Chapter 14

At five minutes till ten, James was standing across the street from the real estate firm in his best suit – as in the one that was easiest to fight in while also being stunningly tailored. He adjusted his cuffs, assuring himself that the cufflinks were in securely. If need be, he could use them to stun someone.

"All according to plan, 007. All the cameras in the area were mysteriously pointed away from your approach or their feeds have been placed on loops of the empty street. Also, Mr. Carver's alarm system has been remotely deactivated, so he won't be able to call for help outside of who's currently in the office."

"… Okay, so you're pretty good."

"Thank you, Ms. R."

"Of course you did know the log in to Carver's computer system already, so I can't give you credit for that bit."

"I wouldn't expect you to. But you have to admit the cameras were a lovely touch. They keep an eye on those, and when he shows up without having appeared on any of their monitors-"

"Oh I wish I could be there to see their faces."

James cleared his throat. "As lovely as the banter is, could you put it on mute for a bit? This is the part where I have to concentrate."

"Apologies, 007," Q and R said simultaneously.

He smiled. Something in him had known Q and R would get along swimmingly, despite everything the woman had tried to say as she peacocked her way around the lab during the introductions. James had left Q in her hands and gone to prepare for his meeting with Carver, but Q had assured him that he'd fix everything once he had his hands on a good computer.

Mallory had obviously taken a shine to Q after their original meeting two days prior, and that shine had not left him just because Q got kidnapped. In fact, the ex-soldier seemed to approve of Q more now that he'd been taken hostage and had his loyalties tested. His meeting with Q this morning had been private, but James suspected it had a lot of questions like 'Are you willing to give your life for your country?' and 'How far would you go to protect an asset?' among others.

There may also have been a thinly veiled question about Q's relationships with both James and Eve. Q hadn't said as much, but James suspected it had happened anyway.

And now Q was in the I.T. department, hacking public security feeds as well as private. It would be a lie to say James wasn't extremely pleased.

With a steadying breath, James prepped himself, and then he was stepping briskly through the front door of the office. The assistant from last time stood up abruptly from her seat behind the glass, obviously caught by surprise.

"Mr. Sterling!" she greeted, a note too high in her shock. She glanced down at her computer, where James expected she could see the security feeds from outside, and then came around to greet him properly. "Right on time. Wonderful. I'll let Mr. Cane know you've arrived."

She was smiling, but her discomfort was badly hidden, and as she turned away she dropped the smile entirely. James didn't though. R was right. The reaction was brilliant. The secretary vanished down the hall to the offices, and James took the time to unplug the phone line, just in case. When she came back, he was standing in the middle of the room as though he'd never moved.

"He's ready for you. Last door on the left." Her composure was back and she smiled genuinely this time.

"Thank you."

Walking casually, James strolled down the hall as though he had all day to get there and then stepped through the open door at the end. A wiry man with spectacles was sitting behind an ornate Chinese desk, his hair fully grey and thinning. Honestly, James had expected to find someone more intimidating in appearance, but he supposed it didn't take physical strength to be a psychopath or to participate in human trafficking.

"Ah, Mr. Sterling," Riley greeted and stood to offer his hand. James took it and they shook. Then the older man retook his seat, fixing his tie as he did. "My assistant tells me you're looking to transport a special type of cargo into the city. How can Cane Real Estate be of service?"

"Something tells me your buildings are superb at hiding bodies," James said coolly, remembering how he'd left Charlie in the basement. Riley's smile was tight. "And I'd like to hide a few."

"What kind of bodies were you thinking?" the older man asked, and his smooth acceptance of James talking about bodies and not people confirmed everything about the man that James had been thinking.

"Yours," he answered honestly and Riley frowned. "But whether or not you help me find Blofeld determines whether that body is alive or dead, Mr. Carver."

Elliot Carver's eyes were cold behind his steel rimmed glasses. He reached down to press a button on his phone, but nothing happened. Brow pulling, the older man looked down at the button as he pressed it again, but still nothing happened.

"Don't bother, Mr. Carver. I disconnected your main phone line, and all of your security protocols have been switched off by a mutual friend of ours." He leaned on the desk, absently admiring the craftsmanship. "The bad news is you're wanted for human trafficking, kidnapping and torturing a British citizen, extortion, and I'm sure a long list of other delightfully terrible crimes. The good news is you're not the head of the snake. I'm after Blofeld. Give me information about him and his location, and maybe I'll go easy on you."

"Blofeld?" Carver asked, standing from his desk chair slowly. James' tactics had obviously shaken him, but he did not appear like a man about to crack under pressure. "He's not in town, I'm afraid. But I'm sure I could get a message to him. Perhaps one containing your fingers."

"Or yours," James agreed. He was about to reach for Carver's hand, to wrench it back and pin the man to the table, but before he could make a move, the door opened.

The secretary walked in, all poised and holding a tray with two glasses of water. She saw the two men standing across from each other, narrowed her eyes at Carver, and must have seen some type of order there. James had just enough time to put up his arm before she was trying to take his head off with the tray.

The two glasses shattered on the floor as he shoved the tray away from himself and forced the woman back at the same time. She stumbled into the wall before kicking out at him. She was not just a secretary, he realized, noting her form and the strength in her muscles. Dodging, he lifted the tray, and her hand, until it was right by her head. She glared and tried to punch him with her free hand, but he leaned out of the way.

Then he slammed his fist into the tray, into her head, and she crumpled to the ground. The force and the sound made her too disoriented to stand, and he might have blown her eardrum out… or at least made her ear hurt a lot for a little while.

James turned from her and where she was holding her ear, and bent to lift one of the glasses from the floor. It was mostly destroyed, with only a quarter of the sides remaining. However, it made a perfect weapon since the base was still intact and the side ended in multiple jagged shards.

"Now now, Mr. Carver," James scolded and turned around with the glass in hand. "That wasn't very kind of you and your assistant."

"Mr. Sterling," Carver began, eyes on the jagged glass. James made a 'hmm' noise. It seemed Carver was unaware of James' true identity. Despite Mr. White's warnings, the secret service was not the only one without all the pieces of the puzzle. "I am a businessman."

"And you've gone into business with the wrong people, Mr. Carver," James replied, stepping around the desk. He held up the glass as though admiring it before turning a calm gaze on the aging man in front of him – on the man who organized the kidnapping of innocent civilians for slavery, who'd tortured Q for trying to get out. He may look like an ordinary old man, but Elliot Carver was not innocent. James' voice was cold. "Now about the information I requested."


Blofeld was in Scotland. In the few days since Bond's meeting with Mr. White, the man had gone north to see about a hiccup in his supply chain. In Carver's supply chain. Despite opposition to the plan, 007 was grounded from going after the man, and 004 was sent instead. It was a dead or alive mission, and Bond was eager to be the one to put a bullet between Blofeld's eyes. Alas, M had a great point for not sending James. Two points actually. One, James was becoming too emotionally involved in the case. Two, his reason for being emotionally involved was employed downstairs now and M was ordering James to take the young man out for a break.

"Leave Blofeld to 004. Your new friend in I.T. hasn't stopped working since we got him into the bloody lab three days ago. He's going to wither away before we've gotten any good mileage out of him. Take him out for coffee or to a petting zoo or whatever it is young people do these days, will you?" Mallory said. He tried to sound annoyed, but James just heard fondness.

So while Moneypenny was busy collecting data for a report Mallory needed by end of day, James took the lift down to I.T. and R&D. When the door opened, he found Q tinkering with something at a long desk while R leaned on the side. They were both talking animatedly about whatever it was Q was working on, but as James approached, the conversation turned.

"So what does R stand for anyway?" Q asked, his eyes down on his project. "I mean, it can't possibly stand for Research just because you work in R&D, right?"

She laughed, something James didn't know she could do without sarcasm, but there it was. "No. It's short for Raquel. But the nickname comes in handy since I'm pseudo in charge of R&D anyway. Pretty sure your name isn't a letter either, Q."

"It's short for Quincy," he admitted. "My mother wanted to name me after John Quincy Adams, but pap won over on the first name. Thank Queen and Country. So now I'm Daniel. But my mum's been calling me Quincy most of my life. I think it's her way of pretending she won the name battle."

"Daniel Quincy Adams, is it?" James asked, making himself known. Immediately, R's face became less friendly. Not hostile, but definitely not an expression that allowed honest laughter. "Still not convinced I shouldn't call you Quincy."

"Unless you want me to associate you with my mother, I still highly discourage such action," Q answered without missing a beat. He didn't seem startled at all, despite the fact that his back was to James. "Did you need something, 007?"

"Back to numbers, are we?" James asked, a little disappointed, but he didn't let the question hang. "You've got some field work to do, Mr. Adams. M's orders."

Under his breath, Q murmured, "I think I liked Quincy better." Then he set his project down and stood up. When he moved aside, James saw he'd been tinkering with a watch of all things. So not a fun new weapon then. Pity. "Alright. Hopefully I come back in one piece. See you later, R?"

"Absolutely, Q. And if you're not back in twelve hours, I'll send backup. Can't trust a Double O to bring back his toys uninjured." The sassy woman gave James a stare that he swore should only be allowed on mothers. It warned James not to hurt her little boy. But hang on. R wasn't that much older than Q. Was she? James really didn't know anything about her.

Q chuckled a little sourly. "Very reassuring, dear."

Then he shuffled past James toward the lift. R and James exchanged one more tense look before the older man smiled at her, throwing her off, and then turned away. Maybe it was work, maybe it was trauma, but M was right – Q wasn't quite right. It was obvious in the set of his shoulders, in the tense way he walked. Hell, maybe it was James' fault. He didn't know. But a short coffee date should help.

Once out in the pale sunlight of a bleak but dry day in London, James directed Q toward the tube.

"Where are we going?" the younger man asked. "I'm not trained for fighting, you know. Did M need me to hack something? Program a security system?"

"Not exactly," James admitted. "His orders were to take you to a petting zoo. But my guess is you don't get along with goats and geese."

Q stopped walking and waited until James did the same before he spoke. His brow was drawn together and he glanced back at the office. "Is this a joke?"

"Not unless you find it funny," he said. Then he motioned toward the tube entrance again. "I promise my plans do not involve baby animals, but M has decided you need a break from the lab. Now, do you trust me enough to proceed or will you scurry back into the dark of R&D?"

There was a pause of uncertainty, and James tried not to let it get to him. Did Q not trust him? But then Q scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Of course I trust you, 007. Lead on."

The name still bugged him, but James let it slide once more in lieu of getting Q moving. They spoke very little on the short trip, but once they were stepping out of the underground, Q couldn't help a snort of amusement.

"Are there no other coffee shops in London?" he asked.

"It's not actually about the coffee." James led the way across the busy street but let Q enter the building first. "It's about familiarity. Normalcy. Comfort."

"Well Prufrock fits all of those, I suppose." He nodded shortly and then they were quiet again.

The line wasn't long, and soon they were sitting in the back of the shop, in the same spot where James had eavesdropped before. After a sip or two each, James cleared his throat. "Are you sleeping at the office?" he asked. Because he knew Q wasn't sleeping at home, and he definitely hadn't slept at James' place since the first night. Or had Q gone to his parents?

"Yes. It lets me work on decrypting S.P.E.C.T.E.R. files and work on countermeasures until I fall asleep, and then I can continue as soon as I wake up." Q took another disinterested sip of coffee. "It's practical."

"It's taxing," James countered. "No agent is meant to be on site that long unless there is an immediate threat to her majesty the queen or an imminent attack. Neither of which is the case here."

"Isn't it though? Blofeld is still out there. His operations span five countries we're aware of. Until we have him in custody, he could be initiating any number of attacks and operations." He sighed and rubbed his left eye without taking off his glasses. "And until we have him, I must keep working. I gave him the blueprint of how to encrypt all of his communications. And that's only the most recent project I'd been working on for Riley. Who knows how many of my ideas are being used by these people? I need to help decode or fix whatever they find."

"You have a team now, Q. They have your software too. Work with R to delegate tasks. You don't have to do everything." It was ironic that he was giving such advice, considering he worked alone nine times out of ten and only called back to base if he ran out of every other option. But this was what Q needed to hear. And it was true for him.

"No. 007. You don't-"

"James," the agent interrupted casually.

Q looked up from his coffee, frowning like James had just told him they couldn't get a new puppy. "What?"

"My name is James Bond. I'm thirty-nine years old. I drink to deal with P.T.S.D., and also because I like to." He held his coffee up like he would take a sip but didn't. "Why do you insist on calling me by my number when you have known the rest of me for countless weeks?"

A frown formed on Q's face, dragging down his eyebrows, creating wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth. "But have I known you?" he asked. "I worked for Riley Cane, for Elliot Carver, for more than a year. Not once did I ever imagine how many lies I had become trapped in. I never doubted his name, his origins. I played along perfectly in his plans. And you, I have known you for a far shorter time. And I didn't know you either. I took you for a traveling businessman. Come to find out you work for the government. It's funny, though. I used to consider myself a very good judge of character."

James pressed his lips together and gave himself time to consider how best to respond. It was true, after all, that Q had worked for a crime organization for a year without noticing, but there were plenty of cogs in the wheels of crime and espionage that had no idea they were even part of a machine. James knew that as surely as he knew the chance of a wet day in Ireland. But Q was struggling, and James was not the best with words. They both knew that.

"You seem a fine judge to me," he finally said. He cast his eyes out toward the doors and the street. "Moneypenny could not think higher of you, and even the employees of this coffee shop are fond of you in particular despite seeing hundreds of faces a day. Several times in your messages, you made it clear you had distaste for your work and your supervisor. Perhaps you didn't know what he was plotting, but you still knew he was up to something. A mouse doesn't need to see the teeth to know a cat is dangerous. It just knows. Just as you knew."

"A smart mouse would run," Q countered.

"A clever mouse would investigate," James said, looking back at his friend. His friend? His Q. He was Q's James. "And you are quite the clever mouse, Daniel. After all, you surmised my employment without me breathing a word of it."

The younger man chuckled. "You weren't exactly hiding it either."

Shaking his head and waving his hand to dismiss any such notion, James continued his pep talk. "The point is you haven't been trained yet. Your natural affinity for people's inherent goodness is commendable, but under MI-6, you'll be trained in psychology and how to recognize patterns in speech and behavior. I suppose I'm trying to say that recognizing threats for what they are is a trained skill. And you'll learn quickly."

The speech was met with a calm silence as Q seemed to absorb the words. He drank slowly from his cup and pressed his lips tight when he wasn't drinking, and for several long moments neither said a word. It was comfortable for James. He commended himself for such a good speech, really, and had no doubt Q would find benefit from it as well… even if it took him a few moments to figure it out. James was also no stranger to drawn out silences during conversation, or outright silence in his life. In fact, he'd never spoken so often to another person in his life as a spy as he did with Q. That as well was commendable to Q's nature. He would work well within the service.

Finally, Q set his cup down and sighed. "After all I've done in service to S.P.E.C.T.E.R., I'm surprised you still want anything to do with me," he admitted. The cold edge to his voice was not aimed at James, so he took no offense.

"Of course," James replied with a small upward lift of his lips. "What would I do without my Q?"

The words had the desired effect, and Q's expression grew awed and embarrassed in one melded moment. Just as James had taken to heart the phrase 'my James', it seemed Q also enjoyed being labeled in that fashion. Hopefully James' pleasure at that realization wasn't too apparent on his features. He just loved ruffling Q's feathers and making him embarrassed with compliments. Honestly, he did.

"Well- Don't get too full of yourself now, James. I'm not your Q anymore. I belong to the government, remember?" He motioned to his empty cup. "Speaking of which, we should be heading back. I think this coffee break has gone on long enough. I have projects to work on."

"Of course you do." James stood and drained the last of his cup before allowing Q to lead the way out.

The day was still bright by London terms and James was comfortable strolling at his own pace to return to the cramped disaster that was the tube. It seemed Q, despite his urging, was in the same mental state, and they took twice as long to find their way across the street and to the stairs.

The underground was full of commuters and tourists all pushing their way through halls and up escalators, but James was comfortable so long as Q was in view. When they found their station and were waiting for the next train, James even found himself humming a bit. Hearing Q call him James again had restored his good mood, and he saw no reason to give that up.

As the train roared into view, Q cleared his throat. "But perhaps," he said, barely audible over the hydraulics and the people, "I may be your Daniel."

James smiled as the crowds began shuffling into their speedy tuna can, he and Q included. "Of course you are," he said. When he looked down at Q, he saw the other staring out the windows of the car and trying to hide that he was grinning too.