The Cup and the Lip
They worked through the night into the early morning hours the next day.
There were, unsurprisingly, rather differing views as to what they should do next. Admiral Knot led the revenge campaign, ranting that Britain should retaliate and declare war on Russia since it was a Russian general who had killed the prime minister.
During his tirade, Q briefly considered asking one or two of the double-0s to perhaps pay the man a visit some dark and lonely night to make him reign his neck in - but then he remembered that murder was frowned upon and he was meant to be setting a good example for his agents, and so he decided against it.
Unfortunately, both the Home Secretary and Sir Andy Poutner; the Secretary of State for Defence, were firmly on Knot's side. Hopkins, the Chair of the NPCC, was further endearing himself to Q by firmly speaking up against such a ridiculous idea, while Monica Davared tried to explain - as if to toddlers - that just because Ourumov was Russian, that didn't mean it was Russia's idea to commit genocide.
The Head of MI5, as usual, just made everything more difficult for everyone, while the Minister of State for Security, along with the Deputy Prime Minister, both kept their mouths shut as they watched the rest of the room thrash it out.
Thankfully, however, Devine seemed to prefer M over Clune, which meant that - after hours and hours and hours of pointless debate - MI6 was given the go-ahead to deal with the situation as they saw fit.
In the meantime, Monica and DPM would work with the necessary communications officials to write out a statement for the public, which would be broadcast on every TV and radio later that day. Devine himself was going to be put under lock and key for the foreseeable future, in the off-chance that Ourumov planned to fly to London for round two.
Personally, Q thought it was pointless - the general had simply wanted to make a statement, after all, and he sure as hell had already succeeded at that.
Once the arguments had died down and a plan, however temporary, was put in place, they were finally released back into the world, with both Knot and Clune storming out like petulant children, their advisors rushing after them with piles of fluttering paper, while the rest left at a more sedate pace.
Emerging back into dim daylight, Q blinked quickly as his eyes tried to adjust from the dim of the hallway they'd just left while his own internal clock screamed what the fuck on repeat.
It had been early afternoon when he'd left his branch yesterday - sometime around one, he thinks - but the COBRA meeting had gone on well through the night and it was now, based on his admittedly limited knowledge of the sun, some time just after five in the morning. The city was coming to life around them, the rubbish trucks going home while the business commuters woke up, and it was crisp and fresh and a huge relief after breathing in recycled stuffy air for the past twelve-plus hours.
"Jesus fucking Christ".
Next to him, Monica rifled through her handbag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
"This entire bloody thing is a shit show!"
Gone was the nice, polite, ladylike persona from the previous day, and in its place was an absolute warrior of a woman. Q gave M a wide-eyed look, but the man seemed just as shocked as he was.
"Oh, sorry" she said, misinterpreting their look, "You want one?"
She held out the red and white pack, and the Quartermaster only hesitated briefly before nodding.
"Please".
M did the same.
"If you don't mind".
"Not at all" Monica said, fumbling with the lighter for a moment, "Be my fucking guest".
Q gave Mallory a curious, surprised glance. "You smoke?"
He took a long drag from the cigarette and promptly choked on its smoke.
"As of today, I do".
Monica laughed, sudden and loud.
"A-fucking-men to that! Christ, I wanted to smack the lot of them!"
Whatever carefully crafted veneer the woman seemed to use for politics was long gone, and the omega found himself loving this real, grittier version of the woman even more. The cigarette packet, too, was a surprise - he couldn't read the writing on it but he recognised the script well enough.
Catching his gaze, Monica smirked.
"It's Farsi for Bahman. Not very patriotic of me, I know, and it costs a fucking fortune to get this shit imported, but they're the only brand I like".
Taking a careful draw, Q could see why. The cigarette didn't taste like anything he had ever tried before, and although it wasn't particularly a flavour that he enjoyed, the nicotine hit the spot and he felt himself settle somewhat after the previous nerve-wracking few days.
"They're certainly, uh… an acquired taste" he replied diplomatically, "Where did you find them?"
"Right at the source" she replied, her grin widening, "I got my doctorate in Middle Eastern Studies at Oxford. Majored in Persian with a minor in Hebrew. Spent a few years in Iran as an overseas journalist afterwards".
"And you gave that up to become a minister?"
"Hey, I can talk the fucking talk when I have to". She shrugged. "And besides, I was getting bored of reporting the same old stories all the time. At least here, as a Secretary of State, I can actually make a fucking difference".
He loved her already.
Taking another drag from the cigarette - it was, admittedly, starting to grow on him a little - he gave M a rather pointed side-eyed look. After a moment of staring back at him, the man sighed.
"Ms Davared-"
"Monica, please. Save all of that political fucking bullshit for the cabinet room".
"Monica, then" he corrected, "I feel that it would be remiss of me to leave this meeting without offering you a job".
She blinked, startled, the Bahman forgotten between her fingers.
"A what?!"
"You've actually got a brain" Q explained, "And a wicked sense of humour. And a bloody doctorate! I want you on my team".
"As… As what? The internal structure of MI6 is something that you guys keep pretty fucking hush-hush, but from what I understand, the Quartermaster is in control of the research division - as well as being the head of the double-0s, of course. Actually- can I just ask, how fucking true are those rumours?" Her eyes were sparkling with mischief. "Cause based on what I've heard, those double-0s of yours are… insane. Like… Clinically".
Q snorted despite himself and took the final pull from his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and stamping on it.
"They're, uh… characters, to say the least" he replied, ignoring M's disbelieving look, "Although there is one in particular… that I think you'd love".
"Oh?" A dark eyebrow rose. "Well, now you've made me curious. He or she?"
"He".
"Even better. Single?"
"As much as the job allows".
"I'm okay with that. Is he cute?"
Next to them, M was choking on his cigarette again.
"Very" Q replied dryly, "Half-Iranian too".
"Ooh, interesting". Monica reached into her handbag once more and pulled out a business card. "Give that to him then, would you? And, as for this job-"
"You wouldn't be working with the double-0s directly" he said, pocketing the phone number, "Eventually, maybe, but… I think you'd be a great fit for TSS. You're no-nonsense, able to take some verbal abuse, and clearly, you're fluent in more than one language… You could make a difference there, too. Granted, you wouldn't be given global recognition for it, but-"
She waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, fuck that! I don't need external validation, Quartermaster, I just need to know I'm doing something with my life… You have my number".
"I do".
"Re-elections are coming up".
"So they are".
"Maybe… Maybe give me a call sometime" she finished, putting out her own cigarette, "Give me a few days to think on it and put my fucking office in order first".
"I can do that" Q agreed, "And- one more thing. I feel like I already know the answer to this, but I need to make sure… You'd be working for me".
"Alright".
"... As my employee".
"Cool".
"... Underneath me on the hierarchy".
"I understand how jobs work".
Next to him, M - finally after regaining his composure - sighed loudly.
"He wants to know if you'll have issues taking orders from an omega".
Monica looked as though he'd slapped her.
"What? No! Of fucking course not! Are you insane?!"
"No, just the first omega ever to be given a position of power in the British government" Q corrected, "I mean, you saw how Admiral Knot reacted".
"Admiral Knot can fuck right off!" she snapped, heedless of who might overhear her, "He's an outdated relic and a pitiful excuse of a human fucking being! No, Quartermaster, I do not have a single fucking issue with you being an omega!"
"Good".
"Good".
They grinned at each other. M sighed, again.
"Well, now that's sorted, we do have an international crisis to deal with... Ms Davared". He nodded at her politely, and she returned the gesture. "Mr Mallory. Quartermaster… I expect to hear from that half-Iranian lunatic of yours pretty soon".
"I'll tell him to give you a call" he agreed, smirking, "Until next time, Monica".
They were back at '6 within the hour, parting ways at the elevator as M returned to his office to make a lot of phone calls while Q returned to his branch to talk to a lot of double-0s.
It had been almost fifteen hours since the chemical attack.
The drug only took two to six hours to kill.
But according to R, Jake was still alive.
Q didn't know how or why or where or when or whatever, but as long as his agent stayed that way, he wasn't going to question it.
He wasn't surprised to find his branch just as hectic now as it'd been when he left them the day previous - evidently, everyone was pulling an overnight shift, and Q could have kissed them for it - and nor was he surprised when R immediately rushed up to him with a "004 is still alive, the rest are in your office, and I've got us a way into Mozambique".
What he was surprised about were the… positions that he found the double-0s in his office.
Alexis was perched gracefully on his chair, while both Edie and Charlie were sitting on the desk itself, the former swinging her legs back and forth while the latter tapped out mindless rhythms on the metal surface. James and Alec were suspiciously missing. And Saif and Milli were both sitting on the couch on the other side of the room and beneath them, directly beneath them… was Duncan.
The man was tied up and stretched out on his side on the sofa, thick bands of duct tape wrapped around his legs from ankle to knee and tying his arms behind him from wrist to elbow. There was another strip placed across his mouth - apparently, he hadn't come quietly - and while Saif was sprawled across his legs, pinning them down, Milli was elegantly sitting on his chest, just above his waist, like a porcelain china doll resting on a shelf.
Q felt absurdly grateful that it was Milli currently pressing down on the man's lungs, given that she was perhaps the lightest of the double-0s.
"... Why".
Edie let out a heavy sigh as if terribly inconvenienced by the whole thing.
"I mean, you did tell us to sit on him if we had to, sweetheart, and… well… we had to".
Duncan's ferocious gaze screamed murder.
There was a nasty bruise already darkening on his cheek.
Saif was sporting a split lip too.
"Let him go".
They both obediently stood up, with Milli pulling a short yet razor-sharp switchblade out of god knows where to cut through the duct tape while Saif sauntered straight over to him and wasted no time in pulling him close.
Q closed his eyes and breathed in the man's calming, citrus scent, relishing in this brief moment of respite before everything went to hell once more.
"How was COBRA?" Saif asked quietly, his face buried in the omega's curls.
"Over" he replied succinctly, "Thank fuck".
The man huffed a laugh and pulled back, the corner of his eyes crinkling and his white teeth gleaming, as handsome and foreign and model-esque as ever.
Monica was going to be a very lucky woman indeed.
"You like women, right?"
He flashed him a roguish grin. "I like everyone".
"What about other alphas?"
Saif shrugged elegantly. "I've been known to dabble… Why?"
"Okay. So. Don't make this weird, but I think I just found your soulmate".
His dark gaze immediately sharpened.
"Tell. me. everything".
"I said don't make this weird!"
Sighing, Q reached into his pocket and pulled out the white business card. He'd already memorised the number, and he was sure that Saif wasn't going to lose it anytime soon either, so he had no problem with handing it over - and the man in question had no problem with immediately searching the card for any and all potential information he could glean off it.
"She might be joining support ops soon enough" he said, "So I'd be very grateful if you didn't scare her off".
He raised the card to his nose and sniffed it.
Q only barely refrained from rolling his eyes.
"... This smells familiar" he said with a frown, "Why does this smell familiar? This smells like… like my Uncle Farid".
Saif gave the omega a very troubled look.
"Did you just meet my Uncle Farid?!"
"The tiger owner in Iran? No" he replied dryly, "She smokes an Iranian brand of cigarettes though. Bahnams, I think".
"Girl's got taste... Alright. What's her name?"
"Monica… Monica Davared".
That caught the others' attention.
"Davared?" Charlie asked, brow furrowed, "As in- As in-"
"-the Foreign fucking Secretary?!" Alexis finished, "Oh honey, you did not just give Saif Fitzroy blanket permission to traumatise the Foreign fucking Secretary!"
"Saif won't be traumatising anyone if he knows what's good for him" he replied, giving the man a rather dark, pointed look, "Least of all this absolute angel who can out-curse Duncan!"
Oh.
Right.
Duncan.
Q spun on the spot just in time to see Milli finish cutting through the tape tying his legs, his arms already free, and for Duncan himself to reach up and rip off the duct tape covering his mouth fast enough to make the omega wince.
"Why the fucking fuck" he started, furious, "are you lot just fucking sitting there when Jake is fucking-"
He cut himself off, and Q's heart ached.
Saif, in an act of unprecedented wisdom, slipped the business card into his pocket for later.
"He's still alive" the omega said, "And if he's survived the drug this long…"
"Then chances are he's in the clear" Edie finished, "Hopefully".
He nodded.
"Exactly. R has come up with a way to get us in under the radar; I don't know the specifics yet, but I needed to talk to you guys first anyway - where are James and Alec, by the way?"
Duncan scoffed and rolled his eyes, clearly agitated and pissed off, but Q didn't let it bother him - if it had been one of his two favourite idiots in a life-threatening situation right now, then he'd be feeling the exact same.
"Still with Janssen" Alexis explained, "They've been questioning her since you left plus, uh… some other things that may or may not be entirely up to the Geneva Convention standards".
The small, vicious, gremlin part of his hindbrain whispered good.
"Alright. They're probably more useful there anyway" Q replied, "I need two of you to go to Pemda and I need you to not get caught. Ostensibly, this is a retrieval mission to capture General Ourumov, but, off the books, finding Jake is your top priority. Since we don't have the go-ahead from the DPM, then legally speaking, this could be classified as an invasion, and if you're seen, there will be absolute hell to pay - so you cannot be seen".
Immediately, all eyes turned to Charlie - their resident invisible man - and he nodded willingly.
"You'll also need to avoid the military" he continued with a grimace, "The Mozambican government has, rather understandably, put the entire area in lockdown. You need to avoid them at all costs and leave zero loose ends, but if you do get caught, then you need to be able to talk your way out of it in the least violent way possible".
Again, all attention shifted to another agent, Milli, who had repocketed her blade and also nodded in agreement.
"Good". Q gave a single, sharp nod. "I'll tell R, and she can walk you through the game plan. I'll be running comms, and-"
"I want to go".
Fuck.
"... Duncan-"
"I have to go!" he snapped, standing up, the duct tape left on the couch behind him, "This is Jake that we're talking about! This is a mission that- that I should have fucking been sent on! Not him! I'm the best fighter you've got and I speak Portuguese. I have to fucking go!"
"No, you don't!" he said firmly, "Jake has survived the drug this long, so he's going to be fine-"
"You don't fucking know that!" he yelled, stalking forward, "You don't know anything! For the past fifteen fucking hours there have non-stop reports about the death rate in that place! That- That fucking drug sent every alpha in the area into a full-on rage! Everyone was fighting each other! And Jake was right in the fucking heart of it! Even if he survived the chemicals, there is no fucking proof that he's unharmed!"
"I understand that, 003-"
"Oh, don't you fucking code name me!"
"-but the fact remains that you are compromised!" Q snapped, "I need someone objective, and you are too fucking close to remain impartial!"
"And you're not?!"
The omega bit back his immediate retort and forced himself to take a long, deep breath.
"I am the Quartermaster of MI6" he said quietly, "There are nine double-0s. There is only one of me".
It was a low blow and he watched it land as the man flinched and took a step back, but as much as it pained him to say it, it was necessary for Duncan to hear.
The double-0s weren't replaceable - in the more literal sense, sure, anyone qualified enough and crazy enough could be given a number, but they weren't exchangeable in an emotional, personal sense. Jake wasn't replaceable, but if Q sent Duncan to find him, as compromised as he was, then he might very well have to replace him - and the other alpha too.
"I don't doubt your competency, 003" he continued, voice just as soft as before, "But I do doubt your judgement on this. This mission is too important to afford any mistakes, and I need someone with a clear head right now… Be grateful that you get an excuse to stay out of this, because I don't have that luxury".
Duncan snarled at him viciously before he left, showing his teeth in a way that he hadn't since their very first meeting, and Q couldn't prevent his flinch as the alpha shoved past him to storm out of the office.
There was a beat of silence, and then two, and then he once again forced himself to breathe.
Turning back to the others, he gave Alexis an almost pleading look.
"Keep an eye on him?"
"Of course, hun" she replied immediately, standing up and dragging Edie with her, "I'll text Alec and James too; let them know you're back".
Let them know that he was precisely thirty seconds away from a breakdown is what she meant, but the other double-0s were kind enough not to mention it.
"I need you geared up and ready to go within the hour" he continued, addressing the final two agents in the room, "Silvia will have your guns and comm sets ready to go, and I'll talk to R about how we're going to get you there".
"I will talk to R" Charlie corrected quietly, pulling him into a brief yet meaningful hug, "You've been awake for over twenty-four hours, котеночек, you need to sleep".
"I know. I will, just- just not now. Not yet. I can't, not while-"
"We'll bring him home. Alive" he promised, stepping back so that Milli could take his place.
"I concur" she said, her crystal blue eyes as sharp and doe-like as ever, "We shall not return without Jake".
And then, to Q's shock and horror, she hugged him.
Millicent bloody allergic-to-touch Osmund actually hugged him!
It was by far the most awkward, uncomfortable, and weirdest hug of his entire life, but the fact that she put aside her own disgust and distaste because he so clearly needed the comfort meant everything to him, and he breathed in her cinnamon scent with all of the appreciation that this once-in-a-lifetime event deserved.
"Try not to worry too much, lille kjære" she said, letting him go with a queasy smile that made him want to laugh and cry in equal measure, "We will all be back soon".
Later that night, after the sun had once more disappeared from the sky, after James and Alec had shown up with bloody fists and open arms, after Q had power-napped for precisely thirty-one minutes against his own bloody wishes… the phone rang.
Lunging for his headset, he didn't even glance at the screen long enough to see who it was before hitting accept.
At the other end of the line, over eight and a half thousand kilometres away, came Charlie's familiar, yet exhausted, voice.
"Q" he said, "We found him".