Bond had to admit, being cleared by Medical was much more pleasant when he had nothing amiss except a little gravel burn on his palms.
He stopped in at Q-Branch to return his kit, only to find Q deeply engrossed in some kind of coding project.
"007," Q said absently, and then appeared to immediately forget his presence, sinking back into the maelstrom of data. Bond took up his usual position, content to watch Q at work. There was something oddly fascinating about Q when he was in this state. His bright eyes darted from screen to screen and his fingers tapped rapidly on the keyboard. In counterpoint to these swift, sharp movements his body swayed languidly, as if he were riding the currents of the data in his head.
With an understanding smile to Bond R left the branch, and returned in a few minutes carefully balancing Q's Scrabble mug in one hand and her own coffee cup in the other. She left the steaming cup of Earl Grey on the corner of Q's desk and Q instantly snapped out of whatever zone he was in, pausing his work and reaching for the cup.
"Oh. 007," Q said in apparent surprise, blinking a few times. He gestured at the monitor bank. "Just working on the construction of that database we discussed."
Bond saw the moment Q pulled his thoughts free of the project and truly focused his attention outwards, the bright eyes scanning Bond from head to toe. "No injuries this time?"
"Barely a scrape," Bond acknowledged. He saw Q's eyes skim down to his palms, narrowing slightly on the torn and reddened skin.
"May I see?" Q asked.
Puzzled by the odd request, Bond nonetheless obediently held out both hands, palms up. Q stepped closer, peering down. He lifted a finger as if to trace the gravel burn on Bond's palms.
Bond found himself holding his breath, waiting for the touch of that finger, but Q suddenly clenched his hand into a fist, dropping it back at his side.
"It didn't affect the microdermal sensor?"
"What?"
Q's brow furrowed. "The palmprint recognition. On your Walther," he specified as Bond continued to look at him blankly.
Oh, of course. Bond felt foolish. Naturally Q wasn't concerned about Bond losing a few strips of skin, he only wanted to assess the effect of his injuries on the functionality of the tech.
"No," Bond said. He smoothly drew the Walther from his holster and settled it in his palm, showing Q how the lights turned green. "Of course the worst of it is on the left palm."
He held his arm steady in firing position as Q ducked around to examine it from several angles, his grey-green eyes studying Bond's grip with startling intensity.
Q finally straightened up. He distractedly pulled the metal tray out from under his desk, placing it in front of Bond.
"I should have anticipated this," Q was muttering to himself as Bond started to place his equipment in the tray. "You lot are always damaging your hands — explosions, scrapes, chemical burns...if it hadn't recognized your palmprint and had shocked you..."
He picked up Bond's Walther from the tray, turning it around in his hands, careful not to settle his palm into the grip enough to activate the electrical shock.
"It's worth the risk," Bond said firmly. "You were right, we are far too likely to get shot with our own firearms. I would have been incapacitated — if not killed outright — several times over without your modifications."
"Hmmm." Q hummed thoughtfully, still turning the weapon in his hands. Bond found something strangely erotic about the way Q's elegant hands traced over the lines of the weapon, the movement of his slender pale fingers almost a caress. He stifled the thought with concentration.
"We need both, then," Q mused. "The palmprint recognition, but then an override code. Something the operative can use to disable the recognition safeguards if their skin is damaged enough."
"You're overthinking, Q. If an operative's hand is damaged enough, they'll be in no position to fire the gun."
Q's answering glance was scathing. "Bollocks. There's no such thing as overthinking when it comes to the safety of my operatives. Are you telling me there's a single one of you pig-headed fools who wouldn't slap a dressing on a burn and come out firing anyway?"
Bond's lips quirked as he shrugged guiltily, and Q snorted. "That's what I thought."
He narrowed his gaze thoughtfully on the weapon again, seeming hardly aware that he was speaking aloud. "It would be a rare circumstance, but the double ohs run into nothing but rare circumstances," he murmured. "Even if it only saves one operative, that would be one less death on my conscience..."
Bond shifted uneasily, almost feeling like he was intruding. Did Q really take such responsibility for the deaths of operatives? If so, he would burn out in no time, and that thought was extremely unsettling. Q had been in charge for less than a year, and already Bond could not imagine the branch under anyone else's authority.
"An override code is a good idea," he settled on saying.
Q startled a bit, as if he had forgotten Bond was standing there. "Oh. Well. Exactly," he said somewhat nonsensically. He placed the Walther in the tray with the rest of the equipment and stowed it back in his desk drawer. "Thank you for your input, 007. I will get to work on those modifications as soon as I can."
"I look forward to seeing the results of your efforts."
Bond turned to go, before turning back.
"I...will be around, if you should need anything," he said, somewhat hesitantly. Perhaps now that Q had begun his database he didn't need Bond to be on hand for advice anymore. Bond felt strangely bereft at the thought.
Q's mouth twitched in a slight smile. "006 is in Syria, and is bound to get himself into a fix, if you might be around at 14:30."
"I think that could be arranged."
A few days later Bond was lifting weights while animatedly debating the merits of various sniper rifles with Q over his earwig. If Bond was interpreting the background noise correctly, whatever Q was doing seemed to involve the use of a blowtorch at intervals. Bond was a little afraid to ask.
"An Enfield," Q scoffed. "Honestly, I know you're a traditionalist, 007, but seriously..."
"Why not?" Bond was quick to defend his choice. "Maximum range is just as good as those behemoths like the L115A3 and Cheytac, and it's three kilograms lighter. That kind of weight difference can have a considerable impact when you're hauling the damn thing more than fifty kilometres over rough terrain..."
"Just one moment, 007," Q interrupted, all the lively warmth gone, his voice suddenly brisk and businesslike.
Bond paused in the middle of a bench press before placing the barbell back on the stand. He sat up, wiping his face and neck with a towel.
Less than a minute later, Q was back.
"007?"
"Everything okay, Q?"
"Perfectly fine. It was just Tanner. Mallory needs to see me, I'm heading up now."
Bond could hear a hint of confusion in Q's voice. Mallory had a very hands-on approach. Usually if he needed Q for something he would just wander down to Q-branch himself.
"Right." Bond looked up just as Moneypenny walked through the door of the weight room, coming to a halt in front of him with her eyebrows raised expectantly. "I believe I'm being summoned as well. Signing off."
By the time Bond took a two-minute shower and dressed, Moneypenny was drumming her fingers impatiently on the row of lockers.
"What's this all about?" Bond asked her as she sped down the corridor toward Mallory's office, high heels clacking.
"They're being very secretive about it all," Moneypenny said in an undertone. "No details, even to me. The only thing I know is that it involves you and the boffin, and they are all very wound up about it."
Bond searched his mind for what that might mean, but came up blank. He shrugged the speculation aside as he stepped into Mallory's office, Moneypenny pushing the heavy, padded door closed behind him.
Bond exchanged a glance with Q as he settled into the chair next to him, across the massive desk from Mallory and Tanner.
"You have a mission," Mallory said summarily.
Q glanced at Bond, and then back at Mallory, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Requiring special kit?" he hazarded. "If you send me the specs..."
"The mission is for you, Q," Mallory interrupted. "007 will be accompanying you."
"For me?" Q blinked rapidly, looking stunned.
"We have information that the data hacked from MI-6 by Silva is being offered for sale. The seller goes by the name Kryptos," Tanner explained.
"Kryptos?" Q repeated, still looking confused. "He's — he's good, but...his hacking was always corporate. Credit card numbers, that kind of thing. I've never known him to be interested in this kind of information."
"Apparently he is expanding his horizons," Mallory said grimly. "You will contact him under the guise of a buyer. 007 will go as your bodyguard."
"I'm not a field agent," Q protested. "I'm a bloody awful liar. Just terrible at it."
Bond kept silent, but internally he was vehemently agreeing with Q. Q was ridiculously and endearingly incapable of deception.
"You won't need to lie. Not much, at least," Mallory said cryptically. "Q is the last person Kryptos would want to meet. We need Shadow."
Bond was tempted to smirk at the dramatic names, but one look at Q and all his amusement fled. Q went unnaturally still, his grey-green eyes wide, his already fair skin leached of all color.
"Q?" Bond halted his instinctive movement towards Q, but couldn't stop himself from speaking.
Mallory kept his eyes on Q, unsympathetic and inexorable, while Tanner looked at the papers in his hand, shuffling them with an almost guilty expression.
"Q," Mallory began unctuously. "The recovery of this data is paramount, above all other concerns. After all, the security breach happened on your watch..."
Rage clawed at Bond's throat, sudden and overwhelming. "That's enough of that," he gritted out, hand instinctively flexing toward his holster. He didn't understand exactly what was going on, but he knew he didn't like it.
Mallory's eyes shifted to Bond in sudden alertness, but Q's eyes remained staring straight ahead.
"Bond, could you leave us for a moment?" Q asked, his voice steady but tight with tension.
Bond looked from Q to Mallory. "You're sure? Q, are you all ri—-"
Q turned his head and Bond's words cut off as if his throat had been slit. Q's expression was set and cold but his eyes burned with a fierce, deadly rage that Bond would never have thought him capable of if he wasn't seeing it for himself.
"Out, Bond," he said, his voice clipped and icy. Bond nodded once and slipped out the door.
It was a mark of Q's extreme distraction that he had forgotten he still wore his microphone, tuned in to Bond's frequency. Bond had turned his earwig off when the summons came through, but he turned it back on now, unrepentantly eavesdropping. Something was going on that he didn't understand, and it affected Q. He was damned if he'd be kept on the outside for this.
As the earwig powered up, the voices in the room faded in. Only Q's voice could be heard clearly — the earwig was designed to pick up a single voice and screen out background noise — but occasionally a few words of Mallory or Tanner's speech filtered through.
"Shadow is traceable," Q was saying, his voice practically shaking now with fury. "If you lot could manage it, then someone like Kryptos could do it in his sleep, and it's..."
Tanner said something, his tones placating and calm even though Bond couldn't make out the words.
"It's an unacceptable risk," Q hissed. "Moving her now — do you understand the trauma that would entail? I had one requirement, one, when I came on here, and that was a guarantee of her safety..."
Her? Bond felt something in his chest twist at the word, his mind spinning through possibilities. Who was this woman Q seemed determined to protect?
Mallory's voice interjected now, measured and firm. Bond strained to hear, but could only catch the occasional word. "...utmost...no other options...cover story of this depth..."
Mallory finished talking and silence fell in the room, heavy and oppressive. Bond could hear the sound of Q's uneven, rapid breathing as he seemed to struggle with his decision.
"Goddammit," Q finally spat out, equal parts fury and defeat. "Upload the mission brief to my tablet. When do I leave?"
Tanner spoke again.
He sighed. "Fine. Just. Do I have time to..." Mallory barely got a word out before Q interrupted again. "Very well. Forget I asked. Where is the meet?"
Tanner murmured something.
"Flying." Q said. "Bloody perfect."
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