Chapter Two- The Meeting
[Q's POV]
I stood on the bottom concrete step, staring up at the huge gallery.
why here?
I thought to myself. I mean yeah, I'm nervous, nervous as hell, but it's just hitting me now and I have no idea how I'm going to approach him. What if he isn't there? And I'm sat alone in an art gallery. What if he is there but I don't recognise him? What if-
"No." I whispered to myself "Solutions, not problems.". I ran my hands down my tie, flattening it but also wiping the nervous sweat from my palms. I drew in a deep breath and released it slowly before starting up the small steps towards the entrance.
Once inside I completely lost my senses. There were at least one hundered people in this one room and I definetly do not do well in crowds... I stood just inside the door staring at a group of men and woman as laughter uproared from them. I whipped my head around and there were two women in the corner having an agrument. Do they realise how loud they're shouting? Everywhere I looked there seemed to be groups of people moving around or loudly laughing, talking etc. I had to get out of there. I turned to the opposite side and I saw a doorway and through it seemed to be a less crowded room. I made a beeline for the place but I had to push past a tour group
"I-I'm sorry..." I stuttered to a tall man after I walked into his shoulder
"Don't mention it, hey you okay buddy? You seem a little-"
"I'm fine." I snapped before turning away and carrying on towards the door. Finally stumbling through I saw a room with paintings lining the walls and I knew this is where I was supposed to be, he was just around the corner at the end of this corridor. I took a few calming breaths before ambling slowly down the hall towards my objective.
I stood leaning against the wall, the doorway to Bond next to me. The room started spinning and I knew this as a mistake. I didn't think it would be this hard to just meet someone. All the descriptions people have given me of 007 played in my head and all the whispers about how he's going to 'rip my head off' or how I wouldn't be able to 'deal with him' consumed my thoughts. It was a good job I was leaning against a wall or I'm ninety nine percent sure I would've collapsed by now. My heart started pounding audiably, my stomach lurched and my chest dropped. My breathing became stupidly heavy and I noticed I was getting several concearned looks from strangers. I stood up straight, moved slightly away from the wall and ignored the light headedness. I swallowed and flattened my tie before impulsively turning the corner with minimal preperation, like bing chucked straight into the deep end with your armbands, I was sure I was going to drown.
I spotted him, sitting alone on a bench staring at a painting and I slowly walked up, about a foor away from him, I pulled a black box out of my oversized coat pocked and held it, praying it wouldn't slip out of my sweaty hand. I silently approached him and sat down next to him. I kept my gaze on the painting in front of us the whole time but I saw him looking at me quizzically, looking me up and down before his gaze again landed on the painting.
"It always makes me feel a little melencholy," I stated and my heart pounded faster, what was I doing? I can't talk art with an MI6 agent that's just stupid, however it was impulsive and I couldn't stop it "A grand old warship being ignominiously hauled away for scrap." I paused and took in a breath before releasing it as a sigh "Inevitibility of time, don't you think?" I asked as I turned to look at him. I didn't expect and answer and I didn't get one, he carried on staring at the painting. I turned away again, looking at the masterpiece on the wall. This was going terribly "What do you see?" I asked, clinging onto the tiny shred of hope that mabye he'll give me an answer this time.
"A bloody big ship.". His voice was gruff and gravelly and he shifted his posture like he was about to get up. "Excuse me." He stated and moved. Panic surged through me. He was leaving, he can't leave I need to give him the stuff, he doesn't know I'm his Quarter Master... What do I do?
"Double oh Seven?" I asked. Well that was stupid, just use his code name in a public place, well done Q. He sighed and I knew he already didn't like me "I'm your new Quarter Master." I told him straight up, a small amount of confidence made itself apparent inside me having referred to myself with that name.
"You must be joking." He said, neither of us looked at eachother but I could see the faint signs of a smirk on his lips and I knew something was about to happen.
"Why? Because I'm not wearing a lab coat?" I asked sarcastically
"No, because you still have spots" He stated. Moneypenny was right, a quip about my age within the first minute. I smirked at his comment, thinking up one of my own
"My complexion is hardly relevant." I told him, my eyes fixed on the painting the whole time. He shifted slightly, telling me he was slightly uncomfortable with the situation
"Your competance is."
"Age is no guarantee of efficency."
"And youth is no 'guarantee' of innovation" He mocked me. Dammit... What do I say now?
"I can do more damage on my laptop, sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey" I saw him smirk out the corner of my eye "than you can do in a year in the field." I stated, trying to earn some respect from this man sat beside me.
"Oh," He laughed slightly "So why do you need me?" He asked and I knew this wasn't going to end how I'd expected. I shrugged before stating:
"Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled.". His head whipped around and he faced me, almost urgently. I held my ground no matter how intimdating he was and kept staring at the painting
"Or not pulled." He replied and suddenly he sounded older, wiser "It's hard to know which in your 'pajamas'."
I let out an almost inaudiable breath to calm myself as I anticipated what was going to happen next. I gave in and my head slowly turned to face him. He was already staring at me, the corners of his mouth turned up in a self-satisfied smirk. "Q." He stated as he held a hand out for me to shake. His smirk turned into a smile, one that I reciprocated as I shook his hand, praying he wouldn't notice how nervously sweaty my hand was.
"Double Oh Seven." I acknowledeged him, like he did me. He turned away and smiled ahead at nothing, confusing me slightly. I pulled an envelope out of the inside pocket of my coat and handed it to him. "Ticket to Shangai, documentation and passport."
"Thankyou." He said as he carefully slipped it into his jacket pocket
"And this." I mentioned, handing him the small black box I had in my hand the whole time. He looked at it with an ever so alight confused look on his face. He took it from my hands in his own and flipped the lid open carefully, revealing a gun. "Walther PPK/S 9 millmeter short." I stated "There's a microdermal sensor in the grip" He looked up at me, and I could've swore I saw an impressed look cross his face "It's been coded to your palm print, only you can fire it." The look grew even more intense. "Less of a random killing machine, more of a personal statement."
"And this?" He asked, gesturing to a square cut out in the foam inside the box.
"Standard issue radio. Activate it and it broadcasts your location." I explained "Distress signal." I cleared up. "And that's it."
"A gun," he started "And a radio. Not exactly Christmas, is it?" He joked as he shut the box.
"Were you expecting an exploding pen?" I asked, as I looked at him "We don't really go in for that anymore." I rose from my seat and turned to walk off. Stopping at the last minute I turned around to look at him. "Good luck out there in the field." I wished him "And, please return the equipment in one piece." I conlcluded before walking off.