"To think the state the world might be in today were it not for the genius of Turing." In terms of hero worship, Arthur Clifton's admiration of the Father of Modern Computing knew no bounds. Fortunately, James Bond had given up long ago on being the jealous type.

"You and I would be living on London streets. Destitute and homeless," replied James, not missing a beat.

Having been deposited in an open area close to Hut 6, and after a walk through the rooms that the reconstructed Bombe and the Enigma machine called home, they were making their way around the pond towards the Mansion House.

"How on Earth did you manage to swing this, James? I can barely get M to sign off on a new laptop without doing the gymnastic equivalent of the Cirque du Soleil."

The evening was cool so James pulled out a flask of Scotch from his inside jacket pocket and passed it to Q. "I know a lot of people in low places, Arthur, but quite a few who pack some punch. I rescued the Foreign Minister's teenage daughter from a tight spot at a diplomatic function several years back. Before you joined the SIS ranks."

"And don't tell me. He was eternally grateful for your part in keeping her honour intact. Or did you…?"

James gave a hum of disapproval as they entered the Mansion. "Please, Arthur. Give me some credit. At 15 years of age, even I possess some standards you know."

"Mmmm. I'll wager it didn't stop her saying she'd wait for you."

Bond smiled to himself but refrained from answering.

"Thought so," he said, sipping from the flask. "Having dragged me all the way here, James, I hope you're at least going to feed us. The sight of a reconstructed Bombe very much work's up an SIS employee's appetite."

"Of course, Arthur," he replied with mock hurt that Q would think so little of his ability to plan ahead. "I must say, seeing how much your version of a bomb differs from mine was quite enlightening."

"Well, the version on this hallowed ground cut a World War short by two - maybe four - years. Your version generally starts them."

They entered the cafeteria and James threw on the light switch. "Or stops them escalating into a world version?"

"I might concede that. To a point," nodded Arthur sombrely, looking around and catching sight of a picnic basket and two flasks. Q could only laugh in wonder and shook his head.

"Imagine had we met outside the SIS," he said, modestly basking at the turn of this evening's events.

They sat down opposite each other. "An unstoppable force and an immoveable object? It would have been complete chaos," said Bond.

"As opposed to the controlled mayhem it is now? Together, we'd be force to be reckoned with I'd like to think," said Q with a laugh that quickly sobered. James saw the same cloud that had descended on Arthur during their first dinner in The Shard return.

Bond moved quickly around the table towards Q, taking his face in his hands and kissing him without breaking the flow of his movement. "Not a day goes by that you don't think of him, does it?"

"Sorry…"

"I'm not looking for apologies, Arthur."

Q looked at him straight in the eye then. "What is it you are looking for exactly, James?"

"I could ask the same of you, Arthur," said James, releasing him, satisfied he had distracted him enough for now. "I'm a trained killer. Hardly stable partner material. I've wiped out men and women for no other reason than not playing by Queensbury Rules. Why do you want me?"

"I happen to have a soft spot for weapons as you well know." His nonchalant tone sounded a little too contrived to the well-trained senses of the agent. "Quite a large one actually. But more than that you are a puzzle. I also happen to like puzzles. Very much."

James followed Q's lead for the moment and maintained the light, non-committed exchange. "You know I took it upon myself to save you from the clutches of the other Double-Os. At least three of them had designs on you," he said with an accompanying look Arthur occasionally received from George and Charles on being spoiled with a bowl of cream… "And as a bonus Arthur, think of the service you are doing the world by affording me a space in your bed. All those broken hearts that would otherwise be scattered from Pole to Pole…," he deadpanned.

Arthur's laugh rang around the room. Of one thing he was certain, he would surely never tire of the company of one Commander James Herbert Bond.

"I need to get you home. Now," whispered James. He was sitting on the cafeteria table, Q standing pressed all too real between his thighs.

"What? No accommodation available at Bletchley?" Q husked in reply.

Tea, sandwiches and a shared flask of Scotch it appeared, were the ways to a Quartermaster's heart.

"Maybe if you could orchestrate a diplomatic incident in which I am required to save the Foreign Minister's daughter again, I might be able to swing that for next time," James chuckled. The touches were light, intense and maddening in the responses they were eliciting from Q's body.

James laughed softly against his cheek. "Really Arthur, had I known you were such a cheap date, I would have foregone dinner at The Shard for our first social experience."

"Admit it, James. You charged that to your expenses," Q whispered, allowing his hands free rein across James' chest.

James leaned back, his expression sober as he studied Q. It was getting easier day-by-day to read his agent, or maybe little by little, James was allowing the layers of experience known at the mercy of a scarring life to become more transparent to Arthur's eyes.

Arthur leaned in before James could put what he wanted to say into words. "Don't tell me," he murmured eyes closed, running cool, slender fingers through bristle-tipped blond. "Show me…"