The Great Morass
Q immediately jumped into action, shoving his way back through his crowd of minions to his desk at the front of the room, barely pausing to breathe as his fingers flew across the keyboard, typing in passwords, accessing secure software, and finally, finally, pulling up his smart-blood technology.
He was never before so glad to have injected each and every single double-0 back in April.
Typing in Jake's number, he expected it to latch onto Mozambique and zoom into the approximate location of the events hall where the Prime Minister's speech in Pemba was taking place. He expected to see his agent's vital signs come up just below "AGENT 004", telling him his heart rate, blood pressure, respiration rate, and temperature. He even expected, however unwillingly, to see those vital signs plummet as the drug Ourumov released affected him just as it had affected every single other alpha in that cursed city.
He expected to watch Jake die.
What he did not expect was a large red and black flashing warning sign, stating: NETWORK ERROR. CANNOT LOCATE AGENT.
He'd never gotten that warning before - and he'd programmed the damn thing!
But why the hell would he be getting a network error?! The smart-blood technology was based on thousands of microscopic nanobots, which Q had specifically chosen to use since they didn't rely on batteries or electricity to work. Instead, they used the body's own electronic nervous system to constantly transmit a signal to the nearest satellite which would then transmit to Q's own personal laptop and-
Oh.
Oh, he was an absolute idiot!
Ourumov had used an EMP to wipe out the entire electrical grid in Pemba. After all, Alec had told him he'd started his mission in Severnaya; an underground Russian satellite hub in Siberia. He'd pretended to be a guard and had watched as Ourumov got the satellite activation keys and control disk from the commanding officer, before killing everyone in the building.
Originally, Ourumov was going to use the satellite's built-in EMP to steal from the Bank of England, but then his chemical factory managed to successfully recreate the testosterone drug so he didn't have to.
But he still had access to that satellite.
And today, apparently, he'd decided to put it to good use.
He'd pointed the EMP at Pemba and pressed enter. It had sent out an electromagnetic pulse, which had significantly damaged every single form of electronics throughout the entire city - from cell towers and traffic lights down to cell phones and toasters. Then he'd been able to safely fly in above Pemba in his stolen EMP-proof stealth helicopter, and release the drug in the air, watching it fall and infect everyone below from the safety of the sky. Killing the Prime Minister of England was simply a cherry on top of his already delicious cake of revenge.
And if the entire electrical grid was offline, then there was nothing that Jake's smart-blood nanobots could use to bounce their signal off of.
"Fuck!"
He needed a stronger signal.
"Someone find me a bloody satellite as close to Mozambique as possible!" he snapped, "Now!"
That, at least, snapped them out of it, and all of his minions quickly hurried back to their desks to start damage control.
"A- A British satellite or-"
"I don't give a fucking fuck who owns it! Just find me one!"
Halim, halfway across the room, raised his hand.
"The closest is Agena D. US owned".
"Release date?"
"Uh…" He tapped a few keys. "... The 1960s?"
"No. Next?"
"There's a Moroccan microsatel-"
"No".
"The French have Syracuse 3-"
"No".
"G-14 is above Uganda right now-"
"Stop". Q blinked, frowned, and then blinked again. "Go back. What was the last one you said?"
"Galaxy Fourteen-"
"No. Before that".
"Uh... Syracuse?" Halim asked more than said.
"Yes. That one. Three-A or Three-B?"
"... A?"
"And we have a winner" he muttered, already pulling up the specs he needed, "I'll apologise to the DGA later".
"DGA?" Alec asked, unsure, approaching his desk.
"Direction générale de l'armement" he explained, too worried to even relish in the faint flush that came over the man's cheeks at his flawless accent, "It's a communication satellite used by the French Armed Forces, but more than that, it's also resistant to electronic warfare… If anything's going to work, it's going to be this".
"And if it doesn't?"
Q purposefully did not reply.
He successfully managed to hack into the satellite less than five minutes later, not giving a single damn as to the international incident it might cause because he needed to know if Jake was okay and the fucking French could fuck off if they tried to fucking stop him!
He'd spoken to him only yesterday.
If he'd had known…
The doors to his branch slammed open but he barely spared the intruders - Alexis, Charlie, and Edie - a single glance before continuing to break many international laws as he redirected his incredibly illegal technology to use an incredibly illegal satellite connection.
"We just heard" Alexis said, reaching them, "Jake?"
James shook his head while Alec merely shrugged.
"This was your guy, right?" Edie asked, "The General? That drug was…"
"Yeah" Q said shortly, drumming his fingers against the metal table as his smart-blood software started to load. In front of him, the double-0s shared a look - one that only they could interpret.
Three… Two… One…
"Got him".
Immediately, all five double-0s lunged around his desk to see the screen with him as the little orange circle zoomed into the apartment block he'd set Jake up in only a week before.
AGENT 004
STATUS: ALIVE
Q breathed a huge sigh of relief, and if it weren't for the pack surrounding him, pressing him in against the desk, he would have buckled to the ground. Now that he knew Jake was at least still breathing, he quickly pulled up the most important of his vital signs.
HEART RATE: 41 BMP
BLOOD PRESSURE: 58/34 MM HG
RESPIRATION RATE: R 8
TEMPERATURE: 35.8 °C
That… wasn't good.
"Are you sure those are the correct vitals?" Charlie asked quietly, and next to him, Edie nodded. "Yeah, sweetheart, those are… those are low".
"Really low" Alexis added, "Those are low enough for him to be in a… in a coma".
There was a beat of silence as they all watched, hypnotised by the rise and fall of Jake's heartbeat.
It's slow, Q thought, faintly, It's… too slow.
"He's alive" he said instead, not willing to add for now, "He's still alive and that- that's all that matters".
He didn't know how he was still alive - Jake would have been drugged by Ourumov's hormone chemicals just the same as everyone else, and the reason the General liked using it was because after inducing a full-on rage in every alpha that came into contact with it, it killed them.
Alec had only survived because he'd been sedated before the drug had enough time to kick in. It had pressed pause on it until he'd reached England, and it was only half an hour later that he'd been back at HQ where medical ran as many tests as humanly possible. A few hours after that, Q had locked himself in the holding cell with him, and eventually, his scent had helped the alpha settle and survive the chemical warfare that was taking place in his own body.
But Jake was all alone.
The drugs only took seven hours to kill.
And it was a fifteen-hour flight to Pemba.
Q took a slow deep breath, held it, and then let it out again just as slowly. Deep breath in, hold, deep breath out. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. In, hold, out.
"Okay" he said, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears, "Okay, this is… this isn't ideal, but we've been in tough situations before and we've all gotten out alive. This one's no different".
"Cub…"
"No!" he said, sharply, refusing to look at the man in case he broke down in tears, "No, 006, this situation is no fucking different!"
On his other side, James quietly cleared his throat. "Does Fortier know yet?"
Duncan.
Oh christ, Q had forgotten about-
"You're on damage control" he said, abruptly spinning around to face Charlie and Edie, too afraid to watch Jake's heart monitor in case it suddenly stopped, "You two, you need to- to- to find Duncan and- and I don't know, fucking sit on him if you have to! As soon as he finds out he's going to try and hotwire a plane, so it's up to you lot to stop him! He should be in the gym, sparring with Saif. And- And find Milli and take her with you as well. If it does come down to a physical fight, then she's our best chance of restraining him. Got it?"
They both nodded and took off. Q turned to James and Alec next, carefully avoiding their gaze.
"I need you two to go back to Janssen's cell and find out what she knows. Ourumov would have told her about this - she's his right-hand woman; he had to! So I need you to go in there and get some fucking answers! We need to know if this was all they planned, or if this was only stage one. Go!"
After a brief moment of hesitation, they gave each other an unreadable look, gave him a look that clearly said we'll talk later, and then followed their packmates out of TSS.
"What can I do, hun?"
Which just left Alexis.
Q awkwardly lifted his glasses as he pinched the bridge of his nose and angrily compartmentalised all of the overflowing emotions that threatened to consume him.
"... Honestly?"
"Of course".
"... I could really fucking do with a hug right now".
He had barely finished speaking before he was completely enveloped in her warm, safe embrace, and he focused on breathing in her honey-like scent instead of the far too slow beep... beep... beep of Jake's diminishing heartbeat.
"You've never let us down before, hun" she whispered, quiet enough so that only he could hear, "And you're not going to start now".
Q took one last deep breath - spicy and soothing and oh so similar to his mother - before forcing himself to loosen his grip and take a step back, hints of her saffron perfume following him.
"... Thank you, 001".
"Anytime, Quartermaster".
"Quartermaster!"
M.
Fuck.
Q briefly closed his eyes before turning to face him, eyes skirting over his laptop - alive, alive, alive - in the process.
"Is this about the satellite?"
"The satellite?" The man came to an abrupt stop, looking somewhat thrown. "What satellite?"
"Nevermind" he quickly replied, "I take it this is about the PM then?"
"You've seen the news?"
He gestured at the flatscreen TV to his right, where a handful of his minions still stood, watching the carnage unfold. M glanced at it, briefly, before grimacing.
"CNN got word before we could send out a DSMA-Notice - not that we expected to be able to keep this quiet for long, of course, but we at least wanted to have some of our own men on the ground before the news stations started reporting on it". He shook his head. "Put simply, Q, this entire thing is a clusterfuck! I've already had numerous calls from government officials, not to mention MI-fucking-5, screaming at me to find out what the bloody hell happened! Any word from 004?"
"He's alive; that's all I know. But it was Ourumov, sir. I'm sure of it".
His frown deepened. "Yes, I thought as much. Either way, Downing Street has called for a COBRA meeting in twenty minutes time, and I want you with me".
"Who's in charge?"
"Leo Devine, the Deputy Prime Minister. The actual PM is being treated as dead until we hear otherwise. Devine has stepped in for the moment".
Q winced.
The DPM left much to be desired, and the omega had always gotten the impression that the man was something of a gullible bigoted fool.
M caught his look and scowled himself.
"I know. But there's no procedure in place to cope with the sudden death of the Prime Minister, so he has as much right to act as interim as anyone else. It's only a temporary situation, but for the moment, we both report directly to him… He wants answers, Q, and you know more about this case than anyone".
His gaze drifted back to his laptop which was still showing Jake's vital signs. To be perfectly honest, Q didn't give a flying fuck about the Prime Minister, much less his Deupty; he only cared about his agent.
But one did not simply say no to a COBRA meeting, and he knew that, realistically, he had no say in the matter.
"... Alright" he finally replied, "Let me just- R!"
She was at his side in an instant, looking just as uncharacteristically scared as before but now, at least, with a hint of steely determination in her dark, almond-shaped eyes.
"I need you to keep track of 004's vitals" he said, "As well as figure out just how the hell we're going to get two other double-0s into Pemba. It's a long way there and we can't afford to lose any more time - Ourumov might have stayed behind to admire his handiwork and we can't let him slip away again".
On the screen, Jake's heart rate dropped to 39 BPM. Q swallowed thickly and turned back to her.
"If his vitals change, I want you to call me" he ordered, "I don't give a single fuck what cabinet briefing room I'm in; you call me, okay?"
"Okay".
He spared a quick look at M, whose attention was on the news, and then took a step closer, lowering his voice so that only R could hear.
"And I need you to keep the double-0s stateside. I don't think they'll run off, not until we know more, not until I tell them to, but if the worst happens… I don't know how much control I'll still have over them. So if Jake's vitals do change, if he- if he gets worse or… then I need you to contact me immediately and keep the other double-0 as far away from this laptop as humanly possible. They are not allowed to find out like that!"
"Quartermaster".
He glanced over his shoulder and saw M's impatient, annoyed, and slightly worried look. He quickly turned back to R.
"Promise me, Redwing".
It wasn't often that he used her real name - in fact, this was the first time that he could ever remember doing so - and he could see his own seriousness reflected in her steely gaze.
"I promise, Q" she said, her voice just as low and solid, "I'll take care of them until you return. Now go!"
Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, or COBRA, was a high-level emergency meeting convened by the British government to address and coordinate responses to significant emergencies.
Their purpose was to make decisions based on the latest developments and information surrounding a national crisis. It had first taken place in the early 1970s to respond to the miners' strike and had since occurred approximately eight times for events ranging from the Iranian Embassy siege to the London bombings to the refugee crisis in Calais.
It was all very hush-hush and there was only one publicly available photograph of the briefing room it took place in, but it was, apparently, a crucial emergency council that was the government's ultimate response to any major catastrophe - and a direct terrorist attack on the United Nations that had resulted in the death of the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, along with a few thousand others, was most certainly considered to be a catastrophe.
Q knew all of this, but he'd never been a part of a COBRA meeting before - He'd never even been inside Downing Street before.
Officially, at least.
As they drove along Whitehall Road, they saw the first of the journalists and paparazzi starting to crowd outside the Cabinet Office buildings. Clearly, more than one person had been tuned into the Prime Minister's speech and had consequently seen the emergency broadcast afterwards.
Everyone would be tripping over themselves to publish the story first, and Q briefly wondered just how on earth the British government was going to spin this - but then they pulled up in front of tall black iron gates that he'd only ever seen on TV before, and his thoughts abruptly crashed back to the present moment.
Namely, holy fuck he was about to speak at Number Ten Downing Street!
Their car pulled up to the curb after the guards stationed at the gates waved them through, and he hurriedly followed M out of the car and towards a nameless man in a suit who was hovering just outside the world-famous black door.
They were silently ushered inside, and Q found himself surprised by just how large the building was. It had to be at least thrice as big as he'd expected it to be, opening out in all directions with high ceilings and expensive paintings on every wall.
The man led them down the marble corridors, their footsteps echoing, until they reached what he presumed was the other side of the Cabinet Office. Of course, given how many journalists were already outside, it only made sense for them to use the back entrance - nobody wanted the Head of MI6 and its Quartermaster to be photographed or appear on that evening's news after all.
Pushing open the door, the man stepped back to allow them inside, and Q immediately felt a burst of anxiety as he took in the far, far too small room, filled to the brim with a large wooden conference table and at least a dozen unknown alphas.
Or, at least, unknown in the sense that he'd never spoken to them personally before - but he'd most definitely seen each of their faces on TV many times.
The head of the table was occupied by Leo Devine, the Deputy Prime Minister, who was currently flicking through a rather thin manilla folder. To his right was Steve MacLery, the Home Secretary, and to his left was Sir Adrian Knot, the Chief of the Defence Staff which, to the best of Q's knowledge, simply meant he was the spokesperson for the British Armed Forces.
On the other side of those two men sat Chief Constable Steven N. Hopkins, the Chair of the NPCC, and Sir Andy Poutner, the Secretary of State for Defence. Next to the Defence Secretary was Monica Davared, the Secretary of State for Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Affairs and then two empty seats, which he presumed were for himself and M.
Across from them was Malcolm Clune, the Head of MI5, and the Minister of State for Security, Matthew Tugond, along with three blank-faced suit-wearing men, who Q could only assume were his so-called expert advisors.
Clutching his laptop to his chest and frantically shoving away his fear in case his scent gave him away, he tried desperately to look like he belonged even as half the table gave him a derisive look and the other dismissed him entirely, because he did belong here and he knew it.
He was the Quartermaster of MI-bloody-6, for Merlin's sake - and very likely had the IQ level of two-thirds of these politicians combined. He refused to back down, because the previous M had chosen him for a reason and Mallory had kept him for a reason and the bloody Prime Minister himself had authorised his attendance at a COBRA meeting should a situation like this ever arise.
As he silently took his seat, the Foreign Secretary gave him a small smile, and he wondered if she felt just as conscious being the only woman in the room as he did being the only omega.
Either way, Q smiled back at her and then straightened up, flipping open his laptop screen and pulling up the folder of photos and documents he'd eventually have to present.
He wished that he'd thought to swap his cardigan for a blazar. Even borrowing one of James or Alec's far too-large suit jackets would have been better looking than his soft green wool, especially in this sea of Windsor knots and tailored Savile Row.
Then again, he reasoned, it wasn't as if he could've predicted the world going to shit today either, much less that he'd be ordered to show his findings at a British Parliament crisis meeting.
At the head of the table, the Deputy Prime Minister finished reading the report in front of him. He looked up from the folder and gave them all a brief, tense smile.
"Well then" he said, "Let's begin".