A dull day culminating in a two hour long meeting with other department heads and looking over the shoulder of a Q minion as part of their ongoing training of overseeing missions, keeping agents on track and meeting mission objectives. At least he'd had some alone time with the Tel Aviv blueprints to drag him out of the mundane for a few hours. Q smiled as he strolled down the street towards Bond's residence. He might have to thank him again for that rather extravagant gesture of Q appreciation. It was always a pleasant surprise when an agent brought back more than a bag of salvaged metal bits. Occasionally, the minion who was tasked with the responsibility of sifting through the rubble spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out the relevance of some parts to the overall design, only for Q to discover that it wasn't a relevant part at all. The Double-Os in question, skilled in not divulging information, would never admit whether this was a deliberate prank or not. Still, a little more time familiarising himself with one Double-O in particular might yield some interesting insights into the thinking of said agents.

All's fair in love and war after all…

He slipped the key into the front door and paused, hearing the very distinct sound of an Aston Martin growling its way down the street. He turned towards the sound and watched as the silver beast pulled into a space on the opposite side of the street. The engine rumbled to silence and a tuxedo-clad agent stepped out of the driver's seat, holding a bottle of champagne and two flutes. He leaned against the side of the car and kept the sapphire-hued, penetrating glint on Q as he descended the steps to stand on the pavement opposite, arms folded.

"That looks familiar."

"You should know Q, you modified it."

"And who—"

Bond raised the hand holding the glasses to stifle the question. "I couldn't possibly betray the trust of the person who permitted this indulgence for her favourite Quartermaster." He moved towards Q. "I must say Q, you have won the hearts and minds of your staff in an inordinately brief amount of time. Heads of any department hardly get nominated for, never mind win, popularity contests amongst their staff."

He placed the glasses on the wall and popped open the champagne. He handed a glass to Q who took it tentatively. "How concerned should I be regarding what you may have planned this evening, James?"

James savoured the burst of bubbles coating his palate before answering. "Tell you what. If you pack away your concerns in the most impenetrable safe in your mind, just for tonight, I guarantee you won't regret placing your pleasure in my hands, Arthur."

He took both flutes and placed them on the wall. "Tonight, I am James Bond and you are Arthur Clifton and while I am calling in a few favours as 007 in an effort to impress you even more than I already have, all I want is to share an evening with a man of whom I have grown quite fond." He turned towards the car and opened the passenger door. "The fact that he is my Quartermaster is a bonus I never considered myself fortunate enough to enjoy but one I am certainly not going to squander by taking it for granted."

He swept his hand towards the car. "Shall we, Arthur?" Q shrugged in submission. What the hell...

As both men slipped into their seats and James ignited the engine, he turned to Arthur, a sparkle in his eyes that couldn't be interpreted in any other way than the promise of an interesting night ahead. "Have I told you how damnably devastating you look in that suit by the way?"

"You may have mentioned something like that. And as I incorrectly predicted, it wasn't even a close second to how good you look out of yours," Arthur deadpanned.

"You really are something special, Quartermaster," James laughed. "I certainly wasn't wrong about that either." The car rumbled down the street at a sensible speed. For a change. But then, Arthur had learned in these past weeks that James was capable of a high level of restraint when the mood took him and circumstances permitted.

"So. Where are we going?"

"That's not how surprises work, Arthur. Do you trust me?" he asked, as they meandered through Central London, the car drawing plenty of attention from the pedestrian masses.

"Absolutely not."

"Good," said James firmly. "Then you won't be disappointed…" It was then that Arthur noticed they were driving parallel to Hyde Park, and about twenty seconds after that, when they swung into the open area, he noticed a helicopter and her pilot.

Oh Good Lord… "I knew my instincts were bang on when they told me not to trust you, James."

James said nothing, getting out of the car. Strolling round to the passenger side, he opened the door and hauled Arthur out of his seat and into his arms. He didn't hesitate in placing a firm but gentle hand to the back of Arthur's head to bring their lips together, pouring confident dominance into the kiss. Arthur felt his trepidation dissolve and responded in kind.

"Your pleasure in my hands, Arthur." He grabbed his unresisting arm and they jogged towards the aircraft.

"Let's fly, Quartermaster."

For the next fifteen minutes, Q clung onto Bond's thigh with all the fervour of a drowning man clinging to a dwindling lifeline. If Bond was bothered by the steely fingers digging into his leg, he didn't mention it. In fact, between minutes, he would gently run his own fingers down Arthur's back, a soothing motion for which Q was more than appreciative. For his part, he tried to focus on the stars, the moon, the horizon, Bond. The calm exuded by James did indeed help his uneasiness.

"Surely you are at least grateful for the fact that I decided not to fly us there myself?" Bond shouted over the sound of the rotors. Q gave a brief smile. "I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies!"

Q could tell the direction they were taking was Northeast but it was only as the destination came into view, realisation dawned.

Bletchley Park.

The home of the codebreaker and the project that turned around the course of World War II. The brainchild developed and driven by Alan Turing. A man who despite his incredible work in Enigma only recently received the recognition he deserved, having suffered immeasurable injustices at the hands of an ignorant and unenlightened society because pre-1970s, homosexuality was an unacceptable "disease" and therefore subject to chemical castration.

Q felt the lump rise in his throat. He could barely swallow. His heart thumped so loud in his ears, he was sure it could be heard over the helicopter engine. He looked at Bond who was staring calmly ahead, focussed on and relishing the moment in the air, suspended between sky and ground. He tore away his gaze, unable to linger and Q quickly looked away, trying to catch his breath.

With the exception of Charles acceptance of his marriage proposal, this, THIS was the most incredible gesture he had ever received.

Every moment, every gesture, every look culminated into the now, converging like a supernova of the memories and experiences during the last four months. A singular, inescapable realisation that would not, could not be denied.

Fuck.

I hate you, Bond.

Arthur Clifton was in love.