Or perhaps it began earlier.
The first thing Q learnt about 007 was that he is a handful to manage on missions. The second was that he is even worse when the mission is over. The third? This behaviour is expected. Bond would disappear for a few days, sometimes weeks. He'd bounce between the liquor store and someone else's bed until the next emergency. Psych have a folder full of acronyms and an increasingly desperate list of attempts to calm him down.
Q skimmed psych's profile when Bond didn't appear at M's funeral and rolled his eyes. To him the answer was obvious, but then, Q has always understood weapons, and James Bond –though he may be many things besides– is a weapon. The double-o's are adaptable, but stresses build up. Metal hardens the more it is under the hammer; you must anneal it to reduce the stress. Most of the agents are like copper; it does not matter how fast or slow they cool down, but Bond is different – Bond is steel. If you quench steel, it becomes hard but brittle. No, to reduce stress in steel, you must bring it back to room temperature slowly. Going from shoot-offs and car chases and seducing vipers to peace is asking for too much, too fast. Bond needs to be useful. If he has no problems to solve, he'll make some – for everyone else. Psych are beating their heads against a wall trying to change lead into gold when all Bond requires is a cooldown period.
The guidelines said Q should leave it be. Bond was still pissed about Turkey. He deserved time for bereavement, though no one dared call it that. He definitely needed medical leave. It was none of Q's business.
Q is not good at minding his own business. In fact, he was hired for his tendency to mind everyone else's.
A quick look verified that Bond was using his medical leave to seek hepatic and/or venereal diseases, so Q felt very little remorse calling him in on Monday morning. Q gave Bond to keys to the Audi R8 and the test track. The Audi's machine gun targeting system had problems anticipating the driver's movement.
The car was greatly improved by the time Bond healed and returned from his next mission. Q called him six hours after his flight landed, handed Bond a familiar Walther and told him to do his worst.
"Nothing to stop animals swallowing it? You're falling behind," 007 said immediately.
Q hummed. "No, see, we've adapted some very old technology to solve that problem. This barrel guides a small, dense object that can be accelerated to lethal speeds by propellant when you press this trigger."
The gun is fireproof and waterproof and can pass through a metal detector. Bond rendered it useless in thirty seconds by putting on a glove.
"You may have overlooked something while cosy in your pyjamas," Bond said. "I won't always be somewhere as warm. And there are certain benefits of dexterous fingers in this line of work."
Q's eyes lit up. "Now there is an interesting problem."
It took a whole week to solve – the mark of a truly vexing one. In the meantime, Bond ruined a dozen prototypes in new and creative ways. Q was delighted.
The third time Bond arrived back on British soil, he passed the liquor store in favour of Q-branch.
Three times is a pattern. For six months, then a year, the pattern holds. Bond wonders what Q has waiting for him this time.
"Good morning, 007. There's been a slight delay in the firing range." The voice gives Bond pause. He does not usually get accosted en route.
Bond turns a mission-ready smile on the man. Unarmed. High ranking mechanical engineer. Oversees the vehicles. Either slept poorly or is near the end of a shift. "What kind of delay?"
"Nothing major. Should only be a few minutes. Q might know more."
"I'll go see him."
"He's in lab B. I've got his tea ready. Would you take it to him, please?"
"Certainly," 007 takes the scrabble mug and takes a sip. He smirks into the rim at the scandalised gasp that provokes.
He drops the grin as soon as he's through the door. "Your underlings are up to something."
"Hello, Bond." Q doesn't look up from his soldering. "Is that for me? Thank you."
"In a minute. It didn't taste poisonous, but it could be one of the top shelf ones."
"If you want a fainting couch in here, just ask. You needn't bother with the excuses."
"I get the feeling you're not concerned."
"They'd wait until you're out of the country."
"Point."
"I'll humour you – why do you think my employees want me dead?"
"I don't, really." But Bond isn't taking any chances. "Whatever's going on, they're all in on it. Even you couldn't piss them all off that badly, that quickly." Bond pauses. Reconsiders. "You didn't take down tumblr, did you?"
"That was one time and it was a matter of national security," Q says.
Bond feels fine. "Then you should drink your tea before it goes cold."
Q adds a finishing touch to his work and sits up with a stretch. Bond's gaze traces the long lines of his body.
"Why are you here, anyway?" Q says. "You're not due for weapons testing until this afternoon."
"It's half past three. You skipped lunch again, didn't you."
"Apparently. Mmmm," Q makes a sinful noise into the tea. "I see Adam made this. He's due to give me his next project brief. But he gave you his bribe?"
"You see what I mean. Last week they were too scared to look at me. Today, they use me as their intern."
"Perhaps they're finally more afraid of me than they are of you," Q says.
"Keep telling yourself that."
Q scowls.
"Don't let them see that pout or the mothering will double," Bond says, because he's a shit.
Q's scowl can't hold up against Bond's grin, though he does his best.
Q branchers have a skewed work-life balance, so if they think Q needs to take a break, things are dire. Bond will play along as their nominated distraction. "Come on. Let's get some food while this delay is being sorted out, then we can have some fun."
Q's eyes narrow. "Delay? I wasn't notified."
Yes, they're certainly up to something.
Bond follows a step behind as Q marches into the main branch. The minions are working hard. Too hard. 007 is accustomed to garnering a certain amount of attention, whether it's fear or attraction, people hold their breath when he enters a room. It is telling when no eyes dart their way, not even in customary attentiveness to their boss.
Q clears his throat. A dozen eyes look up with exaggerated surprise.
Bond occupies himself trying to guess which one hacked the surveillance in lab B.
"Yes, sir?"
"Adam. What's this about a delay in the range?"
"Nilam was running the remote tests on the taser pen. The monitoring systems malfunctioned, so we have no way to determine if the device was successfully disarmed after the tests. We've run through most of the backup checks, sir, it shouldn't be long now."
Did Adam have new information, or was he deliberately vague earlier? Adam's eyes dart between him and Q. Bond takes a step closer. Adam is distracted. Interesting.
"Show me," Q says and heads to R's station.
Bond shadows him to the computer. Around them, the sound of clicking and typing continues to be too regular. Bond would be highly surprised if they're doing anything other than trying to look busy. In the reflection on R's screen, he can see the minions behind him are openly staring.
"There's the problem. Why is this protocol switched off?" Q says.
The minions are not surprised or concerned. "Looks like a simple mistake, sir," R says.
Bond re-evaluates his mothering theory. This behaviour is inconsistent with the minions trying to get Q to rest or relax.
"Run diagnostics on the firewalls. Have there been any alerts?" Q says.
"I will, and no, sir."
Bond runs a hand up Q's back, braces it on a narrow shoulder for balance as he leans closer than usual or workplace appropriate. "Could it be an inside job?"
In the reflection, a woman straightens. She looks downright gleeful.
"Could be a simple as a short circuit," Q says. "Get Maintenance down here, Adam, I want that option ruled out."
"And if it isn't?" Bond asks, thumb stretching from Q's shoulder to brush idly along his neck, and Adam coughs. The woman flutters her hands and presses them over her mouth. Her co-worker makes a desperate shushing motion.
Q says, "It's an isolated, surface level program. There's very little chance of this posing a security risk in itself. However, it may be a symptom of broader meddling. I'll need to check –"
"Oh, no, we can handle it, sir," R says.
"Quite! There's no need for you to skip lunch or stay overtime again."
The minions trip over each other. For the first time, there's a note of alarm – which makes the lack of such at the potential security breach particularly apparent.
Well. Fieldwork isn't for everyone, Bond thinks.
Q frowns.
"We'll compile a full report," Adam bargains.
Bond knows that Q is too caught up in the ghost of Silva to realise how amusing this situation is. He squeezes, and in his grip, Q's shoulders relax reflexively. Only then does Q seem to realise Bond is half wrapped around him.
"They're not trying to kill me. You don't need to loom," Q elbows him.
Bond backs away, into a wash of disappointed sighs. He slides his hands into his pockets, fingers briefly clenching.
Q's eyes dart to Bond's hands. His expression does not change, but Bond knows he caught the gesture: the covert op signal for follow. He knows Q will, immediately and without question, because Q always does.
"Come on. Let them sort this out. You need to eat, Q," Bond says. He locks his eyes on Adam. "Everything will be put back the way it was by the time we're back."
Adam swallows.
Q hesitates and argues and lets their reasoning chip away at his resolve, just long enough to be convincing. He doesn't linger for a second longer than necessary. He holds his nerve better than half the agents Bond has worked with, and that's hot. He follows James despite instincts that must be screaming to face the threat from his seat of power. Something inside Bond glows.
Q doesn't speak until they're in a surveillance dark spot. "A mole?"
"Yes. But no," Bond grins. "They're trying to set us up."
"Set us – what? Romantically?"
The lift doors open at that moment because Bond timed it perfectly. Q's mouth snaps shut with a brief affronted sound. He doesn't even glance at the camera, once again maintaining his composure admirably. But Bond is scheduled to test something from Q-branch until it breaks, and it seems a shame to leave without doing so.
Bond presses floor G, and then looks for more buttons to push.
"Is this the first time this week that you've left the branch?" he asks Q in a way that is guaranteed to irritate him.
"You know full well it isn't."
"How could I possibly? I only got back from Belgium yesterday."
Q narrows his eyes but he doesn't reply with either truth or lie. His eyes demand answers.
Bond shrugs, an unsatisfying response which strikes at Q's weakness: his curiosity. It is all James needs to derail Q from contemplation into a state of silent fuming.
"What do you feel like eating?" Bond asks. Q wants an argument, so Bond says. "I'm thinking Greek."
Q makes a furious noise. Greek is his favourite. Bond watches the dilemma play out with interest, does he agree despite himself, or –?
"I have a rare craving for pizza. American style."
Bond inclines his head warily. "Very well." He respects an adversary who is willing to suffer to take him down with them.
…
"Oh, Q. Darling, no, not pizza," Danielle says, pained.
"Jesus Christ, look at Bond's face. This is going to be a disaster," Nilam says.
Anderson spins to face his computer. "I can manufacture a little something to shut down every pizza chain in the vicinity?"
"That shouldn't be necessary," Danielle says, but uncertainly. "Q's a bit of a food snob. He knows some good pizza places."
Debra nods. They're always well looked after on nights when they're held back late to solve an emergency in some distant time zone.
"Er, we have a situation," Nilam says. "Their route only leads to Domino's or Papa John's."
"Shit," Danielle says. "Stations everyone." The screens light up with a flurry of activity.
"I'm in." Budget pizza places were not built to withstand MI6.
Adam leaves the coding to the experts and starts brainstorming. "Are the doors fit with electronic locks?"
"No," Anderson says. "I reckon I can get at the fire alarm in Domino's, though."
"Good idea. Stand by," Danielle tells him. Then, "Huh. Looks like the manager at Papa John's deals Class B on the side. Adam, tip off the cops. Nilam, mark the premises as under investigation and send a perimeter alert to Q's mobile if they approach. On the chance he doesn't check his phone, what else have we got for Papa John's?"
"One of those light up open-closed signs?" Sean says.
"You got into their electronics? Nice work," Danielle says, quickly taking Sean's entry point further into the systems. He's made a decent start, for a munitions specialist. "I can mark the store as closed and kill the lights inside to make it more convincing. On second thought, I'll just prepare to cut power to the building. Even Papa John's won't sell raw pizza."
"Adam, maintenance is here," Debra calls from the door.
"Let them in," Adam says. "Hi Terry. Sorry to call you down – we don't actually need you. We didn't break anything we couldn't fix."
"No problem, I needed a walk," Terry says, eyes roving across the screens, because if he's been let in the room then it's not confidential. "If we're ringing up for pizza, I'll take a slice of pepperoni."
"The goal is no pizza, actually. Do we have eyes on Q and 007?" Adam says, taking over the logistics while Danielle is busy.
"They're a minute out from Domino's," Anderson says, highlighting the relevant CCTV feed.
"Trigger the alarm," Danielle says.
Anderson hits a few keys and then the shop feed shows a few spotty teens leaving the building in a hurry.
A few moments later, the Quartermaster and 007 stroll into view. Q stares for a moment, then pinches the bridge of his nose. 007 pats his shoulder consolingly. Behind Q's back, 007 gives the security camera a thumbs up.
Adam blanches. "I told you he's onto us."
"At least he's not upset," Danielle says.
Terry raises his eyebrows. "What is going on here?"
"We're settling a bet on 007 and Q," Debra says.
"Is it too late to join? I've got thirty pounds that says Q tops."
"Not that kind of bet," Adam says. "Closest one to the date they first kiss wins the pot."
"Wait, they haven't already? That looks like a lunch date."
"It should be," Debra says, aggrieved. "But Q decided on terrible pizza and we can't let him scare 007 away before he even realises he's interested!"
Terry considers this. "Before Q realises that Bond is interested, or before Q realises he likes Bond?"
"Either. Both."
On the screen, the Quartermaster takes 007 by the hand and stomps in the direction of Papa John's. Adam sighs. "R?"
"On it," Danielle says.
A few minutes later, Danielle's phone rings. Activity in the branch pauses. All eyes turn to R.
"Q," she answers. A pause. "I'll check," she hits a few useless keys in case the sound carries over the microphone. "It appears the premises is flagged for an investigation into drug dealing."
Adam checked his sent messages – it's been read, so that is probably true.
"Yes, quite recently," she says, straight-faced. "It is fortunate that we got the alert in time… I suggest you do not proceed. Power has been unstable in the area… I'm sorry to hear that. I'll send a list of suitable alternatives." Danielle points at Debra, who immediately gets to work finding a restaurant and making reservations.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. We're just doing our jobs," Danielle says sweetly. "Incidentally, if you return without eating, I'll have Security bar your entry." Another pause. "Enjoy your lunch, sir."
Danielle hangs up. She tells the branch, "Next time, we organise the venue ahead of time. This has not put him in the best mindset to enjoy a date."
"Damn it," Adam says.
"Optimist," Nilam accuses.
"Hey, I stand by my reasoning. Bond is still hopped up on adrenaline from his mission. He'll pick up anyone outside the office. Put two and two together…"
"This isn't Bond's first mission. They've done this song and dance before," Danielle says.
"I dunno, R," Debra says. "You couldn't see it, but Bond was all over him earlier."
Danielle isn't convinced. "I'm putting money on October 20."
Adam raises his eyebrows because that's a full month later than her initial bet. "Jeez, was Q that cross?"
"I've got them on CCTV," Nilam interrupts. "They've arrived at the restaurant."
It's a classy place but not too formal. Cosy, private tables. "Nice choice, Debra."
"Q isn't stomping anymore," Anderson notes, scooting his chair over.
"But he's not paying attention to 007," Debra frowns. The Quartermaster has his face in his phone. 007 guides him around a lamppost before he can walk into it, hand on the small of his back. Q doesn't appear to notice.
But hold on– "That's a smile!"
Q makes a vicious jab at his phone and then their video feeds go black.
"Damn," Danielle says, leaning back. She clicks through a few programs to find a workaround, but whatever Q has done appears to be the equivalent of a surveillance EMP. "All right everyone, back to work. I'm running the Baby Monitor protocol for 007, so on the off-chance Q chews through his battery blocking us and we get eyes back, we should be notified."
Sean rolls back to his station. Adam sighs.
"You know," Terry muses. "Even if Q is in a bad mood, this whole thing might not be a write-off. 007 once offered Janet in Accounting a tumble to cheer her up."
"I hope so. I've got thirty bucks riding on it. If you've got any ideas, I'd love to hear them," Adam says.
Terry barks a laugh. "I do. Lemme tell you about this book Sammy is reading."
"Yeah? Come on, while you're here, a couple little issues could use your work," Adam says.
An hour later, there is a ping. Every ear in the branch pricks up.
Danielle throws the program onto the big screen. She claps once. "We're back! Q's phone is flat."
"Well, that's an opportunity that doesn't come along every day," Terry says.
"What are you thinking?" Danielle turns.
Terry smiles. "Think I'll do my job. I'm going to service the lift. Put me down for twenty for today."