Too bad the doctors hadn't had Bond as a patient before, or they would have known better than to try and keep him inside the hospital. A lot of cursing-on Bond's part-, shouting, and pleading had occurred, disturbing the other patients until the medical staff relented and let James Bond leave with stern instructions not to eat anything too cold, stay away from cold water, and not to consume any alcohol. 'Bull' was the double-oh's response to the last one.

It took a few evasive replies to Kincaid's questions before the old gamekeeper realized that James wouldn't-or couldn't- say anything about his job or the recent events involving Skyfall. Kincaid didn't need James, however, to get the information. Headlines reporting Silva's attack on M16 blasted and pushed its way through the papers to the front page.

Newspapers also spoke of the injured head of M16, a woman referred to as 'M', and asked for her replacement. Kincaid, reading the papers, realized who the woman in the chapel was. It was not 'Em' James was saying, but the title 'M'.

The shredded remains of that article rest on the floor, torn in half and left on the rough carpeting. That is the first sight that greets Q when he opens the hotel room door. The young Quartermaster studies the printed text before stepping over the pile. The door closes with a quiet click.

Outlined by the weak light filing in from the window, Bond, wearing dark washed jeans and a long sleeved shirt, stares out of the large window, not moving even when the young man stands next to him. Low clouds drift over the city, sometimes letting go of their loads and pouring rain onto the citizens.

Q notes, with some relief, that the double-oh hasn't touched the alcohol he keeps in storage. Bond doesn't carry the sharp smell of it either. The conversation would have taken an…interesting turn if Bond had been intoxicated.

"007," Q says after a few moments, not turning to look at Bond. Q rests his hands on the windowsill, tracking a raindrop that smears itself across the glass.

"Quartermaster."

Wincing at the double-oh's cold response, Q tries to think how to approach him. He's walking on thin ice that creaks under his feet.

"Bond," the Quartermaster says in a soft voice, breaking the silence. Bond turns his head, looking at Q. The pain in the double-oh's eyes contradicts his nonchalant expression. The young man almost reaches up to lay a comforting hand on Bond's shoulder before checking himself.

Q doesn't know how Bond would react. Dealing with a double-oh isn't like dealing with an average person, but more along the lines of an attack dog. One false move and Q would get bit. It would be in Q's best interest to keep his distance and both eyes on Bond.

"Are you feeling better?" Q asks.

Bond shifts his weight, studying the man before him. The Quartermaster knows he's being analyzed. Brown eyes never stray from hard blue.

"I think we both know the answer to that," is Bond's cryptic reply, the double-oh switching his gaze back to the window. Q allows a humorless smile, just a subtle twitch of his lips. Bond has deflected the question without fault.

"M-Gareth Mallory- wanted me to tell you that he'd like to have a report on the events involving Silva," Q informs him, correcting his slip when Bond's gaze snaps back to him, "When you're ready, of course."

"He's gotten in position rather quick," Bond says in an unreadable tone. Q freezes, wondering if the storm is about to hit, but Bond continues talking, "I'll be down later."

The Quartermaster decides not to press him. Nodding to the double-oh, Q makes his way back to the door. He opens the door, about to exit the hotel room when Bond says his name.

"Q?"

The young man pauses in mid stride and looks back, "Yes?"

"Thank you."


Noon rolls around, finding Bond sauntering into M16, now wearing his typical black suit paired with a blasé expression. The double-oh holds a manila folder in one hand which he lays on the desk in front of M's office.

"Hello, Mr. Bond," Eve says, looking up from the computer. She perches in a chair, her cheery blouse-this time a soft yellow- contrasts with the dark materials surrounding her. Papers lay in organized piles on her small desk.

"Miss Moneypenny," Bond greets with a disarming smile, "You have accepted a desk job then, I gather."

Eve flashes him a mischievous smile, "I did," she agrees, "I decided that field work wasn't for me. My aim isn't exactly up to par."

Bond responds affirmative, "I would agree." The door next to Eve's desk opens, and Mallory steps out. He catches sight of Bond, "007, a word, if you please."

Bond notes the sling on Mallory's arm from where he took a bullet for M. He can't be too bad, could he?

"Of course, sir," says the double-oh, following Mallory into the office.

The office hasn't changed much when its owners have been switched. M never kept anything personal inside but a few flowers to add a feminine touch. Now empty spaces are the only reminder where the previous occupants stood.

With a pang of sorrow, Bond realizes that the bulldog with the Union Jack draped over it is gone. The double-oh hopes that someone had salvaged it before Mallory took up residence.

"007," Mallory begins after they both sat down, "I want to talk about the recent events concerning you." Mallory leans forward, his navy blue suit creasing.

"I've given the paperwork to Eve, sir."

Mallory gives a small shake of his head. "That's not what I meant."

Confusion shows in the double-oh's eyes before Bond stifles his emotions. He raises an eyebrow.

"Sir?"

Mallory sighs, pulling out a file and flipping it open. Stapled papers rustle together as Mallory lays them on his desk. The double-oh watches him with mild curiosity.

"It's about your evaluations," says Mallory, and Bond knows where this is going.

"Sir-"

Mallory silences Bond with a glare from his hazel eyes.

"007, I can't clear you for field work. All of this," Mallory taps the papers, "tells me you are unfit for field work."

Bond feels irritation beginning to emerge. He begins to protest, "Sir, I was fine in the field. You were there when she cleared me-"

"I am not her, 007. I am telling you that you can't fail these examinations and expect to waltz back into action." Mallory replies, his words forceful. The new head of M16 tries to take control over the situation.

Bond responds with the same ferocity, "And I'm telling you that I can work in the field. Those bloody tests don't amount to anything out there."

The double-oh doesn't remember when he and Mallory stood up, but their voices have increased in volume. Both men glare at each other with similar stubbornness.

"007," snaps Mallory, again trying to keep control over Bond, his patients running thin.

"I can handle myself-"

"Like how you handled Skyfall out there, 007? How you failed to protect the former M?" demands Mallory.

When Bond's eyes widen, Mallory knows he's crossed the line. Whatever boundaries 007 had established, he had just walked right on and shattered them.

Cold, hard fury replaces the hurt and shock in the double-oh's blue eyes, now narrowing to dangerous slits. Any feelings of curiosity-and possible acceptance- for Mallory have fermented into strong, bitter hate.

Mallory tenses, half expecting 007 to do something irrational. Bond realizes he's shifted himself into a fighting stance. Turning on his heel, Bond stalks out of the office.


About time for another update! I hope this was soon enough(and long enough), all my readers!

Sorry guys, I was busy and then I had Migraine attacks from Hell. D: Is this an appropriate update?

Thank you, Badass Cat, for all your previous reviews. Nice to know I spoiled the movie for you ;P Can't you tell I love cliffhangers?

*and just for a side note, I do not live in England-nor anywhere close- or know much about anything there... So my dialect will be off, but I'll try!*