed to your physical and mental limits," had been the cold, matter-of-fact words. "How much you can remember, learn and maintain within a short period of time determines whether or not you'll make the cut and become a Ranger!"
Miranda Frost had been a tough bird. One of the Mark-I pilots who had risked everything fighting in a barely isolated, nuclear-powered exoskeleton. She had been something of a pioneer. Like many of her fellow rangers she had paid a price. Cancer.
But instead of stepping down, taking care of herself, she had turned into a hard-as-nails teacher.
Very few who joined the Academy ever made it past the first cut. Those who trained Jaeger pilot hopefuls, trained them with the intention of breaking their spirit. They maintained relentless tactics to exemplify the mercilessness of the Kaiju in battle, showing the trainees what they would go up against.
Nothing about becoming a Jaeger pilot was glorious. The blood, sweat and tears were real. The threat of death was very real. You either had the mental fortitude to make it or you were one of the many rejects.
Training sessions could last up to fourteen hours a day, taking everything out of a man or woman. James had made it through.
He hadn't missed it.
Not much. Really.
And still, it was like riding a bicycle. He was in the room and things kept coming back.
Training combat for pilots consisted of varying martial arts. There was also weapons training with long range and short range weapons, as well as fencing. Combat training allowed them to utilize their skills in Jaeger combat during the Drift. Everything they did, everything they were told to do, was to assess their team abilities, their fitness, their mental stability, and the better the Kwoon results, the closer one was to finding a co-pilot.
The goal within the Kwoon was to forge this ideal partnership, analyze how they moved together, how they worked together, how clues were picked up and worked with.
That was what made a successful Jaeger.
Cooperation. Trust. Give and take.
It was more than just physical prowess or fitness. It was physiological as well as psychological. Drifts weren't between a superior and a subordinate. They were between equals.
Bond closed his eyes, felt part of himself untangle just a little bit. His fingers closed around the wooden staff he had grabbed from a rack, and he twirled it.
So easy.
All coming back, and so easy.
A year had passed and he hadn't been gone.
He opened his eyes again and started to go through the motions, warming up, remembering, recalling, pushing the dark memories away.
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The thump as the body hit the floor mat seemed to resound in the otherwise silent room.
That had been the last of them. Mary Goodnight. Young, promising, talented, but not a match.
Bond shook his head as the candidate scrambled to her feet, looking rather frightened and beaten.
All of them had been beaten.
None of them had felt right.
One or two had been close. He had watched for their responses, their action and reactions, but they always went out of sync.
It was like a curse.
He knew he was an experienced pilot going up against rookies that had never seen a moment of real battle. They had excelled at simulations, had beaten the imaginary monsters, had been great in the Kwoon with their fellow trainees, but they weren't for him.
Goodnight left, her shoulders slumped, her whole body trembling a little. It hadn't even been much of a fight. He had beaten her 4-0.
"You have a knack for not only putting them in their place, but also for putting them down."
Bond turned. He hadn't really heard anyone approach. The tryouts had been with the usual watchers, but they had already dispersed, talking softly amongst themselves. He just knew what they would say.
Unfit.
Incompatible.
Carrying too much emotional weight with him.
In need of psychological help.
Too dangerous. A nightmare to work with, a danger to the co-pilot, unable to sync.
He had heard it before
It was laughable.
The only other neural handshake he had tried after Vesper had been with Moneypenny. It had been the wrong match to begin with, his loss, her loss, both of them tearing apart at the seams, revenge and fury combining to blow the Pons apart.
A year had passed. Bond knew he had only further declined, not gotten more stable, but he also realized that this time, in here, he had to find a match to fight again.
Or he could just roll on his back and wait for death.
Drawing himself out of the abyss yawning beneath him, waiting for him to fall and catch him, he raised an eyebrow at the slender young man standing in the doorway to the training room. He was carrying a tablet, carefully balanced on one hands, and he raised his eyes to look at Bond with a slightly bemused expression. Tousled hair, oversized glasses, wearing a slightly disheveled outfit, Bond suspected he was either one of the research scientists studying the Kaijus or one of the engineers only working on paper with the Jaeger designs.
Probably the latter. He had that tech geek vibe.
But whoever he was, something inside Bond seemed to ping with his presence. Something about the unassuming young man had Bond sit up and take notice. It wasn't the sizzle of a connection he had had when he had first met Vesper in the Kwoon. It wasn't that instantaneous knowledge that they would be compatible.
It was something else.
It hung between them and James couldn't really put his finger on it. It was strong, sparking already, and he itched in a way that he hadn't for a long time.
For a year.
Maybe even longer.
Whatever it was, the connection was there, almost palpable for him to feel. This was what the psychologists talked about in the classes. This was what the neural scientists expected. This was what Bond had been looking for in the stream of trainees coming to the tryout.
"007," the newcomer nodded at him, as if it was a kind of code or rank.
The Vancouver pilots had been given Double-Oh codes and Bond had been 007 ever since the first time he had Drifted with Vesper. Among the Jaeger pilots in all the Shatterdomes, 'Double-Oh' had become a nick-name for the Vancouver batch.
He felt like the last of his kind, really. Alex was the only one left alive. 006. If being in a coma counted. Everyone else had perished.
Yes, he was a dinosaur.
"And who are you?" Bond asked.
"I'm your new quartermaster."
"You must be joking," he almost blurted, taken by surprise.
"Why? Because I don't wear a lab coat?"
There was a challenge in the calm, sure words. The dark eyes met his own fearlessly, despite Bond's impressive appearance, the quiet, deadly grace. Bond knew he had scared some of the recruits by just standing there. He hadn't slacked off physically, despite his absence from real battle. He was in shape.
But this one wasn't a recruit.
This one wasn't even rattled.
"Because you still got spots," he scoffed.
"My complexion is hardly relevant," was the indignant reply.
"Your competence is," Bond growled.
Quartermaster! This kid was supposed to be the quartermaster? He had known this Q's predecessor. Major Boothroyd had been killed in a Kaiju attack on Sydney.
Like every department head in the Shatterdome, the quartermaster was only known by a single letter. Q for the quartermaster. M for the Marshall. It seemed to be a British thing, since none of the others had the same knack. The quartermaster was a peculiar British thing, too. Or a Vancouver thing.
"Age is no guarantee for efficiency, 007," the new Q said evenly.
"And youth is no guarantee for innovation."
He stopped in front of the younger man. He looked barely out of college, pale skinned, thin, too young for this. How old was he? Twenty? Twenty-five?
But still, that strength was there for Bond to see. It was a backbone he sometimes didn't find in Jaeger trainees. Q knew he who he was, what he could do, what he was capable of. He was completely assured in his abilities.
"007."
"Q," he answered, lips curling into a smile that was matched by his quartermaster.
He liked him.
The connection was there and it was growing, the proximity doing the rest.
"I was very serious about the candidates. None of them are even close to acceptable."
Q raised his eyebrows. "Really."
Bond didn't react, his stare unnerving for many but Q didn't so much as blink.
"That isn't up to you," the new quartermaster added.
"Aren't you a little young for being quartermaster of the Shatterdome?"
"I was chosen by M. You have to take it up with her."
He laughed softly, leaning on the staff. "So you are evaluating the potential co-pilots?"
"I am."
Bond smirked and leaned closer, an imposing figure that could strike fear into other engineers.
"Oh please, 007. This only works in school yards." Q's expression reflected annoyance.
Oh, he liked this one. A lot. He hadn't been given this much snark and lip since… a long time ago. The man seemed to have no fear, no reservations to treat the Double-Oh like he would anyone, and he had a calm, assertive manner that appealed to Bond.
A lot.
Damn.
"What qualifies you to do that, quartermaster? Have you ever gone through a Drop?"
Dark brows rose and the youthful expression grew slightly haughty. "I implemented the omega codes myself. I also designed most of the upgraded operating system on Skyfall Prime. My experience in Jaeger tech far surpasses that of any technician currently employed in any of the Shatterdomes."
"Modest," Bond smirked. "But you didn't answer my other question."
"Of course I went through Drops."
"How many Drops?" he challenged.
"Forty-seven."
"How many kills?"
"Forty-seven."
Bond stared at him, hard. Daring him to lie. Daring him to exaggerate. What he saw was complete and utter truth, the competency of a quartermaster, the knowledge of an engineer, the seniority and experience most J-Techs didn't have after ten years working at a Shatterdome. All coupled in this unassuming man.
"I built them," Q said, cocking his head a fraction. "I programmed their core codes. I understand them better than anyone in this Shatterdome. Eon Gold and Quantum Solace were prime examples of the new generation, surpassing even Moon Raker. Kill Royale was an incredible loss. Skyfall Prime might be old, but she is ready."
"She, Q?"
The quartermaster didn't even blush. "She," he only confirmed.
"Applying gender to a non-sentient A.I.?"
Q ignored the smirk, just raised an eyebrow.
"So, you are going to teach an old dog new tricks?" he teased.
"Instinct can't be taught."
Bond didn't respond. He watched his quartermaster, then a slow, slow smile stole over his lips.
"You never wanted to pilot one outside a simulation?" Bond switched the topic back to what was really on his mind.
"No."
Bond twirled the staff. "I wonder how you would test, quartermaster."
"I hardly think so, 007. I will compile a new list. We will find you a co-pilot."
Bond blocked his way with the staff. "You."
Q froze. "I'm not a candidate."
"M gave me free choice. I want you."
"I…" He looked slightly flustered for the first time.
James liked it. It was an appeal he hadn't thought possible before.
"You have the experience."
"In theory, 007. In simulators. On paper."
"Like all of the candidates in this mockery of a tryout. What are you afraid of, quartermaster?" he asked, grinning. "The Drift?"
Q simply gave him that look and it was impressive all on its own.
Q was impressive.
Bond was impressed.
"We are not compatible, 007," he stated like it was a fact that had already been proven.
Oh, but they were. He knew they were. Bond was one of the oldest pilots, though age said nothing about skill. He could feel it in his bones that this was his co-pilot.
"You never Drifted," he said, voice a low rumble, meeting the intense eyes of the quartermaster. "But you know everything about it. About the intensity, nothing to hide, all thoughts there for the other to see. Is that what you fear?"
Q looked rather unimpressed. "No."
"So you want to sit here, doing nothing but watch? Knowing that you might be the best for Skyfall Prime?" Bond prodded, his tone of voice rougher now, with more anger. "Do you want to watch the numbers or do you want a chance to see what your designs can do?"
Q didn't shrink back, didn't move a single step. His shoulders were still squared, his stance strong and proud.
Oh yes, Bond liked him.
It was a feeling, instinct, something that had saved him and Vesper too many times to count. She had been perfect for him and this one… he felt perfect, too.
More than that.
This was the one he had never hoped to find.
"This is the last chance humanity has, Q. Against the Kaiju. To stop the Apocalypse. I won't be able to pilot Skyfall Prime alone."
"I'm not a co-pilot."
Bond thrust the staff at him. "Show me."
For a moment nothing happened. It was like a stand-off, both men looking at the other, watching, waiting.
Then Q put the tablet aside as Bond picked up another staff. His glasses were folded and placed on top. He watched as Q twirled it and he had to hold back a grin. Q knew how to use one.
Step one.
Bond took a stance, shooting the other man a look. "Come on, quartermaster. Show me you're not a pilot."
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He was a genius.
He was a tech nerd.
He was highly intelligent, fast, worked computers like magic and did the impossible with the technology at his disposal. He wrote codes no one else understood at first. He wrote programs that baffled other genius-level engineers. He was one of a kind and scarily perfect when it came to the interaction with the Jaeger A.I.s.
Not that they were sentient.
But he had a knack.
Q was an asset and Vancouver had been oh-so lucky to have him. Offered the position of the Chief LOCCENT officer, he had declined. Being the quartermaster, in charge of all the weaponry and tech, had been more up his alley.
Whoever met him the first time would underestimate the young genius. After that, the respect was true and earned.
Now he stood in the Kwoon Room, facing down James Bond, an elite Jaeger pilot, and something inside of him screamed at Q what an idiot he was.
He wasn't pilot material. He wasn't even close to one. The Drops had been made because the quartermaster had wanted to know how his tech and upgrades worked first hand.
In retrospect…
He shifted a little on his feet.
Who could have foreseen a man like James Bond wanting him as a co-pilot? It was laughable!
Blue eyes, bright and intense, glacial in their actual color, watched him. A predator, plain to see.
He had read the man's file. He had brilliant mind in a body honed to perfection. He was a senior martial artist, had the grace and the skill and the strength, and he was lethal with any form of long or short range weapon. He was smarter than he let on, he was quick on his feet, he understood more of the tech babble than others, though he would never confess to it, and he thrived under the pressure of a mission.
But there was so much more to this man.
Q knew about the loss of Vesper Lynd, that she had drowned, that Bond had changed after that. The Drift with Moneypenny had been almost catastrophic.
He had refused to be paired up with anyone after that.
So why him?
Q tested the weight of the staff, twirling it slowly. It wasn't his first time in combat training, but he preferred not to engage in too many tryouts. It had been a matter of keeping in shape and some of the pilots or trainers had readily let him spar.
M had been aware of his scores, that he had a perfect Drop rate, but she had never so much as mentioned a possible co-pilot seat.
Until James Bond.
Those ice blue eyes met and held his. Q didn't shy away, didn't drop his gaze.
"Ready?"
Q took a stance.
It got him a terrifying smile, one that should have shaken him to the core but didn't. Interestingly enough the smile and the expression sparked something inside Q. It wasn't apprehension of this confrontation. Nor was it arousal.
No, it was different.
It touched deeper and it was welcome and confusing in one.
He resolutely pulled his mind away from that dangerous track, concentrating on what was about to happen.
"Ready," Q said.
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Bond's lips curled into a smile as he watched Q walk from the Drivesuit Room into the Conn-Pod.
He had known Q would match him.
He had known he would be pilot material.
The fight had been evenly matched, the synchronicity had been almost perfect for their first time, and if they had more time, if they survived the next mission, he knew training would be very enjoyable.
Bond had made it out of the sparring 4-3 in his favor. It said something about Q and his abilities that he had landed three points. It said something about Bond that he hadn't managed to keep the seemingly weaker opponent at bay.
It said a whole lot about his instincts as a pilot. He had loved every second of it and he had enjoyed seeing the quartermaster in action. He had known what he was doing and he had received training at some point.
Suited up in the black and blue colored Drivesuit with the silvery highlights, Q looked almost like he had never worn anything else. The grace and competence were reflected in his gait, the silent knowledge that he knew this inside out.
"Black becomes you, Q."
"Shut up, 007," was the light reply.
They had gotten to know each other in the last few days, training together, eating together, spending a lot of free hours getting to know the other man. Q wasn't a thin, gangly science nerd. He had muscle underneath those cardigans, trained muscle. He went to the gym on a regular basis.
Bond had liked what he had seen when both men had sparred. He had appreciated the sight of the sinewy form, the grace in each martial arts move. No, Q wasn't untrained.
He was also… unique. Interesting. He was a challenge for Bond and James Bond thrived on challenged. The man was a genius, one of six people in the world who could read and understand omega core codes.
James liked the quiet snark, the ready comebacks, the banter. He liked that Q wasn't really impressed by him, his past kills, his experience. Nor did he react to the silent deadliness, the darkness that was innate in Bond, the killer inside him that thrived on tearing a Kaiju apart.
He liked him. Period.
And the way M looked at him, it was very obvious.
Something between them had already clicked. Something was building, something was taking on shape and form.
Of course, with the Drift they were about to try all the small talk and shared hours would become meaningless. The Drift was like a mind meld, two individuals becoming one. Bond would know everything about Q. Every last detail. He would have his memories, the emotions, the instincts.
Drifting allowed them to act as one and control the very movement of the Jaeger itself, one pilot controlling the right hemisphere, the other the left hemisphere. They would have one mind, one thought, one instinct.
"Initiating launch operations."
The technicians were swarming around them, the spinal clamps fitting smoothly into place with soft clicks. Bond rolled his shoulders, feeling the first tingles of the connection. He put on his helmet, the Relay Gel sinking into the suit, reading to transmit the impulses between both pilots.
Logging into the guidance control, Bond checked Skyfall's status. She was powering up nicely. The digital HUD went online, the virtual environment bathing everything in a soft blue. The physical controls locked into place.
"Remember, don't chase the rabbit," he told his soon-to-be Drift partner.
Q shot him an annoyed look. "I know the drill."
"Just checking. You are a rookie despite all your theoretical knowledge."
The annoyance grew and Bond grinned at him. It was something he had noted happening between them. Their back and forth verbal play, the banter, the taunting and teasing, the way Bond shadowed his new co-pilot.
And Q would either look exasperated, annoyed or scolding.
It puzzled those who were around them, who had watched the new team for the past days, and who had bets going on whether Bond had lost it in choosing the quartermaster.
No one could understand what it was like to have Q around him.
That he felt more relaxed than any time before. That he liked the quiet hours when he simply watched the other man at work. That he lived for their verbal exchanges, the sparring, the arguments, the snappy replies.
James Bond felt more alive. He felt like his old self. The dark hole inside him, the emptiness of Vesper, where she had been, was still there, but the darkness was now only a quiet hum that had him at ease.
Around Q.
"I'm not a novice," Q said evenly, pulling Bond out of his thoughts.
"You are, Q."
The glare was reviving.
During the Drift, pilots would lapse into silence. Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers or R.A.B.I.T. simply meant that one of the pilots latched onto a memory, focusing on it completely, chasing it down. He would freeze in that moment. The emotions from the memory typically translated into actions for the Jaeger, depending on the hemisphere the pilot was calibrated to.
There had been very intense reactions in some Drifts and Bond had had one with Eve when they had Drifted. She had nearly managed to launch Skyfall Prime and rampage through the Shatterdome.
There was nothing more intimate than this neural bridge. There was no hiding, no lies, nothing.
And there was no shame.
Everything was there for the other half to see.
It was literally a peek into someone else's head, someone else's soul. With all the consequences, good or bad.
Bond wondered what it would be like to peek into Q's, what secrets he hid, what lay beneath that unassuming exterior.
"Pons is ready," a voice announced. Bill Tanner, the Chief LOCCENT Officer. "Prepare for neural handshake."
Bond glanced to his right, saw the slender, suited up form of his co-pilot.
"Neural Handshake in fifteen seconds."
Q met his eyes, projecting nothing but calm and control.
"Ten. Pilot-to-pilot connection engaged," the female voice told them evenly.
"Nine."
The Jaeger A.I.
"Eight."
It was time for man to become the machine.
"Seven."
"Any last words, Q?"
"Six."
Q's expression was calm, neutral. "This is a supremely bad idea."
"Five."
His lips curled into a little smile. No, it wasn't. He knew they would be beyond comparison.
"Four."
"Gentlemen, are you ready to Drift?" Tanner asked.
"Three."
"Bring it on," Bond challenged.
"Two."
"One."
As the voice hit zero, Bond felt the pull of the Drift and he let it happen. He hadn't Drifted in months, but it was as if he had never gotten off that horse. He felt the rush of another mind melding into his, saw flashes of memories, of emotions, felt the presence glide and whirl around him.
It was sensual.
Almost sexual.
It was a kind of intimacy that couldn't be achieved outside the neural bridge.
And he let it happen.
tbc...