"Q asked me to pop these reports in to you on my way home, Sir?"

"Thank you," he said, gesturing with a nod for her to drop them on his desk. "Everything well in your department, R?"

"Oh yes, Sir," she fidgeted slightly, a tell of hers M recognised as a need to share something on her mind.

"Something you wish to share, R?"

She took a deep breath. "The Quartermaster's wonderful. Best thing to happen to Q-Branch in an age…"

M simply folded his hands on the desk in front of him and waited.

"He's working himself into the ground. Been really good with us lately. Seems to have developed a roster this last week that beats anything, gives us more time with our families while not compromising the productivity or stability of Q Division. You wouldn't know it unless you were looking for it…"

M raised a hand and smiled. "I'll have a word."

R breathed a small sigh of relief and nodded.

"Dismissed."

Q slumped. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days. The dynamic of the Double O division had shifted since Bond's departure and not necessarily for the better. Q surmised that when 007 was around, all the other agents could target their hate at him. Well, hate's a strong word. Envy might be better. It was imperceptible to all but those with the keenest eyes, namely, M, Q and Moneypenny, that Bond was just a cut above the rest. He could take risks and get away with the consequences of said risks and his colleagues were more than happy to let him have at it, in the hopes he would crash and burn. Now he was gone, the other agents were trying subconsciously to fill that void. It meant Q was having to work with double intensity on each and every mission he ran to keep the cocky bastards in line.

That said, 009 was hardly the worst of the lot. He signed off with the agent and removed his headset, rubbing his palms across his face. The move served to remind him of the tension in his shoulders. It was time to clock off for the evening, but perhaps indulging in the pool might loosen the kinks before he went home.

"Moneypenny?" Mallory poked his head around his door.

"Yes M," she replied, looking up from her laptop. "Could I impose on your very accommodating nature to keep an eye on Winston while I go for a swim?" he asked, the puppy bounding out into her office on hearing his name.

"A pleasure, Sir," she smiled, reaching into her drawer and pulling out a biscuit. Mallory shook his head. Nothing he said would prevent her from spoiling him a little. He glanced at the chessboard and made a decision. "And can you pop the chessboard in my office when you have a moment? Don't want to risk the other agents getting any ideas," he said. Moneypenny nodded, distracted by the adorable wet nose against the back of her hand.

M grabbed his bag from the other side of the door, and with a parting "See you both in an hour," he headed to the gym.

The pool was quiet. It was after 7pm and only two others were taking lengths when Q slipped into the water. He soon got into a gentle rhythm, meditative almost, and he allowed himself to relax and the strains of the past few weeks to melt away from his body. He was on his seventh lap when he noticed another body appear in the shallow end of the pool.

Who the hell is that? He thought distractedly. Must be a Double O. No MI6 desk jockey deserves to be sporting abdominals like that…

He refocussed on his stride as he hit the wall and didn't intend to pause, coming up for air before he was about to push off for his eighth length. He faltered when the owner of the abs spoke. "It's gratifying to see you taking a break from your Q Branch duties," M's distinct diction penetrating his brain.

Q recovered his senses quickly. His heart was pounding. From the exertion of exercise. Obviously, he thought to himself. Q plonked his feet on the watery tiles and removed his goggles. "It's been a rough few weeks, Sir. What with all the additional Spectre cage-rattling in the aftermath of Blofeld's capture."

"Indeed," he replied with a sigh, tipping his head back against the edge of the pool and closing his eyes. "My predecessor was right about one thing."

"Sir?"

He tilted his head to look at the young man. "Our world is not more transparent now, she said, it's more opaque. It's in the shadows. And that's where we must do battle."

"I couldn't agree more, Sir."

He took a breath and slipped on his own goggles. "All ready for Washington next week, Quartermaster?"

Q groaned inwardly. There were some aspects of his job he'd happily throw to the wolves.

"Just crossing the eyes and dotting the tees to do, Sir. I look forward to presenting our findings and the latest tech used to locate Spectre agents and Blofeld's accomplices."

"Excellent," M replied. "They've been one step ahead of us for far too long. Hopefully, closer collaboration between American and British Intelligence means we can get ahead of the game for once." He pushed off the wall then, his watery wake lapping against Q's chest.

Twenty four hours in Washington with his superior officer. I'm the fucking Quartermaster for fuck's sake. I'll cope, he thought to himself, resuming his own laps. Neither man spoke to each other for the duration of their recreational reprieve, though the thoughts now occupying their minds probably weren't really appropriate for sharing anyway…