Q was too professional to storm out, but Bond could see fury in every rigid muscle as he stalked out the door and down the corridor without a glance at Bond.
"Bond." Tanner was holding the door open. "A word."
Bond allowed himself a final glance at Q's stiff back as he disappeared down the corridor. The urge to chase after him was strong, but the need for more information was even stronger. Bond followed Tanner back into the room, resuming his seat at the desk.
Tanner looked even more worried than usual, while Mallory's lips were pressed into a thin line of displeasure. The three men regarded each other in silence for a long moment before Mallory nodded at Tanner.
Tanner opened one of the files in front of him, choosing the page judiciously before placing it flat on the desk in front of Bond. Bond let nothing show on his face even though he could feel his whole body tense.
The photo was of Q, obviously taken several years ago. His face was thinner, making him look even more vulnerable and ethereal than he looked now. His hair was longer as well, falling in chaotic curls over his right eye in the front and brushing his shoulders at the back. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes dead, his expression bleak. A colorful bruise blossomed over his left cheekbone.
It looked almost like a booking photo, although Bond took careful note of the lack of any identifying information. Not an official arrest, then. Looking at it more closely, Bond thought he even recognized the cinderblock wall in the background — one of the detention cells in the old MI-6 building.
"Q's past is his own," Mallory began grimly. "But for the purposes of this mission, this is what you need to know." He leaned back in his chair, nodding to Tanner again.
Tanner took over the briefing, his brow still creased with worry. "Before he was recruited to MI-6," — Tanner tapped the photo — "Q was known in hacker circles as Shadow. He was more of a rumor — the name popping up here and there — prior to 2003. Some time between 2003 and 2008 he became quite notorious. He specialized in highly complex systems — mostly grey hat work, but open to commissions of more clearly questionable legality if he found the system challenging enough to infiltrate."
Bond felt his mind spin for a moment before this new information about Q seemed to slot into place. On one level it made total sense. When Q mentioned that he had invented the security protocols that Silva had used he had been proud, but not boastful. He must have been quite gifted at an early age. And yet, the idea of Q — Q, with his Earl Grey tea and old-man cardigans — as a lawbreaker, no less a renegade hacker with the overly-dramatic moniker of Shadow, was somewhat ludicrous.
Bond tried to focus on the practical. "If this Kryptos character actually does have the data hacked from MI-6, won't he know who Q is? And myself, for that matter?"
Tanner shook his head. "The breach was serious, but Q worked quickly and was able to protect certain files. Personnel files were not touched. And Q's file only exists on paper. It was part of our agreement in bringing him on. Nothing in our databases contains his real name or photograph."
["I had one requirement, one, when I came on here, and that was a guarantee of her safety..."]
The words echoed in Bond's head, but of course he couldn't ask about information he wasn't supposed to have. And yet he couldn't stop thinking of it. Q's real name and photograph would potentially expose this woman, whomever she was. Who was she?
Tanner spoke again, interrupting Bond's circling thoughts. "We have already circulated rumors that Shadow is interested in the purchase of this information, and Kryptos has floated a date — tomorrow — and a location. Q will be initiating contact as we speak to lock down the details."
Mallory leaned forward, his green eyes keen. "Bond, I cannot overemphasize the importance of this mission. Your highest priority is to retrieve the data for analysis, so that we can find out how extensive the damage was, and if the data has been disseminated further. At the very least, this must be contained."
Bond nodded. "Understood."
His eyes drifted back to the photograph, trying to reconcile the image of the fragile and haunted-looking young man named Shadow with the Q he knew.
"Sir," he found himself saying. "Are you sure that Q is up to this?"
Mallory and Tanner exchanged an unreadable glance.
"I think you'll find," Mallory said, each word carefully chosen, "that Q is more resilient than you might think. He will do this, because he has to."
Bond thought again of Q's grey-green eyes, burning with rage he would have never expected from the diffident young quartermaster.
"Understood," Bond said again. He nodded to Tanner, and then to Mallory, and then left. He had a mission to prep for, and then he'd find Q.
Q was still giving frantic orders to his minions when Bond arrived at Q-Branch.
"We'll be fine, Q," R was saying, her expression telling Bond that it was not the first — or even likely the tenth — time that she was saying the words.
"Just be certain to monitor..."
"Q." Bond interrupted. R looked immensely relieved, and Bond shot her a quick wink.
"007. I can give you your kit in a moment..."
"I'm to drive you to your house to pack, and then to the airport," Bond said neutrally.
Q's hands tightened on his tablet, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He avoided Bond's eyes as he nodded to R. He went to his desk, Bond following behind.
Q pulled the metal tray from under his desk, placing it on the desktop with a push in Bond's direction. Bond couldn't help but notice the absence of Q's usual commentary as he stowed the equipment in his various pockets.
Q packed up his messenger bag in silence. When it was packed he headed out the doors of Q-Branch, Bond following silently.
When they were clear of the branch Q shot a sharp glance at Bond. "Mallory worried I'm going to pull a runner?" he said scathingly.
Bond stopped, surprised, and Q stopped as well, wheeling to face him with angry defensiveness in every line of his body.
"I think if anything they were worried you wouldn't pull yourself away from Q-Branch in time to make the flight." Bond chose his words carefully. "Q...your loyalty is not in question here."
Some of the tension in Q's body eased. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking uncertain.
"I don't know what I'm doing here, Bond," he said, his voice suddenly low and rough. "I'm not a field agent."
"Your instincts are as good as any field agent I know, Q. You can do this. I'll be there the whole time."
Q's mouth twisted for a moment, his eyes searching Bond's face as if gauging his sincerity. Finally he nodded. "I appreciate that, 007."
They began walking again, and Bond had a sudden thought. "Do we need to stop by Medical? They could give you something for the flight."
Q's brow furrowed. "What are you on about?"
"You're afraid of flying..." Bond's words trailed off uncertainly. "Aren't you?"
Q avoided his eyes. "Not exactly, no."
Bloody hell. Of course not, Bond thought. It was practically the only thing he knew about Q, and apparently it was a lie as well.
They drove in silence to Q's house, Q only speaking as they pulled up in front of the gate.
"Wait here, will you?" he asked somewhat hesitantly, as if worried that Bond would storm his little fortress. And damned if Bond wasn't tempted beyond all measure to do so. What did Q have in there?
Bond nodded and Q's relief was palpable. He tapped a code into the gate keypad and disappeared through the first gap in the wrought iron.
Bond sat in the car and ruminated.
["I had one requirement, one, when I came on here, and that was a guarantee of her safety..."]
Had he so completely misread Q? Could he have a girlfriend, or even a wife hidden away somewhere?
Bond had no idea why he had been so certain of Q's sexual orientation. Certainly Q had never mentioned an interest in anyone of any gender — he made no allusion to past lovers, he never even joined in when Moneypenny waxed rhapsodic about some celebrity Bond had never heard of in the late hours of the night when they both flocked to Q-Branch to relieve their boredom.
And yet Bond had never been attracted to a man without that spark of attraction in return, and — he reluctantly admitted — his attraction to Q was starting to border on an obsession. Surely he was not imagining the tension in the banter between them, or the way Q's eyes brightened when Bond walked into the branch. Even if Bond and Q would never act on it, the appreciation was there. Wasn't it?
Bond felt an uncomfortable gnawing in the pit of his stomach. In the course of a few hours, everything he thought he had known about Q had crumbled to dust.
But then you never really know anyone, do you? the small, bitter voice in the back of his head hissed. I would have thought you had learned that lesson well enough.
Bond clenched his hands on the steering wheel. Bloody hell, he would not go down that road. Q wasn't Vesper. They were nothing alike.
Except that you trusted them both, the voice whispered. And nothing was what it seemed, was it?
By the time Q emerged, looking almost unrecognizable in faded blue jeans and a tatty concert t-shirt under a leather jacket, Bond was stewing in his own confusion and unfocused anger. He opened the boot and Q threw a duffle bag into it, folding himself into the passenger seat again with his messenger bag clasped protectively to his chest.
Bond barely let him get his seatbelt on before he was pulled out, jolting along the paving stones at a teeth-rattling pace before taking his aggression out on the late-afternoon traffic.
Q looked out the window in silence for awhile before finally turning to Bond. His bright green eyes raked over Bond, from his clenched jaw to his white-knuckled hand on the gear shift.
"I know why I am furious, but what on earth do you have to be so stroppy about?" Q finally said, with that disarming candor of his. Goddamn it, didn't the man understand in the slightest about leaving things unsaid?
Bond gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. What could he possibly say? That he had assumed that Q was as alone as Bond was, and felt betrayed that he had someone in his life Bond didn't know about? That he had just assumed the connection he felt with Q had been mutual in some way? For god's sake, it was pathetic. Q hadn't actually lied to him about anything, simply because Q had never told him a damn thing about himself.
"Are you — " Q ran his hand through his hair in frustration before starting again. "Is this because they told you I was a hacker? For god's sake, 007, you are the last person I would have figured for coming over all toffee-nosed about something like that."
"I don't give a damn about your hacking," Bond gritted out.
"What then?" Bond had never heard Q raise his voice, but he was practically shouting now, both of them tense almost to a breaking point. "What is this epic sulk of yours all about?"
"Epic sulk?" Bond repeated incredulously. He clenched his jaw, biting back whatever damaging words he might be tempted to unleash.
Q's eyes blazed bright green with anger for another moment, and then suddenly his mercurial mood seemed to shift again. He turned his head and took a deep, shaky breath, looking out the window at nothing.
The anger left his body, his shoulders slumping. He looked defeated. "You said you would be there for me," he said softly.
Bond felt like a total shit, and at the same time wondered if he was just being skillfully manipulated. "And you told Moneypenny that you were afraid of flying," he found himself saying.
"What?" Q's head snapped around. "That can't possibly be what this is about. Because I didn't come to Macau?"
Bond shrugged, his knuckles tightening even more on the steering wheel, angry at himself for having said anything. It sounded truly ridiculous, even to himself.
Q shook his head in disbelief. "Moneypenny's confidence was shattered after she shot you. Even if she decided field work was not for her, she needed to not be afraid of it anymore. And you needed field support, not someone to hand you your kit and send you on your way."
It made sense, and yet Q was still avoiding Bond's eyes, the tips of his ears turning pink. I'm a bloody awful liar, he remembered Q saying to Mallory. Just terrible at it.
"That's not the whole truth," Bond snapped. "You're hiding something. Bloody hell, Q — one minute you're my quartermaster, my friend, and then suddenly you're a hacker, a criminal. I knew one thing about you, that you were afraid of flying, and even that was a lie. Just tell me one goddamn thing about you that's true."
Q looked like he had been slapped. He bit his lip, turning his head so all Bond could see was the edge of his glasses, the curve of his cheek above that vulnerable neck.
Q's hands clenched over the messenger bag again, and then he sighed.
"Khayal," he said softly.
"What?"
"Khayal. It means 'shadow' in Arabic. My grand-mère — grandmother, I mean — used to call me that. She was Lebanese. She taught me French, and Arabic. I was close to her. Lived with her off and on, as a child. I was quick, and quiet. I used to follow her everywhere but I never spoke much, and so she called me her shadow. That's why I chose the name for my hacking."
Bond felt the knot of tension in his chest ease. He rolled some of the tightness from his shoulders, feeling somewhat sheepish. "Thank you," he finally said.
Q's gaze was piercing. "Trust issues," he said. "That's plastered all over your file. I suppose I've just never seen it before. But I've never lied to you, 007. Not about anything."
Bond had nothing to say to that.
"In any case," Q continued. "The truth is I have no idea if I'm afraid of flying or not. Certainly I find the potential for mechanical disaster somewhat unpleasant, but I've never been on a airplane."
Bond couldn't suppress his reaction to that. "You must be joking. We live on a bloody island, Q."
"Yes. Well." Q shrugged. "I suppose this is my introduction to the glamorous, jet-setting side of espionage."
Bond heard a sudden echo of Q's voice in his ear. So much for my promising career in espionage, Q had said as he laid a false trail for Silva. Q had barely met Bond, and yet he had risked his career — and from what Bond now knew likely his very freedom — to assist him. It was true, he knew very little about Q, but if there was one thing he should have known it was that Q was firmly on his side. Q had his trust for a reason, and Bond vowed that he would not let himself forget that again.
He smiled, hoping that Q would recognize the gesture for what it was. "You can have my window seat," he said. Q's smile in return was everything Bond could have hoped for.
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